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  LoGuercio snapped his face toward Rick. “What was that?”

  Rick explained the striking similarity of styles between Rhonda’s and Crivelli’s ceramics. “Definitely not a coincidence, but whether it would be a reason to murder Rhonda Van Fleet is something else entirely.”

  “It’s the best motive we have so far,” observed LoGuercio. “And there is something else that moves Crivelli to the top of the list.”

  Rick held on as the car swerved around a curve. “Really? Tell me.”

  “Signora Vecchi, the woman who ran the boardinghouse, called me this morning. She said she spent the night trying to decide if she should call and finally concluded that she should. It seems that Crivelli paid her a visit in the afternoon, something he’d never done before. Claimed he wanted to tell her about the death of Signora Van Fleet. They reminisced about the old times, and she showed him the same photo album I saw. He was very interested in seeing the pictures, she said.”

  “Did he ask her about your meeting with her early in the day?”

  “She made the mistake of bringing it up herself, so she doesn’t know if he knew already. But he asked her about it.”

  “Somehow, knowing Crivelli as we do, I doubt if his visit to the woman was motivated by benevolence.”

  “Nor do I, but like you I have trouble picturing him as a murderer. But the fingerprint will tell the tale. Your other prime suspect, I assume, is Bianca Cappello?”

  The descent from Orvieto’s hill had ended. The flat, if curved roadway allowed the driver to accelerate. There was little traffic to slow them down.

  “Yes. Bianca was in Milan at the time, taking care of a sick grandmother, she claims. If I recall, the Red Brigades had women as well as men among their ranks. We certainly can’t rule her out.”

  “But her motive for murdering the American?”

  Rick nodded. “True, nothing obvious comes to mind. The only possibility I can think of is that Rhonda knew about Bianca Cappello’s Red Brigades past, though not the bank robbery, and Cappello thought it might now somehow come out. At this point in her life she’s an upstanding citizen, and would be ruined if it was revealed she had that on her record. As serious for her, on a personal level, is that her friend Morgante, given his position in the city, would almost surely break off their relationship.”

  “The same could be said about Crivelli if he’s the brigatista. If Rhonda knew about an involvement with the Red Brigades, he couldn’t let that become public either.”

  Rick shook his head. “I don’t think Crivelli would have revealed that kind of information about himself to a student back then, unless they were in a more intimate relationship than he lets on. But Cappello and Rhonda were contemporaries, and good friends. Bianca could have opened up to her over a bottle of wine at that time, wanting to talk about it with someone who would be sympathetic, but afraid to talk to another Italian. My guess is that Rhonda wasn’t exactly politically conservative herself in those days.

  “True.”

  They were just passing the spot at the side of the pavement where the body had been found. The crime tape had been taken down, and a woman stood waiting at the bus stop, checking the screen of her cell phone. If she was aware of what had happened there only forty-eight hours earlier, she didn’t show it. LoGuercio looked at the woman and checked his watch.

  “Crivelli will be coming to my office in about an hour and a half. He’s part of that cathedral visit, along with everyone else of importance in Orvieto, so I couldn’t get him in earlier. I told the sergeant, if I’m not back, to ask him to wait until I return, which I’m certain won’t make him happy. Cappello is scheduled for about a half hour after that, since I didn’t want them chatting in the waiting area and comparing notes, so I hope this doesn’t take too much time and gum up the works. If we are delayed too much I’ll call the station and have them put Crivelli in another room. Damn this robbery.”

  The car slowed and pulled into the dirt road leading up the hill to the villa. In less than a minute it skidded to a stop next to the Mercedes. They got out and walked to the doorway as it was being opened by Francine.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said. “Please come in.”

  LoGuercio voiced a “good morning,” in English and stepped through the doorway, followed by Rick. In the living room Gina sat on the couch clutching a coffee mug. The two women were each dressed, as the other morning, in a kind of exercise outfit. Neither had put on makeup, and their hair looked as if it had not been touched since leaving the pillow.

  “Tell them, Riccardo, that I’m just going to make a general inspection of the crime scene, but a team is on its way to do a more thorough check of the building for fingerprints and other evidence. Find out what they noticed was missing, and then we can look at Signora Van Fleet’s room.”

  Rick interpreted while Francine took a seat next to Gina and grasped the younger woman’s free hand.

  “What is missing from here,” Francine answered, “is a small vase that sat in that niche.” She pointed toward the wall. “We had all admired it when we arrived at the villa, especially Rhonda since she is of course into ceramics. From the way it was displayed, with a light over it, we thought it had some value. Apparently the thief agreed.”

  “Anything else?”

  She pointed to another part of the room. “The books on that shelf had been disturbed, but since we didn’t look at them at all since we got here, we don’t know if any are missing. Burglars don’t usually steal books, I would think.”

  LoGuercio had been writing in his notebook. “I would not be surprised, Riccardo, if taking the vase and shuffling the books was a diversion to make it appear as a real burglary. There is no doubt in my mind, and I trust in yours, that this has to be related to the murder. So where is the woman’s bedroom?”

