Sofia sat down and waited. The sun was gaining strength, and it promised to be a warm day. Next to the chapel was a blooming tree with purple blossoms. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, inhaling the sweet-pungent scent of some kind of herb. Hearing footsteps, she opened her eyes again. A few monks in black walked by, glanced at her, and nodded, giving her a silent greeting. Shortly thereafter, Angelo came back out followed by the abbot, who greeted her with a smile. “You found each other. Wonderful.”
Sofia got up and shook hands with him. “Yes, thank God.”
“Thank God, indeed,” he replied. He turned to Angelo. “I’ll explain your absence to the youngsters. They will understand and Agosto will be a good substitute.” Angelo and the abbot hugged. “Go with God,” Abbot Francesco said. “I’ll see you when you get back. All will be well.”
PART FIVE: THE JOURNEY HOME
Chapter 35
It was quiet in the car. Angelo took deep breaths, trying to get his emotions under control. Saying goodbye to the abbot, the man who had helped him through difficult times since he met him four years ago, was tough. So was leaving Miriam so soon after meeting her again. Being near her had revived those feelings he’d tried hard to deny for so long. He hoped they could stay in touch.
However, it had been Abbot Francesco, with his compassion and tolerance, who had helped Angelo to truly turn his life around. They’d met at a time Angelo was rudderless and lost. He wanted to join the monastery, longing for peace and stability. He was tired of hiding and fleeing. The abbot, however, saw right through him. He knew that his wish to become a monk was just another escape.
“Do you really think that you can run away from your life and hide behind the walls of the abbey?” he had said. “That’s not how it works. Don’t you realize you’re taking yourself and your problems with you? You’re just relocating them. You have to deal with yourself and your issues in the outside world. You can come here to pray and to ask God for guidance. But you have to live in the world.”
The abbot had helped him find work as an administrator in a school in Rivalta and encouraged him to work with troubled youth. “You of all people know what it means to be lost. You may be able to help them. But in order to do this, you have to help yourself. You have to forgive yourself. And ask God for forgiveness. Show the boys through your example that there is always hope and the Lord will never forsake them.”
And Angelo had done it. For the first time in his life, he had felt that he was doing something worthwhile. He felt needed, he had a task to fulfill. It wasn’t easy. Some of the boys warmed up to him quickly. He never preached to them. He just told them how badly he had messed up. They could relate to his stories. However, some of the hard-core youngsters were too far gone for him to help them. He had to learn that it really wasn’t up to him. It was up to destiny. To God? He still had doubts about the existence of the god that Don Ambrosio, Abbot Francesco, and the monks believed in. But each small achievement in his work with the boys, each genuine smile on their faces gave him the feeling that there was a benign force at work that went beyond his feeble strength.
And now? What would happen? Would he be able to return to his work with them? He already missed them: Mario, with his gap tooth, Enrico covered by tattoos, Giorgio, the star of the soccer team.
And then there was Sandro. He had grown to love him and they had become very close. Would the boy feel abandoned again? What would happen to him now? Abbot Francesco had promised to take care of him as well as he could. Angelo just had to trust.
His interest in religion and a religious life had begun with Don Ambrosio, the gentle priest, who had accepted him the way he was. He had been available when he needed to talk but had never pried. He had been a true Christian, accepting, forgiving, honest but never preachy.
“Do you want to stop in Bardonico to talk to Don Ambrosio?” Sofia asked.
Angelo gave her a puzzled look. How had she guessed who he was thinking about? “Thanks, but it would be too far out of the way. It’s north and we’re going south, aren’t we?”
“We have to drive north first. I have to return some things to my friend in Pavone. So it wouldn’t be too much out of the way.”
“It’s Fabio’s territory though,” Angelo said after a pause. “I may not want to show my face there until I know what’s going to happen to him. The police department is right across the piazza from the church. We may get arrested.”
“Can’t you call your journalist friend and find out?”
“I can try.” Angelo pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, then turned to Sofia. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Let’s stop somewhere for a bite to eat,” Angelo suggested.
They were on the freeway north toward Pavone. Sofia exited at the next rest stop. They got out of the car and stretched. Angelo tried to call Larry to ask him about the situation with Fabio and his cohort. However, he just got the answering machine and left a message. They went inside and bought sandwiches, juice, and coffee and sat down at one of the tables.
