Angelica's Smile Read Online Free PDF Page B

decide.”
    “I’d like to go to a place where I’ve never been before. It’s by the sea, past Montereale. Enzo told me the food’s really good.”
    “Well, if Enzo says so . . .”
    Someone who knew the way would have made it there in about twenty minutes. Montalbano, who took four wrong turns, took exactly an hour.
    To top things off, he had a heated argument with Livia, who had actually suggested the right way to go.
    It was a proper restaurant with waiters in uniform and pictures of soccer players and pop singers on the walls.
    To get away from it all, they got a table on the terrace over the sea.
    The place was packed with British tourists already half drunk on sea air.
    Salvo and Livia had to wait a good fifteen minutes before a waiter showed up at their table, wearing a green nameplate on his jacket lapel with CARLO spelled out in black letters.
    The hair on the inspector’s arms stood up as straight as an angry cat’s fur.
    He made a lightning-fast decision.
    “Could you come back in five minutes?” he asked the waiter.
    “Of course, sir, as you wish.”
    Livia gave him a puzzled look.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I have to run to the bathroom.”
    He stood up and dashed off before Livia’s stunned eyes.
    “Where’s the manager?” he asked a waiter.
    “At the cash register.”
    He went to the cash register. There was a man of about sixtywith an Umbertine moustache and gold-rimmed glasses.
    “What can I do for you, sir?”
    “I’m Inspector Montalbano.”
    “What a pleasure! My good friend Enzo—”
    “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m in something of a hurry. The lady who’s with me lost her beloved brother ten days ago, whose name was Carlo. The waiter assigned to our table is also called Carlo, and I wouldn’t want . . . you understand . . .”
    “I certainly do understand, Inspector, I’ll send another waiter right away.”
    “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
    He went and sat back down, smiling at Livia.
    “Sorry. A sudden, urgent need.”
    A new waiter arrived. His name tag said GIORGIO.
    They ordered their antipasti.
    “Wasn’t the waiter before named Carlo?” Livia asked.
    “Was he? I hadn’t noticed.”
    “I wonder why they changed.”
    “Do you mind?”
    “Why should I mind?”
    “I dunno, you seem to regret it.”
    “What are you saying! He was just a little cuter.”
    “Cuter! Then maybe it’s better this way, no?”
    Livia looked at him, feeling more and more puzzled.
    “You mean better that they changed waiters?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Why?”
    “Because over sixty percent of the people named Carlo are criminals. It’s a statistical fact.”
    He realized he was talking pure bullshit, but his rage and jealousy prevented him from reasoning in any way. He couldn’t help himself.
    “Oh, come on!”
    “So don’t believe it, if you don’t want to. Do you know many men called Carlo?”
    “A few.”
    “And are they all criminals?”
    “What has gotten into you, Salvo?”
    “Into me? Into you, rather! You’re making such a big deal out of this Carlo! If you like, we can have your Carlo come back!”
    “Have you lost your mind?”
    “No, I haven’t lost my mind! It’s you who—”
    “And here are the antipasti,” said the waiter, suddenly appearing.
    Livia waited for him to leave to resume speaking.
    “Listen to me, Salvo. Yesterday I was the one acting like an asshole, but tonight you seem to be trying your hardest to outdo me. Now I’m telling you that I have no desire to spend my evenings here arguing with you. If you keep carrying on this way, I’m going to call a cab, go back to Marinella, pack my suitcase, and continue on to Palermo and catch the first plane heading north. You decide.”
    Montalbano, who already felt ashamed for the previous scene, said only:
    “Just try the antipasti. They look really good.”
    The first course was also good.
    And the second too.
    And two bottles of excellent wine did their part.
    They came out of