Murphy's Law by Lisa Marie Rice

Madeleine’s blade-like features took on a disapproving cast. “It’s just that—it’s just that there’s a lot to do still, and the participants will be arriving soon and—”
    “And this will interfere with the organization of the conference. I understand. God forbid that murder interfere with our seminar.” Faith ignored the narrow-eyed glare Madeleine threw her way and perked up at the sound of the waiter coming back in. “Still, I’m afraid the policeman insisted. His name is Dante Rossi and he’s Lorenzo Rossi’s nephew.”
    “Lorenzo Rossi from the economics department?” Grif asked.
    “Yes. Dante Rossi. He’s the police officer in charge and he speaks perfect English. And he wants to talk to you.”
    They stared.
    The waiter placed another cup on the table. Faith pulled the saucer toward her and placed a protective arm around it. She looked up. “You might want to start getting your alibis ready. I think they have extradition laws in this country.”
     
     
    Dante Rossi yearned.
    The drawing that would assign horses to the contradas for the Palio was about to begin.
    Most of Siena was now in the central square, the Piazza del Campo , watching the horses race around the track, ten at a time, in a trial heat. The Snail’s jockey, Nerbo, would be watching the legs of the horses for form and the eyes of the other jockeys for bribeability.
    The trial runs would be just about over and everyone in the piazza would have an opinion about the best horse, the toughest jockey and would be arguing at top volume with anyone within earshot.
    Dante wanted to be there with every fiber of his being. Instead, he was watching his Crime Scene Unit troop in. Corrado was already blocking off the door with the red-and-white crime scene tape Dante secretly thought was so much more elegant than the American yellow-and-black.
    It was very early in Southbury, but there was no avoiding it. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Lou’s number. He’d wake her up, but she’d skin him alive if he didn’t let her know that her friend Faith had gotten herself mixed up in a murder.
    Lou’s cell was off. He called her apartment and let the phone ring for two minutes, but she wasn’t home. She was probably away on a business trip. He hesitated for a moment before calling Nick. It was just after dawn there after all, and knowing Nick, he’d had a hard night. Either playing on the ice or playing in bed. Or maybe he hadn’t even been to bed yet. It was off-season, when Nick trained hard and played hard.
    To hell with it.But Nick’s cell was off too. Was this some kind of new trend? He pressed Nick’s home number and got the answering machine on the third ring.
    “Nick, tell Lou I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is her friend Faith is, indeed, very cute. The bad news is that she’s got herself mixed up in a murder.”
    He left a long message explaining everything, ending the call just as a loud voice boomed, “Commissario, permission to enter the room, sir!”
    Dante rolled his eyes then turned around. “Permission granted, Loiacono.” His latest recruit, Inspector Carmine Loiacono, stiffened, snapping off a sharp salute. Dante suppressed a sigh.
    Carmine Loiacono had been shipped here by disgruntled city officials from Catania, Sicily, where he’d been a little too zealous in uncovering corruption in the local health district. The man was painfully eager to prove his mettle and to show that, notwithstanding local prejudices, southerners knew how to work.
    Loiacono was a thorn in Dante’s side because he was humorless and because he mangled the beautiful language of Tuscany. On the other hand, he did the work of four men.
    “Let’s start working the scene, Loiacono,” Dante said and waited patiently for the bellowed Sir!
    “ Sir! ” Loiacono shouted and Dante managed not to wince. Loiacono straightened to his one meter sixty-five-and-a-half centimeters—he had insisted the half centimeter