Death at sea Montalbano's early cases

Andrea Camilleri

Book - 2018

"You either love Andrea Camilleri or you haven't read him yet. Each novel in this wholly addictive, entirely magical series, set in Sicily and starring a detective unlike any other in crime fiction, blasts the brain like a shot of pure oxygen... transporting. Long live Camilleri, and long live Montalbano." --A.J. Finn, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window Set on the Sicilian coast, a collection of eight short stories featuring the young Inspector Montalbano In 1980s Vigàta, a restless Inspector Montalbano brings his brash yet clear-sighted investigative style to eight enthralling cases. Death at Sea finds the detective seeking to bring justice to crimes -- from those involving jilted lovers and dea...dly family affairs to an encounter featuring the assassination attempt against the Pope to murders in unexpected places -- always with the mafia not far behind. This collection is an essential addition to any Inspector Montalbano fan's bookshelf and an excellent way to introduce new readers to Andrea Camilleri's unforgettable slice of Sicily.

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1st Floor MYSTERY/Camiller Andrea Due Apr 8, 2024
Subjects
Genres
Mystery fiction
Detective and mystery fiction
Short stories
Published
New York, New York : Penguin Books [2018]
Language
English
Italian
Main Author
Andrea Camilleri (author)
Other Authors
Stephen Sartarelli, 1954- (translator)
Item Description
"Originally published in Italian as: Morte in mare aperto e altre indagini del giovane Montalbano, by Sellerio Editore, Palermo"--Title page verso.
Physical Description
273 pages ; 20 cm
ISBN
9780143108818
  • Room number 2
  • Double investigation
  • Death at sea
  • The stolen message
  • The transaction
  • Standard procedure
  • The apricot
  • The honest thief.
Review by Booklist Review

The ever-observant, rule-bending Inspector Montalbano, star of Camilleri's long-running series (A Nest of Vipers, 2017) set in Vigàta, Sicily, has his deductive abilities tested in this collection of eight short stories that flash back to the inspector's early years on the job in the 1980s, when he tackles various crimes many with the Mafia lurking in the background that vary from domestic turmoil to an assassination attempt on the pope. Camilleri's quirky characters and crimes are at times hilarious, with each lovingly drawn so as to endear readers. A brief appended glossary explains a few Sicilian terms that are used in the book, but otherwise the translation stands alone; fans will enjoy, as always, Montalbano's malaprop-spouting assistant, but those new to the series may find that his colloquial lingo sounds too much like New York dialect (a running gag has him telling his boss that someone wishes to speak to him poissonally in poisson). Still, lovers of eccentric mysteries will be entertained by these fast-moving tales and by Montalbano's insider knowledge of how to get things done in Sicily.--Henrietta Verma Copyright 2018 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Set in 1980s Vigàta, Sicily, the eight stories in this delightful collection from CWA International Dagger Award-winner Camilleri (The Pyramid of Mud), show a young Salvo Montalbano encountering tricky situations and crimes that can't always be solved by traditional police work. The cast is familiar, even though Camilleri has not yet rounded the interplay of his main characters into a mature form. Livia is already Salvo's lover; Insp. Mimi Augello and Detective Fazio are already his able assistants; and office aide Catarella is butchering the language as usual. Highlights include "Room Number 2," in which Salvo solves an arson case, and "Double Investigation," in which he has a seminal confrontation with Augello. Salvo's cleverness derails a complex drug operation in "Death at Sea." Pamela, an unlikely but sexually voracious barmaid, disappears in "The Stolen Message," and Salvo figures out the surprising reason why. This is a must for Montalbano fans and anyone else who values superb plotting. Agent: Carmen Prestia, Carmen Prestia Agenzia Letteraria (Italy). (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Sicilian police inspector Montalbano returns in this collection of eight short cases.The question posed by this volume is whether Montalbano's abbreviated adventures are as satisfying as the full-length ones in Camilleri's novels (The Sacco Gang, 2018, etc.), and the answer is not quite. But only in the sense that a fully satisfying meal leaves more of an impression than a wonderful snack. The metaphor is apt, because food ranks just after work and just ahead of love in the triumvirate that keeps the inspector going. Love is represented here, as in all the books, by the inspector's girlfriend, Livia, their relationship a series of squabbles and makeups that are indicative of nothing so much as the interactions of two brainy people, neither of whom suffers fools gladly. Food is, always, the sacred respite Montalbano takes at his usual lunchtime trattoria and, later, at home with whatever delicacy his housekeeper, Adelina, has left in the oven. The cases, mostly disappearances and murders, or disappearances that turn into murders, are all diverting. But what matters about the Montalbano books is the inspector himself, an earthy, cunning companion, open to delight and affection, his grumpiness the reaction of a decent man to how often his fellow human beings fall short of decency. Longtime readers of the series take his deductive powers as a given. They are, though, more apt to see the essence of the man when, after dinner, he takes to the veranda of his little house by the sea and sits looking at the water in twilight, smoking, sipping whisky, usually working out a problem but more often than not just being, and inviting the reader to share this quiet pleasure.This is a fine introduction for newcomers to Camilleri's work and, for the dedicated, eight examples of why Inspector Montalbano is so beloved. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

