Montalbano learned how hard it was to put on a wetsuit while in a dinghy speeding over a sea that wasn’t exactly calm. Mimì, at the helm, looked tense and worried. “Getting seasick?” the inspector asked him at one point. “No. Just sick of myself.” “Why?” “Because every now and then I realize what a stupid shit I am to go along with some of your brilliant ideas.” An angry octogenarian holds a terrified and lovelorn office worker at gunpoint. Her boss, it transpires, has disappeared with a few billion lire entrusted to him by the good citizens of Vigata . . . Also AWOL is his young colleague, whose uncle just happens to be building a house on the site of Inspector Montalbano’s very favourite olive tree . . . In vintage Camilleri style, he serves up yet another delicious investigation for our food-loving commitment-phobic Inspector. Ably abetted by his loyal and eccentric team, Montalbano solves his case and gets his girl (again!).