Free Adam's Rib by Antonio Manzini Page A

scorching his neurons to no avail. He decided to stop at the bar in Piazza Chanoux for an espresso. Maybe that would help.
    It was nice in there. It was warm, and there were lots of people sitting at the tables and chatting. Chatting in a language that Rocco didn’t understand. He shot a glanceat Ugo, who was busy pouring tonic water into a customer’s glass of gin. Ugo replied by pointing with his chin to the table by the plate glass window, Rocco’s usual place.
    The deputy police chief sat down and Ugo came right over. “Sorry, there’s a bit of a rush this evening. But then, Fridays are always like that. What can I bring you?”
    â€œA cup of coffee, American-style.”
    â€œIf you like, I’d be glad to let you sample a Blanc de Morgex that is out of this world.”
    Rocco thought it over. As he watched Ugo’s lips moving and smelled the fumes of alcohol spreading through the bar, he decided it was a good idea to try that wine. Ugo, as delighted as if Rocco had done him some great favor, went back to the counter. The deputy police chief looked around. Next to him, on his left, sat two students, deep in an intense conversation in low voices. They kept their hands on their glasses of beer and looked each other in the eyes. On his right were two women. Blond, short hair, fresh from the beautician, already on their third glass of red. They laughed frequently, elegant and carefree. They were both well over fifty. They spoke in Italian and Rocco caught an occasional snatch of their conversation.
    The one with blue eyes said: “I’ll tell you what I think. You’re doing the right thing. He’s handsome and he loves you.” Then she raised her glass ever so slightly and took a sip of wine. “Plus, and this is fundamental, he’s rich. You know what my mother always used to say?”
    â€œNo, what did she say?”
    The woman lowered her voice, but Rocco heard her allthe same. “She used to say, when your tits stop pointing at the stars and start pointing at your feet instead, that’s the time to make sure you have some very expensive shoes on those feet!” They both burst out laughing and took another gulp of their wine. Rocco too joined in the laughter, and it was at that exact moment that his mind grasped the detail that he sensed he’d overlooked and that he’d been trying to remember so unsuccessfully as he walked: Nora!
    HE THREW OPEN THE DOOR TO INSPECTOR RISPOLI’S office.
    â€œGive me some good news!”
    Caterina was at her computer. She leaped to her feet. “About what, Dottore?”
    â€œThe gift.”
    Caterina smiled, pulled open a desk drawer, and extracted a magazine. “Take a look.”
    Rocco grabbed the weekly. On it was the logo of a hotel in Chamonix, France. Pictures of a swimming pool and a girl lying half-naked on a massage bed, with an Asian woman rubbing her back. “What’s this?”
    â€œThree days of total relaxation at the romantic Hotel Aiguille du Midi . . . ayurvedic beauty treatments, shiatsu massages, three heated pools, chromotherapy, all in the magnificent setting of the French Alps.”
    â€œYou talk like a travel agent.” The deputy police chief laid down the magazine. “And you’re suggesting I give her this for her birthday?”
    â€œIt’s a romantic hotel. You’d have three wonderful days, Dottore. And you’d definitely make her happy.”
    â€œI don’t have three days to spare.”
    â€œA long weekend.”
    â€œThanks, Caterina, but it’s too big a deal. Believe me. Too much. Shit, it’s six o’clock and I’m back where I started from.”
    Caterina nodded.
    â€œWhat do you say to a pair of shoes?”
    Caterina made a face. “If you put it like that, it seems like a consolation prize.”
    â€œBut not just an ordinary pair of shoes. Tell me, as a woman, what kind of shoes would any woman be