Read Anonymous Venetian for Free Online Page A

depletion,’ he said,
licking again.
     
    ‘I think they sell salt pills in
the pharmacies. Probably more hygienic,’ she said, leaning forward, but only to
take another ripe tomato from the sink. She cut it into thick slices and added
them to the ones already arranged in a circle around the edge of a large
ceramic plate.
     
    He opened the refrigerator, took
out a bottle of acqua minerale, and reached for a glass from the cabinet
above his head. He filled the glass, drank it down, drank another, then capped
the bottle and replaced it in the refrigerator.
     
    From the bottom shelf, he removed
a bottle of Prosecco. He ripped the silver foil from the cap, then slowly
pushed the cork up with both thumbs, moving it slowly and working it back and
forth gently. As soon as the cork popped from the bottle, he tilted it to one
side to prevent the bubbles from spilling out. ‘How is it that you knew how to
keep champagne from spilling when I married you and I didn’t?’ he asked as he
poured some of the sparkling wine into his glass.
     
    ‘Mario taught me about it,’ she
explained, and he knew immediately that, from the twenty or so Marios they
knew, she was talking about her cousin, the vintner.
     
    ‘Want some?’ he asked.
     
    ‘Just give me a sip of yours. I
don’t like to drink in this heat; it goes right to my head.’ He reached his arm
around her and held his glass to her lips while she took a small sip. ‘ Basta ,’
she said. He took the glass and sipped at the wine.
     
    ‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘Where are
the kids?’
     
    ‘Chiara’s out on the balcony.
Reading.’ Did Chiara ever do anything else? Except maths problems and beg for a
computer?
     
    ‘And Raffi?’ He’d be with Sara,
but Brunetti always asked.
     
    ‘With Sara. He’s eating dinner at
her house, and then they’re going to a movie.’ She laughed with amusement at
Raffi’s doglike devotion to Sara Paganuzzi, the girl two floors down. ‘I hope
he’s going to be able to pry himself away from her for two weeks to come to the
mountains with us,’ Paola said, not meaning it at all: two weeks in the
mountains above Bolzano, an escape from the grinding heat of the city, were
enough to lure even Raffi away from the delights of new love. Besides, Sara’s
parents had said she could join Raffaele’s family for a weekend of that
vacation.
     
    Brunetti said nothing to this,
poured himself another half glass of wine. ‘ Caprese?’  he asked, nodding
at the ring of tomatoes on the plate in front of Paola.
     
    ‘Oh, supercop,’ Paola said,
reaching for another tomato. ‘He sees a ring of tomatoes with spaces left
between each slice, pieces just big enough to allow a slice of mozzarella to be
slipped in between them, and then he sees the fresh basil standing in a glass
to the left of his fair wife, right beside the fresh mozzarella that lies on a
plate. And he puts it all together and guesses, with lightning-like induction,
that it’s insalata caprese for dinner. No wonder the man strikes fear
into the heart of the criminal population of the city.’ She turned and smiled
at him when she said this, gauging his mood to see if she had perhaps pushed
too far. Seeing that, somehow, she had, she took the glass from his hand and
took another slip. ‘What happened?’ she asked as she handed the glass back to
him.
     
    ‘I’ve been assigned to a case in
Mestre.’ Before she could interrupt, he continued. ‘They’ve got two commissari
out on vacation, one in hospital with a broken leg, and another one on
maternity leave.’
     
    ‘So Patta’s given you away to
Mestre?’
     
    ‘There’s no one else.’
     
    ‘Guido, there’s always someone
else. For one, there’s Patta himself It wouldn’t hurt him to do something else
but sit around in his office and sign papers and fondle the secretaries.’
     
    Brunetti found it difficult to
imagine anyone allowing Patta to fondle her, but he kept that opinion to
himself.
     
    ‘Well?’ she