Page 23 of Murder on an Italian Island (Armstrong and Oscar Cozy Mysteries #12)

Remembering what Stefano had said, I squinted hard and gradually started to make out occasional mounds marking old slag heaps and mines.

Some were barely a few feet high, one or two almost as big as the shed.

I let my eyes range about, but I was unable to spot any sign of a smelting furnace – although I didn’t really know what I was looking for.

My eyes were drawn to a darker patch of earth where the vegetation was even thicker than elsewhere.

On closer inspection, it was clear that this was a spring as I could see water oozing out through the ground and trickling off downhill towards the sea.

The land itself was slightly flatter here and it occurred to me that the combination of level ground and fresh water might well have made this an ideal place for an Etruscan mining community.

I could imagine a cluster of primitive homes up here but, alas, without stripping all the greenery away, it was impossible to identify any traces of human habitation so, after a fruitless search, I headed back downhill again, determined to mention the spring to Stefano in the hope that it might help his research.

As Oscar and I walked down through the campsite, I made a little detour and visited the reception building once more.

I was interested to see how Teresa the PA had taken the death of her boss.

If it was true that she had had a romantic involvement with him, I was expecting to find her in tears.

Instead, I found her behind the counter doing something on the computer while, bizarrely, 1980s band Black Lace belted out ‘Agadoo’ from a speaker behind her.

She looked up as I came in and gave me a beaming smile.

For a moment, I even wondered if she might still be unaware of Aldo’s death, because I certainly hadn’t been expecting to see her looking so cheerful.

Or had I? After all, I only had it on hearsay that she might have had an involvement with victim number two. Maybe her feelings towards her boss had been similar to those of Ingrid at the windsurfing school. Could it be that she was now relieved that her sex-pest boss was no longer around?

I walked over to the counter and was pleased to see her reach out and turn down the volume of the music. As it was, I had a feeling I was going to be humming the annoyingly addictive – if incomprehensible – lyrics for the next few days.

‘Hello again. How was your windsurfing?’

‘Good, thanks.’ I hadn’t told her that I was doing a windsurfing course, so presumably.

this meant that she had been checking up on me.

If so, why? Dismissing this for now, I returned to the matter in hand.

‘I was sorry to hear the news of Signor Graziani’s death.

It sounds like it was another unfortunate accident. ’

The cheerful smile left her face. ‘Who knows?’

I had a feeling that she knew more than she was saying and I did my best to find out what that might be. ‘Now that he’s dead, I’m unable to ask him the questions I wanted, and I wondered if you would mind answering them for me – if you can, of course?’

‘What sort of questions?’ That hard look was back in her eyes again.

‘I only worked with him. If it was anything of a personal nature, he would never have confided in me.’ She must have spotted scepticism on my face.

‘I imagine you’ve been talking to people who say that Aldo and I were an item.

Well, I can categorically tell you what I told the police earlier today: we weren’t.

Yes, I spent quite a lot of time with him, but only as far as my job demanded. ’

I remained not totally convinced but left it at that for now.

‘My questions are mostly about his brother. Could you tell me how relations were between Aldo and Ignazio? I’ve been staying at the Augustus and I’m pretty sure I saw you there the other night having dinner with both brothers. Did that mean that they were close?’

She shook her head. ‘Anything but – Ignazio’s return to the island was the last thing Aldo wanted. Take a look around. This is a good business, and he’s built it up almost from scratch. The arrival of his brother fresh out of jail came as a most unwelcome shock.’

‘But Aldo gave him a bed and even took him out for dinner. Surely that means there was still a degree of brotherly love there?’

‘I’ve already told this to the police. Last Saturday night was supposed to be their farewell dinner.

I don’t know the details but, as I understand it, Aldo promised his brother money on condition that he left the island and never came back.

’ She bent down and opened a drawer, sifted through a few papers, before producing a ticket.

‘Look, here’s the ferry ticket that Aldo asked me to book for Ignazio.

’ She pointed to it. ‘See the date? Sunday morning.’

It occurred to me that this carefully preserved ticket was a convenient piece of evidence in support of Aldo’s alibi – if he had indeed killed his brother.

Little details like this go down well in a court of law.

Of course, there was no proof that Teresa had bought the ticket on Aldo’s orders.

What if she had arranged the alibi for herself, and I was talking to Ignazio’s murderer – and maybe a double murderer at that?

Small and dainty she might be, but she couldn’t hide that hard expression in her eyes.

I chose my words carefully when I asked the next question. ‘Can I take it that when you and Aldo left the Augustus on Saturday night, you both returned here?’

She shook her head. ‘We both came back in this direction, but I went to my chalet while he returned to his villa.’ She looked up and caught my eye for a moment. ‘And, before you ask, no, I didn’t join him in his villa. I hope I’ve made myself clear as far as my relationship with him was concerned.’

If she was telling the truth, this opened the door to Aldo easily having had time to sneak back and murder his brother on Saturday night.

But who then murdered him two days later?

And, of course, there was always the possibility that Teresa had been the one to sneak back and push Ignazio to his death – although a ready motive still didn’t occur to me.

I tried another question. ‘As far as Aldo’s death is concerned, can you think of anybody who might have had a grudge against him? ’

‘It depends what you mean by grudge. If the stories about him were true – and I have no reason to believe they weren’t – there were probably quite a few local women and their partners who disliked him.

Whether this dislike was strong enough to translate itself into murder though, I seriously doubt. ’

‘And professionally? Did he have any arguments with staff, suppliers, neighbours?’

‘Nothing I can think of. There were a few grumbles from staff – mainly about pay – and he had a row with the wine merchant the other day, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that leads to murder.’

I asked her if she had heard the name Ernesto Morso, the farmer who had allegedly been inveigled into selling his land to Aldo, but she just shook her head.

‘That would all have been before my time. I’ve worked here for three years and the land had already been bought and developed by then. Sorry I can’t help.’

She didn’t look particularly sorry and as I left the office, I heard the volume of the music return to its former high pitch. I closed the door behind me and looked down at Oscar.

‘She’s a tough cookie, that one.’

The end of his tail started wagging. I had used the word ‘cookie’, after all.