  When Rick asked, Gina spoke for the first time and pointed to a door at the far side of the living room. Their bedrooms were on the next level, a few steps up, but Rhonda had taken the one on the ground floor. “Her room is the other side of the villa from ours, which is why we didn’t hear anything.”

  Francine seemed to be about to say something, but then just nodded in agreement. Rick and LoGuercio walked to the door of the bedroom and pushed it open.

  It was immediately evident that the person who had come into the room during the night was looking for something, but the search had been done carefully, so as not to make noise. The drawers of the two dressers were open, the clothing in them left in a jumbled mess. Empty suitcases that Rhonda had likely stored somewhere else now lay open in the middle of the floor. The mattress was slightly ajar and the pillow had been pushed to one side. The burglar was not trying to trash the room, but no attempt was made to hide the search either. The two men surveyed the clutter without touching anything.

  “He could have found what he was looking for or not,” said LoGuercio. “We won’t know from looking at this place. The forensic crew will go over it, but I doubt if they’ll find anything. Anyone who watches TV would know to wear gloves. Let’s see if we can get more information from the women.” He turned and walked back to the living room, followed by Rick. Francine and Gina were still sitting on the sofa.

  Rick took the lead. “What can you tell us about last night? Did you go into Orvieto for dinner?”

  Francine gestured at Gina, indicating she should answer.

  “No, Rick, we ate here. We’d gone to a little store a few miles down the road and bought some cold cuts, cheese, and bread, as well as a bottle of wine. We came back here and had that. I was pretty exhausted, with everything going on, and went to bed early. I think the cool weather has also worn me out, and it makes for good sleeping weather. I didn’t hear anything, but I’m a very sound sleeper.”

  Rick interpreted and then turned to Francine. “Anything to add?”

  She acted like the student who didn’t want to be cal
led on by the teacher. “No, that’s what happened. I stayed up a bit longer, read a few pages from a book, and went to bed myself. Dropped right off.”

  “Same story,” Rick said to LoGuercio.

  The policeman was leaning against the fireplace, not hiding his impatience with the situation. “I have to call the station, excuse me a moment.” He walked to the doors to the patio, opened them and walked outside.

  Francine watched him leave and got quickly to her feet. “Rick, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?”

  “Sure,” Rick answered.

  She motioned toward an arched doorway and the two of them left Gina staring through the glass doors at the policeman talking on the cell phone under the pergola outside. The kitchen combined modern practicality with the feel of a country house. Tiles formed rows on the walls behind the counters and stove, their colors matching the rest of the room’s décor. Instead of an Italian espresso pot on the stove, a shiny American-style coffeemaker sat on the end of the counter, next to a set of mugs. There was a dishwasher, but the sink was full of cups and silverware. In the center of the room stood a butcher block table and four metal stools. Rick decided that if the renters were serious cooks they could work very well in this kitchen, but doubted that happened very often. Not with all the good restaurants just up the road in town.

  Francine pulled a glass off the shelf and uncorked an already open bottle of wine. She held up a glass and gave him a questioning look.

  “Too early for me, Francine, but it looks like you need something after this break-in. Go right ahead.” He noticed that, ironically, the label was Sonnomonte, the vineyard owned by Vincenzo Aragona. As the dark red wine flowed into her glass something else occurred to him, but his thought was interrupted by her voice. Before speaking she had looked back toward the other room, as if to confirm they were out of earshot of Gina.

  “Rick, is Donato a suspect in all this?”

  The question took him by surprise. “I, uh, don’t think the inspector has ruled anyone out, if that’s what you mean. Do you have reason to think he should be a suspect?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just…” She glanced again back into the room before answering. “Rick, I feel like I can talk to you about this. You see, Donato told me the police want to talk to him again. The inspector had already talked to him once, and now—”

  “Wait a minute, Francine. When did Donato tell you this?”

  Her eyes were wide, but blinking quickly. “You might as well know. He was here last night, after Gina went to bed. You won’t tell the inspector, will you?”

  “The forensics team will be here soon and they will find his fingerprints.” He didn’t point out that, being the caretaker, Donato’s prints around the villa would be expected.

  Francine turned pale. “Oh God, you’re right. Then you must tell the inspector that he was in my sight the whole time he was here.”

  Rick didn’t want to think about that one. “You saw him drive away? What time was that?”

  “Yes, he drove off after midnight. Closer to one, maybe. I saw him go down the driveway.”

  So that was before the break-in took place, Rick calculated. But Donato could have come back, knowing both women were out for the night. Why would he do that? If he’d wanted to take something from the villa, he had a key and could have come during the day, when they were out seeing the sights. No, it made no sense that Donato would want to rob the place at all. Unless the guy was working for someone else; but again, why break in at night? Rick was trying to figure it all out when he heard the door to the patio open and close. Francine smiled weakly at him and they walked into the other room. Gina was in the same place, but now she was staring at a small book in her lap. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  LoGuercio had not noticed. “The forensics team is on its way,” he said to Rick as he and Francine appeared from the kitchen. “Before they get here, I’d like these two to look over the bedroom to see if by chance they notice what might be missing. Without touching anything, tell them. Any personal items they think Signora Van Fleet brought to the villa that aren’t there now.”

