“There aren’t any mail boats or ferries that come into the port at ten in the morning, you know.”

“I know. My aunt has her own boat.”

The word “boat” got on his nerves. Nowadays when someone says “come and see my boat,” you find yourself looking at a one-hundred-twenty-foot vessel.

“Rowboat?” he asked, innocent as a lamb.

She didn’t get the joke.

“It’s a big boat with a captain and a four-man crew. And she’s always sailing. Alone. I haven’t seen her for years.”

“Where’s she going?”

“Nowhere.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My aunt likes sailing the high seas. She can afford it. Apparently she’s very rich. When Zio Arturo died, he left her a large inheritance and a Tunisian manservant named Zizì.”

“So she bought the boat with her inheritance?”

“No, Zio Arturo already had the boat. He also liked to spend a lot of time at sea. He didn’t work, but he had a ton of money. Nobody knew where it came from. Apparently he had some sort of partnership with a banker named Ricca.”

“And what do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Me?”

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if she needed to choose from the many different things she did.

“I’m a student.”

In the half hour that followed, Montalbano learned that the girl, who was an orphan and lived in Palermo, was studying architecture, didn’t have a boyfriend, and, well aware that she was no beauty, loved to read and listen to music. He also learned that she didn’t use perfume, lived with a cat named Eleuterio in an apartment that she owned, and preferred going to the movies to sitting in front of the television. Then she stopped all at once, looked at the inspector, and said:

“Thanks.”