No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven

by Julie Moffett

  He led me to the bathroom where he treated my hands and bandaged them like an expert. After that, we took our breakfast to the balcony. I put on a loose light green skirt and matching white and green T-shirt and joined him barefoot at the small table.

  Slash sat reading the paper, leaning back in the chair, his long legs stretched out. He’d thoughtfully put the cream and sugar next to my coffee, so I quickly poured in everything and stirred it with a wooden stick so I could drink it. The bandages felt funny on my hand, but at least they didn’t interfere with the mobility of my fingers, which helped enormously.

  Taking a sip of coffee, I leaned over to snatch a biscottate from the bag when I noticed the picture on the front of the newspaper. I choked on my coffee, and Slash lowered his paper.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I swallowed and pointed to the picture on the front page. “Did you see that?”

  Slash and I were standing in the middle of the street at the parade. A photographer had caught Slash holding the burning propane tank, bare-chested and looking like a total badass from a movie set. Thankfully, I was in the background, my face barely visible. Good thing, because I was dressed in just my bra and jeans, pulling the manhole cover off with the policeman.

  He set the paper down. “I saw it. We’ve been dubbed the Second Saviors of Salerno. A second miracle on the very day of the celebration of the first miracle by the Savior of Salerno.”

  “So much for anonymity.”

  “I know. I was going to wait until you had breakfast, but I might as well tell you now. We’ve been asked to swing by the mayor’s office before we leave for Gaeta.”

  “Why?”

  “The mayor wants to personally thank us for our quick-thinking actions at the parade.”

  “Is that necessary?” Please say no.

  “Apparently, it is. I told them we’d be at city hall about eleven o’clock. Hopefully we’ll be in and out. Shake some hands, smile for some photographs and leave. No more sightseeing for us today. We’ll go straight to Gaeta. Now that our picture has been plastered everywhere, our location is no longer a secret.”

  “I guess you’re right. I hope this meet and greet at the mayor’s goes quickly. You know it’s not my thing.”

  “It’s not mine either, but we’ll deal.”

  I took the biscotti from the bag, dipped it in my coffee and took a bite, feeling like a real Italian. “Somehow we always do, Slash.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lexi

  As soon as we finished breakfast, we packed up our things and checked out of the hotel. Slash drove to Salerno’s City Hall, an old, four-storied, stone structure. Upon entering the building, we were met by a policeman, who directed us to a reception area. We showed our IDs, signed in, went through a magnetometer and were instructed to wait. A few minutes later, a young woman from the mayor’s office came to escort us to the meeting.

  We followed her into a giant hall made of gorgeous polychrome marble, featuring a huge staircase and a crystal chandelier. The woman led us down a corridor and into a large office. There were several people already there, including a man with a camera around his neck who was walking around snapping photographs. I recognized the policeman who’d helped me with the manhole and, to my surprise, I also saw the Bishop of Salerno.

  We were spotted the moment we stepped into the room. A woman wearing a crisp navy-blue suit and a white blouse approached us first. Her dark curly hair was loose around her shoulders. She greeted me warmly as she held out a hand.

  “Welcome. You must be Lexi Carmichael. I’m Maria Colella, Mayor of Salerno.”

  I liked the fact that she was so poised and spoke flawless English. It did, however, make me feel embarrassed I spoke only one language. I was going to have to up my game on studying Italian.

  “Hi.” My bandage made it awkward when we shook hands, and she was careful not to squeeze. “Nice to meet you.”

  She turned to Slash and gently shook his hand, too. “Thank you both for coming. I’m so sorry for your injuries, but incredibly grateful you were where you were yesterday. You saved a lot of people. Did you know people are referring to you as the Second Saviors of Salerno?”

  Slash dipped his head graciously, but shook his head. “That’s a kind, but inaccurate, label. We did what anyone else would have done if they’d seen the fire.”

