The Snack Thief Read Online Free PDF

Montalbano. I think youre right. Ill call my
counterpart in Trapani at once and tell him were quitting
the investigation. Theyve got a vice-commissioner in
Maz whos really on the ball, if I remember correctly.
Well let them take over everything. Were you handling the
case directly yourself ?
    No, my deputy, Inspector Augello, was taking care of it.
    Tell him well be sending the autopsy and ballistics reports
to Maz. Well have copies sent to Inspector Augello
to keep him informed.
    He kicked open the door to Mimugellos office, held out
his right arm, clenching the fist and grabbing the forearm
with his left hand.
    Here, Mim
    Whats that supposed to mean?
    It means the investigation of the killing on the fishing
boat has been transferred to Maz.Youre left empty-handed,
while Ive still got my elevator murder. One to nothing.
    He felt in a better mood now. In fact, the wind had
dropped and the sky was clearing.
    Around three in the afternoon, Officer Gallo, guarding the
late Lapras apartment and awaiting his widows return,
saw the door to the Culicchia flat open up. The accountant
approached the policeman and said in a whisper:
    My wife has fallen asleep.
    Informed of this, Gallo didnt know what to say.
    The names Culicchia, the inspector knows me. Have
you eaten?
    Gallo, whose insides were tied in knots from hunger,
shook his head no.
    Culicchia went back into his apartment and soon returned
with a platter on which there was a bread roll, a sizable
slice of caciocavallo cheese, five slices of salami, and a
glass of wine.
    Thats Corvo white. The inspector bought it for me.
    He returned again half an hour later.
    I brought you the newspaper, to help you pass the time.
    At seven-thirty that evening, as if on cue, every single balcony
or window on the same side of the building as the main
    entrance was full of people looking out for the return of Signora
Antonietta, who still didnt know shed become a
widow. The show was going to be in two parts.
    Part one: Signora Antonietta, stepping off the bus from
Fiacca, the seven twenty-five, would appear at the top of the
street five minutes later, with her usual unsociability and self-
possession in full view, and with no idea whatsoever that a
bomb was about to explode over her head. This first part was
indispensable to a full appreciation of the second (for which
the spectators would move quickly away from balconies and
windows and onto landings and stairwells): upon hearing
from the officer on duty why she couldnt enter her apartment,
the widow, now apprised of her widowhood, would
begin behaving like the Virgin Mary, tearing out her hair,
crying out, beating her breast while being ineffectually restrained
by fellow mourners who in the meantime would
have promptly come to her aid.
    The show never took place.
    It wasnt right, the security guard and his wife decided,
for Signora Antonietta to learn of her husbands murder from
a strangers mouth. Dressed for the occasionhe in a
charcoal-gray suit, she completely in blackthey lay in wait
for her near the bus stop. When Signora Antonietta got off,
they came forward, their faces now matching the colors of
their clothing: he gray, she black.
    Whats wrong? Signora Antonietta asked in alarm.
    There is no Sicilian woman alive, of any class, aristocrat or
peasant, who, after her fiftieth birthday, isnt always expecting
    the worst. What kind of worst? Any, so long as its the worst.
    Signora Antonietta conformed to the rule:
    Did something happen to my husband? she asked.
    Since she was doing it all herself, the only thing left for
Cosentino and his wife was to play supporting roles. They
spread their hands apart, looking sorrowful.
    And here Signora Antonietta said something that, logically
speaking, she shouldnt have said.
    Was he murdered?
    The Cosentinos spread their hands apart again. The
widow teetered, but kept her footing.
    The people at their windows and