Death in the Dolomites by David P Wagner Page B

Inspector Albani was here to see him, said he’d be with him in a moment.
    â€œHe’s the mayor, after all,” Luca said to Rick while twirling his new hat in his hand. “He can make us wait. Mayors do that.”
    The two walked around the shop checking out all the wood—and a lot of it there was. The smell reminded Rick of the pine logs he used to split for his grandfather in northern New Mexico. Luca went to a section filled with carved figures, mostly animals. Rick’s eye was caught by one corner near the window which had several shelves of wooden toys. Among them was a set of trucks and machines, including a crane and a steam shovel. He reached down to turn the crank on the crane, lowering a small wooden hook on the end of a string. As he did, he thought again of his nephews. It occurred to him that no little boy, after getting a toy for his birthday, had ever said he would have preferred a nice wool sweater instead. He checked the price. Wow.
    â€œInspector Albani? I am Elio Grandi.” Rick turned to see the mayor shaking hands with Luca. “I regret,” continued the mayor, “that you are here under these circumstances, but I welcome you to Campiglio no less warmly. I hope you will return in an unofficial capacity once this unfortunate business is resolved.”
    If Grandi wanted to foster the image of the little village wood-carver, he failed, looking instead like a football lineman Rick had known in college. He had taken off his long apron and hung it—on a wooden peg, of course—in the work area, revealing a pair of well-tailored jeans and a dark blue turtleneck. He was bald, though probably by choice using his own razor, giving his appearance even more authority, but also making him appear older than his what Rick estimated to be about forty years.
    â€œAnd this must be Signor Montoya,” Grandi said, turning with an outstretched hand. The word of Rick’s presence was around town, no use even asking how he knew.
    â€œMy pleasure, Signor Sindaco.”
    â€œI have some chairs over here. Why don’t we sit while we talk?” He gestured toward a round table surrounded by four chairs. The card on it read nine hundred euros for the set, but the decorative inlay on the tabletop, which matched the chair backs, may have justified the price. “Needless to say,” Grandi said when they were seated, “I am very anxious that this business be cleared up as soon as possible.” His eyes jumped from one face to the other as he spoke, a serious look on his own.
    â€œI could not agree more,” said Luca. “We all hope this is simply some terrible misunderstanding.”
    â€œThe man is here with his sister, I understand? You’ve spoken to her already, I trust.”
    Rick had the sense that the mayor knew exactly who they’d seen. “She was the first person Inspector Albani interviewed.”
    Grandi nodded in approval. “Excellent. Do you have any leads? Any idea where the man could be?”
    â€œNothing yet, Signor Sindaco,” said Luca. “We were just going around interviewing people who had seen Signor Taylor before his disappearance, when I got word from the station that you’d called.” The policeman was smiling, but Rick hoped the mayor would get the message that there was work to be done if Cameron Taylor was to be found. Apparently he didn’t.
    â€œYes, of course. No one has been able to help so far? Who else have you spoken to?
    â€œJust Signor Melograno. He apparently had a meeting with the missing man.”
    â€œI’d heard that Umberto was looking for a loan, that’s probably what the meeting was about.” He looked at the policeman for a reaction but none came. “The missing man is a banker, is he not?” This time Luca nodded, but stayed silent. It seemed, at last, to work. “But I should not be keeping you from your investigation. I just wanted to emphasize how