Read Online Murder Most Unfortunate by David P Wagner - Free Book Online

him.” She revved the engine, and when the green light appeared they shot off to the right, Rick now holding on for safety as well as pleasure. Sarchetti’s car was a silver Alfa Romeo sedan with Milan plates. He was alone. The car moved through the little traffic at the edge of town before heading southwest where houses were farther apart and open fields took over the landscape. Anyone driving this road might think that agriculture was still the mainstay of the Veneto economy, rather than the small businesses and factories that now made it the most prosperous region in Italy, and one of the richest in Europe.
    Betta kept a safe distance as Sarchetti speeded up. He slowed only to pass through small towns: Marini, Bessica, Loria, and Riese Pio X which, Rick read on a sign, had added the name of a local priest when he’d become pope. One of the perks of the office. A moment later they were out amid the fields again, on another straight road. The Alfa speeded up but suddenly slowed down and turned into a small driveway with an open gate. Betta slowed down and passed, while she and Rick watched the car start up the gravel driveway toward a low villa. A hundred meters ahead she decelerated and pulled to the side. They flipped up their darkened visors and looked back at the villa, still visible at the top of the small hill.
    â€œWe’ll drive by again and get a good look at this place,” she called to Rick. She was about to make the U-turn but waited while a dark blue Fiat drove past and disappeared around a bend. She pulled out and the bike purred slowly past the gate. It was closing, either automatically or from someone inside pushing a button.
    The villa where Sarchetti’s car was now parked could well have been designed by Andrea Palladio, the architect of Bassano’s covered bridge. This part of the Veneto was studded with the vacation villas of wealthy sixteenth-century Venetians, and this one looked old enough. Rick was not enough of a student of architecture to recognize it. His eye was drawn to the square, two-story domed center, supported by columns reminiscent of a plantation in the American south. From the core structure, colonnades spread left and right, ending in smaller outbuildings featuring domed roofs that imitated that of the central building. The driveway was protected by low hedges, and it split a wide lawn that ran as far as he could see in both directions. Behind the villa rose a hill covered with large trees, their greens contrasting with the yellow of the building. He guessed that the working parts of the villa, including perhaps pens for animals, were hidden between the villa and the hill, so as not to distract the viewer’s eye from its elegant symmetry. The motorcycle followed a bend in the road and the building disappeared from sight. They both lowered their visors back into place as she picked up speed.
    â€œNice place,” Rick shouted. “Any idea who lives there?”
    She slowed down, lowering the noise level. “There are so many villas around here, Riccardo, it’s hard to keep track of the owners. We’ll stop in town and see if we can find out.” Within minutes they got back to Riese Pio X. “Let’s stop here for a coffee. It may be the best place to get some information.” Rick gave a thumbs-up, and she pulled in front of an establishment called Bar Pio X on the main street. Both instinctively ran their fingers through their hair after dismounting and pulling off the helmets. Rick chuckled as he held the door open for Betta.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    â€œI have a good friend from the university back in America who graduated from a school named St. Pius X. I wonder how he’d feel about a place in the pope’s hometown called Bar Pius X?”
    â€œBut I’ve heard that a bar in America is not the same as a bar in Italy.”
    â€œTrue, but he wouldn’t know that.”
    It was a typical Italian bar,