Game of Mirrors by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online

so slow that when he was about to turn left, onto the little road leading to their two houses, the engine stalled.
    He started it up again, but then did something wrong. He couldn’t figure out what, but the fact was that the car lurched forward through the air, coming a good three or four inches off the ground. And at that same moment,Montalbano heard a loud crack against the body of the car, but didn’t worry, imagining it was probably a stone.
    “Oh my God, what was that?” asked Liliana, sitting up and opening her eyes in fright.
    “It was nothing, don’t worry,” said the inspector, reassuring her.
    “Listen,” she said, “I’m sorry, but I suddenly felt so sleepy.”
    “Shall we make it another time?”
    “If you don’t mind . . . Anyway, Adelina’s already decided I have to come to your place to eat the rest of the arancini.”
    “Good for Adelina!”
    He dropped her off outside her gate.
    “Need a ride into town tomorrow?”
    “I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. We’re closed for mourning. The owner’s mother died. Thank you for a lovely evening. Good night.”
         
    While it’s true that good food is not hard to digest, if you eat a lot of it, you still need some time to digest.
    He grabbed a bottle of whisky, a glass, his cigarettes and lighter, and went out on the veranda, but then thought he should call Livia first.
    “I just got back,” she said.
    “Did you go to the movies?”
    “No, I went out to dinner with some friends. It was my coworker Marilu’s birthday. Remember her?”
    He hadn’t the vaguest idea who she was. No doubt he’d met her a few times when he was in Boccadasse, but he didn’t remember anything about her.
    “Of course! How could I forget Marilu? So, was the food good?”
    “Certainly better than the awful slop your beloved Adelina makes for you!”
    How dare she? Apparently she was spoiling for a fight, but he was in no mood for squabbling. Anyway, if he got upset, it might ruin his digestion. So he decided to give her rope . . .
    “Well, I guess Adelina sometimes . . . Actually, tonight I couldn’t get anything she made past my lips.”
    “You see? I’m right. So you went hungry?”
    “Almost. I made do with some bread and salami.”
    “Poor thing!”
    Today was ladies’ commiseration day, apparently. After a little more conversation, they wished each other good night and hung up.
    What happened next took Montalbano so much by surprise that he couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or it was really happening.
    He’d just finished his first glass of whisky when he noticed, by the dim light of a slender moon, a human figure walking slowly along the water’s edge. When opposite the veranda, the person raised a hand and waved.
    Then he recognized her. It was Liliana.
    Grabbing his cigarettes and lighter, he went down to the beach. She’d kept walking, but he caught up with her.
    “When I got home I didn’t feel sleepy anymore,” she said.
    They walked in silence for about half an hour. The only talking came from the lapping surf like a continuous musical refrain.
    Then she said:
    “Shall we go back?”
    As they were turning around, their bodies lightly touched.
    Liliana took his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and did not let go of it until they were back at the veranda. Here Liliana stopped, grazed Montalbano’s lips with her own, and headed back towards her house.
    Montalbano stood there watching her until her silhouette vanished in the darkness.
    One thing he was sure of: if Liliana had decided not to talk to him that evening, it was not because she suddenly felt sleepy, but because what she had to tell him was not something easy to say, and she hadn’t had the courage to tell him.
         
    At eight o’clock the following morning, as he drove past the Lombardos’ house, he noticed that the shutters overthe bedroom window were still closed. No doubt Liliana was taking advantage of her day off from