ROOM NUMBER 2   1   They were talking about this and that, sitting out on the veranda, when out of the blue, Livia made a statement that took Montalbano by surprise.   "When you get old you'll be so fixed in your habits, you'll be worse than an old cat," she said.   "Why do you say that?" the inspector asked, taken aback. And a little irritated. He didn't like to think about getting old.   "You may not realize it, but you're extremely methodical and orderly. If something is not in its proper place, you get upset. It puts you in a bad mood."   "Oh, come on!"   "You can't see it, but that's how you are. At Calogero's you always sit at the same table. And when you don't eat at Calogero's you always pick some restaurant to the west."   "To the west of what?"   "To the west of Vig^ta. Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. Montereale, Fiacca . . . It's never, say, Montelusa or Fela . . . And yet there must be some nice places out that way. For example, I've been told that at San Vito, the Montelusa beach, there are at least two little restaurants that-"   "Did they give you their names?"   "Yes, the Anchor and the Skillet."   "Which one would you prefer?"   "Well, on the spur of the moment, I guess it would be the Skillet."   "I'll take you there this evening."           To MontalbanoÕs immense satisfaction, the food was pig swill. On second thought, pigs must surely eat better than that. The establishment prided itself on its fried fish platter. But the inspector had a strong suspicion that the oil they used was motor oil, while the fish, which should have been crispy, was squishy and watery, as if they had cooked it the day before. And when Livia apologized for her mistake, Montalbano started laughing.   Once they'd finished eating, they both felt a pressing need to cleanse their palates, and so they went to a bar right on the beach to have a drink-a whisky for him, gin and tonic for her.   And just to show Livia that he wasn't as much a creature of habit as she said, on the drive back to Vig^ta he took a different road from the usual one. They approached the first buildings in town from the elevated part, from where you could see the harbor and the calm sea below, reflecting a crescent moon.   "Look how beautiful! Let's stop for a minute," said Livia.   They got out of the car, and the inspector fired up a cigarette.   It was just past midnight, and the brightly lit mail boat for Lampedusa was putting about, ready to leave the harbor. A few fishing lamps flickered on the horizon.   Right behind them, a little detached from the other residences, was an old three-story building in rather dilapidated shape, with a bright neon sign on its crumbling faade that said: hotel panorama. The front door was closed. Any late-arriving customers would have to ring the doorbell to get in.   Livia, enchanted by the clear, calm night, wanted to stay there and wait for the mail boat to reach the open sea before they left.   "I smell something burning," she said as they were walking back to the car.   "Me, too," said the inspector.   At that exact moment the front door of the hotel opened and somebody started shouting from inside:   "Fire! Fire! Everybody out! Quick! Everybody out!"   "You stay here," Montalbano ordered Livia, running towards the hotel.   Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of a car starting and then driving off at high speed. But he wasn't entirely sure, because there were also some strange crashing noises inside the hotel.   Upon entering the small, narrow entranceway, he saw, through the dense smoke, a great many tall and determined flames at the back of a short corridor. At the foot of the staircase in the middle of the hall, which led upstairs, stood a man in sleeveless T-shirt and underpants, still shouting:   "Come downstairs, all of you! Quick! Everybody outside!"   And, coming down the stairs at that moment-some in their underwear, others in pajamas, but all with shoes and clothes in hand and cursing-were three men, followed by another two, then yet another man. The latter was fully dressed and carrying a small suitcase. Apparently there were no women staying at that hotel.   The man at the foot of the stairs, who looked rather old, then turned to leave as well, when he spotted the inspector.   "Go out!"   "Who are you?"   "The owner."   "Are all your customers out of danger now?"   "Yes. They'd all come in for the night."   "Have you called the fire department?"   "Yes."   Suddenly the lights went out.   Outside there was already a noisy crowd of about twenty, who'd come out, in various states of undress, from the nearby residences.   "Take me away from here," said Livia, upset.   "They're all out of danger," said the inspector, to reassure her.   "I'm glad, but fires really scare me."   "Let's wait till we hear the firemen's siren," said Montalbano.           The following morning he decided to take the long way to work, the road that passed through the elevated part of town. He was suddenly dying of curiosity to find out how things had gone at the old hotel. Since the firemen had been late in arriving and taken a very long time to put out the flames, the building was now gutted. The inside had all burned up, leaving only the outer walls still standing, with holes that were once windows. Inside there were still a few firemen at work. The entire ruin was cordoned off. Four municipal cops were keeping the rubberneckers away. Montalbano gave them a dirty look. He hated the Òdisaster tourismÓ of those who rushed to witness the scene of a catastrophe or crime. And if someone had died during the fire, there would surely have been three times as many people trying to catch a glimpse of things.   