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Nico ran the electric shaver over his cheeks and chin. For some reason, he felt he needed to make a good impression. The English lady had sounded very refined. He combed his still-full head of graying hair and brushed his teeth.

The moka was gurgling when he came into the living room/kitchen. "I don't have time."

"Two more minutes," Nelli said, not wanting to see him go.

"I can't, Nelli. Perillo needs help. Drink a double for me. Ciao, bella." He meant to kiss her lips, but she moved her head and he ended up kissing OneWag. Nico took a moment to study her face. Her expression was soft, still full of sleep. "Are you upset I'm going?"

Nelli smiled. "The reason upsets me. Don't worry. Rocco will keep me company."

Nico kissed her lightly on the lips. She kissed him back. "Let me know."

"I will."

After Nico left, Nelli poured herself a double espresso, added some milk and took her cup back to bed. OneWag stretched himself out against her leg while she sent a little prayer to whoever was listening in the sky. Please let it be nothing more violent than a heart attack. These past five months with Nico not playing homicide detective for Perillo had been good. He was cheerful and loving, the sadness he seemed to carry almost gone.

Nelli leaned back on her pillow. And yet she had noticed a restlessness in him. Nico had told her he had not enjoyed his detective work in New York, but it was obvious he liked working with Perillo and Daniele. Here he was needed in a way that maybe he had not been in New York. He had more experience with murder than Perillo. It was clear he loved being helpful. It was how he had entrenched himself in his Italian life. He helped at Sotto Il Fico, coming up with new recipes for Tilde, but during the winter months, with Gravigna empty of tourists, the restaurant had only opened for weekend dinners. She had enjoyed more of his company, his love, the attention he gave her.

Nelli shrugged and finished her coffee. If it was murder, he would have less time for her. Maybe that would be good for both of them. She had a job she loved at the Querciabella vineyard, and she'd have more time for painting.

With the dark of night bleaching out of the sky, Nico easily spotted the long, climbing row of cypresses. At the very top of the hill a wide, handsome two-story building in pale yellow stone overlooked an expanse of straggling trees. A fancy place, Nico thought as he turned off the paved road and noticed the bronze plaque embossed with the names Salviati-Lamberti on one side of the tall cast-iron gate. Probably built back in the Renaissance. A place rich in history. Money too. Nico shifted gears and prayed his old Fiat 500 would make the climb.

Daniele Donato, Perillo's right-hand man, met Nico at the double-doored entrance. "Buongiorno, Nico."

"Ciao, Daniele. Are Vince and Dino here too?"

"Yes, checking all the rooms. I'll show you the way. It's a big place." Daniele held out a pair of shoe covers and gloves.

"Thanks," Nico said, slipping them on.

"I'm sorry the maresciallo had to wake you up," Dani said.

"We'll all catch up on sleep tonight."

They walked through one sumptuous room after another, past tall windows adorned with brocaded curtains, walls with gilt-framed paintings and drawings. Daniele's covered boots and Nico's covered sneakers made different sounds as they strode across gleaming marble and soft carpets.

Perillo appeared from a side doorway just as Nico and Daniele entered a room lined floor to ceiling with books. "There you are." He walked down the wide Persian carpet toward them and clasped Nico's hand. "Thank you for coming." Perillo turned to Daniele. "What news from the forensics team?"

"No one answered. I left a message."

Perillo spread out his arms in surrender to the inevitable wait.