The Patience of the Spider by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online Page A

affected by her
mothers illness. And I felt ashamed to ask her...Just yesterday
afternoon . . .
    He broke off, then made a strange face, as though perplexed.
    How strange . . . Francesco muttered.
    The inspector pricked his ears.
    Just yesterday afternoon? he pressed.
    She was the one who suggested we go to my place. And
    I said yes. We didnt have much time, since shed been at the
    bank and then had to go to Tinas to study.
    The kid still looked bewildered.
    Maybe she wanted to reward you for your patience, said
Montalbano.
    Yeah, youre probably right. Because this time, for the
first time, Susanna was present. Entirely present. With me. Do
you understand?
    Yes. Sorry, but you said that before meeting you, shed
been to the bank. Do you know why she went?
    She had to withdraw some money.
    And did she?
    Of course.
    Do you know how much?
    No.
    So why had Susannas father said that she had only thirty
euros, at the most, in her pocket? Maybe he didnt know shed
been to the bank? The inspector stood up, and the young man
did the same.
    Okay, Francesco, you can go. Its been a real pleasure to
meet you. Ill give you a ring if I need you.
    He held out his hand, and Francesco shook it.
    Could I ask you one thing? the boy asked.
    Of course.
    Why, in your opinion, was Susannas motorbike parked
that way?
    This Francesco Lipari would make a good cop, no doubt
about it.
    He phoned Marinella. Livia had just come in and was happy.
    You know what? she said. Ive just discovered a fabulous
place. Its called Kolymbetra. Just think, it used to be a great big
pool, originally carved out by Carthaginian prisoners.
    Where is it?
Its right there, near the temples. Now its a kind of vast
    garden of Eden, just recently opened to the public.
Did you have lunch?
No, just a panino at Kolymbetra. How about you?
Nah, all I had was a panino, too.
The lie had come out spontaneously, without warning.
    Why hadnt he told her hed gorged himself on couscous and
mullets, violating the sort of diet that Livia was forcing him to
follow? For what reason? Perhaps a combination of shame,
cowardice, and a desire to avoid a quarrel.
    Poor thing! Will you be back late?
I really dont think so.
Then Ill cook something.
Here was the instant punishment for his lie. He would ex
    piate his sin by eating a dinner prepared by Livia. Not that she
was a terrible cook, but her dishes tended toward the flavorless,
the spiceless, the lightest of light, the I-can-but-I-cant-really-
taste-it. Instead of actually cooking, Livia hinted at cooking.
    He decided to drop in at the villa to see how things were
going. He drove off, and then, as he drew near, he noticed that
traffic was getting heavy. In fact there were a good ten cars
parked along the road that ran along one side of the villa, and
in front of the closed gate six or seven people jostled about,
videocams on their shoulders, trying to get a good shot of the
lane and the garden. Montalbano closed the windows of his
    car and drove forward, wildly honking his horn, until he nearly
    crashed into the gate.
    Inspector! Inspector Montalbano!
    Muffled voices called out to him; some asshole photographer
blinded him with a burst of flashes. Luckily the Montelusa
policeman standing guard recognized him and opened
the gate. The inspector drove his car inside, pulled up, and
got out.
    He found Fazio sitting in the usual armchair in the living
room, pale-faced, hollow-eyed, and looking generally very
tired. His eyes were closed, head thrown back and resting
against the back of the chair. A variety of gadgets were now
attached to the phone, including a tape recorder and headset.
A uniformed policeman, not from the Vig force, was standing
near a French door, thumbing through a magazine. The
moment the inspector entered, the telephone rang. Fazio leapt
up, and in the twinkling of an eye had donned the headset,
started the tape recorder, and picked up the