A Funeral in Mantova

by David P. Wagner

  “That will be fine,” said Rick, “thank you.” She returned to her hiding place and he slid the books down to the far end of the wood counter, under one of the ceiling lamps. The lighting was better than in the church archives, and he’d need it to read words that had lightened on the pages over time. Angelo stood next to him as he checked the dates on the covers and set aside the three not needed. “Month and day, when written, are switched in Italy. It will be in this one.” He pointed to the dates on the outside and opened the book.

  The pages were thick, and the entries written in the same elaborate script as they’d seen in the baptism records. Even if cursive wasn’t being taught in the schools by then, the persons writing had been old enough to practice the old ways. Perhaps the woman who was helping them still did, but Rick doubted it. Everything on computers by now, even in a small town like Voglia. Like in the church, each page was carefully lined with columns. Date. Name of the child. Names and ages of the parents. Their places of birth and present residence. Rick explained the system as he turned the pages.

  “Here it is. Rondini.” Rick put his finger about halfway down the page.

  Angelo adjusted his glasses and leaned forward to read. Suddenly he stiffened and bent his head closer to the page. His breath came in short gasps, like Rick had heard on the stairway.

  “Mr. Rondini, are you all right?”

  He ignored the question. “That’s impossible. It just couldn’t be.”

  Rick looked closer and realized what Angelo had read. There was his name, the A and R written with a flourish next to the birth date. In the next column, under the designation for parents, were two names: Enzo Rondini and Giuseppina Bardi.

  “Why did they never tell me the truth?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lexi shuddered. “Good Lord, that’s horrible. What a way to find out you’re adopted. Poor Angelo. Poor, dear Angelo.” She and Rick stood in the doorway of her hotel room. “Why am I making you stand out here? Come in and sit down. I’m ready to go, I was just finishing up an e-mail, though that seems so unimportant now.”

  “He’s pretty tough, Lexi. He’ll sort it all out and get over it.”

  Her room was larger than his, and laid out differently. Unlike American hotels, built to order with every room a clone of the next, Italian hotels were often converted historic buildings like this one. Rooms had different sizes and shapes, each with its own charm. Lexi’s had been rectangular, but when a bathroom was added it became L-shaped. Arranged around the space was a double bed, a couch, and a glass breakfast table with two chairs. One wall had a built-in desk with a comfortable leather chair. Lexi’s laptop was centered on the desk next to a neat stack of papers, a legal pad, and pens, all under the light of a recessed lamp underneath the desk’s shelving. Very neat and businesslike, as would be expected for Angelo Rondini’s special assistant. He looked at the dresser near the bed, hoping to see a bottle of her perfume and was disappointed. It was in the bathroom.

  He pulled off his overcoat, lay it over one of the chairs, and sat in the other. “What makes it harder to take, of course, is just who his biological parents were. Enzo Rondini, who Angelo thought was his uncle, is in fact his father, and his father is really his uncle. Enzo, who was not married at the time, must have talked his older brother and his wife into taking their child.”

  “And sending them off to America.”

  “I suspect they had been planning to emigrate before this happened. But with the same last name, Rondini, it must have been easy to take baby Angelo to the States as their own son. Enzo, even then, was ambitious, and didn’t want the stigma of fathering a child when he wasn’t married, though later he did marry Giuseppina. I recall reading the name Pina in the news stories of the time.”

  Lexi settled into the sofa, crossed her ankles, and stretched her legs. She was dressed in an off-white turtleneck sweater and black slacks. Gold rings again dangled from her ears. As always, her makeup was perfect, with just a hint of blush on her smooth, brown skin.

  “Rick, I just realized something. Roberto Rondini was Angelo’s brother.”

  “Exactly. He was coming to terms with that in the car as we drove back. Lexi, he was already depressed about his birthplace before all this happened. It’s not exactly a charming town to begin with, and the weather didn’t help. The discovery turned out to be the end to a perfect visit.”

  “What can we do, Rick?”

  “I was hoping you would have some suggestions, though I’m not sure if there is anything we can do. You know him much better than I. Is he the kind of person who likes to talk things out with someone, or work problems out on his own?”

  “More the latter.”

  “Then we leave him alone.”

  Lexi leaned forward on the sofa. “This couldn’t have anything to do with the murder, could it?”

  “No, I’m sure it doesn’t. It happened so long ago.” He closed his eyes. “Wait a minute.”

  “Rick, what is it?”

  “Just thinking of something. Two things, in fact. I just said that what we discovered today about Angelo happened long ago, which is of course true. But my uncle said something when I first talked to him about the case and it just popped back in my head. People have long memories, is what Piero said.” He closed his eyes again and rubbed them with his fingers. Then he opened them wide and smiled. “The kid in the car.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, scrolled quickly through the numbers and hit one. “I have to call Crispi.” A voice answered on the third ring and Rick switched to Italian. Lexi watched.

  “Inspector? This is Montoya.”

  “What is it?”

  Mr. Personality, as always. “Can you check on something for me, or have that sergeant who is good with public records do a check?” When he got no reply, he continued. “When I was at the Gazzetta there was a story about the family whose land had been expropriated.”

