The Golden Egg Read Free Page B

wouldn’t tell me.’
    â€˜How long did he work for them?’
    â€˜Forty years, sir. Until he retired.’
    â€˜So you’re a police family?’ Brunetti asked with a smile.
    â€˜I suppose you could say that, Dottore. Sandro’s brother Luca is in the Guardia Costiera.’
    â€˜Anyone else?’
    â€˜No, sir.’ Then, with a smile, Pucetti added, ‘My mother has a German Shepherd. Does that count?’
    â€˜I’m afraid not, Pucetti. Not unless it’s been trained to smell bombs or drugs.’
    Pucetti’s smile broadened. ‘I’m afraid all he can smell is food, Dottore.’ Then he asked, ‘What do you want to know about the vigili, sir?’
    â€˜It’s about that mask shop in Campo San Barnaba. I’ve been told the vigili have been ignoring the
plateatico
they use.’
    Pucetti glanced away, no doubt hunting for the shop in his route-walking memory. He looked back at Brunetti and said, ‘I’ll ask Sandro, sir.’
    Brunetti thanked him and sent him back to the squad room. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was well past the hour to go down to the bar at the bridge for a coffee. Signorina Elettra would come up in good time, he was certain.

3
    In order to distract himself from continuing to think about Patta’s request, Brunetti went downstairs and asked Vianello if he’d like to come for a coffee. The Inspector closed the file he was reading and got to his feet. They walked along the
riva
side by side, occasionally moving out of the way of the people walking towards them. Vianello talked about his vacation, which he had delayed until November and was now trying to organize.
    Inside the bar, they exchanged pleasantries with Sergio, the owner, who now worked only a few days a week. They ordered two coffees; while they waited, Vianello pulled a pamphlet from his pocket and placed it on the counter in front of Brunetti. He saw a long expanse of white sand, the usual palm trees bending down towards it, and in the far distance the beaches, equally white, of small islands.
    â€˜Where’s this?’ Brunetti asked, tapping a finger on one of the trees.
    â€˜The Seychelles,’ Vianello answered just as Sergio brought them their coffees. Vianello ripped open a packet of sugar and poured it into his cup, then added, ‘Nadia wants to go there.’
    â€˜You sound as if you don’t want to,’ Brunetti said as he stirred sugar into his own coffee.
    â€˜I don’t,’ Vianello answered.
    â€˜But you’ve got this,’ Brunetti said, licking his spoon clean and using it to tap the brochure.
    â€˜Nadia got it,’ Vianello clarified.
    â€˜And you’re carrying it around.’
    Vianello took a sip of coffee, swirled the cup twice, and finished it. He set it on the saucer and said, ‘I’m carrying it around, but I’m also carrying around the receipt for the hotel in Umbria we’ve reserved for the first two weeks in November.’
    â€˜Can you cancel the reservation?’ Brunetti asked.
    Vianello shrugged. ‘I suppose I can. Nadia went to school with the owner, and he knows how crazy my schedule can be. But I wanted the kids to see it.’
    â€˜Any particular reason?’ Brunetti asked.
    â€˜Because it’s a working farm. Not one of those places where they keep a donkey in a field and sell you apples to give to it,’ Vianello said with contempt. ‘They’ve got cows and sheep and chickens, all those animals my kids think live inside the television.’
    â€˜Come on, Lorenzo,’ Brunetti said with a smile, ‘they’re a little too old for that.’
    Vianello smiled, ‘I know. But the animals might as well be on TV. How are city kids supposed to know what an animal is and what it does or what it’s like to work the land?’
    â€˜You think that’s important?’ Brunetti asked.
    â€˜Of course it’s