Free The Paper Moon by Andrea Camilleri Page B

words would have the same effect they had the first time. And they did.
    The woman sprang to her feet. Her dressing gown opened. She was completely naked underneath. No panties, no bra. A splendid, lush, compact body. She arched her back. In the motion her hair fell down onto her shoulders. She clenched her fists, arms extended at her sides. Her eyes were popping out of her head. Fortunately they weren’t looking at the inspector. Watching obliquely as if through a window, Montalbano saw a raging sea uncoil in those eyes, with force-eight waves rising to peaks like mountains and crashing back down in avalanches of foam, then re-forming and falling back down again. The inspector got scared. A memory from his school days came back to him, that of the terrible Erinyes. Then he thought the memory must be wrong; the Erinyes were old and ugly. Whatever the case, he clung tightly to the arms of the easy chair. Michela was having trouble speaking; her fury kept her teeth clenched.
    “ She did it!”
    The two sheets of sandpaper had turned into grindstones.
    “Elena killed him!”
    Her chest had become a bellows. Then all at once the woman fell backwards, hitting her head against the armchair and rebounding forcefully before collapsing in a swoon.
    Covered in sweat from the scene he’d just witnessed, Montalbano went out of the living room, saw a door ajar, realized it was the bathroom, went in, wet a towel, returned to the living room, knelt beside Michela, and began wiping her face with the towel. By now it had become a habit. Slowly the woman began to come to. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she did was cover herself with the dressing gown.
    “Feeling better?”
    “Yes. Forgive me.”
    She had amazing powers of recovery. She stood up.
    “I’m going to go have a drink of water.”
    She returned and sat back down, calm and cool, as though she hadn’t just had an uncontrollable, frightful bout of rage verging on an epileptic fit.
    “Did you know that Monday evening your brother and Elena were supposed to meet?”
    “Yes, Angelo called to tell me.”
    “Elena says that meeting never took place.”
    “What was her story?”
    “She said she went out, but after she got in the car, she decided not to go to their rendezvous. She wanted to see if she could break off with your brother once and for all.”
    “And you believe that?”
    “She has an alibi, which I’ve checked out.”
    It was another whopping lie, but he didn’t want her flying into a rage if some journalist happened to mention Elena’s name.
    “Surely it’s false.”
    “You mentioned that Angelo used to buy Elena expensive gifts.”
    “It’s true. Do you think her husband, with the salary he has, can afford to buy her the kind of car she drives?”
    “So if that’s the way it was, what motive would Elena have had for killing him?”
    “Inspector, it was Angelo who wanted to end the relationship. He couldn’t take it any longer. She tormented him with her jealousy. Angelo told me she once wrote to him threatening to kill him.”
    “She sent him a letter?”
    “Two or three, as far as that goes.”
    “Do you have these letters?”
    “No.”
    “We didn’t find any letters from Elena in your brother’s apartment.”
    “Angelo must have thrown them away.”
    “I think I’ve inconvenienced you too long,” said Montalbano, standing up.
    Michela also stood up. She suddenly looked exhausted. Putting her hand over her forehead as if from extreme fatigue, she teetered slightly.
    “One last thing,” said the inspector. “Did your brother like popular songs?”
    “He listened to them now and then.”
    “But there was no appliance for listening to music in his apartment.”
    “He didn’t listen to music at home, in fact.”
    “Where did he, then?”
    “In his car, during his business trips. It kept him company. He had many CDs.”

7
    Michela said her brother’s garage was the first one on the left. It had two locks, one on the left