  “In a second, Paolo.” Rick walked to the sofa and sat down next to Gina, putting his arm around her shoulder. He tried to think of something he could say that would comfort her, but nothing came to mind. The book on her lap, he saw, was a photo album. The pictures in it were yellow and faded, but the faces were unmistakable.

  “Where did you get this, Gina?”

  She found a tissue and blew into it before answering. “It was Mom’s. She showed it to us the day we arrived, and I was looking at it in my room last night before I fell asleep. Look at how happy she looked then, it’s no wonder she wanted to come back one last time.” She gulped when she realized what she’d said.

  Rick took the small book and slowly turned the pages. Rhonda Davis smiled up from the plastic, either by herself, or in groups, sometimes in front of some recognizable landmark. The Pantheon in Rome. Perugia’s ancient fountain. The Arno seen from the Ponte Vecchio. He saw many photos around Orvieto, of the squares and buildings that were now familiar to him. He turned another page and his hand froze. A photo showed Rhonda in front of the unmistakable facade of Milan’s Duomo, flanked by two men. Rick was sure this one had been taken by a professional photographer, one who wandered the piazza catering to tourists. It was black and white, its tones crisper than the others on the page. Three pigeons perched on Rhonda’s arm and one was pecking at the bird seed in her hand. Instead of looking at the camera, she was grinning at the handsome man standing on her right. It was the third person in the picture, the other man, whose face had jumped off the page. Rick carefully pulled the photograph from the paper, closed the album, and got to his feet.

  “Paolo,” Rick said, “I think we may have found what the burglar was searching for.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the first decade of the fourteenth century, nearly twenty years after construction of the great cathedral of Orvieto had begun, the city fathers were in a panic. How could the structure, as designed, hold the weight of the walls and roof? They had heard stories of other churches crumbling to the ground, often with great loss of life. They wanted Orvieto to become famous for its intact cathedral, not for a disaster while trying to build it. A relatively unknown architect from Siena, Lorenzo Maitani, was brought to Orvieto, made a citizen of the town, and given charge of the project. Surprisingly little was recorded in the local archives about Lorenzo, save that he kept his position until his death twenty years later. Clearly he was a major influence on the eventual design and decoration, including the bottom tier of the spectacular facade. It was that part of the church which has always brought tourists to Orvieto, visitors who then sent the colorful image around the world in postcards and photographs. But Maitani’s true genius was in the interior of the cathedral, a space which displayed a symmetry and balance but which most visitors took for granted. That may have been just what the leaders of Orvieto in 1310 wanted.

  “Most tourists spend much of their time staring at the facade,” said Livio Morgante, “then quickly walk through this magnificent expanse to get to the frescoes of the chapel. Che peccato that the part of the cathedral where Maitani’s genius truly shines does not get the attention it should.”

  Since they were the only people in the church, he spoke in a normal voice, which echoed off the stone floor and walls. In the piazza the sun was starting to warm the air, but inside the night cold still clung to the stone, and everyone in the group, including Betta, kept their hands deep in the pockets of their wool coats. The priest had let them in the side door and scurried away to get warm, disappearing through an opening somewhere near the transept.

  The number of people in the tour was what Betta had expected, given what Morgante had said when he gave them the invitation. The tourism chief had introduced her to Bianca Cappello, but th
e need to start the tour had prevented her from meeting others. Just as well, since she didn’t want to shake the hand of Vincenzo Aragona. There were other women besides Bianca, but most of the group was male. Betta looked around, trying to guess which of them was Crivelli, but couldn’t decide.

  Everyone listened as Morgante explained how the massive columns played their structural role while drawing together the other architectural elements of the apse, including the half-circle window niches and the towering ceiling. The group’s eyes moved as Morgante’s narrative shifted from one feature to the next, and everyone stayed politely silent as he spoke.

  They walked to the middle of the transept, the central point of the cross the building itself formed. Morgante explained the design problems that the site had brought to the architect, forcing him to set aside exact symmetry in the face of practical considerations, and how he managed to hide it from the eye. The group walked a few steps up from the cathedral floor into the San Brizio Chapel, which held the most important artwork in the city—the frescoes of Luca Signorelli. Morgante was just beginning his speech about the paintings when the faint sound of the side door opening and closing reached their ears.

  Betta was relieved. Rick had made it after all, and had only missed a few minutes of Morgante’s presentation which was, she decided, the best she’d heard outside of her university art history lectures. It had the advantage of being less academic and more passionate. The man truly enjoyed being a booster for his city, and he did it well. She listened to the footsteps approaching the chapel and recognized the click of Rick’s cowboy boots. But there was more than one set of footsteps. Morgante stopped speaking and looked toward the chapel entrance causing everyone else to do the same.

  Rick and Inspector LoGuercio walked the distance from the side door and came up the steps into the chapel. Their eyes searched the crowd, looking quickly from one face to another. Betta tried to follow Rick’s gaze, but it moved too quickly. She watched as Rick leaned toward the policeman and said something in his ear. LoGuercio, his eyes still moving through the people, shook his head quickly.