He saw her go by about thirty feet from his table. Even wearing jeans and a jacket pulled tight at the waist, she made quite an impression. The woman recognized him and smiled, reversed direction, and approached him. “So, are we enjoying the sunshine this morning?”

“Before going into the office . . .”

“You weren’t in the right mood last night, Deputy Chief Schiavone.”

“No, Amelia. I certainly wasn’t. Let’s just say that the people you were with aren’t exactly my type.”

Amelia pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“Shall I have Ettore bring you something?” Rocco suggested.

“No, I’ve already had breakfast. And this lovely dog?”

Lupa, sprawled out on the sidewalk, limited herself to rolling her eyes at the new arrival.

“What’s its name?”

“Lupa!”

“Oooh . . . how sweet. What breed is she?”

“A Saint-Rhémy-en-Ardennes.”

Amelia looked at him before bursting out laughing. “Never heard of that breed!”

“I may not be much of a clotheshorse, but when it comes to dogs I think I hold my own.”

“A Saint-Rhémy . . .” Amelia shook her head.

The woman’s tuberose-scented perfume reached Rocco’s nostrils. It was a little too redolent for his tastes. “Have you known Walter Cremonesi long?”

“No. I’ve only met him a time or two. I’m a friend of Dr. Turrini’s. And Signora Turrini, too, to be perfectly clear.”

“Are you from Aosta?”

“You remain a policeman even when you relax!”

“Occupational hazard of the profession. By the way, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m in charge of PR for Luca Grange. You met him, right? Last night . . .”

“Ah, yes, the rising star of the local business community.”

The woman smiled. “I’m thirty-four and I’m from Gruskavà.”

“You’re not Italian?”

Amelia smiled. “In Italian, it’s Groscavallo; in Provençal, it’s Gruskavà . . . In Turin province. I’m completely Italian.” With a quick swipe of the hand, she brushed back a lock of hair. “I lost my folks years ago and I moved to Aosta. Anything else you want to know?” And she looked at him with her big brown eyes.

“No. That should do it, thanks.”

“There are men who might have taken advantage of the situation to ask me for my cell phone number.”

“I’m not one of them.”

Amelia laughed as she touched her neck. “I assure you, you’re actually all the same. Maybe you’re just a little more skillful than all the others, but you want my cell phone number, and how!”

Rocco smiled, narrowing his eyes as he did so. “Instead of your cell phone number, why don’t you tell me whether that bee on your neck is the only tattoo that you have.”

Amelia leaned closer to Rocco and whispered: “There’s only one way to find out . . .” She got up. “I wish you a very nice day, Dottor Schiavone.”