Sofia was surprised at the question and the change of mood in him. She nodded. He looked at the photo some more, then slapped it on his desk.
“I do not know him. No idea,” he said in an unfriendly tone.
Sofia had the distinct feeling that he was lying. She took the photo back and waited. He glared at her again, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said.
“Why do you want to know where he is?” he barked at her.
She repeated the family connection. A smile curled his lips, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He shook his head. “I do not know who this is,” he repeated.
He made her so uncomfortable that she didn’t dare to ask more questions. She thanked him and walked toward the door.
“Signora,” he called after her.
She turned around.
“Are you staying in town?” he asked, a little friendlier now, but the friendliness felt fake to her. “Perhaps I can find out a little more if you give me a day or two. Where are you staying?”
Sofia didn’t want to give him her whereabouts. She felt too uncomfortable around him. “I’m not staying here,” she said.
“There are some nice hotels in town. Come back tomorrow. Perhaps I know more.”
“Grazie, I’ll try to,” she said, then left. She realized she was sweating although it was chilly outside.
She took a deep breath. What should she do now? She didn’t feel like dealing with any more unfriendly government officials, so she decided to try the priest instead. But first, she wanted to find a place to have lunch. She had seen a coffee shop at the central piazza. It was one of those coffee bars that served an array of sandwiches and antipasti as well as coffee and liquors. She ordered a sandwich, water, and coffee and sat down at one of the small tables next to the window. From there, she had a view of the church. At one point, she saw a priest leave the church and walk toward the house next to it. Perhaps he was on his lunch break and this might be the chance to catch him. She quickly finished her lunch, then walked across the piazza.
The modest house the priest lived in was built in the same style as the more elaborate church. The walls were made of irregular natural stones and the roof shingles looked like granite. Sofia knocked on the door. It was quiet inside. After she knocked again, she heard footsteps. The door opened and an elderly man with a tonsure of white hair and a round, open face greeted her with a kind smile. Sofia told him that she had a few questions about a relative of hers who might have lived in this town eleven years before.
The priest introduced himself as Don Ambrosio and invited Sofia inside. They entered a sparsely furnished but cozy living room where an electric heater was humming. The warmth radiating from the heater felt good. Sofia sat down and took off her down jacket.
“Would you like a cup of tea? Unfortunately, I don’t have any coffee,” the priest said in fluent English. Sofia complimented him on his mastery of the language. He told her that he had lived in England for several years.
“Great. My Italian isn’t half as good as your English. And yes, a cup of tea would be lovely.” Sofia got up. “May I help you?”
The priest’s face stretched into a mischievous smile. “Just because I’m a man and a member of the clergy doesn’t mean I don’t know how to prepare a cup of tea.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Sofia assured him.
“I know. I’m joking. Make yourself comfortable. I shall be right back.” Don Ambrosio left the room, and Sofia heard him rattle with dishes. A few moments later, the priest carried a tray with a pot of tea, a small jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, and two cups to the table. He went back to get a plate with cookies.
“I love these.” She pointed at the biscotti.
“Good. Because this is all I have.” Don Ambrosio sat down. “The tea has to steep for a moment.”
“Interesting that you drink tea and not espresso,” Sofia remarked.
The priest smiled. “I acquired a taste for it when I lived in England.” He passed the plate with the cookies to Sofia. “Now, tell me, what I can do for you. You are not from here and from your accent, you are not from England either. America?”
Sofia nodded. “Yes, California.”
“Must be beautiful there,” the priest said. “But what brought you to this lonely town up here?”
“Well, it’s a somewhat complicated story,” Sofia said.
The priest lifted his hands with his palms upturned. “I have time.”
“May I?” Sofia asked as she held the handle of the teapot.
“You may.”
Sofia poured them both a cup. The priest added two spoons of sugar and some milk. Sofia drank hers black.
After taking a sip, Don Ambrosio put the cup down and motioned her to tell her story. Sofia gave him the usual abbreviated version of her reason for being here while the priest listened attentively. She pulled out Angelo’s photo and gave it to the priest. He looked at it with narrowed eyes, then grabbed a pair of reading glasses on the small bureau next to him. He examined the photo for quite some time without showing any sign of recognition and Sofia was disappointed, feeling she had come to a dead end.
All of a sudden, Don Ambrosio looked up and faced her. “What did you say his name is?”
Sofia told him.
He looked at the photo again, scratched the bald spot on his head, then said, “It must be him. He looks different here, younger of course. But the name of the man in this photo is Danilo Pedrotti, not Angelo Segantino.”
Chapter 17
Sofia looked at the priest, stunned. Angelo must have changed his name. That’s why the policeman acted so strange. He must know him under a different name. Why didn’t I think of that before?
“And you’re sure this is the same man?” she asked.
“Pretty sure.” Don Ambrosio scanned the picture again. “The same expression in his eyes … how shall I call it? Cautious or distrustful, perhaps?” He continued to look at the photo, then gave it back to Sofia. “You said he’s a relative of yours?”
