Free Murder Most Unfortunate by David P Wagner Page A

complementing their respective chassis. She had worn minimal makeup during the day, but when he picked her up that evening in front of the shop she had a soft blush on her face which contrasted with the dark hair and darker eyes. She gave him a peck on the cheek and slipped into the seat of the Alfa. Rick closed the passenger door carefully and walked around to the driver’s side while trying again to identify her perfume. He would have to ask. It was his experience that women loved being asked about their perfume.
    â€œThis should be an interesting evening,” she said as Rick pulled slowly from the curb. “I feel like we’re going undercover.” She flashed a quick smile.
    You don’t know the half of it, he thought. “Likely it’s just a coincidence, and the man is without blemish, but it is somewhat eerie that we actually followed someone to his villa this very afternoon.”
    â€œIsn’t it? His nephew, your friend, what does he do in Rome? Also a businessman, I suppose?”
    â€œHe should be an industrialist, like his father and his uncle, but Beppo works in an office at the Culture Ministry. Is this where I turn?”
    After a few traffic lights, on the same route they had taken earlier, the buildings became fewer and the only lights were from their headlights and the occasional farmhouse along the side of the road. The few cars they passed were coming toward Bassano, likely for a meal in one of the city’s restaurants. The farther they drove from town the fewer the cars in either direction.
    Betta turned in her seat and looked at Rick’s profile. “Do you always wear your hair this long?”
    â€œIt’s not really that long.” He took one hand off the wheel and ran it through his hair while he tried to remember the last time he’d been to the barber. “You think I should cut it?”
    â€œNo, no. It looks fine. It goes with the cowboy boots.” She turned her eyes back to the road ahead. “It’s the first time I’ve been out with a man who wears cowboy boots.”
    â€œBack in New Mexico, all the women I dated wore cowboy boots.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYou should get a pair. You’d be surprised how comfortable they are.”
    â€œAnd I imagine they protect you against rattlesnakes.”
    â€œThat too.”
    The road was now a straight line. They watched a set of headlights appear in the distance, get larger, and zip past them. “Is it really that different in America?”
    Rick glanced at Betta and then back at the pavement. “If you’re hoping I’ll say that people are the same under the skin the world over, you’ll be disappointed. Do you think that Milanese are different from Neapolitans?”
    â€œThey’re not from the same planet.”
    â€œAnd proud of it.”
    â€œSo how is your New Mexico different from my Veneto?”
    â€œTo begin with, the women here ask harder questions.”
    Ten minutes later their car turned into the driveway and stopped at the gate. “Signor Montoya?” squawked a voice from an invisible source.
    â€œ Si ,” Rick called through his open window as he searched unsuccessfully for a camera or microphone. The gate ground open and they drove up the gravel driveway to the house, where a man in a white coat came down the steps and opened the car door to allow Betta to step out.
    â€œYou may leave the car where it is, Signor Montoya. There is only one other guest this evening.” He nodded toward a dark sedan parked a few meters in front of Rick’s car. “This way, please.” Rick and Betta followed him up a few steps, where he held open the door for them to enter the villa and then closed it behind them. “May I take your wrap, Signora?”
    â€œI’ll keep it for the moment, thank you.” The garment over her shoulders, a milky coffee color, was something between a scarf and a shawl. It hung