Death in the Dolomites by David P Wagner

crossed. He comes up to Campiglio frequently to ski.”
    â€œAnd how was his manner this time, in comparison with the other times you had met? Did he seem different? Preoccupied?”
    Melograno rubbed his chin and thick neck with his right hand to help him remember. “I wouldn’t say so. He is always very serious, very correct, when talking business. Not that I have seen him in any social occasions. That was the way he was on Thursday. Very correct.”
    And that matches the way his sister had described his business dealings, thought Rick. “Did you notice anything which could be a clue to his disappearance? Did he mention anything he was planning to do while in Campiglio?”
    He looked at Rick for a few seconds before answering. “We only talked about the loan.”
    â€œYour meeting was here?” Luca asked.
    â€œYes, Inspector, he sat where you are sitting.”
    â€œSo the meeting was cordial and businesslike?” Melograno did not answer, but nodded slowly, as if running out of patience with the questions. “And you haven’t talked to Signor Taylor since that meeting?”
    This time he spoke. “No, no, of course not. Otherwise I would have told the police.”
    Luca flipped his notebook closed. “Naturally you would have. You don’t want to have problems with the police.” Melograno’s eyes narrowed but he remained silent.
    ***
    â€œWhat was that last comment about?” asked Rick when they had descended the stairs and emerged into the cold air.
    â€œThe local sergeant told me that our friend Melograno was involved in a bribery scandal last year. Something involving a regional politician. It never made it out of the investigation stage since someone obviously stepped in to quash it. Melograno didn’t seem very happy when I made what he deduced was a very indirect reference to that case. Correctly deduced, I might add.” Luca’s face became even happier when he carefully placed his new hat over his head of thick dark hair and turned to catch his image in the glass of the shop window. “I’d better check in with the station. Perhaps Taylor has turned up.”
    The phone call lasted several minutes and involved a few gestures that indicated he was not pleased with what he heard. As Luca was speaking, Rick looked at the merchandise in the shop window—hand-knitted children’s clothing. He tried to calculate what size his two nephews back in Albuquerque would be, but without success since he hadn’t seen them in almost a year. A wool sweater from Italy would be a nice gift, since their birthdays were coming up soon. As least he thought it was soon. He made a mental note to email his mother to find out.
    Luca snapped the phone closed. “The mayor of Campiglio wants to see me. He just called the station.”
    â€œDoes he have some ideas to help your investigation?” They had walked to the edge of the porch and flakes began falling on their hats and clothing.
    â€œA logical question for an American to ask. No, my friend, the sindaco is worried about how all this will affect tourism. The sergeant thinks the man wishes to make his concerns known to the investigative officer. That’s me. We will call immediately on Mayor Grandi at his shop on the piazza . Perhaps you could assure him, as a tourist, and even better, an American tourist, that missing countrymen play no part in your euro spending decisions. Then we will get back to our work and interview Gina Cortese.”
    Rick chuckled as they stepped off the porch. It seemed that he was now Luca’s permanent sidekick. They reached the main square five minutes later and Luca marveled again at what a tiny gem of urban architecture it was, framed by the mountains. Rick pulled out his phone and checked the time. “This might be a good time to call the bank, Luca. It shouldn’t take long.”
    â€œGo right ahead, I’ll check out the wares