Murder Most Unfortunate by David P Wagner Page A

a discriminating collector of art. Tell us what you are looking at these days. Collectors are always thinking about their next acquisition, you must be the same.”
    â€œMy dear, you are correct in characterizing the collector, but at the moment I am concentrating on business.” Rick and Betta exchanged quick glances, unnoticed by the other two. “We are considering expanding into a new line, and it’s been consuming my attention. But I’ll get back to art soon enough. Once you have the itch…” The first course arrived in individual bowls, rice dotted with peas and pieces of pancetta sprinkled with parsley. Rick recognized it to be a dish he’d tasted as a kid on a school trip to Venice. Rinaldi confirmed it. “ Risi e bisi should be thick, but not too thick, and of course the rice and peas must be perfectly al dente . Buon appetito .”
    The conversation turned naturally to food, specifically rice dishes. Caterina told the group about the history of risotto alla milanese , how rich Milanesi in the middle ages actually used gold dust to color the rice. Though no one at the table had ever tasted gold, they all agreed that saffron likely provided a better flavoring. Rick admitted that rice balls filled with cheese and fried, supplì di riso , were one of his favorite antipasto dishes, and went on to describe the delicious simplicity of the beans and rice he’d had when visiting his parents in Brazil. It was while the dishes of the first course were being removed that Rinaldi changed the subject.
    â€œRiccardo, it was that seminar on Jacopo da Bassano where you were working as an interpreter, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes, it was. An interesting topic, I learned a great deal about the man and his times.”
    Rinaldi inclined his head toward the empty bottle and the butler, removing the last bowl, nodded in recognition before walking toward the door. “The bank sponsored it, if I remember right from the posters I saw around town. Stefano Porcari was probably behind it.” He turned to the lady on his left. “Stefano is the vice president of the Banco di Bassano, Caterina, and very much interested in art.”
    â€œHave you ever considered collecting from that period, Angelo?” It was Betta. “Jacopo or one of his contemporaries.”
    The girl’s got spunk, Rick thought. He waited for Rinaldi’s reply, but it was interrupted by the need to taste a newly opened bottle. It was a red, this time, almost garnet in color.
    â€œNo, my dear, I think Jacopo is a bit too dear for an amateur collector like me. Of course I would love to have something by our most famous local son, but his work is likely out of my price range. Not that they come on the market that often, of course.” He watched the butler fill everyone’s second wineglass. “The grapes for this Montello were grown not ten kilometers from where we are seated, by a good friend. I’m afraid it is not one that you will find in your wine shop in Milano, Caterina. Salute .”
    The butler appeared again from the kitchen, this time accompanied by a woman dressed in a white apron. Each carried a platter in one hand and a serving spoon in the other. Going first to the ladies, the butler placed a small half bird on each plate, then stepped aside so that a spoonful of roasted potatoes could be placed next to it.
    When everyone was served the master of the house waved a hand asking them to begin eating. “Pigeon is usually thought of as a specialty of Umbria, something which I’ve always found curious, given that it was the home of Saint Francis, but these stuffed pigeons are a Veneto tradition. I hope you’ll enjoy them.”
    Rick discovered that the bird had been conveniently split in half, allowing easy access to a ham, breading, and herb filling inside. There was little meat, but what there was fell easily off the bone into its own juice. The crunchy potatoes