Murder Most Unfortunate by David P Wagner

either.”
    â€œNo, I haven’t. It didn’t seem relevant.”
    Rinaldi chuckled. “I suppose not. And what does she do?”
    â€œShe and her father have an art gallery in Bassano.” Rick glanced around him, noticing paintings of various sizes and styles on the walls. “Perhaps you’ve been to it.”
    â€œI don’t purchase my art locally. I use dealers in Milan and Zurich, and one in London.” He sipped his prosecco. “They know my tastes.”
    â€œAnd Signora Savona? What brings her to Bassano?”
    â€œNot just to see me, I will admit, but I’m pleased that she’s here.” He looked at the two women conversing on the sofa and back at Rick. His voice lowered slightly. “I must confess to you, Riccardo, that I am the black sheep of the famiglia Rinaldi.” Rick’s eyes narrowed and the man continued. “Nothing that serious, I assure you, but I’ve never married and my siblings find this shocking. I’ve had the opportunity, of course, and was even tempted to tie the knot a few times, but never succumbed. I justify a lifestyle that my family considers satyric, supported by a firm belief that they would be more upset if I had married and then divorced.” He looked again at the women before turning back to Rick. “But I have not answered your question. Caterina is in the art field, though I’m not sure exactly what part of it. A mutual acquaintance alerted me to her arrival from Milan today—just as with you, Riccardo—so I took the opportunity to ask her to join us. She is a delightful woman.”
    When the maggiordomo announced that dinner was ready to be served, Rinaldi offered his arm to Betta and Rick followed suit with Caterina Savona.
    â€œYou work very fast, Riccardo,” she said softly in his ear. “Betta tells me you two met only this morning.”
    â€œIt’s been a busy day. Are you staying here at the villa?”
    She gave his arm a playful pinch. “Heavens, no, I’m just here for dinner. I’m staying in town at the Belvedere.”
    â€œThat’s where I am. A very pleasant hotel.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard, which is why I chose it.”
    The dining room was on the same wing, with another set of doors on one side looking out on the colonnade. Lights between the outdoor columns lit the stone walkway and spilled out onto the first few meters of grass. In the darkness faint twinkles hinted of another villa or farm in the distance. Rick was expecting a large room with a long table, but instead it was considerably smaller than the living room and had only a sideboard and round glass table set for four. Perhaps there was a banquet room further down the wing. As in the other room, the ceiling was lined with dark wood beams, likely the originals. Decorative pole lamps in the corners threw light upward, the only lighting other than four candles in an arrangement at the center of the table. The gentlemen held out the chairs for the ladies and everyone was seated.
    Rinaldi took his napkin from the plate and spread it on his lap. “Since Caterina and Riccardo are not from the Veneto, I thought we would have some regional specialties. I hope you won’t mind, Betta.”
    She had Rick on her left and the host on her right. “Absolutely not, Signor—excuse me, Angelo—we must show these stranieri what they are missing.”
    Rinaldi beamed. “And vino locale too, of course, starting off with a Breganze produced just to our west, a smooth Pinot Bianco.” As if on cue the butler appeared, and after the host had gone through a cursory tasting, filled the glasses of the two women, followed by those of the men. The four toasted and sipped the straw yellow wine.
    â€œExcellent,” said Caterina. “I will have to look for it at my wine shop in Milano.” She put down her glass and turned her eyes to Rinaldi. “Angelo, you have the reputation of