look anything but witchlike as she did it. Brunetti tried, with very little success, to strip his mind clear of the love and familiarity of more than twenty years and look at her objectively. He saw a tall, slender woman in her early forties with tawny blonde hair that spilled down to her shoulders. She turned and shot him a glance, and he saw the long nose and dark eyes, the broad mouth which had, for decades, delighted him.
'Does that mean I get to trade you in?' he risked.
She fought the smile for an instant but then gave in to it.
'Am I being a fool?' she asked.
He was about to tell her that, if she was, it was no more than he was accustomed to when the door burst open and Chiara launched herself back into the apartment
'Papa,' she shouted from down the hall, 'you didn't tell me.'
'Tell you what, Chiara? ’
'About Francesca's father. That somebody killed him ’
'You know her? ’ Brunetti asked.
She came down the hall, cloth bag hanging from one hand. Obviously, curiosity about the murder had driven her anger with Brunetti from her mind. 'Sure. We went to school together. Are you going to look for whoever did it?'
‘I’ m going to help,' he said, unwilling to open himself to what he knew would turn into unrelenting questioning. 'Did you know her very well? ’
'Oh, no, ’ she said, surprising him by not claiming to have been her best friend and, as such, somehow privy to whatever he might learn. 'Sh e hung around with that Pedro cci girl, you know, the one who had all those cats at home. She smelled, so no one would be her friend. Except Francesca. ’
'Did Francesca have other friends?' Paola asked, interested herself now and hence willingly complicit in her husband's attempt to pry information from then-own child. 'I don't think I ever met her.'
'Oh, no, she never came back here with me. Anyone who wanted to play with her had to go back to her house. Her mamma insisted on that.'
'Did the girl with all the cats go?'
'Oh, yes. Her father's a judge, so Signora Trevisan didn't mind that she smelled.' Brunetti was struck by how clearly Chiara saw the world. He had no idea in which direction Chiara would travel, but he had no doubt that she would go far.
'What's she like, Signora Trevisan?' Paola asked and then shot a glance toward Brunetti, who nodded. It had been gracefully done. He pulled out a chair and silently took a place at the table.
'Mamma, why don't you let Papa ask these questions since he's the one who wants to know about her?' Without waiting for her mother's lie, Chiara walked across the kitchen and folded herself into Brunetti's lap, placing the now forgotten, or forgiven, bottles on the table in front of them. 'What do you want to know about her, Papa?' Well, at least she hadn't called him Commissario.
'Anything you can remember, Chiara,' he answered. 'Maybe you could tell me why everyone had to go and play at their house.'
'Francesca wasn't sure, but once, about five years ago, she said she thought it was because her parents were afraid that someone would kidnap her.' Even before Brunetti or Paola could comment on the absurdity of this, Chiara continued, 'I know, that's stupid. But that's what she said. Maybe she was just making it up to make herself sound important. No one paid any attention to her, anyway, so she stopped saying it.' She turned her attention to Paola and asked,' When's lunch, Mamma? I'm starved, and if I don't eat soon, I’ll faint,' whereupon she did just that, collapsing and sliding down towards the floor, only to be saved by Brunetti, who instinctively wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back towards him.
'Fake,' he whispered in her ear and began to tickle her, holding her prisoner with one arm while he poked and prodded her side, ru nning his ringers up and down her ribs.
Chiara shrieked and waved her arms in the air, gasping with shock and delight. 'No, Papa. No, let me go. Let me .. The rest was lost in high peals of laughter.
Order was restored
'Does that mean I get to trade you in?' he risked.
She fought the smile for an instant but then gave in to it.
'Am I being a fool?' she asked.
He was about to tell her that, if she was, it was no more than he was accustomed to when the door burst open and Chiara launched herself back into the apartment
'Papa,' she shouted from down the hall, 'you didn't tell me.'
'Tell you what, Chiara? ’
'About Francesca's father. That somebody killed him ’
'You know her? ’ Brunetti asked.
She came down the hall, cloth bag hanging from one hand. Obviously, curiosity about the murder had driven her anger with Brunetti from her mind. 'Sure. We went to school together. Are you going to look for whoever did it?'
‘I’ m going to help,' he said, unwilling to open himself to what he knew would turn into unrelenting questioning. 'Did you know her very well? ’
'Oh, no, ’ she said, surprising him by not claiming to have been her best friend and, as such, somehow privy to whatever he might learn. 'Sh e hung around with that Pedro cci girl, you know, the one who had all those cats at home. She smelled, so no one would be her friend. Except Francesca. ’
'Did Francesca have other friends?' Paola asked, interested herself now and hence willingly complicit in her husband's attempt to pry information from then-own child. 'I don't think I ever met her.'
'Oh, no, she never came back here with me. Anyone who wanted to play with her had to go back to her house. Her mamma insisted on that.'
'Did the girl with all the cats go?'
'Oh, yes. Her father's a judge, so Signora Trevisan didn't mind that she smelled.' Brunetti was struck by how clearly Chiara saw the world. He had no idea in which direction Chiara would travel, but he had no doubt that she would go far.
'What's she like, Signora Trevisan?' Paola asked and then shot a glance toward Brunetti, who nodded. It had been gracefully done. He pulled out a chair and silently took a place at the table.
'Mamma, why don't you let Papa ask these questions since he's the one who wants to know about her?' Without waiting for her mother's lie, Chiara walked across the kitchen and folded herself into Brunetti's lap, placing the now forgotten, or forgiven, bottles on the table in front of them. 'What do you want to know about her, Papa?' Well, at least she hadn't called him Commissario.
'Anything you can remember, Chiara,' he answered. 'Maybe you could tell me why everyone had to go and play at their house.'
'Francesca wasn't sure, but once, about five years ago, she said she thought it was because her parents were afraid that someone would kidnap her.' Even before Brunetti or Paola could comment on the absurdity of this, Chiara continued, 'I know, that's stupid. But that's what she said. Maybe she was just making it up to make herself sound important. No one paid any attention to her, anyway, so she stopped saying it.' She turned her attention to Paola and asked,' When's lunch, Mamma? I'm starved, and if I don't eat soon, I’ll faint,' whereupon she did just that, collapsing and sliding down towards the floor, only to be saved by Brunetti, who instinctively wrapped both arms around her and pulled her back towards him.
'Fake,' he whispered in her ear and began to tickle her, holding her prisoner with one arm while he poked and prodded her side, ru nning his ringers up and down her ribs.
Chiara shrieked and waved her arms in the air, gasping with shock and delight. 'No, Papa. No, let me go. Let me .. The rest was lost in high peals of laughter.
Order was restored
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