The Sicilian Method by Andrea Camilleri

Author:Andrea Camilleri [Camilleri, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780143134978
Google: aA38DwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B085N3SZH3
Goodreads: 52617316
Publisher: Penguin Books
Published: 2020-10-06T05:00:00+00:00

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Violent hunger pangs began to assail him when he was still about a mile from home. For him, having eaten a stuffed panino or a couple of sandwiches was like not having eaten at all. And so the first thing he did, once inside the house, was race into the kitchen, remove Livia’s sign of warning and recommendations, and open the refrigerator. At a glance, he saw that it was empty. Slamming it shut, he turned in haste to the oven. O blessed be the heavens and all their little cherubs!

Adelina—who, as it was clear by now, didn’t give a flying fuck about Livia’s guidelines—had prepared for him a sartù di riso that the inspector had to restrain himself from eating right then and there, still cold. He lit the oven, took Livia’s sheet of paper into the bedroom, put it on the bedside table, removed his jacket, turned on the television, opened the French door to the veranda, waited another five minutes, pacing back and forth, then finally took out the casserole, set it down on a plate, sat down at the kitchen table, and began eating.

After the first spoonful, he stopped and took a deep breath. The dish was truly excellent.

He heaved a big sigh, grateful to life for granting him moments like this. After the third spoonful, he realized he was keeping his eyes closed, the better to taste the food. Feeling satisfied, halfway through the sartù he got up and kept eating in front of the TV, sitting down to watch the evening news.

In Paris, pandemonium had broken out when an abandoned suitcase was believed to be full of explosives. Hungary and Poland were refusing to take in their quota of migrants; worse yet, they’d started building walls to keep them out. Meanwhile, pedophilia scandals were erupting within the refugee camps. In Italy, they’d been fortunate to shut down only seven factories. The danger suddenly became clear to Montalbano: He was beginning to lose his appetite. He changed the channel and found himself face-to-face with the beautiful dancer who looked just like Antonia.

This time he did not change channels, but continued to eat with renewed happiness.

When he was done, he got up to fill a small glass with whisky and then sat back down in front of the television. As he was sipping it one drop at a time, the TeleVigàta evening newscast began. The face of Pippo Ragonese, the news chief, appeared, and he opened with these words:

“And where does the investigation into the murder of Carmelo Catalanotti currently stand?”

Montalbano turned it off at once and felt gripped by a kind of remorse. With all the things he had to do, what the hell was he doing, sitting there watching a dancer?

No, he really had to get a move on.

He cleared the table unceremoniously, washed his face, put his jacket back on, checked his pockets to make sure he had the right keys, went out, got in the car, and drove off.

But he didn’t go all the way to Via La Marmora.

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