The autumn sun in Speranza remained the color of aged parchment, a golden hue that suggested the village itself was a manuscript waiting to be read. Inside La Pagina che Fa le Fusa (The Purring Page), the sanctuary of rosemary and old paper was filled with the rhythmic rumbles of Toe and Ashwaganda .
I. The Discovery in the Cigars House
The mystery began not in my tea shop, but in Altea’s Cigars House. Every week, our group of four—the “Speranza Sisters”—meets to balance the village’s tranquility with our shared passion for cozy mysteries .
Altea arrived at our gathering, her hands trembling slightly as she held an antique mahogany humidor. “My grandmother left this to the shop,” she explained, settting it on a table between Anna’s freshly brewed coffee and Marisa’s latest shipment of mint chocolate. “But look at the lining.”
Tucked beneath the cedar wood was a hand-drawn map of Speranza’s foundations. It didn’t show the streets we walked daily; it showed a network of “Forgotten Tunnels” spiraling toward a central point marked only as the “Iron Heart.”
II. The Wisdom of the Peacock Book
I returned to my shop and consulted Days of your Dreams, the titleless, peacock-blue book with the silver-stamped sleeping cat . I turned the creamy-yellow parchment pages, the silver ink shimmering in the low lamp light.
Under the heading “On Finding What the Earth Has Swallowed,” the book offered a cryptic verse:
“The path is not seen by light, but felt by the whiskers’ twitch. Where the stone breathes, the heart beats. Look for the cat who hunts the shadow that does not move”.
“Whiskers’ twitch,” I whispered. Toe, my black Maine Coon, was currently fixated on a specific section of the shop’s ancient cotto flooring—a patch near the bordeaux velvet armchair where the stone felt unusually cold .
III. The Shadow of Signor Valenti
The village’s peace was soon disrupted by the arrival of Signor Valenti, a developer from Milan who claimed he wanted to restore the “structural integrity” of the hill town. While he charmed the locals with tales of modernization, the cats were not convinced.
- The Suspicion: Ashwaganda, usually a creature of placid routine, let out a low, inquisitive growl every time Valenti passed the shop.
- The Discrepancy: Valenti was often seen near the old well, carrying a briefcase that smelled of the same chemical “ochre” clay used by the forger Albinoni .
- The Motive: We suspected he wasn’t here for the infrastructure, but for the “Iron Heart”—a legendary cache of historical artifacts hidden during the Etruscan era.
IV. The Descent into the Tunnels
Driven by the map and Toe’s insistent batting at the loose floorstone, the Speranza Sisters gathered after hours. We pried back the cotto tiles to reveal a narrow, stone-stepped descent.
- The Atmosphere: The air was thick with the scent of “ancient herbs” and damp stone.
- The Guide: Ashwaganda led the way, his ginger fur a beacon in the gloom. He didn’t use the light of our lanterns; he moved with the “furry smartness” the blue book always praised.
- The Trap: We found Valenti already there, his briefcase open. He had used a miniature file—a forger’s tool—to try and pry a heavy iron door from its hinges.
“Archaeology requires a delicate eye, not a heavy plow,” I said, echoing the words once used by a fraud.
V. The Resolution of the Heart
Ispettore Salomone arrived just as the tunnels began to moan from the “breath of the mountain.” Valenti was apprehended, his briefcase revealing not tools for restoration, but vials of acid intended to dissolve the ancient locks of the Iron Heart.
The “Iron Heart” was not gold or jewels, but a perfectly preserved Etruscan library—scrolls and tablets that held the true history of Speranza.
- Toe was found sitting triumphantly atop a stack of stone tablets.
- Ashwaganda returned to his plaid wool blanket, his amber eyes half-closed in a job well done.
VI. A Sunset of New Beginnings
That evening, the setting sun bathed Speranza in a honey-gold light, mirroring the breathtaking colors of our weekly sunsets. I sat on my porch with Ashwaganda in my lap and Toe stretched out beside me.
I re-read a passage from the peacock-blue book, the scent of the pages mixing with the cool night air. I now understood that my role as a doctor and a solver of mysteries was to be a “purveyor of justice” and a “keeper of secrets”. In Speranza, the most fabulous mysteries are always hidden in plain sight, waiting for the truth to be spotted by a pair of wise, furry eyes.
SummerSimo Travel Troubles Notes and The Purring Page 
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