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of the inspector and had asked him, to Livia’s great shock and dismay, to be his son’s godfather and baptize him.
    “Yeh, fadda moment ’e’s free. Bu’ no’ Giuseppe. ’E’s in jail in Palermo.”
    “Could you ask Pasquale if he could come down to the station this afternoon, say around four?”
    “Wha’ fah? You wanna ’rrest ’im?” Adelina became alarmed.
    “Don’t worry, Adelì. You have my word of honor. I just want to talk to him.”
    “Okay, whativva you say.”

    He went home to pick up Livia, whom he found on the veranda, reading a book, surly and silent.
    “Where do you want to go?”
    “I dunno.”
    “Shall we go to Enzo’s?”
    “I dunno.”
    “How about Carlo’s?”
    There was no restaurant in the area by that name, but seeing the welcome Livia was giving him, he’d decided to go on the offensive.
    And whatever happened, happened.
    “I dunno,” Livia said for the third time, indifferent.
    She hadn’t even blinked at the sound of that name.
    “Well, I say we go to Enzo’s and end the discussion.”
    Livia kept reading her book for another five minutes, purely out of spite, leaving Montalbano standing beside her.

    As they entered the trattoria, Enzo, the owner, came running up to Livia to pay his respects.
    “What a lovely surprise! It’s so good to see you again!”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re a sight for sore eyes! A true delight! Can you explain to me how it is that, every time you honor me by coming here, you’re always more beautiful than the last?”
    Like a ray of sunshine, a sudden smile swept the clouds away from Livia’s face.
    But how was it that the Sicilian dialect was suddenly no longer African and now quite comprehensible to Livia? Montalbano wondered.
    “What would you like to eat?” Enzo asked.
    “I do feel a little hungry,” said Livia.
    And if Enzo’s compliments ended up whetting her appetite, just imagine the effect Carlo’s compliments must have!
    Montalbano’s irritation doubled.
    “I’ve got spaghetti in a sauce of sea urchin, fresh as can be, fished just this morning, a real treat,” said Enzo.
    “Then let’s go with the sea urchin,” Livia consented, batting her eyelashes like Minnie Mouse to Mickey.
    “And what do you feel like having, Inspector?” Enzo asked.
    I feel like taking this fork and gouging out both of my girlfriend’s eyes
, Montalbano thought to himself.
    Instead he said:
    “I’m not very hungry myself. Just bring me some appetizers.”
    After scarfing down her spaghetti, Livia smiled at her boyfriend and put her hand on top of his, caressing it.
    “I apologize for last night.”
    “For last night?” said Montalbano, as phony as a three-dollar bill, pretending not to remember anything.
    “Yes, for last night. I really acted stupidly.”
    Oh, no you don’t! That shouldn’t count!
    It wasn’t fair!
    Montalbano felt outmaneuvered.
    He made a gesture with his other hand that meant nothing and everything, then muttered something.
    Livia took it to mean they had made peace.
    When they came out of the trattoria, Livia said she wanted to go to Montelusa, where she hadn’t set foot for a long time.
    “Go ahead and take the car,” said Montalbano.
    “What about you?”
    “I don’t need it.”
    He had no need to take his customary digestive and meditative stroll along the jetty to the lighthouse because he’d hardly eaten anything.
    The fact that Livia had put him in a situation in which he couldn’t bring up Carlo had closed off his stomach.
    But he took the stroll anyway, in the hopes of working off his irritation.
    When he sat down on the flat rock under the lighthouse, however, his eye fell on the great tower dominating the landscape.
    It had been built byCarlo V.
    How many Carlos were there in the world, anyway?

    Seeing him walk in, Catarella started gesticulating wildly.
    “Ahh Chief! There’d be ’at son o’ yer cleanin’ lady waitin’ f’yiz! Says ya summonsed ’im!”
    “Send him to me.”
    The