“I saw a little heater in the bathroom, and I turned it on and put my jeans, blouse, and jacket in front of it.”

He sat her down and served her the caffelatte with a few of the biscotti Adelina normally bought for him and which he normally never ate.

“Excuse me a minute,” he said after drinking his first cup of coffee, and he got up and phoned the police station.

“Ah Chief Chief! Ahh Chief!”

“What’s wrong, Cat?”

“Iss the oppocalypso!”

“What happened?”

“The wind blew the roof tiles offa the roof in probable cause o’ which the water’s comin’ inna rooms!”

“Has it done any damage?”

“Yessir. F’rinstince, alla papers that was a toppa yer desk awaitin’ f’yiz to sign ’em ’sgot so wet they’s turn to paste.”

A hymn of exultation, deriding the bureaucracy, welled up joyously in Montalbano’s breast.

“Listen, Cat, I’m here at home. The road into town has collapsed.”

“So you’s consiquintly outta reach.”

“Unless Gallo can find a way to come and get me…”

“Wait a sic an’ I’ll put ’im on, ’e’s right here.”

“What is it, Chief?”

“Well, I was on my way to the station when I ran into a traffic jam about fifty yards down the road from my house. The storm tides washed away the road. My car is stuck there and can’t move. And so I’m stranded here at home. If you could manage to find a-”

Gallo didn’t let him finish his sentence.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, max,” he said.

The inspector returned to the kitchen, sat back down, and fired up a cigarette.

“Do you smoke?” he asked the young woman.

“Yes, but my cigarettes are all wet.”

“Take one of mine.”

She accepted and held out her cigarette for him to light.

“I feel mortified for causing you so much trouble-”

“Not at all! In half an hour somebody’s going to come by to pick me up. Were you on your way to Vigàta?”

“Yes. I had an appointment at ten, at the port. My aunt is supposed to be arriving. I came all the way from Palermo. But in this weather, I doubt that… I bet she doesn’t come in until this afternoon.”