“The year of my birth. Go ahead and get started online. I’ll see if there is any rhyme or reason to this antiquated filing system.” Slash started pulling boxes and books from the shelves.
I sat at the table, sneezed some more and opened up my laptop.
An idea suddenly occurred to me. “Hey, Slash, do you know if you were baptized in this church?”
He was already seated on the floor in front of the bookshelf, a box between his legs, flipping through a blue leather journal. He had his phone out and was using it as a flashlight to view the papers. “Si. Father Armando told me he baptized me on the second day.”
“Wouldn’t the attending priests be noted somewhere?”
Slash looked up. “Not necessarily on the baptism certificate, which by the way, I’ve never seen, but it might be noted on an official event record for the church. I’m not sure how official my baptism was. Still, that’s a good idea, cara.”
I flexed my fingers and got to work. It took me over two hours to track down the former Father Daniel Opizzi. The wifi, even with my hotspot and an enhancer, was as slow as molasses.
“Bingo!” I finally exclaimed. “I’ve found him.”
Slash looked up from some papers he was reading. “Alive?”
“Alive.” I paused for a moment, scanning the information. “He retired from the priesthood about five years ago. He lives fifty minutes away from here in a small coastal town called Licosa.”
“I know where Licosa is. Are you’re sure that’s him?”
I studied his passport photo. “Pretty sure. He’s listed as having spent several years working at this church. You could, of course, call him to confirm.”
“I will. But I think we’d have a better chance of obtaining potentially helpful information if we were able to see him in person. If he’s only an hour away, it might be worth the trip.”
“Your call. How’s it going with the search for the acolyte?”
Slash set aside the papers and stood, stretching out his back. “In terms of finding a name, terrible. The church’s filing structure leaves a lot to be desired. I did, however, find my baptism certificate. As luck would have it, only Father Armando’s name is on it.” He held up a piece of paper between his fingers.
“No parents’ names by chance?”
“I’m not that lucky.”
I pursed my lips. “Hey, you got me, didn’t you?” I was rewarded with a laugh, so I stood and walked over to get a look at the certificate.
“Did you get a photo of it?”
He tapped his phone. “I did.”
“Good.” I studied the photo, enlarging it on the date. “Well, at least this confirms you’re thirty-three.”
“Almost thirty-four.”
I studied Father Armando’s looped signature on the certificate. “It was nice of Father Armando to baptize you, wasn’t it?”
Slash didn’t respond. Apparently that hurt was still too fresh to address. Instead he sat down in front of my laptop and studied the photo of Father Opizzi.
“Does he look familiar?” I asked.
Slash shook his head and pulled out his phone. “No, but let’s see if he’s willing to talk.”
Slash tapped out Father’s Opizzi’s number on his phone and waited. Someone must have answered on the other end because Slash started speaking in Italian. There was a short conversation, then Slash hung up.
“Well?” I looked at him hopefully. “Was it him?”
“It was him. He’s agreed to see us today.”
“Finally, some luck goes our way.” I closed my laptop, rested my hands on top of it. “How much did you tell him?”
“Not much. I need to gauge his reaction when I tell him I’m the baby who was brought into the church, if he even remembers it. I said only that I wanted to talk to him about his time at the church of San Mauro. I told him I’d worked at the Vatican and was trying to track down one of the priests who used to work there.”
“Does he remember the acolyte’s name?”
“No. But he remembers him. He said he kept personal journals while at the church. He’s going to look for the name and let us know if he’s found anything by the time we get there.”
“That would be great.” I pulled off the power cord and began winding it up. “So, should we head out now?”
“Si. But let’s have a quick bite to eat first.”
“Great idea, because I’m famished.”
Slash began to pick up the books, papers and boxes strewn across the floor while I packed up my laptop.
“I guess if Father Opizzi doesn’t know who the acolyte is, we can always find him in the Vatican records, right?” I asked.
“Possibly.” Slash gathered some papers and stacked them neatly in a box. “But I’m not sure how to go about finding that information. I’ll have to think about it and that will take time.” He put a final box on the shelf and brushed his hands together to remove the dust.
“Well, let’s hope Father Opizzi has a good memory,” I said. “Then we won’t have to worry about that.”
Slash smiled. “My experience is that priests are only second to nuns in regards to their memories. Want to bet he’ll remember?”
I slapped my hand into his, sealing the bet. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Slash
Slash thanked Father Bianachi for letting them look through the records, then they left the church. On the way to the car, he and Lexi stopped in a small Italian bakery where they ate a quiet lunch of risotto and drank espresso. She was quiet, probably wondering what information the visit with Father Opizzi would bring. He wondered that, too.
He finally leaned forward and tapped her arm. “Ready?”
“Yes. Let’s go.” She took the last sip of her espresso and stood.