“Yes, through marriage. My husband is his great-nephew and his grandfather, our grandfather, is his older brother.” Encouraged by the priest’s recognition and kindness, she dared to tell him more of Angelo’s troubled past back in California and his mysterious disappearance, the bones they found in their newly acquired property. She mentioned that the police were looking for him, that he might be a witness, even a suspect, but that the family didn’t think he was a killer.
Don Ambrosio nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I knew he was hiding something, that something troubled him. He almost seemed haunted. He never talked about his past. He told me that he was originally from the United States, but I knew nothing of his family. He was a very private person, but friendly and kind. We got along well. We sat together sometimes in the evenings after work, drinking tea or a beer.”
“How did you meet him?” Sofia asked.
“He came here one day and asked me if I knew of any kind of work he could do and if I knew of any flats to rent,” the priest said. “By chance, my assistant had just left for a different parish, and I needed someone to help with some construction work on the house.” He motioned toward the ceiling of the room with his hand. “The house needed repairs. So he stayed in the place next door where the former assistant had lived.”
“For how long?” Sofia asked.
“Oh, for about four or five years, I think. One day, though, he disappeared overnight. And then I knew that something was definitely wrong.”
Sofia’s heart beat faster. Finally, some news. “What happened?”
“Well, one night, I woke up and heard loud voices next door where Danilo … or Angelo lived. I was just about to get up when things seemed to quiet down again. The next morning, I went to check to make sure everything was all right. But Danilo was gone, his bags were gone. There was no note or anything. So I assumed his leaving had something to do with the fight I overheard.”
“W
hat were they arguing about?” Sofia asked.
“I couldn’t understand what they said. I just knew they were having a row. And the other person was a man. That much I heard.” He took another sip of tea. “I was disappointed. I liked Dan … I guess I should call him Angelo, since that is his real name. He kept pretty much to himself, didn’t socialize much, but he was kind and very helpful. I hoped he would stay. I also thought he had skipped out on the rent he still owed me. But a few days later, I received a brief note from him with the money for the rent. He wrote that something unexpected had happened and that he needed to leave. He apologized for his abrupt departure.”
“And that was all?” Sofia asked.
“Yes, I’ve not heard from him since. I hope that he sorted out whatever was wrong.”
Sofia sighed. “Another dead end, I guess. We haven’t heard from him either. The last thing was a short letter eleven years ago with the postmark of this town. He sent it to his relatives in New York. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I thought that perhaps someone knew something about him here.”
“Ah, yes, postmark … let me see. I think I still have the note he sent me with the envelope. It’s in my desk. I shall be right back.”
“Oh good, that would be so helpful.” Sofia felt hopeful again. By now, she was determined to find Angelo.
After a while, the priest came back carrying a wrinkled envelope. He held it up with a smile. “Sometimes, it’s an advantage being a pack rat. I tend to keep stuff, the little I have.” He put his glasses back on and scrutinized the piece of paper. “Ah, yes, I remember.” He handed the envelope to Sofia. “It was posted in Moretta. That’s a town about two hours southeast of here.”
“How do I get there?” Sofia asked.
Don Ambrosio left the room and came back with a map of the region. “It’s easy to find.” He pointed out the road on the map. “But remember that was several years ago. He may not be there anymore. Or he may have mailed the envelope from a different town.”
“I know. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, but I’m here now, so why not try?” Sofia said as she got up. “Thank you very much for all the information. This is really helpful.”
“I do hope you find him. But be careful. We don’t know the kind of trouble Dan … I mean Angelo is in.” The priest rose as well. “But I can’t imagine that he’s a murderer.”
“We don’t think so either,” Sofia said. “From the diary of his former wife, we found out that he and his friend witnessed something, a crime, and that’s why they left. But still, it’s all a big mystery.”
“One thing I remember about him,” Don Ambrosio said. “He seemed very interested in religion, God, the contemplative life. He asked me what it would take to join a monastery.”
Sofia glanced at him surprised. “A monastery?”
“Yes, he was interested in the Benedictine order. I gave him a few books to read about it.”
“That’s so strange.” Sofia gazed out the window, trying to come to grips with the news. “From what I heard, Angelo doesn’t seem like the religious type.”
“Well, it’s not so strange,” Don Ambrosio said. “Sometimes people turn to God after a troubled past. Danil—Angelo was searching for something. I’m sure about it.”
“Could he have done it?” Sofia asked. “I mean join a monastery?”
The priest shrugged. “It’s quite an involved process. You can’t just walk into an abbey one day and become a monk. There are different steps and it can take years until you become a full member of an order. But it is possible.”
“Wow, I have to digest this,” Sofia said.
“Then again, it may have been something he considered and then abandoned. I wouldn’t know. I do hope he found peace though, whatever he did. I hope he’s all right and that you find him.” The priest looked at her with a kind smile.
“But before you leave, let me give you my phone number in case you have more questions or need help.” He went to a small chest of drawers, opened it, and pulled out a business card with the name of the church on it. He wrote down his name and phone number and gave the card to Sofia.