A smell of burning still hung in the air. Overcome by a feeling of desolation, he left.   As he was parking the car in the station lot, he saw Augello race out of the building.   "Where are you off to?"   "I got a call from the fire chief, who told me they put out a fire last night . . ."   "I know all about it."   "He says it was a clear case of arson."   "Let me know when you get back."           He told Fazio how heÕd happened to be with Livia outside the hotel the night before at the moment the fire broke out, and had seen its six customers fleeing.   "Do you know the owner?" he asked.   "Of course. His name is Aurelio Ciulla; he's a friend of my dad's."   "And that's all?"   "Chief, that hotel earns Ciulla next to nothing. He only gets by with the help of subsidies from the city and regional governments . . ."   "Why doesn't he shut it down?"   "He's almost seventy now and he's fond of the place. And if he shuts it down, how's he gonna eat?"   "The firemen say it was arson. Do you think it could have been Ciulla himself who set the fire?"   "Bah! As far as I know, he's an honest man, he's never had any trouble with the law, he's a widower, he's never had any women, and has no vices, but I guess it's possible that, in desperation . . ."           Mim" Augello got back about two hours later. He looked quite fed up.   "Total waste of time. In short, this fire chief, after looking at the thing from all angles, in the end wasn't so sure that it was arson . . ."   "And why not?"   "The fire started in a rather large storeroom at the back of the hallway on the ground floor. It was used for storing bedclothes . . . And the fire chief found glass fragments of a bottle that had gasoline in it."   "So, a Molotov cocktail?" asked Montalbano.   "That's what it looked like to the fire chief."   "Does this storeroom have a window?"   "Yes. And it was open. But Signor Ciulla, the owner, told him he always kept a bottle of gasoline in there, which he used as a stain remover."   "And so?"   "And so there's no explanation, since the fire certainly wasn't started by a short circuit. But the fire chief still had his doubts."   Montalbano thought about this for a moment. Then he said:   "Things for which there's no explanation get on my nerves."   "Mine, too," said Augello.   "You know what I say? I say call up Ciulla and tell him to be here at four o'clock this afternoon."   Augello went out and came back five minutes later.   "He says he'll be here at six, 'cause he has to talk with the insurance agent about the fire."   "What number did you call him at?"   "The one he gave me. He said it was his home number."   "So why was he sleeping at the hotel last night?"   "How should I know? You can ask him when he comes."           Aurelio Ciulla, now modestly dressed, was the man Montalbano had spoken to the night before, as the hotel was catching fire.   "Please sit down, Signor Ciulla. You've already met Inspector Augello and Detective Fazio. And you and I also met last night."   "Really? When?"   "I was near your hotel when the fire broke out, and so I went inside, and we spoke."   "I'm sorry, I don't remember anything."   "That's understandable. But tell me something. How come you were spending the night at your hotel?"   Ciulla looked at him in confusion.   "But it's my hotel!"   "I know that, but since you gave Inspector Augello your home phone number in Vig^ta, I was just wond-"   "Ah, okay, I get it. I do that often, I'm not sure why. Sometimes I just feel like spending the night at the hotel, maybe 'cause it's too hot, or just because. Then at other times I don't feel like it."   "I see. Is your hotel insured?"   "Of course. And I'm all up to date on my payments. But today the insurance people called me to tell me they received the fire station's report, which says they think it was a case of arson, so they have to make sure it wasn't first."   "And that's exactly the reason I called you in. So we can try to understand together what-"   "But there's very little to understand, Inspector. Since the hotel earns nothing-actually, it loses money-everyone thinks I set the fire myself to get the insurance money."   "Well, you must admit . . ."   "At any rate I told the insurance people it's not up to me to prove that I had nothing to do with it."   "You're right; it's up them, and to us. And if it all went well, how much insurance would you get?"   "A pittance. About twenty million lire."   "Well, it's not exactly a pittance."   "But I can prove that I had nothing to do with burning down the hotel."   "How?"   "Do you know Curatolo, the engineer?"   Montalbano looked over at Fazio.   "He's the biggest real estate developer in the province," said Fazio.   "Last week he phoned me personally, wanting me to sell him the hotel. He offered me thirty million. He's interested in the fact that the area's suitable for building. So why would I want to set fire to the hotel and risk going to prison? If you don't believe me, you can call up Curatolo himself and see whether or not I'm telling the truth." Excerpted from Death at Sea: Montalbano's Early Cases by Andrea Camilleri All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.