museum in Florence, and Julie had been looking forward to showing it to Marti.
“Oh, we got there, all right,” Julie said.
“All the way to the door,” Marti put in. “Which was closed, and on which a little sign was pasted. In English, sort of:
Museum close, becowse on strike
.”
“Too bad. Will it be open tomorrow? We’ll still be here in the morning.”
“That information,” Marti said, “was not forthcoming.”
“But we did get to the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens,” Julie said, “so, all in all, it was a good day.”
John gestured to the two unoccupied chairs. “So, join us. We promise, no more talk about skeletons and murders.”
Marti began to sit down, but Julie stopped her. “I wouldn’t count on that, Marti. I’m looking forward to a nice, long, two-hour Italian dinner, and I don’t know about John, but I doubt that Gideon can go that long without skeletons creeping into the conversation. Let’s go freshen up and let them get it out of their systems.”
“No, really—” Gideon said.
Marti shook her head. “Nup, Julie’s right. You two were right in the middle of something. At least finish that. Anyway, I need a touch-up. We’ve been out all day.”
“Well, I might as well finish getting that call to Rocco out of the way, then,” Gideon said as the women left in search of the restroom. “Shouldn’t take long.”
Rocco picked up at once. “
Pronto
.”
“Rocco, it’s Gideon.”
“Hello, Gid. Look, we’re just about to eat. Could I maybe call you a little later?”
“Sure, but this’ll just take a second. I’d really like to have a look at any medical reports that were made on the husband’s skeleton. Would it be possible for you to e-mail me copies down in Figline Valdarno?”
“Yeah, it’d be possible, but it’d take about a year to get the clearance to do it. If you could come back into Florence, you can look at them here.”
“Can’t. Class until one, and then we head straight for Figline. How about the day after?
“Thursday’s not so good for me, I’m kind of tied up. Unless you could be here before things start, say eight o’clock?”
“Will do. I’ll be there at eight A.M. sharp. I expect John’ll be there too.” He threw an inquiring glance at John, who responded with a shocked “Eight A.M ., as in eight o’clock in the
morning
?” John was not known as an early riser. “Are you kidding me?”
“He says he’s greatly looking forward to it,” Gideon said. “Where do we come?”
“Regional headquarters. Borgo Ognissanti 48. It’s not that far from Santa Maria Novella, not even a ten-minute walk.”
“Thanks, Rocco, see you Thursday. Sorry about interrupting your dinner.”
“No problem,” Rocco said, and then, mostly to himself: “Just let me jot this down. P. Cubbiddu report for—”
Startled, Gideon jerked upright. “
What
did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. What’d you think I said?”
“Cubbiddu.”
“Oh. Yeah. I know, it’s a weird name—Sardinian. These people—”
“We know these people,” said Gideon. “We know these people. That’s where we’re going tomorrow, to the winery, to Villa Antica. That’s how come I know Figline Valdarno.”
“You’re kidding me! Why didn’t tell me that before?”
“Now, how could I tell you that when you never told us—”
“Okay, okay, you’re right, but how do you come to know them? Oh, jeez, I really gotta go. I’m gonna get my head handed to me if the food gets any colder. Tell me about it later.” And he was gone.
Marti and Julie had returned while Gideon was on the phone.
“Who were you talking about the Cubbiddus to?” Julie asked as she took her seat.
“Rocco Gardella. A lieutenant in the
Carabinieri
.”
“A
carabiniere
? Has something happened in the case? Have they found them?”
“Yes, both of them, Pietro and Nola. Their bodies.”
They waited for more, but Gideon just sat there, abstracted, hands steepled in front of
“Oh, we got there, all right,” Julie said.
“All the way to the door,” Marti put in. “Which was closed, and on which a little sign was pasted. In English, sort of:
Museum close, becowse on strike
.”
“Too bad. Will it be open tomorrow? We’ll still be here in the morning.”
“That information,” Marti said, “was not forthcoming.”
“But we did get to the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens,” Julie said, “so, all in all, it was a good day.”
John gestured to the two unoccupied chairs. “So, join us. We promise, no more talk about skeletons and murders.”
Marti began to sit down, but Julie stopped her. “I wouldn’t count on that, Marti. I’m looking forward to a nice, long, two-hour Italian dinner, and I don’t know about John, but I doubt that Gideon can go that long without skeletons creeping into the conversation. Let’s go freshen up and let them get it out of their systems.”
“No, really—” Gideon said.
Marti shook her head. “Nup, Julie’s right. You two were right in the middle of something. At least finish that. Anyway, I need a touch-up. We’ve been out all day.”
“Well, I might as well finish getting that call to Rocco out of the way, then,” Gideon said as the women left in search of the restroom. “Shouldn’t take long.”
Rocco picked up at once. “
Pronto
.”
“Rocco, it’s Gideon.”
“Hello, Gid. Look, we’re just about to eat. Could I maybe call you a little later?”
“Sure, but this’ll just take a second. I’d really like to have a look at any medical reports that were made on the husband’s skeleton. Would it be possible for you to e-mail me copies down in Figline Valdarno?”
“Yeah, it’d be possible, but it’d take about a year to get the clearance to do it. If you could come back into Florence, you can look at them here.”
“Can’t. Class until one, and then we head straight for Figline. How about the day after?
“Thursday’s not so good for me, I’m kind of tied up. Unless you could be here before things start, say eight o’clock?”
“Will do. I’ll be there at eight A.M. sharp. I expect John’ll be there too.” He threw an inquiring glance at John, who responded with a shocked “Eight A.M ., as in eight o’clock in the
morning
?” John was not known as an early riser. “Are you kidding me?”
“He says he’s greatly looking forward to it,” Gideon said. “Where do we come?”
“Regional headquarters. Borgo Ognissanti 48. It’s not that far from Santa Maria Novella, not even a ten-minute walk.”
“Thanks, Rocco, see you Thursday. Sorry about interrupting your dinner.”
“No problem,” Rocco said, and then, mostly to himself: “Just let me jot this down. P. Cubbiddu report for—”
Startled, Gideon jerked upright. “
What
did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. What’d you think I said?”
“Cubbiddu.”
“Oh. Yeah. I know, it’s a weird name—Sardinian. These people—”
“We know these people,” said Gideon. “We know these people. That’s where we’re going tomorrow, to the winery, to Villa Antica. That’s how come I know Figline Valdarno.”
“You’re kidding me! Why didn’t tell me that before?”
“Now, how could I tell you that when you never told us—”
“Okay, okay, you’re right, but how do you come to know them? Oh, jeez, I really gotta go. I’m gonna get my head handed to me if the food gets any colder. Tell me about it later.” And he was gone.
Marti and Julie had returned while Gideon was on the phone.
“Who were you talking about the Cubbiddus to?” Julie asked as she took her seat.
“Rocco Gardella. A lieutenant in the
Carabinieri
.”
“A
carabiniere
? Has something happened in the case? Have they found them?”
“Yes, both of them, Pietro and Nola. Their bodies.”
They waited for more, but Gideon just sat there, abstracted, hands steepled in front of
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