Death in the Dolomites by David P Wagner Page A

of this shop.” He walked toward a window filled with chocolate. Rick smiled and opened his phone.
    It was surprisingly easy to get through to the banker. Only two secretaries, the first Italian and the second American, blocked the way. Apparently Rick had made some kind of positive impression. The man’s voice boomed so loudly Rick pulled the phone from his ear.
    â€œRick, so good to hear from you.”
    â€œMy pleasure, Mr. Fries.”
    â€œWhat’s this Mr. Fries stuff? It’s Mark.”
    â€œMy pleasure, Mark. Though I would rather be calling under better circumstances. I’m up here in Campiglio, in the mountains, and the local police have pulled me in to help with a missing persons case.”
    â€œSome cloak and dagger work? I always suspected that you—”
    â€œNo, Mark, local police work, but the missing person is Cameron Taylor.”
    â€œCam? What’s happened to him?”
    â€œThat’s what the police are trying to find out. His sister is here, which is why I was asked to help, since she doesn’t speak Italian.” He watched Luca enter the chocolate shop. “I can tell the police that you don’t know where he might be? He wasn’t called back to work?”
    â€œNo, absolutely not. He wasn’t going to be back in the bank until Thursday at the earliest. Could he have been lost on some ski trail? I know he’s a good skier, but—”
    â€œThey’ve searched the trails and found nothing. Mark, was there also some business he was doing up here?”
    â€œYes, that’s right, I’d forgotten. It’s a loan, but not a very large one for us.” The banker voice intruded, like he didn’t want to discuss private business. “Cam has complete discretion on such transactions.”
    It would be a big loan for me, Rick thought, and also for Melograno. “Is there anything else that might help us discover where he is? Anyone else who he might have gone to see?”
    â€œHe was going there to ski, as far as I know. And that loan, of course, but he was really taking some days off to spend with his sister. Have you met her?”
    â€œYes, about an hour ago. Do you know her?”
    â€œNo. She’s been to Milan a few times, I think, but I’ve never had the pleasure.”
    That confirms what Cat said, Rick thought. “Well, if you think of anything, give me a call. You have my cell number?”
    â€œMy secretary has it in her Rolodex.”
    They exchanged pleasantries, with the usual promises to get together, and the call ended. Rick closed his phone and watched Luca emerge from the shop carrying a small bag. The smell of chocolate pushed out into the piazza before the door closed again.
    â€œ Tartufo ?” Luca extended the open bag to Rick.
    Rick couldn’t resist. Mass-produced Baci were his favorites, but he had to admit that any handmade cioccolatini , just cooled, couldn’t be rivaled. This truffle was filled with a smooth gianduia ganache. After enjoying one and fending off a second, Rick recounted his phone conversation with the banker.
    â€œThat doesn’t help much,” said Luca before popping another chocolate ball into his mouth.
    ***
    Mayor Elio Grandi’s shop sold wood objects of all shapes and sizes. Most of its wares were handmade and carved in clean natural pine, keeping alive the artisan traditions of a snowy mountain hamlet. Rick almost expected to see elves sitting at small benches in one corner, hard at work and chattering happily in Munchkin voices. Instead, one corner of the shop revealed someone who had to be Grandi himself, chipping away at a large block of wood, its eventual shape not yet recognizable. Rick remembered the sculptor who was asked how he did his work and replied, “If I’m sculpting a hippopotamus, I just chip away everything that doesn’t look like a hippopotamus.” Grandi, when he’d been told by his assistant that