The Da Vinci Cook Read Online Free PDF Page B

staffs. What she wanted—without clear proof that Rocco Piccoletti was the murderer—was practically impossible. But he didn’t get any of that out before she had to hang up because their plane was taking off.
    “Get off the plane!” he’d shouted into the phone. “Don’t go!”
    But it was too late. She’d already disconnected.
    Now, Yosh faced Paavo. “Is it possible that Caterina doesn’t know that she’s wanted for questioning in connection with a murder investigation?”
    “She knows,” Paavo said haltingly.
    “Holy shit!” Yosh shook his head with dismay. “That means Caterina’s skipped the country! And since Angie helped, she’s now an accomplice.”
    Paavo banged his head one more time.

Chapter 6
    Paavo and Yosh returned to the Sea Cliff district and the Piccoletti house. They spent the day canvassing the neighborhood to see if anyone besides Audrey Moss had seen or heard anything, and to find out all they could about Marcello Piccoletti. All they got for their efforts was a ringside seat in a game of see, hear, and touch no evil. None of the neighbors knew anything. Most didn’t even know Piccoletti’s name, let alone a brother or other relatives he might have. The sad part, Paavo thought, was that he believed them. So much for big-city neighborliness.
    The only out-of-the-ordinary information they learned was that several people had noticed a strange black truck a half block from the Piccoletti house. They had no idea what it was doing in that neighborhood.
    One neighbor’s gardener thought he recognized the man sitting in it as being the person who had installed Piccoletti’s security system. He’d waved to say hello, but the man looked at him as if he didn’t know him. The gardener described the truck driver as looking like a bear—overweight, not too tall, young, and with curly brown hair.
    Two women, both au pairs from down the block, near where the truck was parked, noticed a priest walking in the direction of the Piccoletti house, but lost sight of him shortly.
    It wasn’t much to go on—a black truck, a priest, and a bearish looking fellow who resembled a former workman on the property—but it was a start. Piccoletti’s neighbor had speculated that the reason he was selling his house was because he could no longer afford it. That, too, was an angle worth pursuing.
     
    Cat opened her eyes to a blinding headache. It couldn’t possibly be a hangover. She’d never had one in her life.
    As she settled into her first-class seat, the flight attendant offered drinks, and she took a scotch and soda. The whiskey was warming and calming. So much so that against her better judgment she ordered a second. This was an extraordinary circumstance. She fell asleep halfway through it.
    Even asleep, all that had happened that day plagued her.
    She was certain she had no choice but to go to Rome after Rocco. Angie didn’t know what he looked like, so how could she follow him to take back the chain of St. Peter or to talk to Marcello? Marcello, Cat was sure, knew exactly what his brother was up to. And she had to find out as soon as possible. Especially now that it involved murder.
    That was when her head began to throb, waking her.
    She buzzed for a flight attendant, who handed her a couple of Tylenol and coffee. The caffeine coursed through her veins, clearing the cobwebs and fuzziness.
    Settling back, she shut her eyes again. The plane was quiet as most people tried to sleep. Whether it was the peacefulness, the coffee, or simply having a moment to think, the heavy cloud of confusion and despair that had swirled around her since her boss accused her of stealing Marcello’s relic, worsened by the horrible shock of seeing a dead body, suddenly lifted.
    The day flashed before her with clarity, in Techni-color.
    Her eyes sprang open, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep anymore that night. Maybe never again.
    As much as she needed to find Rocco and straighten out everything with