The drive to Licosa took only forty-five minutes, but it had a killer view of the coastline, as well as breathtaking glimpses of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Lexi snapped several photos with her phone, her enthusiasm for the view making him smile.
He followed the GPS into Licosa and through the town. According to the small map, Father Opizzi’s house was located in a rural area near the cliffs on the other side of the town. The directions eventually took them down a dirt road toward a house made of pretty stucco walls and a red tile and clay roof. They drove past a meadow with a couple of goats and a horse comingling together in the shade of a large tree. The tires kicked up rocks from the road, and the strong smell of sea air confirmed the house was indeed located near the water. Apparently Father Opizzi lived a quiet, retired existence in a heavenly setting.
Slash pulled to a stop in front of the rustic house and cut the engine. There was no car outside the house, but there was a bicycle that looked well-tended. Although the priest had sounded kind on the phone, Slash had no idea if the father would answer his questions or remember anything useful about his time spent at the church in San Mauro. But it was a lead that needed exploring.
Regardless, he remained conflicted about tracking down his paternity. There was a part of him that wanted to know about his past and a part that didn’t. What if the knowledge turned out to be damaging to his career or his relationship with Lexi? What if the information changed him as a person or affected his outlook on life? But they’d come this far, so they’d talk to the priest and see what he could tell them.
He turned to Lexi. “Are you ready, cara?”
“I’m ready.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Let’s do this.”
They walked to the front door and Slash knocked. The sounds of someone moving around could be heard from inside.
A man with gray hair and a cane opened the door. He wore dark slacks and a white T-shirt, his feet in brown sandals. He squinted in the sunlight and cupped his hand over his eyes as he surveyed them.
“Father Daniel Opizzi?” Slash sa
id in Italian. “I’m the one who called you from the church at San Mauro Cilento.”
“Yes, please come in.”
Slash put a hand on the small of Lexi’s back, ushering her forward so he could introduce her. “This is my fiancée, Lexi Carmichael, from America. She doesn’t speak Italian.”
“That’s okay,” the priest answered. “I know English, and I’m happy to speak in a language you both understand.”
“That’s kind of you,” Slash responded in English. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”
“Of course. Please come in.” He ushered them inside the house.
Once inside, Lexi removed her hat. She was sweating, as was he. Even though the house had no air-conditioning, the shade was a welcome relief from the direct heat of the sun.
Slash did a quick survey of the room. Two visible exits, three windows, a television, a couch, a small desk with a small laptop, a round table and four chairs. The balcony doors, which were an exit to the back, were open and offered a slight cross breeze.
Religious artifacts and pictures of Jesus and numerous other saints hung on the wall, including the two new candidates for sainthood. The candles in the small makeshift shrine beneath them were currently lit.
The priest invited them to sit at the table. The table had a colorful woven mat with an open bottle of red wine on it. Lexi sat in the chair next to Slash.
“Would you like something to drink?” Father Opizzi asked them.
“Coffee would be wonderful. Lexi?”
“Do you have anything cold?” she asked. “I don’t think I could bear to drink something hot in this heat.”
The priest’s smile stretched wider. “Coca-Cola?”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
He shuffled off to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two coffees and a Coke without ice. Lexi thanked him and Slash noticed she didn’t mention the missing ice. His American girl was learning the European way.
Slash took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. “Eccellente.”
The priest put a spoonful of sugar into his cup and stirred it. “I’m glad it suits you. Now, how can I help you?”
Slash set his mug on the table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know more about the time you spent at the church at San Mauro Cilento.”
“Ah, yes. I enjoyed that year very much. Father Emilio Armando, who was the lead priest at the time, is a dear friend of mine. He’s now a cardinal, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Then you’ve heard the rumors that he might be our next pope. I understand he is quite popular in Genoa, and with the other cardinals, as well.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Slash said.
“Well, largely because of Emilio, my time spent in San Mauro was most memorable. Working in a small parish can be quite rewarding.”
Slash pushed his cup aside. “When you were there, do you remember the night of one of the worst rain and lightning storms Italy had experienced in decades? There was widespread flooding and some roads were washed away. A baby boy was left at the church that night.”
“Oh, yes. I remember that night and the baby quite clearly.”
“Veramente?” As soon as he said it, Slash realized he’d slipped back into Italian. He flashed Lexi a grin that said, ‘I told you so,’ and added in English, “Really?”
The father met his smile, his eyes curious. He had to be wondering about Slash’s reasons for a stroll down memory lane, but graciously let Slash lead the way. “Really. Mostly because Emilio took a special interest in the baby. We all did. We had to take care of him ourselves for several days due to the storm. We agreed the experience was a God-given gift to all of us.”
“Why was the experience a gift?” he asked. “Surely it had to have been an unexpected burden to be faced with caring for an infant just a few days old.”
