Mozzarella Most Murderous Read Free

the Campania while her husband attended a scientific conference. Not very romantic, but I was happy to be there on the Bay of Naples.
    Once in Sorrento, I had the rather silly idea that I could wheel the suitcase to the hotel, but a friendly taxi driver was quick to tell me that the hotel was well up the mountain. He said no lady but one from northern Europe would think of making that hike, so I took the cab. He was right. I could never have dragged my luggage through the crowded streets of the town and then up the hill, into the driveway, and onto an elevator that took me to the lobby. On the other hand, he charged me eighteen euros for the ride.
    The hotel itself was built up and down a cliff and was very beautiful. It should also have been romantic, but it wasn’t. I barely arrived in time for the first of the two boring dinners—the evening meal began and ended rather early for a Mediterranean resort. Not that it mattered. Whatever the plans of the meeting Jason would be attending were, I did not intend to eat dinner here again. Our host was a chemical company in Catania. Surely no good Sicilian would be satisfied with such food. The readers of my newspaper column certainly wouldn’t be.
    I hopped out of bed, thinking of the delicious bread the hotel provided at breakfast, flavored with fennel, if I wasn’t mistaken. Jason would, barring any other flight difficulties, be here by midday, as would other members of the conference. I set the coffee machine to prepare me a first cup while I showered and dressed, thinking I’d sip it by the pool on my floor before going down to breakfast; the hotel had a series of pools, one on each floor with waterfalls in between. What luxury. After my many years of being a stay-at-home wife and mother, it was rather nice to be by myself in a foreign resort that offered so many inducements to delight. Not that I planned to swim. A seriously frightening experience in France had made me wary of swimming, even though it was unlikely that I would be caught by a ferocious incoming tide in a hotel swimming pool.
    I supposed that I would be happy to see Jason. We hadn’t been getting along all that well, if the truth be told, but I had loved him for over twenty years and was no doubt wrong in suspecting that he had taken too warm an interest in a female graduate student. She wouldn’t be here, so I’d have no cause for irritation. And it was unlikely that I would come upon yet another pesky corpse whose death demanded investigation, so Jason would have no reason to complain.
    My husband had progressed from worry about my safety to anger at my propensity for getting myself into dangerous situations. He had a point. Why was I suddenly giving in to a desire for adventure? Because it was exciting, I suppose. Because, until the last few years, I had led such a placid life—wife, mother, hostess. The new, forty-something Carolyn was definitely beginning to enjoy these recent escapades that had required me to overcome fear and exhibit courage. But Jason was not happy with me! He wanted back his gourmet cook and tidy house-keeper, his docile wife.
    Once I was dressed for the day, I took my cup of coffee out to the pool, duly noted the signs that forbade me to take hotel towels out with me, jump or dive over the waterfall to the next level, or bring food or drink into the pool area, although apparently I could purchase it from the refreshment counter, to which I could also report emergencies. I ignored the last one because the refreshment station was unmanned, probably because I was visiting the pool before it was open for the day.
    Wondering if the hotel provided a book with an index to its numerous rules, I set my coffee down on a little table, pulled a padded deck chair into place, and prepared to laze about in the fresh morning air for fifteen minutes or so. In El Paso, where I now live, one has to get up almost before the sun to enjoy fifteen minutes of cool air. Most months of the year the