  “I’m not convinced of that,” the mayor responded. “You prevented a tragedy of incalculable cost to this city on a very special day to us. I’m of the belief that Salerno has twice been blessed by God. The timing is not a coincidence. Just as we celebrate the first saint of Salerno, two new saints are born.”

  I winced. Calling Slash and me saints seemed more than a little overkill. In fact, I was feeling pretty uncomfortable being held to such a high standard. “Um, we were in the right place at the right time,” I said. “I’m glad we could help.”

  She motioned to the policeman, who had also helped, to come join us. As he walked over to meet us, I realized how young he was. He didn’t look a day over eighteen years old. Regardless, he’d run into the situation, sized it up quickly and hadn’t hesitated to help us. If he kept those skills sharp, he’d have a stellar career in law enforcement.

  “I believe you’ve already met Salvi Zullo,” the mayor said to us.

  “Actually, we never got his name,” I said, holding out my bandaged hand to him. “Grazie, Salvi. Thank you for your help.”

  Slash shook his hand and murmured something to him in Italian. Salvi responded with a beaming smile, clearly pleased by whatever Slash said.

  “I thanked him for his courage,” Slash translated for me. “He’s only been on the force six months, and he performed admirably.”

  “He did, indeed,” the mayor said, beaming.

  The Bishop of Salerno was talking to someone across the room, but when he saw me look his way, he waved jovially at me. I quickly averted my eyes. My mind kept replaying the exact moment my face went into his lap. I had a terrible urge to rub my jaw, but didn’t want to do anything that would remind him of that moment.

  Salvi and the mayor walked away, so it was just Slash and me. “By the way, what exactly did you say to the bishop about me?” I asked in a low voice.

  “I told him you were helping a little old lady and her cart got away from you. I also told him you were my fiancée.”

  “So why does he seem so happy to see me?”

  Slash’s mouth twitched. “Well, he also asked me for your name so he could pray for you. When I told him that your name is Lexi Carmichael, he broke into a large grin.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he said your name could be interpreted as ‘cara michael’ or ‘my dearest angel Michael,’ since Michael was, of course, God’s number one archangel. The bishop said he couldn’t possibly be upset about having a lovely angel drop into his lap. Besides, who else could destroy a cross in a single swipe besides an archangel? Anyway, since it was all in the name of helping people, you are completely forgiven, and dare I say, burned into the psyche of the Bishop of Salerno forever.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “What? That’s...completely nuts.”

  Slash chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. He was totally enjoying this. “Trust me,” he said. “He’s never going to forget his little cara michael. My best guess is you will be often in his prayers, especially now that you’ve proven to be an actual angel by saving all those people in front of the cathedral.”

  Just as Slash finished, the bishop joined us. He took my hand and kissed it. “So, Miss Carmichael, we finally meet.” He spoke perfect English without the slightest trace of an accent. I was starting to get a complex about being unilingual.

  “Well, technically, we already met,” I said. “Sort of.” My whole face burned, and Slash looked like he was trying not to laugh. I wished I were anywhere but there.
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br />   “You and your fiancé are the talk of Salerno today,” the bishop said. “You’re truly a gift given to us by God. Thank you.”

  “It was nothing really,” I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Anyone could have done it.”

  The bishop leaned over, lowering his voice. “But they didn’t, did they? You were the chosen ones. You are both as humble as you are courageous. I shall pray often for you.”

  “Oh, well, thanks, I guess.” I hoped that was appropriate thing to say.

  Slash saved me from further conversation by engaging the bishop in Italian. The mayor chatted with me a bit more while the photographer ran around snapping more photos, asking us to pose together until I was one thin thread from losing it.

  At that exact moment, the mayor motioned for Slash, Salvi and me to join her near her desk. The photographer gave her a thumbs-up, so she began to speak.

  “I know it’s not much, but I would like to present the three of you with this token of our appreciation.” She opened up a small blue box and pulled out a medal that was nestled there against blue velvet.