  “You mean—”

  “Correct, the same land, I’m quite sure. Could she check the name of that family? I’m interested in the person who owned it before foreclosure, before it was taken by the province and then purchased by Enzo Rondini.”

  “Montoya, that was fifty years ago. Is this connected to our case?”

  Rick was tempted to revert to sarcasm, but resisted. “I believe it is.”

  Even over the phone Rick could hear Crispi’s slow exhale. “All right, I’ll get her on it, and call you back. Not sure how long it will take.”

  “I’m going to be out at the river, the memorial for Roberto Rondini, with my ringer turned off. Can you just text me the name?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.” Rick was about to hang up when Crispi stopped him.

  “Montoya, something else has come up, involving Francesco Guarino. Is he going to be at this memorial at the river?”

  “Livia’s husband? Yes, I assume so, if he’s recovered from his accident.”

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Is the corporal I assigned to you doing his job?”

  It took Rick a moment to understand that he meant the bodyguard. “We’re all still in one piece, Inspector.”

  “Glad to hear it. Don’t say anything to your boss about Guarino. It may be nothing.”

  The call ended just as they heard a knock at the door. Rick and Lexi exchanged glances. “Come in,” she called out.

  Angelo opened the door, dressed in his overcoat, ready for the drive to the river. “Lexi? Did you hear back from—oh, you’re here, Language Man.”

  Rick got to his feet, as did Lexi. “Mr. Rondini, Rick told me what happened. I don’t know what else to say except that I’m so sorry.”

  Rick noticed that his boss was in better shape than when he’d seen him last. When they had arrived in the hotel, Angelo had walked slowly across
the lobby, head bent, eyes staring at the floor. He stayed that way until Rick got off the elevator and the doors closed. Rick got to his room, checked his e-mails, and wondered what, if anything, he could do. Was it a good idea to leave Angelo alone, or did he need to talk it out? Only Lexi would have the answer, if there was one. That was when he’d walked up one flight of stairs and knocked on her door. Looking at the man now, it was evident that he’d come to grips with the news. Or put it away in some compartment to deal with later.

  “Thank you, Lexi. It’s been quite a shock. Not like anything I’ve been through before. I just got off the phone with Nikki, and as always, she was very supportive. She’s the only one I can talk to about family matters since her mother died.”

  “I’ve unburdened myself on Nikki a few times,” Lexi said. “She’s a good listener.”

  “She wasn’t very happy that I woke her up. In my state I’d forgotten about the time difference, but she forgave me when I told her why I was calling.” He looked at Rick, as if noticing for the first time that he was present. “Do you think your policeman friend is going to discover who killed my brother?”

  The question, and the tone of voice, jolted Rick. The investigation had risen to a new level of interest for Angelo Rondini, or focusing on it may have been a way to put aside the shock he’d received in Voglia.

  “I just spoke with him and asked him to check on something that came to me as a result of our visit today. It has to do with the previous ownership of that tract of land.”

  “That damn land again? The Rondinis have owned it for decades, I don’t see how that could be of any help in finding Roberto’s murderer.”

  “Crispi thinks it might,” Rick said, stretching the truth somewhat.

  “No way. It has to be someone who doesn’t want that land developed, or more likely wants it for himself. If property is involved, the issue is going to be money. I can tell you that from personal experience.”

  “That may well be, sir. But this thread should be followed and then checked off if it leads nowhere.” What Rick didn’t say, was that if his hunch was correct, among those gathering at the river to honor Roberto Rondini could be the very person responsible for his murder.

  “It’s getting late, Mr. Rondini.” Lexi rose to her feet and picked up her coat. “We don’t want to keep all those people waiting.”

  Thunderstorms had rumbled through the Trentino region the previous day, swelling the creeks that snaked through the steep hills surrounding the Lago di Garda. The streams dropped from cliffs around the lake, creating spectacular but temporary waterfalls. The water level rose, lifting the pleasure boats that had not yet been put into storage for the winter. At the southern end of the lake the shore squeezed into a funnel at the town of Peschiera, pushing the overflow from the rains into the start of the Mincio. The new river was allowed to meander for only a few kilometers. A short distance from the lake, canals began stealing from the main course, sending water east and west where it would be partitioned among farms and towns. Though diminished, the river kept flowing. At Borgetto, as it had for more than six hundred years, it passed under the bridge built by the Duke of Milan when the Visconti controlled the land on both banks. On the river ran, cutting through Goito before entering a nature preserve where birds—in air, perched and wading—watched it pass. By the time it lapped the outer edge of the Rondini property, the Mincio was calm and wide.

  The Mercedes was not the first car to arrive. When it pulled into the open area above the river bank, followed by the police escort, Livia and Francesco Guarino were standing next to one of the dairy’s Land Rovers, deep in conversation. She wore leather boots for the wet ground and a wool coat for the weather. He was bundled in a heavy overcoat, and his head was covered by a hat which conveniently hid any marks of his accident. It was not a friendly conversation. When Livia saw the other car pull in she said something to her husband and walked to where Angelo had opened his door and stepped to the ground. They embraced before she greeted Lexi and Rick.

