Death in the Dolomites by David P Wagner Read Free Book Online Page A

she may be interested in more than his rental skis.”
    â€œI would concur.” In contrast to when he was hatless, Luca now grabbed the place close to the curb, the snow settling softly on his new hat. He pulled out his cell phone and punched some buttons. “Sergeant? Inspector Albani. Any word on where to find Gina Cortese?…Excellent.” He wedged the phone against his ear and made some notes. “Thank you, we’ll do that later this afternoon. We’ve talked with the American woman and now we’re off to interview a certain Signor Umberto Melograno. What can you tell me about him?”
    ***
    They found the office of Agenzia Immobiliare Melograno S.A. just up the hill from the town’s main square. The building was a new construction, but in the chalet-style that dominated Campiglio. Rick surmised the design came under municipal building ordinances like the pueblo revival or territorial style required in Santa Fe. The covered porch allowed window-shoppers to peer at the merchandise of two stores on the ground floor. Next to the door leading to the second floor, a glass case with pictures of apartments and houses invited those interested to visit the real estate office. Luca and Rick shook the snow off their hats and shoulders and accepted the invitation.
    They opened the door at the top of the stairwell and found that the office took up the entire second floor. Directly in front of them was a reception area divided into two sections, each with two sofas facing each other and low tables between them. Magazines were fanned in neat arrangements on both tables. From their covers, Rick guessed them to be tourist and ski publications. Behind the seating area, on the far wall, Rick counted three doors, all closed. Along the left side of the room, glass walls enclosed a long wooden table and chairs where four people were meeting, their voices muffled by the glass. The right side of the office had three cubicles, two of which were unoccupied. In the third cubicle, a woman rose from her desk when she noticed the two new arrivals.
    â€œMay I help you?”
    â€œWe would like to talk with Signor Melograno, please. I am Inspector Albani and this is Signor Montoya.”
    The woman’s eyes darted from one to the other before settling on the policeman. “Signor Melograno is in a meeting at the moment.” She motioned toward the meeting room. “Is this about the missing American?”
    Luca gave her his best smile. “Yes it is.”
    â€œI’ll tell Signor Melograno you’re here.”
    They sat on one of the sofas while she walked to the door of the conference room and tapped on its glass door. The man at the head of the table looked up in annoyance. She opened the door, went to Melograno and whispered in his ear. As she talked he leaned forward to take stock of the two men sitting in the waiting area, giving them a stilted smile and nod. After hearing his reply she closed the door and came back to the two visitors. “Signor Melograno will be with you as soon as he finishes his meeting. May I bring you some coffee or something else to drink?”
    â€œThank you, no need to trouble you, we’ll just wait,” said Luca, answering for both of them. She returned to her cubicle and the policeman twirled his new hat on his knee before joining Rick in studying the man in the glass room. The only real estate agents Rick had known were in Albuquerque, and they had mostly been smiling middle-aged women with ample hair, usually blond. Melograno was a large man with a jowl bordering on a double chin, his head topped with thick, dark hair that fell slightly over the back of his collar. Rick was struck by the man’s resemblance to a former governor of New Mexico. Had Melograno’s shirt not been a clean, starched tattersall, he could almost have been described as unkempt. The nearly sloppy image was reinforced when he stood up—his belt was only partially