Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2)

by Christa Polkinhorn

  Sofia didn’t want to lie outright. “I may. It’s not that far from here.”

  “But the letter wasn’t from there,” Nicholas said. “It was from a different town. So why would Tina have any information about Angelo?”

  “Oh, not directly,” Sofia said. “But knowing the area, she could tell me where the village is and perhaps give me some advice how I could find out more. I don’t know. Perhaps, it’s a shot in the dark. But it would be a nice outing anyway. I’ve never been to the Piedmont. And from what Edoardo told me, Pavone is a lovely town and there is a famous and beautiful castle there.”

  “Okay.” Nicholas hesitated. “If you go, you should take someone with you.”

  “I might,” Sofia said. It was a white lie. She was hoping for someone to join her, but she knew that everybody would be busy.

  “All right. If you go, please call me every day, okay?” Nicholas seemed to be resigned to her plan.

  “I’ll try to, but don’t forget my cell might not work in every place. But I’ll definitely call either you or Vignaverde. And I’ll be very careful not to stir up any mobsters.” Sofia laughed.

  “Okay, I trust you,” Nicholas said.

  “By the way, everybody says hello,” Sofia said. “They miss you.”

  “I miss them, too, and I miss you.” Nicholas gave a sigh.

  “Same here. Lock the house, okay.”

  “I will, bye sweetie. Call me.”

  After pressing the disconnect button on her phone, Sofia went down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. She took it into the living room, sat on the sofa, and gazed through the window. By now, the fields looked golden and purple and the sun had filled the hills with light and shadows. She thought of her upcoming adventure and began to feel excited. Wouldn’t it be great if she actually found Angelo?

  Sofia opened the door to the patio and stepped outside. Letting her eyes wander over the meadows nearby, she was overwhelmed by the sight of colorful flowers everywhere. It was the first time she’d been in Tuscany in spring. Whole fields of red poppies and blue cornflowers complemented the vineyards with their symmetrical rows of vines. Even her somewhat dilapidated wooden garden shed, which was partly covered by a wisteria vine, looked regal with its coat of purple flowers. The sweet scent of the patch of freesia in her garden brought a smile to her face. She listened to the sound of birds, greeting the morning. A light breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves on the trees. Although the days were already pleasantly warm, early morning and evenings could still be nippy in April.

  At lunchtime, Sofia walked over to the house of the Santucci family. Inside, she was welcomed by a different kind of smell. It was saffron, which meant her favorite kind of Italian risotto was being prepared. During one of her earlier visits, Luisa had taught her how to make it, and it had become one of her staple foods ever since.

  “Risotto ai funghi?” Sofia asked Julietta, who was setting the table.

  “Si,” Julietta said. “Mamma knows how much you love it.”

  “I sure do.” Sofia opened the door to the kitchen where Luisa and Donna, Julietta’s grandmother, were cooking.

  “Can I help?” Sofia asked.

  Luisa shook her head. “No, it’s almost ready.” She pointed at a large bowl of salad. “You can carry this inside.”

  Sofia grabbed the bowl and set in on the table. At that moment, Edoardo and Gina, Luisa’s brother and his wife, joined them. Normally, Edoardo and his wife had their meals at their place on the estate. However, the two families, Luisa, Donna, Julietta and Edoardo’s family often ate together.

  “Where are the children?” Sofia asked Gina. Edoardo and Gina had two children, thirteen-year-old Francesco and ten-year-old Diana.

  “They are with friends tonight,” she said.

  “A sleepover, as you Americans would call it,” Edoardo added with a smile. He opened a bottle of estate wine and soon everyone was seated, enjoying Luisa and Donna’s excellent meal of risotto with porcini, fish, and vegetables.

  After lunch, Donna, who was tired, went upstairs. Julietta, who had some studying to do, said goodbye as well. The rest gathered in the living room, drinking espresso, and talking.

  Edoardo took a sip of coffee, then turned to Sofia. “Tell us more about this mysterious zio Angelo.”

