Read Online The Case of the Orphaned Bassoonists by Barbara Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

head. “It’s always a bit complicated in Italy when a foreigner dies. Especially when foul play is suspected. I believe his grandmother was contacted last night and has arrived this morning.”
    “And his wife?”
    “He wasn’t married.”
    “But this Frigga he kept talking with on his cell phone…”
    Anna deliberately looked into the distance. “I had thought to be leaving today, now that the symposium is finished and the performance of Orlando Furioso is done. But I suspect I may be staying on a few days.”
    That reminded me of what I took to be Albert’s question, left for me at the front desk. “I suppose you have to leave because you have other musical engagements to fulfill?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “I didn’t catch what orchestra you were affiliated with.”
    “I am not affiliated, only a fill-in,” she said, and seemed so pleased with the assonance that she repeated it. But I could see she was watching me carefully and would not be caught out.
    “Now I have a question for you,” she said, in a disconcertingly flirtatious voice that contrasted with her bland demeanor and inquisitive eyes. “I find your friend Albert Egmont rather fascinating. I had hoped to see more of him. Is that possible? I understand from Marco that he is staying at the Danieli.”
    “I don’t really know.”
    “But he is your friend.” Again, that false sprightliness.
    “More an old acquaintance. He knows about missing things.”
    “Missing things,” she said significantly. “Missing bassoons?”
    “Among other things.”
    “Missing things are a sort of specialty of his?”
    “Why, did you lose something?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t for a moment believe in this sudden coyness, especially as regarded Albert.
    Anna smiled, and something in her eyes said that it was me she found attractive, not my friend the Egg. This disconcerted me even more.
    We were interrupted just then by the arrival of Marco with Andrew and Bitten in tow. They had all been to the police station, Marco explained. To give statements.
    “But why?” exclaimed Anna. “You were all at the concert last night. Though all of you did miss Act Three.” She laughed almost lightheartedly. “In fact, really, it’s only Cassandra and I who managed to stay for the whole performance. Come now, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” she said to Andrew, as if she knew exactly what he’d been saying about her oboe-playing.
    He turned bright red under his freckles, obviously the sort of person who enjoyed snide gossip more than telling hurtful truths.
    Bitten hadn’t said a word. Her robust Swedish good looks seemed to have vanished overnight. She walked into the palazzo , and Marco looked at Anna severely. “It is no laughing matter, Miss de Hoog. This Gunther, he was very nice, and a good musician too. It is a sad thing, a terrible thing, if he was murdered.”
    “No one feels that more than I,” she said, with a sudden return to seriousness. “I laugh because I am nervous. That is all. Has his grandmother arrived yet?”
    “Yes. She is at the police station. And Miss de Hoog, the police wish to interview you again for more details about discovering the body.”
    “Shall I…go to the station?” She looked anxious.
    “No, the inspector, he will come here very shortly. Please make yourself comfortable. And you, Cassandra?” Marco turned to me. “Still no word from Nicola?”
    “Not a peep,” I lied.
    “Your friend, this Albert, he did not come back to the scene of the crime with us. I told the police he was living at the Danieli.”
    Marco’s tone had become more hushed and urgent. He pulled me aside. “The bassoon, have you any thought where is the bassoon?”
    “I believe your father told us very firmly yesterday that the bassoon Albert brought over was not the bassoon that had been stolen.”
    “Yes, I know,” Marco murmured unhappily.
    “Well then?”
    “Even fathers make mistakes,” suggested Anna de Hoog, who had