  “Uncle, the monument is beautiful, just perfect in its simplicity. It is so appropriate that it overlooks the river where my father spent so many hours.”

  “I’m glad you approve, Livia,” said Angelo. “They did a good job installing it?”

  “They came early this morning, and Francesco helped them place it.” They all looked down at the patch of grass on which the column rested. “You can see that they put paving stones around it, which was a perfect touch. The inscription faces the river, as it should.”

  “So the fish can look up and remember their tormentor.”

  She laughed. “I never thought of that, Uncle, but yes, it’s true.”

  Rick watched the exchange and wondered why her husband was hanging back when he should have come over to greet Angelo. Was it due to their argument? Or could it have something to do with the cryptic comment by Inspector Crispi about the man? Rick also wondered when Angelo would tell his niece, now a true niece, what he had learned that morning on the visit to Voglia. It had to come out eventually, but this was not the time to get into delicate family matters, what with the arrival of guests. And they were beginning to arrive.

  The pickup truck that Rick had seen on two occasions drove up and parked several spaces away. From the driver’s seat emerged Emilio Fiore, dressed in a leather jacket over jeans, like he had just come from feeding his cows. Carlo Zucari got out of the other side, dressed more formally, but with a practical pair of boots for the terrain. He opened the extended cab rear door and helped a woman step to the ground. Rick was surprised to see the face of Letizia Bentivoglio, and glanced at Livia who was watching the trio’s arrival.

  “Letizia was a friend of my father,” she said to Angelo without prompting. “I don’t suppose you talked to her last night at the Palazzo Te. We had a nice conversation and I invited her here today.”

  If Angelo put the name with the story of his brother’s mistress, he didn’t let on to Livia. Another car pulled up with the president of the cheese consortium and two other men Rick had seen the previous night. Livia excused herself and went to greet them.

  “Is she who I think she is?” Angelo asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Rondini,” Rick answered. “I spoke with her last night, but she didn’t have much to say. Certainly nothing that could help with the investigation.”

  Lexi made a small cough. “I noticed her last night as well. And we saw her having coffee with Zucari after dinner, didn’t we Rick?”

  “She’s the one.”

  “Well, I’m glad she’s here,” said Angelo. “She obviously was important to my brother in his last days, and that’s enough for me. Who are they?”

  A light green pickup truck had driven up and parked with the other vehicles. Rick was too far from it to read the logo on the doors, so he decided it was either from another dairy, or perhaps a government entity. Two men got out whom he didn’t recognize.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Rondini. Someone else Livia invited, I assume.”

  “Let’s go down to the dock while Livia sorts it all out. It’s her land, after all.” He called to the driver, who was standing with the cop. “Marco, keep your friend from getting bored. There shouldn’t be much danger for us with this group”

  The driver nodded. “Yes, sir, I will.”

  The three of them walked down the gentle slope, stopped for a moment to look at the column, and continued to the river’s edge. Angelo plunged his hands into his pockets and looked out over the water. On the far side a lone boat ran slowly along the shore, its motor barely audible. “Here we all are, coming down to the river, like some kind of story from the Bible. Everything happened here, next to this water, both the good and the bad. And now we’re all back, like my brother somehow planned it this way.” His smile was weary. “Let’s join the others.”

  Everyone who’d been expected must have arrived, since Livia was inviting them to gather
around the monument. Rick watched the policeman, who had been chatting with Marco, come down from the parking area and position himself on a small rise just to one side. It was a perfect place to stay out of the way while still keeping an eye on the Americans, as well as everyone else, indicating the cop was taking his assignment seriously. Nobody seemed to be surprised by his presence, or even notice it. They were too busy chatting with each other or admiring the clean, white stone of the column.

  Rick looked at the gathering and wondered how long it would take Crispi to look up the name he’d requested. Maybe the records didn’t go back that far, or had been lost in a fire. Records were always being lost in fires in Italy, which often was very convenient if they contained information that someone didn’t want made public. He was doing it again, thinking like an Italian, something his uncle had been accusing him of lately.

  A soft putter sound drifted over the scene before the

  mo-ped causing it came through the opening in the trees and approached the parking lot. Only Rick and the policeman seemed to notice, and they watched as a man parked, pulled out the key, and stepped to the ground. He wore a battered helmet which he unsnapped and pulled off with difficulty due to the quantity of hair. Placing the helmet on the seat, he walked briskly down the hill while trying unsuccessfully to push his hair into place.

  “Look who’s here, Lexi,” said Rick.

  Both she and Angelo looked up.

  “That’s the nut that was demonstrating at the gate,” said Angelo. “Tell the cop to get rid of him, Language Man.”

  “Curiously enough, Mr. Rondini, your niece just noticed him and waved. I have to believe she invited him.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “We should get it soon,” said Lexi, “she’s about to start the proceedings.”

  Livia stood in front of the column with her back to the river. The invitees gathered on the other three sides of the monument, while Angelo, Rick, and Lexi stood behind her, back a sufficient distance so that Rick’s interpreting would not be too distracting.