  Sofia had given them a few details when she asked them about the town that was mentioned in Angelo’s last letter of eleven years ago. She took a deep breath. “It’s quite an involved story, but this is what we know.” She told them about Martin and Angelo’s past, what she and Nicholas had found out from the Segantino family in New York. She mentioned the skeleton, the ongoing investigation, and the fact that they were trying to find Angelo.

  Edoardo was quiet for a while. His sharp-featured face, the piercing dark eyes, and the short neatly trimmed beard gave him a serious, almost solemn expression.

  “I called Tina,” Luisa said, referring to their friend in the Piedmont. “She knows where Bardonico is but doesn’t know anybody there.”

  “Well, it’s something,” Sofia said. “I could drive there and perhaps I can find out something from the police or someone in a store?”

  Edoardo was looking doubtful. “Well, that might be quite difficult. A name of a person from years ago, this is all you have?”

  “I also have a photo of Angelo, of course an old one from twenty years ago.” Sofia realized how vague this all sounded. “At least, I can try. Probably nothing will come of it, but I wouldn’t mind visiting the Piedmont. It must be beautiful, and I’ve never been there.”

  “The one thing I don’t understand. Why did Angelo come to Italy?” Edoardo asked.

  “Well, Martin and Angelo’s family was originally from the Piedmont. Their mother brought them to the United States when they were still boys. From what the Segantino family in New York told us, there was an old friend of Angelo and Martin’s father still around. Besides, Angelo was hiding from someone in the United States. Perhaps he felt he would be safer in Italy.” Sofia lifted her hands and sighed. “We don’t really know.”

  “And you do not know if Angelo killed his friend, the one whose bones you found?” Gina asked.

  “We don’t believe he did. The diary his wife wrote showed that he and his friend were working for a man and it sounded like it was some kind of illegal work. She mentioned that Angelo and Fred witnessed a crime.”

  “Then why didn’t they go to the police?” Edoardo asked.

  “Most likely because the work they did for their boss was illegal and the killer was a powerful man. The police wouldn’t have believed them.”

  Edoardo shook his head. “This sounds more like Italy and its problems with corruption.”

  “I guess it happens everywhere,” Sofia said. “Anyway, Martin is convinced that Angelo isn’t a killer.”

  Edoardo gave a quick smile. “Your grandfather may not believe his younger brother killed someone, but he is not exactly an impartial judge. He is family, after all.”

  Sofia nodded. Edoardo had experienced his own misguided partiality. A few years ago he misjudged a member of his own family, who brought death and heartache and almost severed the bonds that held the family together.

  “Angelo may be innocent and simply afraid of someone,” Edoardo continued. “But as long as you do not know for sure, then whatever you plan to do, be very careful.”

  PART THREE: SLEUTHING IN THE PIEDMONT

  Chapter 15

  Sofia eased her car onto the freeway from Florence to Bologna on her journey north toward the Piedmont and the Italian-French border. She took a deep breath and tried to relax her tense shoulders somewhat. Sofia was used to the multilane freeways in California, but here she felt insecure in the jungle of signs, the fast-driving Italian cars, and the seemingly never-ending construction sites.

  No more gentle hills and fields with colorful wildflowers. Ugly industrial compounds replaced the farms, vineyards, and olive groves.

  Another new challenge was the constant toll s
tations on the freeways and the numerous gates. The first time she approached one, she had no idea which gate to drive through and just followed a line of cars. By accident, it was the right one. There was a serious-looking but polite woman pointing at a box with a slit. Sofia pushed her credit card in, hoping it would work. Fortunately, it did. The barrier opened and Sofia drove on, exhaling deeply. The relief, however, lasted only a moment. A multitude of new freeway signs pointing in all directions confused her again. Luckily, she found the one to Bologna and continued her journey.

  Angelo, you better make this worth my while. The next major city past Bologna was Parma, famous for its prosciutto by the same name. The farther north Sofia drove, the more relaxing and pleasant the drive was. The view of the Alps was breathtaking. Perhaps one day she’d be able to visit France or Switzerland together with Nicholas.

