Broken Chord by Margaret Moore

she a very nervy sort of person?”
    Piero thought of all the trouble at home and muttered, “Well, not normally, but you know she’s getting married next month and it’s all a bit hectic.”
    “Give her my congratulations, and ask her to come down. I’ll need to take down all her particulars.”
    “Oh dear. Will that be necessary?”
    “I’m afraid so. As soon as possible, please.”
    Piero stood up and they shook hands. Outside, he stood blinking in the sunlight thinking furiously. Ursula was going to be very upset. He half wished he hadn’t reported the letters but if there really was a madman around, then he’d done the right thing. Life was complicated. Especially at the moment. As soon as one problem was solved, another presented itself. His thoughts turned to Marianna. She might be distraught now, but that had been sorted. Even if the boy lived, he would be in hospital for months and might even be crippled for life. She would get over him. A month away from home would do the trick.
    Then there was Tebaldo, or rather, his awful wife, so trying for the family. And of course there was the Rossi family. He was aware that Ursula wanted to go and see them herself, despite his advice to the contrary. He knew exactly what sort they were. They were the type of people who dressed in rags and hid a fortune under the mattress. That repulsive grandson of theirs drove a motorbike that had cost a bomb. He wondered where the money for that had come from and how he managed to support himself, since it seemed he rarely had a job.
    Piero opened the car door, got in and drove off fast, anxious to get back to the house. He had a feeling of impending doom.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Now that Vanessa had returned, Drago’s spirit had lifted. The boredom of this job and the cold of his office didn’t weigh on him today. Besides, Bruno would be back soon. The company of his colleague and friend would very welcome. He doodled a mandala on a piece of paper and looked out at the sky. Good weather was only appreciated when interrupted at intervals by some change, which in the summer usually meant a storm, but there wasn’t going to be one today. He vaguely wondered if all the criminals in Lucca were on holiday, apart from the muggers and even they were less industrious than usual, probably affected like himself by the heat. It was strange that he was willing something to happen, but he was. Here he was, actively desiring that a serious crime take place, well, maybe not a murder, but something big, no, what he meant was something complicated. He needed a puzzle to solve. In the meantime he began to read his guide book to Lucca again and wondered if he would have the stamina to climb the 225 stairs of the Guinigi Tower to reach the roof where there was, quite surprisingly, a small garden with seven oak trees and an amazing view of the amphitheatre and the whole of Lucca as well as the surrounding mountain range.
     
    Ursula felt a huge upsurge of anger as she contemplated the ugliness of the immediate surroundings. There were two rusted and decaying old cars, numerous sheds and outhouses with corrugatediron roofs, and dilapidated compounds which housed appallingly smelly goats, chickens, pigs and rabbits. In the heat, the stench was so overwhelming she was overcome by a wave of nausea and put a handkerchief to her nose as she approached the house. It was as ramshackle and disgusting as the pig pens. Shutters hung askew from the patched up windows. The pock-marked main door looked as though it had some kind of skin disease. It was opened by a toothless slattern of indeterminate age, wearing what appeared to be rags. A waft of cooking cabbage floated out and seemed to compound the wretchedness of it all. That was when the rage boiled in Ursula’s breast. She felt it as a tangible tide of hot wrath surging inside her and it erupted as she snapped at the woman. “Tell your husband to come out here.” She was horrified at herself. This was not what