  My eyes widened as she approached me first, slipping the medal over my head. “This civic medal is an honor bestowed upon you in a gesture of Salerno’s deep appreciation. We cannot thank you enough for your kind and courageous act. Please know that Salerno is now, and forever, your adopted home.”

  She presented Salvi and Slash with their medals, too, and the photographer snapped a dozen more pictures of us.

  “We are deeply honored,” Slash said, pressing the medal against his chest with his bandaged hand. “Thank you for your recognition.”

  After another minute of small talk, we were finally released. We said our goodbyes and headed toward the door. Near the exit, I noticed a large framed photo on the wall and I screeched to a halt.

  “Hey, that looks like Father Armando.” It appeared to be an official Vatican portrait. The priest was dressed in a black cassock with scarlet piping and buttons, a red sash, a zucchetto and a pectoral cross on a chain.

  Slash stepped closer and examined the photo. “It is.”

  Mayor Colella spoke over our shoulders. “Oh, yes. Father Emilio Armando is a distinguished citizen of Salerno. He’s the Archbishop of Genoa, and more recently, he was named a cardinal. He attended Salerno’s Seminario Vescovile di Teggiano, one of Italy’s most prestigious seminaries, and became friends with our current pope there. If you’ll indulge me in a moment of bragging, Salerno has nurtured many important Italians throughout history.”

  “It certainly has,” Slash said.

  The mayor herself escorted us from the building. As soon as we were alone, I put a hand on Slash’s arm. “Did you know Father Armando was from Salerno?”

  He slid on his sunglasses. “I did not.”

  “That’s where he met the pope. You should ask him about it sometime.”

  “I will. Apparently there’s a lot I don’t know about Father Armando.”

  There it was again, that hard, inflexible tone which I knew was his way of hiding the hurt the relationship was causing him. Since I didn’t know the full story of what’d happened between them, I had no idea how they were ever going to get past that or if it were even possible. But I hoped for both their sakes, they did.

  He opened the car door for me and I climbed in. “Now, however, we have more urgent business to attend to,” he said.

  “Manuel de Rosa.” I fastened my seat belt with difficulty because of the bandage. “He’s next, right?”

  The muscles in his jaw flexed and tightened, the only indication of his inner tension. “Si.” Slash slipped on his sunglasses and put the key in the ignition. “It’s time to finally meet him.”

  Chapter Forty

  Lexi

  “Just try to enjoy the scenery,” Slash said. “I’m going to get us there safely.”

  Once again I sat stiffly in the front seat of the convertible, trying hard to ignore the incredibly narrow and winding roads leading to Gaeta. This was the part of the Amalfi coast that I didn’t like. In fact, if Slash hadn’t handled the car so expertly, I would have already had a heart attack. Every time we passed a bus or large car, I squeezed my legs together to make myself smaller and bit my lip to keep from shouting “Look out!” I would have screamed in terror, except I was too afraid to distract him for even a sliver of a second.

  But Slash knew anyway. Maybe the fact that my face was bleached of all color, my knuckles were white from clenching them together in my lap, and I hadn’t spoken for the past thirty miles was a giveaway that I was scared witless.

  “We’re almost there, cara,” Slash said soothingly. “You can relax now.”

  I’d decided I would relax only when I was out of the car and could kiss the solid ground beneath my feet. I envied the calm confidence he had behind the wheel.

  However, as we got closer to our destination, I could see the tension begin to build in him, too. His fingers gripped the wheel tighter and it had nothing to do with heights and scary cliffs. The meeting with Manuel de Rosa loomed in front of us and neither of us knew what the outcome would be. This entire situation was taking a toll on us.

