The Art of Killing Well by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis Page B

Artusi’s main gifts was his ability to read people’s expressions and gestures, a natural talent which he had refined in his long years spent selling silk to half of Tuscany. To observe the customer moment by moment as you speak to him, to see his reactions: unlike the mouth, the body never lies. Eyes that narrow, arms that are folded, feet that point in a different direction from you, and all the other clues that you need to fear, because they indicate that the customer is unhappy, distrustful, bored.
    When Artusi had mentioned Signor Ciceri, Cecilia had folded her arms and clenched her fists, simultaneously turning a few degrees towards Artusi – and, as he immediately verified, in such a way as to point her feet away from Signor Ciceri.
    Anger, contempt and fear.
    After which, she had lowered her eyes and begun carefully removing imaginary crumbs from her dress.
    For reasons known only to me, I don’t like what I’ve just heard, screamed Cecilia’s behaviour.
    â€œSignorina …”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œMay I ask you if you have a problem with Signor Ciceri?”
    â€œA problem? No, not at all.”
    Now it was the turn of imaginary hairs to be removed from her dress.
    â€œSignorina, permit me to be frank, since it seems to me that frankness is something you appreciate. Your own honesty and lack of guile make it impossible for you to conceal feelings of approval or disapproval. I am somewhat older than you, signorina, and I owe my wealth and indeed my life to the fact that I am not easy to deceive. Having said that, I have no wish to force you to tell me anything, but only to let you know that if there is some way in which I can be of help to you, it would be an honour and a duty for me to do so.”
    Cecilia straightened her back and smiled. “Forgive me, Signor Pellegrino. It was not my intention to deceive you. There is a specific reason why I trust and respect you. For the same reason I do not trust Signor Ciceri at all.”
    â€œOn this, signorina, we harbour similar feelings.”
    â€œThey are not merely feelings, Signor Pellegrino. I don’t know if I should tell you this.”
    â€œI cannot oblige you to do anything, signorina. You must judge for yourself.”
    â€œThen let’s do it this way,” said Cecilia looking at Artusi with a conspiratorial air. “I will tell you the reason if you explain to me what
tommasei
are.”
    For a moment, Artusi was stunned. Then the clue, having gone through his brain, was transformed into an explanation and reached his eyes. Which opened wide.
    Now he’s going to kill me, thought Cecilia.
    After half a second, Artusi broke into a smile that lifted his whiskers, and looked at Cecilia with surprised amusement.
    Clever girl. What initiative.
    â€œI had to see who I could trust,” continued Cecilia. “Of my family, of course, I was certain. Of the guests, one never knows. The world is full of wicked people. The surest way I could think of was to see if you kept a diary, and, having found it, to read it.”
    â€œI see. And I imagine you found Signor Ciceri’s diary, too.”
    â€œNot exactly, Signor Pellegrino.”
    â€œWhat, then?”
    Cecilia told him.

    By the time Ispettore Artistico reached the castle, the news had already arrived. That was why the moment he appeared in the doorway of the drawing room, even though somewhat muddy and unpresentable from his cross-country run, he was greeted by spontaneous applause.
    Amid smiles, handshakes and pats on the back, the inspector received various offers of tea and tart, which he gratefully accepted. But those who yearned for a thrilling account of the chase across the fields were destined to be disappointed.
    â€œI am sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” he said as soon as he had swallowed his last enormous bite of fruit tart, “but at the moment my first wish is to make sure of the condition of the two casualties. Once I