Murder Most Unfortunate Read Free Page A

fresh mixture of coffee and hot milk and stirred in sugar before glancing at the buffet table. A yoghurt? An orange? Why not? He took his napkin from his lap, placed it next to his empty plate, got to his feet. He stopped. Of course—why didn’t I think of it before ? I’ll call him after breakfast .
    He strode to the food table thinking that one of those sweet rolls would go well with what remained in his coffee cup.
    ***
    Rick pushed open the glass door of the hotel with one hand and pulled his cell phone from his pocket with the other. The night’s chill was clinging to the air, but the sun was well over the horizon and spreading warmth over the hills and valleys that surrounded Bassano. He scrolled through names on the phone’s screen as a dark blue car pulled up and a man in a matching suit emerged from the back and stood at the curb while closing one of the buttons on his jacket. He leaned over, spoke to the driver through the passenger-side window, and turned toward the hotel entrance. After one step he noticed Rick.
    â€œRiccardo, buon giorno .” It was as much a statement as a greeting.
    Rick put his phone away and extended his hand. “ Buon giorno, Dottor Porcari.”
    If Rick and his Uncle Piero had spotted Stefano Porcari when playing their “guess the profession” game, both would have immediately pegged him as a banker. It would have been too easy. Porcari was the vice president of the local bank which sponsored the seminar, sparing no expense, especially on the posters all around town which prominently featured the bank name and logo. Banco di Bassano proudly supported the community, and there was no better way to do it than through culture, especially when it involved Bassano’s most famous native son.
    â€œYou are returning to Rome today, Riccardo?”
    â€œI’m staying a few extra days to see the sights.”
    â€œExcellent. If I can be of any assistance, of course you will let me know.”
    â€œThank you, Dottore. Are you here to see someone from the seminar? Some of them are still here.”
    Porcari momentarily looked blank, then snapped out of it. “Why, yes.”
    â€œI saw Muller and Oglesby earlier in the lobby, and Gaddi and Sarchetti were in the dining room. I doubt if they have checked out yet.”
    â€œ Grazie , Riccardo, I’ll track them down.” He looked at his watch and Rick wondered if he had a set appointment with someone. But he was the kind of person who checked his watch frequently. Must be a banker thing.
    Rick again pulled his phone from his pocket once Porcari had disappeared into the building. He found the number he was searching for and tapped it. After five rings he was about to hang up when a familiar voice came on the line.
    â€œRick, I thought you were in Bassano del Grappa confusing people with your translations.”
    Beppo Rinaldi, Rick’s high school buddy, had surprised everyone when he got a position with the art police when he left the university. He’d been voted most likely to succeed by his classmates at the American School of Rome, but they assumed his success would be in industry. Indeed, they would have been surprised if he were not successful, since his father owned the company. But instead of studying business he chose art history, and now, instead of worrying about the bottom line, he concerned himself with finding stolen art. Rick was still amazed.
    â€œI am indeed in Bassano, caro Beppo, and the seminar in which I plied my trade has ended. Something came up during it, however, which has piqued my curiosity, and you are the man who can provide edification.”
    â€œI am always ready to edify un vecchio amico , Rick. What is your question?”
    Rick told him that the seminar theme was Jacopo Bassano, and one of the topics that had surfaced, with some short but heated discussion, was about two lost paintings by the master.
    â€œI know Jacopo, of course, and I vaguely