“Thank you very much.” Sofia put the card in her purse, then asked him for a slip of paper so she could write down her cell phone number. “In case you hear something else about Angelo,” she said.
He gave her a piece of paper and she wrote down the number. “I shall certainly let you know if anything new comes up. And if you hear anything of him, let me know as well,” he said.
They stepped outside and Don Ambrosio accompanied her to the garden gate. “And thank you for the tea and the cookies,” Sofia said as they shook hands.
“You’re very welcome. It was my pleasure. Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve seen a couple of hotels on the way here. It’s too late to drive back to Pavone today. Tomorrow, I want to try the town you told me about,” Sofia said.
“Try Casa Alpina. It’s a simple but clean place right nearby.” He explained how to get there. “Tell them Don Ambrosio sent you. I usually send guests there. They know me.”
“Thank you very much for your help. I really appreciate it.” Sofia was moved by the helpfulness of this kind man.
“Good luck to you.” The priest lifted his hand to wave goodbye. At the same time, he stared at something behind her with puzzlement. Sofia turned to see what he was looking at. She recognized the man standing across the piazza, glaring at them. It was the unfriendly cop. A chill shot down Sofia’s back. She hurried to her car and drove away.
Chapter 18
Sofia parked her car in a public parking lot near the hotel the priest had recommended. She was surprised to find a spot. It was spring vacation and the small resort was buzzing with tourists, mostly Italians as she gathered from the people’s conversations. She hoped Casa Alpina wasn’t totally booked. At least, it was a weekday. The house, perched on a small hill above the street, looked cozy and friendly. It was a two-story wooden chalet with green shutters and a granite roof.
She opened the door and stepped into a small entrance hall where a roaring fire in a large fireplace and a scent of cedar greeted her. An elderly woman stood behind the counter and glanced at her over a pair of reading glasses. Sofia asked if they had a room for the night. “Don Ambrosio recommended you,” she added quickly, hoping it would help.
“English?” the woman asked.
“Well, actually American,” Sofia said, not sure if the woman was referring to the language or her nationality.
The woman checked her computer, wrinkling her forehead, then looked up. “I have one room left. You’re lucky, we’re almost all booked. But I can’t turn down anybody Don Ambrosio sends.”
“Wonderful, thank you,” Sofia said. The gentle priest must be quite an authority in this town. She filled out the sign-in sheet while the woman checked her passport, then gave her a key.
The room was on the second floor. Sofia put down her bag and admired the view for a while. The sun began to set behind the majestic snow-covered mountains, coloring them a muted red. She opened the window briefly to air out the room. Outside, it smelled of burning wood, possibly from wood stoves or fireplaces. It cooled off fast and she closed the window again.
Sofia pulled out her cell phone and tried to call Nicholas. There was no reception though, probably due to the high mountains. She tried Julietta to tell her where she was. Fortunately, she was able to get through to her.
“How are you? Have you found zio Angelo yet?” Julietta asked her.
“Not yet, but I have a few leads,” Sofia said, smiling at Julietta’s eager tone. She knew her sister would have loved to take part in her detective work.
“Nicholas called this morning,” Julietta said. “He was worried because he had not heard from you.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. “I called him two days ago. He’s such a worrywart. I tried to call him just now but I can’t get through … Are you still there?” The connection was fading. “Lis
ten, please call him and let him know I’m okay. I’m starting to lose you. I’ll try to call him as soon as I can get through.”
There was static, but then she heard Julietta’s voice again. “Okay, I will let him know. Take care.”
Sofia pressed the disconnect button. She had wanted to give Julietta the newest information about Angelo and his change of name, but that would have to wait. She had just put down her phone when it rang again. Perhaps Nicholas was able to get through although she couldn’t reach him. She glanced at the number but it was an unknown contact. She answered and was surprised to hear Don Ambrosio’s voice.
“Sofia, I just had a strange encounter that I wanted to tell you about. Remember when you left, there was one of the police officers standing across the street, kind of staring at us?”
“Yes, I saw him. Before I came to you, I went to the police to ask about Angelo and I talked to him. He was rude and unfriendly, and I think he was lying when he said he didn’t recognize Angelo.”
“Well, yes,” Don Ambrosio said. “After you left, he came over and asked me about your visit. He wanted to know why you came to see me. I was, of course, surprised, well, rather shocked. I told him that we had a private conversation and I saw no reason to disclose it. Then he became unfriendly and raised his voice and that’s when I remembered. I cannot confirm it one hundred percent, but I am pretty sure he was the man with whom Danilo, well Angelo, had a row that night, the night he disappeared. I recognized the voice of his opponent.”
“Oh, my God,” Sofia said. “That’s … well shocking.”
“Yes,” Don Ambrosio confirmed. “Again, I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. And I thought you should know. The way the officer behaved today really gave me a bad feeling about him.”
Sofia exhaled deeply. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I felt very uncomfortable around him, too. After he was rude, he all of a sudden said to come back in a couple of days, that he might have some more information. Of course, now, I’m not going to. I better get out of town before he shoots me or something.” Sofia chortled, although she wasn’t in a laughing mood.
Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) Page 8