Andrea Camilleri: The Track of Sand

“Yessir. At Monserrato, near the village of Columba.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

“Then I want you to go there early tomorrow morning, have a look around, and try also to find out who works there. Would it be easy for one or more people to break in and steal a horse? Or did they need to have accomplices on the inside? And who sleeps there at night? Is it only the caretaker? In short, try to find something you think could serve as a starting point.”

“And what about me?” asked Augello.

“Do you know who Michilino Prestia is?”

“No.Who is he?”

“A dim-witted former accountant who serves as the front man for the organizers of clandestine horse races. Get Fazio to fill you in on what he already knows about him and then carry on by yourself.”

“All right. But can you tell me what the clandestine race horses have to do with this?”

“I don’t know if they’ve got anything to do with it or not, but it’s better if we leave no stone unturned.”

“Could I say something, Chief ?” Fazio interjected.

“Go ahead.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if Augello and I traded jobs? Because, you see, I know some people who are close to Prestia who—”

“You okay with that, Mimì?”

“Makes no difference to me, Salvo,” said Augello.

“All right then, I wish you both a very pleasant eve—”

“Wait a second,” said Mimì,“sorry to be a party pooper, but I’d like to make an observation.”

“Speak.”

“We may be making a mistake to take everything Signora Esterman told us as the gospel truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Salvo, she came in here and told us that there was no reason in the world why anyone would kill her horse and so on and so forth. But that’s only what she says.And we gobbled it up like little children. How do we know if it’s really true?”

“I see what you’re getting at. You think we might do well to learn a little more about the beautiful Signora Rachele, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, Mimì. I’ll take care of that end of things.”

Before heading home, he phoned Ingrid.

“Hello, is this the Sjostrom home?”

“Z gahtz de wrang nomba.”

Where on earth did Ingrid dig up these housekeepers?

He checked the number, which he had dialed from memory. It was correct.

Perhaps he’d been wrong to use Ingrid’s maiden name. It was unlikely the housekeeper knew it. But what was her married name? He couldn’t remember. He dialed again.

“Hello? I’d like to speak with Signora Ingrid, please.”

“Da ziniuora zinnit ere.”

“An doo noze win zhe be baak?”

“Donoze, donoze.”

He hung up. He dialed her cell phone number.

“The number of the person . . .”

He cursed the saints and let it drop.

As he was inserting the key into the lock he heard the phone ringing. He opened the door and ran to pick up.

“Were you looking for me?”

It was Ingrid.

“Yes. I need—”

“You only call me when you need something.You never ask me out for a candlelight dinner, never mind the inevitable conclusion. Just for the pleasure of being together.”

“You know perfectly well that’s not true.”

“Unfortunately, it’s just as I say. What do you need this time? Consolation? Assistance? An accomplice?”

“Nothing like that at all. I want you to tell me about your friend Rachele. Is she there with you?”

“No, she’s dining in Fiacca tonight with the organizers of the horse race. I didn’t feel like going. Did you find her attractive?”

“It’s not a private matter.”

“My, my, how formal we’ve suddenly become! Well, just so you know, when Rachele got back she did nothing but talk about you. About how gracious you are, how understanding, friendly, even handsome, which I think is going a bit too far ...When do you want to get together?”

“Whenever you like.”

“What would you say if I came to Marinella?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? What did Adelina make for you?”

“I haven’t checked yet.”

“Go look and then set the table on the veranda. I’m very hungry. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

A bowl stuffed with so much caponata that it overflowed. Six mullets in a cipuddrata [4] cipuddrata : Sicilian for cipollata , that is, onion sauce. . More than enough for two.Wine, he had. He set the table outside. It was chilly, but there wasn’t even a hint of wind. Just to be sure, he went and checked if he still had any whisky. There was only about two fingers’ worth left in the bottle. Dinner with Ingrid was inconceivable without a well-irrigated finale. He dropped everything and got in his car.

At the Marinella Bar he bought two bottles for which they made him pay four times the normal price. As he turned onto the small road that led home, he saw Ingrid’s powerful red car. But she wasn’t there. He called her name, but she didn’t answer. He figured she’d probably gone down to the beach, circled around the house, and entered through the veranda doors.

He opened the door, but Ingrid did not come to greet him. He called out.

“I’m in here,” he heard her answer from the bedroom.

He set the bottles down on the table and went into the bedroom, where he saw her crawling out from under the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

“I was hiding.”

“You want to play hide-and-seek?”

Only then did he notice that Ingrid was pale and that her hands were trembling a little.

“What on earth happened?”

“When I got here I rang the doorbell and, when you didn’t answer, I decided to come in through the veranda. But as soon as I turned the corner I saw two men come out of the house and leave. So I got worried and went inside, thinking that . . . Then I realized those guys might come back, so I hid. Have you got any whisky?”

“As much as you like.”

They went out into the living room, where he opened a bottle and poured her half a glass. She gulped it down.

“That’s better.”

“Did you get a good look at them?”

“No, just a glimpse. I immediately stepped back.”

“Were they armed?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Come.”

He led her out onto the veranda.

“Which way did they go?”

Ingrid looked doubtful.

“I wouldn’t know. When I stuck my head back out a few minutes later, they were already gone, vanished.”

“Strange. There’s even some moonlight. You should at least have seen two shadows running away.”

“No, there wasn’t anyone.”

So did that mean they had hidden somewhere nearby and were waiting for him to return?

“Wait here just one minute,” he said to Ingrid.

“Not on your life. I’m coming with you.”

Montalbano went out the door with Ingrid practically glued to his back, opened his car, took his pistol out of the glove compartment, and put it in his pocket.

“Is your car locked?” he asked.

“No.”

“Lock it.”

“You lock it,” she said, handing him the keys.“But check first and make sure there’s nobody hiding inside.”

Montalbano looked inside the car, locked it, and they went back into the house.

“You were really scared just now. I’ve never seen you—”

“You know, when those two left and I went inside and started calling you and you didn’t answer, I thought they had . . . ”

She stopped, threw her arms around him, and kissed him on the mouth.

Returning her kiss, Montalbano realized the evening was taking a dangerous turn. So he gave her a couple of friendly taps on the shoulder.