  About four hours later, she saw the exit sign to Ivrea and got off the freeway. After a few wrong turns, she found her way to the town of Pavone and to Tina’s place. On the way there, she got a glimpse of the Castello di Pavone, the impressive-looking castle on the hill above the town.

  Tina was an elderly woman, short and plump, with gray, curly hair and a friendly smile in her wrinkled face. Sofia liked her right away. She spoke a little English and with Sofia’s broken Italian, they were able to communicate quite well. Tina lived in a small house with a beautiful yard full of flowers at the outskirts of Pavone. She suggested they have lunch and then visit the castle. Sofia wanted to invite her to lunch in a restaurant, but Tina had already prepared a pot of minestrone.

  While eating the delicious soup, they talked about Sofia’s plan to get some information about Angelo. To Sofia’s relief, Tina didn’t seem to be as worried about the dangers of this investigation as everyone else. She suggested that Sofia go first to the police department, although she didn’t think they knew anything, unless Angelo had a criminal record or something bad had happened to him. Others who might be able to help Sofia were the mayor of the town and the priest.

  “Priests always know the latest or the earliest gossip,” she said, laughing. “I hope you have a warm jacket though. Bardonico is quite high up in the mountains. There may even be some snow.”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t think about that. I only have a lightweight jacket.” She looked down at her sneakers. “They’re not exactly made for snow either.”

  Tina shook her head. “I do not think there will be snow on the street, just on the mountains higher up. But there might be a cold wind. You can borrow one of my jackets. She glanced at Sofia’s feet. “I also have some thick socks that would help with your feet. You will be driving through here on your way back. Or if not, you can send the clothes back to me from Vignaverde.” She went into the next room and brought out a down jacket and two pairs of socks, which Sofia gratefully accepted.

  After lunch, Tina and Sofia took a tour through town. Sofia admired the beautiful architecture. Old buildings and modern stores and shops complemented each other.

  In the evening, they drove to Castello di Pavone. Pavone, or peacock in English, was the emblem of the town and the castle. The castle dated back to the Middle Ages and had been the seat of kings, cardinals, and other celebrities. It was now a restaurant and a hotel. The family who owned it had done a beautiful job renovating it. Both the inside and outside were left largely intact and renovations had been limited to making everything comfortable with modern amenities. Sofia insisted on treating Tina for dinner. The restaurant was located in a cellar with vaulted ceilings. It looked like an old wine cellar. The food was excellent and they had a nice choice of wines.

  Early the following morning, after a light breakfast and a thermos of coffee Tina had prepared for her, Sofia took off from Pavone and headed for the mountains. A narrow, curvy road took her past stunningly beautiful vistas of waterfalls, meadows of blooming wildflowers, and forests. She drove through a few small villages. The higher she got, the sparser the landscape became. Banks of fog hovered over the fields. In the distance, the ever-present high snow-covered mountains greeted her.

  It became clear to Sofia why Angelo would choose a remote area such as this to hide. She wondered though how he would survive. Was he able to make a living here? He knew about growing grapes and making wine and the Piedmont was a famous wine region but up here in the mountains? She had passed many vineyards farther down, but at this higher altitude, cattle and sheep were grazing in the fields. Perhaps he had become a mountain farmer.

  When she drove around another one of the many curves, she saw the sign of Bardonico next to the road. It listed the number of inhabitants at 3000 and an elevation of 1300 meters. Sofia realized she was low on gas and stopped at a gas station at the entrance of the town. To Sofia’s relief it was a full-service station and she hoped to be able to get some information about the town. A young man stepped out of the small building and filled up her tank. He was tall, lanky, with tousled dark hair and an engaging smile.