“Oh, no! It wasn’t a burden at all even though none of us had ever taken care of an infant before. There was something truly illuminating about the experience. We could not help but draw comparisons to how it must have been to care for Jesus as an infant. This poor, abandoned baby was such a sweet child. He rarely cried or fussed. But when he did, he could be soothed by a cuddle or singing. The baby seemed especially fond of the music of a pianist whose name escapes me at the moment.”
“Hai Tsang,” Lexi supplied and then pressed her fingers against her lips. “Oops. Sorry to interrupt.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” Father Opizzi said looking at her in surprise. “You’re correct. It was the Chinese pianist Tsang. How did you know?”
Lexi glanced at Slash with an apology in her eyes, but he shook his head slightly, wanting her to know it was okay.
“I’m that baby,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that from the start, but I wanted to hear your version of the story without being aware the infant being discussed was me.”
The father studied Slash with undisguised interest. “Well, it makes sense. I was wondering where you were going with that line of questioning. This is quite a surprise. A pleasant surprise, of course.”
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“No, no, you haven’t. By God, I heard you went missing shortly after you were placed with a family. Emilio looked for you for so long. Did he ever find you?”
“He did.” Slash didn’t offer more information and the father didn’t pry even though he had to be curious. “Sir, did you happen to find the name of the other priest who was there at the same time you were? The young acolyte assigned to the church from Rome during the summer?”
“I did, and I should mention he was quite the handsome lad. The young ladies of the village attended mass far more often when he was assisting.”
“Father Bianachi also mentioned his physical appearance.”
“Oh, yes.” The priest set his coffee down and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. “That young man looked as if God had created an angel on earth. The proverbial tall, dark and handsome man, if you will forgive my indulgence.”
“His name?”
“His name was Manuel de Rosa. He returned to Rome not too long after that big storm.”
“Wasn’t he supposed to be assigned there for the entire summer?”
“He was. His departure was unexpected, as I recall. He left the priesthood shortly thereafter, much to my disappointment, as I thought he had great promise, and of course, loads of charisma.”
“Any idea why he left?”
“I’m afraid the holy life is not for everyone. Leaving the priesthood is not that an unusual occurrence for acolytes, especially one who stood out as much as he did.”
Slash knew that truth firsthand. “Do you know where Manuel was from? What city or region? Did he have an accent? Did he ever talk about his family?”
“I’m afraid we didn’t talk much socially, and he rather kept to himself. But he was Italian. I don’t know anything else about him other than he was assigned from Rome. He could have been from anywhere in Italy.”
Slash stood, offering a hand. “Thank you very much for your time, Father. I greatly appreciate you speaking with us.”
“It was my pleasure. I do not receive a lot of visitors and I quite enjoy it. I am glad God has brought you to my doorstep if for nothing else than closure. May I say one thing more?”
“Of course.”
“You were in my life for three days, but your presence stayed with me for my entire life. I’ll never forget those days of caring for you. It was one of those experiences that last a lifetime.”
How odd that his birth and subsequent drop-off at the church had touched the lives of several priests destined to never have children of their own. It was a small thing, but knowing his life had served them in that way was unexpectedly gratifying.
Slash felt a lump in his t
hroat. “Thank you for telling me that, Father.”
As they headed for the door, Lexi stopped to look at the pictures of the two candidate saints on the wall.
“They are soon to become saints, we hope,” Father Opizzi told her.
“That’s what I hear,” she said. “You’ve lit the candles beneath their photos. Does that mean you’re praying for them?”
“It does. But I’m not just praying for their souls, I’m asking them to guide me by their example so I may become a better person.”
“That’s quite admirable, especially given your lifetime of service.”
He laughed. “Even retired priests need all the help they can get.”
She laughed, too, and Slash wondered if she realized how beautiful she looked with a smile on her face. “Thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Father,” she said. “By the way, your English is excellent.”
“I’m humbled by your evaluation. I do enjoy watching mysteries and the news on the BBC. It’s been fun practicing my English with you. I do not often have the opportunity to do so. Now, go with God, my children, and please come back and visit anytime. It would be my pleasure to see you both again.”
“We might do that,” Slash said and meant it. “We very well might.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Father Julian Koenhein
The cardinal was going to be extremely angry with the statement on the piece of paper he held in one hand, and Julian didn’t have a clue how to break it to him in a way that would prevent that fury. Usually he was good at smoothing ruffled feathers and keeping Cardinal Lazo calm by working behind the scenes to keep things moving efficiently and quietly.
But events of late had been bringing him out of his comfort zone on a regular basis and that was unsettling.
Julian hesitated with his hand poised to knock, wishing he could think of a way to deliver the news and vanish, at least until the cardinal’s anger had passed. Unfortunately, no amount of thinking and no magic solution presented itself to him, so he knocked on the door.
No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 18