Read Online IM11 The Wings of the Sphinx (2009) by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online Page B

reply was another honk.
    Did they want to have it out? If so, they would get their wish.
    He pulled over right there, at the side of the road.The car behind him did the same. Then the inspector lost patience. Despite the rain, he opened the car door and got out. At once he saw the driver of the other car open the door on the passenger’s side.
    He ran and jumped into the green car, ready to throw the first punch, but found himself in the arms of Ingrid, who was laughing.
    “I really got you pissed off, didn’t I, Salvo!”
    Ingrid Sjostrom! His friend, confidante, and accomplice! He hadn’t seen her for at least six months.
    “What a wonderful surprise, Ingrid! Where were you going?”
    “To meet a friend and go out to dinner with him. And where were you going?”
    “Home to Marinella.”
    “Are you alone? Do you have any engagements?”
    “I’m absolutely free.”
    “Wait a second.”
    She picked up her cell phone, which was lying on the dashboard, and dialed a number.
    “Manlio? This is Ingrid. Listen, I’m sorry, but I have to tell you, as I was getting dressed to come to your place, I suddenly got a terrible migraine. Can we put it off till tomorrow? Okay? You’re an angel.”
    She set down the cell phone.
    “Never had a migraine in my life,” she said.
    “Where shall we go?” asked the inspector.
    “To your place. If Adelina left you something to eat, we can share it.”
    “Okay.”
    With Ingrid there, the prospect of an evening at home changed.
    “I’ll go ahead and you follow.”
    “No, Salvo, my car is incapable of following behind yours. The engine suffers. Give me your house keys, I’ll go on ahead.”

    When he got there, Ingrid was in the bedroom. She was rifling through her bag.
    “Salvo, I’m going to take a shower. My clothes are all damp and sticky.”
    “When you’re done I’m going to take one myself.”
    At that moment Ingrid’s purse, which she had wanted to set down on the nightstand, fell to the floor, spilling its contents all over the room. They started picking things up, and after a while Ingrid checked to see if they’d found everything.
    “Bah,” she said, perplexed.
    “What’s missing?”
    “I thought I had a packet of condoms, but I can’t find it now. Maybe I didn’t bring it.”
    Montalbano looked at her dumbfounded.
    “Why are you making that face?”
    “Isn’t it up to the man to provide them?”
    “Theoretically, yes. But if he forgets, then what do you do? Start singing, Casta diva ?”
    “Wait and I’ll have a better look.”
    “Come on, Salvo. I don’t need them. Especially since I’ve decided to spend the evening with you . . . ,” she said, heading into the bathroom.
    Especially since she’s decided to spend the evening with me, she doesn’t need any condoms , he repeated to himself. Was Montalbano the hypothetical satyr supposed to feel offended? Or was Montalbano the prude supposed to feel proud?
    Lost in doubt, he went to open the French door to the veranda and stepped outside.
    It was raining relentlessly, of course.
    If the water from the heavens hadn’t wet the table or bench it was because the overhanging roof had done its job. To make up for this, however, the sea was washing all the way up to the bottom of the veranda, having swallowed up the entire beach.
    All things considered, he could set the table outside, even if it was a little chilly.
    He opened the refrigerator and was disappointed. Except for some olives and tumazzo cheese, there was nothing. Want to bet they would be forced to go out and look for a place to eat? He opened the oven.
    “O ye of little faith!” he reproached himself aloud.
    Adelina had made pasta ’ncasciata and melanzane alla parmigiana . He only had to light the oven and reheat them a little.
    Ingrid came out, wearing his bathrobe.
    “You can go in now.”
    Montalbano didn’t move, but kept looking at her.
    “Well?”
    “Ingrid, how long have we known each other?”
    “Over ten years.