  Sofia got out of the car to stretch her legs. Now, she was grateful for the thick jacket and the socks. It was cold, the kind of wintry cold that smelled of snow. She asked the young man in Italian if he knew the town well. Since her first visit to Italy, she had taken Italian classes and felt a little more comfortable speaking it. Still, she was relieved that the young man spoke English. They talked for a while and he told her that he learned English in school, and they got some English and American tourists, mainly in the winter for skiing. He liked to practice the language.

  Encouraged by his friendly manner, she told him that she was looking for a family member who might have lived in Bardonico about eleven years before. She pulled out the photo of a younger Angelo. “It’s an old picture from twenty years ago.”

  He looked at it intensely, then shook his head. He didn’t know of anyone here that resembled the man in the picture. “Perhaps my uncle would know something,” he suggested. “He has worked at this station for about thirty years.” He motioned her to come with him.

  Inside the small gas station building, an older man who resembled the young guy, sat behind the counter. The young man explained to his uncle what Sofia had asked him. She pulled out the photo again and showed it to the older man.

  He narrowed his eyes, then said a few words in Italian to his nephew. He looked at Sofia. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  Sofia didn’t want to tell the whole story, so she just mentioned that he was a family member they had lost touch with. The last they heard of him was a short letter mailed from this town.

  Both men looked at the photo again and exchanged a few words in a local Italian dialect. The younger man, whose name was Antonio as Sofia heard the uncle call him, turned to Sofia. “My uncle thinks he looks somewhat familiar, but he does not know him and he is not sure. The photo is quite old.”

  “I know,” Sofia said. “Unfortunately, this is all I have of him.”

  “Perhaps you could ask at the municipio, city hall, or at the polizia,” the uncle said in broken English.

  “Yes, I’ll try,” Sofia said. “Is there a church in town? Perhaps the priest would know.”

  The two men smiled at Sofia’s question. “Certo,” Antonio said. “Just drive to the center of town and you will see the church. Don Ambrosio lives in the house right next to the church. He may know something.”

  Sofia thanked them for their help. She walked back to the car with Antonio following her. “If you need anything else, just ask,” he said, then waved as she drove away.

  As Sofia had read, Bardonico was a ski resort. Surrounded by majestic mountains covered by snow, it was a fairly small town with a few hotels and restaurants. It had a more “northern” feeling than the towns and cities Sofia was familiar with in Tuscany.

  She parked her car in a lot next to the city hall. The church nearby was a beautiful medieval building. Sofia found the police station in a side street off the central piazza, and she decided to start there.

  She entered the gloomy-looking hallway of the rather small
building. A few officers in uniform with pistols attached to their belts were standing around, talking to each other and laughing. They measured her with a quizzical look. One of them came up to her, asking if he could help. She told him that she was looking for a family member who may have lived in the town eleven years before. She showed him Angelo’s photo. He looked at it, then called the other policemen who all checked out the photo and shook their heads. One of them said something and motioned with his head toward the hallway, which seemed to lead to a few rooms or offices. The policeman who had asked her first, pointed out an office to her and told her to ask the agente di polizia there.

  Sofia thanked them and walked along the hallway. She felt the officers were following her with their eyes. They were quiet, then laughed and began to talk again. The door to the office they sent her to stood ajar. She knocked gently, then opened the door all the way. A man, reading some kind of magazine, looked up as she entered. He was probably in his fifties, overweight, with a round face, black curly hair, and small piercing eyes. He looked her up and down and Sofia had the distinct feeling he was checking out her body. She began to feel uncomfortable.

  “Mi dispiace,” she said, then asked if the officer spoke English by any chance.

  “Yes, I do.” To Sofia’s surprise, he gave her a disarming smile.

  Relieved she could speak in her native language, she once again told the story she had repeated many times.

  He listened carefully, and when she showed him the photo, he glanced at it. His friendly smile turned into a scowl. He stared at the picture for a long time, then raised his eyes and stared at her.

  “What did you say his name was?”

  Chapter 16

  Sofia told the policeman Angelo’s name. He glared at her, then at the picture, then back at her. “That is his real name?”