Death al Dente by Peter King

Author:Peter King
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: food, mystery, cozy
ISBN: 9781453277850
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE PLUMES ON THE hat were undoubtedly eagle feathers, I would not believe that the captain would wear any other. The uniform was similar to that he had worn in our last encounter, but this one had three rows of medals. The epaulettes had shiny silver emblems, and the most striking feature of all, the cloak, was big enough to make a tent for a platoon.

He made his way to Elena, the widow, first of all and was clearly consoling her though he was too far away for us to hear. The monsignor who had conducted the service was next for him to talk to, and then he chatted with several relatives one after another. “I know he swaggers a lot,” said Francesca, “but he is a very compassionate man.”

I got Francesca and myself another drink and we had time to pay another visit to the buffet table before Captain Cataldo had fulfilled all his duties. He exchanged greetings with a few other people then finally made his way over to us. Francesca hugged him, cloak and all.

“Is this your first Italian funeral?” he asked me.

“It is. Very illuminating, new viewpoints on the Italian character.”

“The Anglo-Saxon funeral is a very depressing affair. I attended one once. It tried hard to match the dark skies and the rain which did not stop.”

His handsome tanned face with its bold features and proud Roman nose was even more impressive than I remembered it, perhaps accented by the magnificent outfit. I congratulated him on it and he preened. “I wear it for special occasions,” he explained. “I have another—well, two—three if you count the full dress uniform—but this one is more suitable for a funeral.”

He eyed me reflectively. “So, no more attempts on your life, I hope?”

Francesca and I traded glances. He was quick to interpret them correctly. “Better tell me,” he ordered gravely.

I told him of the latest episode involving the murderous monk.

“So he claimed not to be trying to kill you or even frighten you …” He thought about that for a moment. “At least you showed good judgment in choosing a rendezvous.” He permitted himself a slight smile. “In front of the Questura, near the guards—that was good.”

“I didn’t tell him about the assistant public prosecutor who was shot dead in front of that building a few weeks ago,” said Francesca matter-of-factly.

“Probably different circumstances altogether,” I maintained lamely.

“A drive-by shooting,” she said.

Cataldo was tactful enough to change the direction of the conversation. “You say you think you would know the man if you saw him again?”

“I’m pretty sure. Now, what can you tell us?” I asked, hurrying to head off any more helpful comparisons from Francesca.

“Further analytical work has found absolutely nothing harmful in Signor Pellegrini’s stomach. We have tested and double-tested samples of all the different plants and flowers in Bernardo’s kitchen—nothing.”

“Any other victims?”

“Another guest reported having severe internal pains that night. Our police doctor is conferring with the man’s family doctor to see if the symptoms match. There may be no connection—we Italians have crisi di fegato—problems with the liver.

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