  To complicate matters, the Congo issue and the massive CIA hack-off between us had been festering inside me since I arrived in Italy. I had no idea how to deal with these feelings. The fact that we’d been fierce opponents, with him on one side and me on the other, was just hanging there between us. If I left the issue alone, it would eat at me. On the other hand, Slash already had a lot on his plate at the moment. I didn’t need to add to that. For the time being, I’d decided to keep quiet. Still, I wondered if this thing would always be between us, or if I brought it up, whether we could survive it.

  Once we pulled into the town, I was distracted from my worries by the charming view. We passed an open market where people were selling everything from trinkets to strings of sausages. Soon, the town roads became so narrow, they could barely fit one car. At least there wasn’t a cliff on one side, so I was thankful for the small things. Eventually Slash pulled onto a sidewalk next to another car and cut the engine.

  “Wait. This is a parking space?” I asked in surprise. “Half on the sidewalk, half in the road?”

  He got out of the car and adjusted his sunglasses. “Welcome to Italy.”

  He checked the street addresses as we walked along a twisty road lined with lovely stone buildings, most of which had balconies lined with flower boxes spilling over with colorful blooms.

  “This is it,” he said, stopping in front of a building.

  “Do you think he’ll be home?” I asked.

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  We entered the building with a couple of old ladies who glanced at us. All Slash had to do was smile at them and they let us in.

  “He works from five thirty in the evening to one thirty in the morning,” Slash said as we climbed the stairs.

  I didn’t ask him how he knew that. By this point, Slash probably knew more about him than his proctologist did.

  “He worked last night, but will hopefully be awake by now,” Slash continued. “Whether he’s home or not is another question. If he isn’t, we’ll wait.”

  Slash knocked and after a minute a man opened the door, still held shut by a chain. I caught of glimpse of tousled black hair, brown eyes and the dark complexion of southern Italians. His eyes alighted on me first and then flicked to Slash.

  “Cosa vuoi?” he asked.

  Slash answered. “Sei Manuel de Rosa?”

  “Si.”

  Slash spoke rapidly with him. After a minute of back and forth, the man shut the door, released the chain, and reopened it. He motioned for us to enter.

  When I hesitated, Slash put a hand on the small of my back, encouraging me to go inside. I took a step across the threshold. The apartment was small, but clean and bright. The sun streame
d into a small living room with a tiny couch and loveseat, as well as a well-worn coffee table covered with books and a wide-screen television. A kitchenette was situated off to the left. I could smell coffee brewing. There were a few faded paintings hanging on the wall, including a couple of religious items—a wooden cross with a crucified Jesus, as well as a picture of the Madonna and child. I didn’t, however, see any lit candles or a shrine to the candidate saints, as we had in Father Opizzi’s place.

  The man ushered us into the living room and spoke with Slash in Italian. Manuel was tall and well-built with clearly defined muscles, a strong jaw and chiseled chin. Definitely good-looking. From the data we’d gathered, I knew he was fifty-three, but he looked like he was in his thirties.

  Manuel asked something, and Slash responded, holding up his bandaged hands and pointing at mine. After another minute of conversation, Manuel disappeared into a kitchen.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “He agreed to talk with us after I told him I was from the Vatican and had a few questions about his time at the church in San Mauro,” Slash murmured. “He was curious about our bandages, so I told him what happened in Salerno. He’s getting us coffee now.”

  “Great,” I murmured back. “Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”

  “Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak English, so I’ll take it from here.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I perched nervously on the couch and Slash took the seat beside me.

  Manuel returned with a tray and three steaming mugs of coffee. I was grateful he brought plenty of cream and sugar, although neither man put a drop of anything in their coffee before drinking it. That worked in my favor because the coffee was so strong I used all of the cream and most of the sugar to make it palatable. It was a bit awkward holding the cup with my bandaged hands, but I did my best.

  While Slash and Manuel spoke, I studied the former acolyte to see if I could see any resemblance between him and Slash. Hard to tell. They were both exceptionally handsome with dark hair, brown eyes, and were roughly the same height. So were a million other Italian men. That, of course, meant I had insufficient data to determine paternity.