Free Game of Mirrors by Andrea Camilleri

not to report him. And that’s the whole story.”
    No, it was not the whole story. What about the man with the Volvo? But Liliana was no longer talking. She’d put her arm around his shoulders and held him tight.
    “I feel so good with you!” she whispered to him, her lips almost touching his ear. All he had to do was turn his head slightly and . . .
    The telephone rang.
    “Excuse me,” he said, freeing himself from her embrace.
    It was Livia.
    “Are you alone?”
    Why did she ask that? What, did she have a sixth sense or something? Did a little bird tell her?
    “Yes.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Well, aren’t we talkative tonight! Can you talk or can’t you?”
    “I just said—”
    “All right, all right, I won’t bother you any further.”
    She hung up.
    When he went back out on the veranda, Liliana had stood up and was leaning on the railing.
    The magical moment had passed. It was unlikely to return, at least that evening. Montalbano went and stood beside her, firing up a cigarette.
    The young woman waited for him to finish smoking it, then said:
    “It’s late. I’m going home.”
    “Look, if you want to stay a little longer, I’m not . . .”
    Liliana looked at her watch and gave a start.
    “I didn’t realize it was so late! Oh my God, thanks, but I can’t stay; I really have to run!”
    Why was she suddenly in such a hurry?
    “I’ll walk you home.”
    “No.”
    That “no” was so sharp that Montalbano said nothing. Liliana went into the house, followed by the inspector.Standing inside the still-closed front door, she turned and held out her hand.
    “Thank you for a lovely evening, for the arancini, and for being so patient with me.”
    “Tomorrow morning at eight?”
    “If it’s not too much trouble . . .”
    Then all at once she threw her arms around him, kissed him on the lips, opened the door, went out, and closed it behind her.
         
    Montalbano went back out to the veranda and sat down.
    Dear, beautiful Liliana hadn’t told him the whole truth. She’d sung only half the Mass. Which, however, was enough for him to explain Arturo’s agitation when he’d shown up at the Tallarita home. Apparently the kid was thinking Liliana had changed her mind and decided to report him for damaging her car. The inspector had to tell Fazio to stop investigating Arturo. It was all clear now.
    What remained in total darkness, however, was the way Liliana had behaved with him. She had performed—quite well, he had to admit—the opening moves of a textbook seduction. Tactically perfect. But perhaps it was still too early to try and figure out the reason. He had to wait for another little tête-à-tête before he could see clear on this. At any rate, it was obvious that Liliana wanted him on her side, as an ally.
    But against whom?
    What was the other half of the Mass?
    He made a bet with himself. And having done so, he started laughing.
    But before he found out whether he’d won or lost, perhaps it was best to wait a little longer.
    And so he poured himself three fingers’ worth of whisky and sipped it slowly, taking his time.
    Then he went into the house and opened the front door without bothering to turn out the light in the vestibule.
    He started walking down the road. When he came within sight of the gate to the Lombardos’ house, he felt deeply disappointed. He’d been completely mistaken.
    He turned around and headed back home. But after taking three steps, he changed his mind and resumed walking towards the Lombardos’ house.
    When he got to the gate, he could see the green Volvo parked in the little yard.
    Light was filtering through the bedroom shutters.
    He’d won the bet.
         
    He slept poorly. It was a mistake not to have taken a nice long walk after eating the arancini.
    He woke up at six thirty but needed an entire mug of espresso before he felt in any condition to get as far as the bathroom.
    As he was about to enter the shower, he heard the