Free Angelica's Smile by Andrea Camilleri Page A

the list of the Peritores’ friends and check to see which have second homes where they spend weekends or go and sleep every so often. We’ll meet back up in an hour or so.”
    “But where are you going?”
    “I’m gonna go see Zito.”
    Going to Montelusa meant he might miss his chance to see Angelica again, but such was life.

    He pulled up outside the Free Channel studios, got out of the car, and went in. The secretary flashed him a big smile.
    “What a lovely surprise! Long time no see! You’re looking good, Inspector.”
    “And you’re more beautiful every time I see you.”
    “The boss is in his office. You can go right in.”
    He and Zito were friends from way back.
    The door to the newsman’s office was open, and Zito, upon seeing him, got up and came forward to embrace him.
    “How’s the wife and kid?” Montalbano asked.
    “Everyone’s fine. You need something?”
    “Yeah.”
    “At your service.”
    “Did you hear Ragonese’s report on the two burglaries?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, there’s been a third. But nobody knows about it yet.”
    “So you’re giving me the scoop exclusively?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Thanks. What do you want me to say?”
    “That there was a robbery at the apartment of Signora Angelica Cosulich, who lives in Vigàta at 15, Via Cavour. You should point out that there’d already been a burglary at number 13 on the same street, at the home of the Peritores. Also mention that Signora Cosulich was at home asleep at the time of the robbery, but was rendered unconscious by knockout gas. And there you have it.”
    “What are you hoping to gain by this?”
    “A reaction.”
    “On whose part?”
    “I don’t know, to be honest. But if you receive an anonymous phone call or letter concerning the story, let me know at once. I mean it.”
    “I’ll feature it on the one P.M. report,” said Zito. “Then I’ll run it again on the evening news.”

    Montalbano drove back to headquarters at forty-five miles an hour, which for him was Formula 1–level speed.
    “Get me Fazio,” he said to Catarella.
    “Chief,” Fazio said after he came in, “I did what you wanted with just a few phone calls. Of the people on the list, there are two couples and one single who have a house outside of town: the Sciortinos, the Pintacudas, and Signor Maniace, who’s a widower.”
    “Did you find out where these houses are located?”
    “Yes, I got the addresses.”
    “All right, now we need for these people to tell us when they plan to—”
    “Already taken care of,” said Fazio. “I figured out where you were going with this, so I took the liberty of—”
    “You were absolutely right. Clearly the final break-in will be in one of these three houses.”
    “Signor Sciortino told me that a couple of friends from Rome may be arriving today. And they’ll all go to their seaside house. They agreed to let me know if and when they go.”
    “And has Signora Cosulich shown up?”
    “Not yet.”
    “By the way, the widow Cannavò, the busybody—did she tell you anything about La Cosulich?”
    “Are you kidding? She built her a monument! A statue to put on the altar! She told me the girl is faithful to the end to her boyfriend, who comes to see her only once a year, and that she’s always got a pack of men running around her, but she stands fast! A fortress, she is.”
    Montalbano smiled.
    “I guess La Cosulich has successfully kept her love nest a secret! Which is why she doesn’t want anyone finding out now.”
    Montalbano glanced at his watch. It was almost one. The telephone rang.
    It was Angelica.
    “Sorry I’m late. I’m on my way now.”
    “When you get here, ask for Inspector Fazio. He’ll take your statement.”
    “Oh.”
    Her tone seemed slightly disappointed.
    Or was he wrong?
    “So I won’t be seeing you? I’d thought . . . that, well, if you weren’t already engaged, we could have lunch together.”
    A wound far deeper and broader is made
    In the heart by a sharp arrow