By Michael Dibdin
After his adventures less than sun-drenched Neapolitan skies in Cosi Fan Tutti, Aurelio Zen reveals himself again in Rome, sneezing in a humid wine cellar and being given one other unorthodox project: to liberate the jailed scion of an incredible wine-growing relations who's accused of a brutal homicide. Zen travels north to an Italy as outwardly serene as Naples used to be manic. Amid the quiet fields, autumnal skies and crumbling farmhouses of Piedmont, Zen needs to attempt to penetrate a standard tradition during which kinfolk and soil are inextricably associated. the following secrets and techniques can final for generations, and feature a end as lengthy and lingering as that of an outstanding Barbaresco. Zen should also withstand mysteries from his personal earlier, in addition to grapple with the greed, envy, hatred and love which are the human parts of any panorama.
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Extra resources for A Long Finish (Aurelio Zen, Book 6)
He thought he was in love with that woman,” she continued. “She led him on. ” I waited for more and got it. “I hope she felt guilty and goes straight to hell. ” I could picture her at Saturday’s CAP rally in the park, yelling along with the best of them. ” She glared at me. “Of course I have. ” I tried to explain that I didn’t mean to imply otherwise but I’d already said enough to lose her trust, and clearly the conversation wasn’t going to be pleasant from here on. I excused myself, paid for both coffees at the counter, and left.
When they saw the large sign at the edge of town advertising The Black Cat B&B, they decided to check it out. They still felt like celebrating, and a bed-andbreakfast would be more festive than a motel. They were surprised to find that The Black Cat B&B was surrounded by a high chain-link fence with a security gate at the entrance. But it looked ideal: a large Victorian building on a sprawling lot within walking distance of the Sogobia River, surrounded by shade trees to temper the heat coming off the Nevada desert.
Now for the record, of course it was suicide. Any damn fool can see that. But as soon as I saw the hole in the fence, I knew some asshole would come up with a theory. ” Driving down Main Street, on my way home, I saw Sonny Boy’s mother enter Mom’s Café. I swung into a parking place out front to follow her inside. She was slipping into a corner booth. I approached the table. She was one of those working women with a face that revealed a life of long hours, much worry, and probably too much booze.