Free Murder Most Unfortunate by David P Wagner Page B

loosely over a silk blouse, the corners almost reaching the top of the long skirt. Rick wore the same suit and tie from the previous evening’s festivities, if the dinner could now be called that after Fortuna’s murder, and his more formal pair of cowboy boots.
    The round entrance hall mirrored the central dome which both Rick and Betta instinctively turned their heads up to see. It had been painted blue, with a few white wisps of cloud and a passing bird, the entire sky lit by lights hidden around the lower edge. The man waited patiently while they looked, then showed them into a room beyond the hallway decorated with stuffed furniture, side tables, and ceramic lamps. The chairs and sofas were arranged into two conversation areas, but both faced a fireplace that ran from floor to ceiling. Rick guessed that, as old as the villa might be, the fireplace had been brought from some more ancient structure. Its opening was large enough to allow someone to stand upright inside it and still survey the room. Above its high mantle a coat of arms featuring a lion and three half-moons was carved into the stone. Four tall glass doors dominated the left wall. They would offer a spectacular view of the lawn and distant hills in daytime, but now only the covered walkway was visible.
    Angelo Rinaldi stood in front of the fireplace where a few logs glowed, a glass in his hand. He wore a herringbone jacket with a paisley tie, the picture of the country gentleman. A closely cropped goatee made it difficult for Rick to discern any resemblance between Rinaldi and his nephew, but perhaps when he got closer it would show.
    The other guest sat in the middle of a large sofa, glass in hand, looking up at the host. Rick guessed her age to be mid forties, about a decade younger than Rinaldi but in no rush to show it. Her dress was classic black, sleeveless and cut just enough below the neck to display a simple gold chain and pearl pendant. Her hem hovered tastefully just above the knee where her left hand rested. Rinaldi put down his glass and walked quickly toward Rick and Betta, weaving through the bulky furniture along the way. The woman stayed seated, an aloof smile on her lips.
    â€œRiccardo, I’m so glad you could come this evening.” He shook Rick’s hand and turned to Betta. “And this bella creatura ?”
    â€œElizabetta Innocenti, Signor Rinaldi, but she prefers Betta.”
    The man kissed Betta’s hand with a practiced flair. “And Betta it will be, but you shall both call me Angelo. I insist. Come, meet my other guest.” As they walked toward her, the woman took a sip from her drink, set it down, and brushed back a bit of her hair that had fallen over her eyebrows. She stood and inclined her head while studying Rick. “Caterina, this is Riccardo Montoya, the good friend of my nephew. Riccardo, Caterina Savona.” They shook hands. “And this is Rick’s friend Betta Innocenti.”
    Was there a faint twinge in the face of the woman when she was introduced to Betta? After the introductions, the woman insisted on sitting with Betta while her host stood with Rick. The man who had ushered them into the room reappeared with two thin glasses of prosecco. After serving Rick and Betta, and assuring himself that the others didn’t need refills, he disappeared through the doorway. Rinaldi called out a brief toast to the ladies—already deep in conversation—and turned back to Rick. They stood in front of the fireplace, its fire sending out the faint smell of a wood Rick couldn’t place. He was sure only that it wasn’t the piñon pine he remembered from winter nights in New Mexico.
    â€œBeppo spoke very highly of you, Riccardo. Said you had been very helpful in some case of his, but didn’t go into detail.” Rinaldi noticed Rick glancing at Betta. “No, I won’t mention Beppo’s profession to your lady friend, I sense that you have not