“Not exactly the fanciest of foods,” Angelo said. “But it’s at least a snack.”
“It’s okay. I really don’t think I ever had bad food in Italy,” Sofia said.
Angelo agreed. “That’s one thing they’re really good at. Well, one of many things.” He glanced at his watch. “We probably shouldn’t stay here too long. Once rush hour starts, the freeways can be a bitch.”
Sofia grinned. “Should you be cursing as a Benedictine monk?”
“Well, I’m not a real monk, I’m an oblate, but you’re right, I shouldn’t be cursing.” Angelo gave a quick chortle and pulled on his short beard.
“Do you want to be a full monk, or whatever that’s called?” Sofia asked.
“That’s a really big commitment. It would mean a life of work, prayer, and celibacy. I know that Abbot Francesco wants me to be a lay monk and live outside the monastery. Oblates can be in a relationship or marry. He’s probably right,” Angelo said.
“Are you thinking of getting married again sometime in the future?” Sofia took a sip of water. She watched Angelo over the rim of her glass.
“I haven’t had much luck with being married,” he said, then lapsed into silence. Thoughts of Elvira flooded him. The scar of losing her and feeling responsible for her accident still throbbed in his heart.
“What about Miriam?” Sofia asked.
Angelo raised an eyebrow. “You ask difficult questions.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay.” Angelo leaned back in his chair and glanced out the window. “I think once I’m out of the mess I’m in, I may see more clearly. Right now, I can’t even begin to think about relationships or romance.”
“I understand,” Sofia said. They were quiet for a while. She drank the rest of her water and put down her glass. “Let’s go.”
They left the rest stop and drove north. Traffic was already getting heavy on the freeway and the toll stations where Sofia had to pay, since she didn’t have a pass, slowed the trip even more. However, they got to Pavone in a little over two hours.
In Pavone, Sofia’s friend, Tina, welcomed them enthusiastically. She overwhelmed Angelo with a flood of words expressing her joy that the “figliol prodigo,” the prodigal son, or rather the “prozio prodigo,” the prodigal great-uncle, was found. “Bravo, bravo,” she said and patted Angelo’s arm. She joked around and insisted that they have dinner with her before driving to Tuscany.
Angelo was taken by her friendliness. It had been a while since someone welcomed him with such fervor. The elderly woman, a little on the heavy side, with a kind wrinkled face reminded him of his mother and a feeling of nostalgia flooded him.
Sofia and Angelo wanted to take Tina out to dinner, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She marched into the kitchen and whipped together a delicious spaghetti al pesto meal with a mixed salad. She offered them a glass of wine but Sofia and Angelo declined since they s
till had quite a long drive ahead of them. They finished their meal with the usual espresso and a slice of homemade lemon pie.
With a lot of best wishes, hugs and kisses, they left. Angelo suggested he drive part of the way, but Sofia’s rental agreement was only for her as driver. Since they didn’t want to get into trouble during a possible traffic control, Sofia said she didn’t mind driving. It was a little after seven o’clock in the evening and the drive should take about four and a half hours. If traffic wasn’t bad, they would reach Vignaverde close to midnight.
South of Genoa, traffic eased up a bit. What slowed them down, however, was increasingly bad weather in Tuscany. It started with a drizzle, which developed into a full rainstorm with flashes of lightening. Sofia had to stop a few times to avoid the flooded parts of the highway.
Angelo could feel Sofia’s tension, and he himself kept a foot on an imaginary brake. Near Florence, the rain stopped and they both breathed a sigh of relief.
“Typical rainstorm in Tuscany,” Sofia said. “It feels like pandemonium, and then it just stops and everything is calm again.”
“Just like the people in Italy.” Angelo snickered. “They blow up fast, throw up their hands, you think they’re going to kill you. And the next moment, they smile again.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Sofia said. “Well, we’re getting close. We’ll soon be in Vignaverde.”
Angelo had been to Tuscany before but he had only visited Florence and Siena. He was looking forward to getting a glimpse of the smaller towns and the vineyards. “You’ve never told me how you got a hold of property in Tuscany,” he said.
“It’s a long story,” Sofia remarked.
He smiled. “Well, we’re used to long stories by now.”
