Murder Most Unfortunate Read Online Free Page A

Occasio.
    â€œIt must have been around nine thirty, perhaps close to ten, when the dinner ended. There were toasts, some remarks by Dottor Porcari.” He gestured toward the banker.
    â€œPorcari is here?” The inspector turned and looked. “Excellent. Who is that man with him, other than my detective?”
    â€œThat is Signor Sarchetti, another participant in the seminar.”
    Occasio consulted his list. “Milanese, owns an art gallery.” Tibaldi nodded, but the policeman didn’t notice. “Who from the group at the dinner is not in the lobby now?”
    Tibaldi rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, Professor Gaddi—there he is now, that older gentleman. I don’t see Professor Randolph, the American. The director of the museum, of course, my superior; he is at his office. I think that’s it. Oh, our interpreter, Riccardo Montoya; he will not be listed on the program. Our other interpreter departed after the final seminar session.”
    The policeman frowned. “You mean everyone does not speak Italian?”
    â€œNo, Inspector, many do not. The conference was conducted in Italian and English, with simultaneous interpretation.”
    Occasio shook his head in disgust. “I will need this Montoya.”
    ***
    Rick entered the elevator hoping he didn’t look too much like a tourist. No camera hung from around his neck, but he did have a red-covered Touring Club Italiano guide to the Veneto region in one hand. To the average resident of Bassano the book would brand him as an Italian tourist, though the cowboy boots would certainly confuse them. When he stepped into the lobby, his concerns about appearance vanished.
    Uniformed policemen were everywhere, and he quickly spotted two men who had the look of police detectives. Three of the experts from the seminar—Muller, Oglesby, and Gaddi—sat silently along the wall of the room, a policeman beside them. Franco Sarchetti occupied a chair by himself near the door, talking with the man whom Rick assumed was also a policeman. Paolo Tibaldi of the museum stood near a window, his head bent in thought. Sitting with one of the two detectives was Porcari, the banker he’d greeted on the street. The policeman maintained an ingratiating smile on his face as he talked to the banker. Rick walked toward them and was stopped by the uplifted arm of another policeman.
    â€œPlease stay where you are, sir. Are you a guest at the hotel?”
    â€œYes. What’s going on?”
    â€œWere you involved with the art program? The seminar?”
    â€œYes, I was. Does this have anything to do with the seminar?”
    The cop again ignored Rick’s question as he got the attention of the plainclothes officer talking with Sarchetti. He excused himself to the art dealer and walked quickly to Rick. Unlike the one with the thin mustache sitting with the banker, this policeman appeared to possess a genuine smile.
    â€œThis man just came out of the elevator, sir. He says he was part of the museum program.”
    â€œI’m Riccardo Montoya.” He offered his hand and the policeman shook it.
    â€œDetective Alfredo DiMaio. I don’t recall seeing your name on the list of participants, Signor Montoya.”
    â€œI was one of two interpreters who did the simultaneous translation. I’m not one of the art experts.”
    The detective nodded his head toward the three sitting nearby. “After translating for these people for a few days you must have become an expert by osmosis. At any rate, we’ll have to question you, too, so if you could take a seat—”
    â€œDetective, you haven’t told me what’s going on.”
    The man held up his hands in mock defense. “So I have not. It seems that someone in your group has gotten himself murdered. A certain Professor Fortuna.”
    â€œFortuna, murdered?” Rick’s eyes darted around the room.
    â€œThe body isn’t