“That’s true. I’ll tell you all about it once we’re there,” Sofia said. “Look, that’s Vignaverde itself. The estate is nearby.”
Before them, up on the hill, Angelo saw the lights of the city, the lit up dome and the Etruscan walls. “Beautiful,” he said.
After fifteen minutes, they drove up a small hill, at the bottom of which Angelo could make out a few buildings, storage or working sheds most likely. They parked the car next to two residential houses. It was dark, everybody seemed to be asleep. He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. They got out of the car and Angelo tried to loosen his tight muscles from the long and at times intense drive.
They walked to the smaller of the two houses. Sofia turned on the outside lamp and dug into her purse, probably searching for the key. Angelo saw a few stone pines and what looked like a small olive grove next to the house. The house itself was built in the Tuscan style with the door topped by a stone arch.
“Home sweet home,” Sofia said, as she pushed the door open. They stepped into a small hallway. Sofia stopped and stared at the wardrobe. “That’s odd,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” Angelo asked.
“I don’t remember having left these boots out here. What? …” She shrugged, then opened the door to what looked like the living room. She snapped on the light and stopped again. “Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips.
He could hear it too, now. Footsteps. Upstairs? He reached into his bag and pulled out the gun. “Stand behind me,” he whispered and pulled Sofia back.
The footsteps were louder now. Someone was about to walk down the stairs. Angelo pointed the gun in that direction. He watched as the shadow of a person became visible at the top.
“Who’s there?” a male voice called.
Chapter 36
“Nicholas?”
“Oh, it’s you?” Nicholas was relieved when he heard Sofia’s voice.
“My God, you scared me to death. What are you doing here?” Sofia asked, her pale face slowly gaining some color again.
Nicholas had taken a few steps down the stairs when he saw a man with a gun in his hand. He looked like Grandpa Martin, except for the short beard and the forbidding dark eyes that stopped Nicholas in his tracks. He raised his hands. “Don’t shoot, please.”
The man stared at him. “Nicholas? My God … you’re a grown man.”
Nonsensical as it seemed under the circumstances, this statement dissolved the tense situation.
“Uncle Angelo?” Nicholas slowly walked down a few steps.
Sofia hurried up the stairs and hugged him. She took his arm and walked him down the stairs. “I sure didn’t expect you here? How? Why?”
“I was worried, for God’s sake. I hadn’t heard from you. I called the Santuccis and they hadn’t heard anything either. The last you told me was that you were going to a monastery. I just got scared and so did Grandpa. I got here yesterday and I was going to drive to that friend of Edoardo’s … Tina something.”
“I tried to call several times from my cell, but it didn’t work. And we were … well kind of busy.” Sofia gave the man next to her a furtive glance.
Nicholas tried to wrap his mind around the fact that seemingly out of nowhere his long-lost great-uncle stood in front of him.
“Uncle Angelo?” he asked again, afraid that the figure in front of him might dissolve any moment.
The man cracked a quick smile. “Yes.”
“Well, let’s sit down somewhere,” Sofia said. “My legs are still shaking from the shock. I sure didn’t expect anybody in our house.”
Nicholas’s gaze fell again on the gun that was still in Angelo’s hand. “You always carry a gun? Is that thing loaded?”
“Yes,” his great-uncle said, as if carrying a gun was the most natural thing. Finally, he put the weapon back into his bag.
“You must live a dangerous life,” Nicholas said.
“We had a few close encounters.” Angelo spoke matter-of-factly.
“We?” Nicholas gave him a quizzical look. He noticed Sofia looking at his great-uncle imploringly.
“What’s going on?” Nicholas said. “Are you guys okay?”
“I’ll tell you all about it.” Sofia brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I need to sit down. We’ve been driving all the way from the Piedmont.
“Want something to eat?” Nicholas asked. “Or to drink? Wine? Coffee?”
“We had dinner in Pavone,” Sofia said. “Maybe some tea. Ginger or chamomile?” she asked Angelo.
“I’ve never had ginger tea. I’ll try it.”
“Sit down and relax,” Nicholas said. “I’ll make the tea.” He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.
Back in the living room, Sofia sat on the sofa, her legs stretched out. Angelo sat in an easy chair. Only now did Nicholas see how tired they looked.
“You’re beat. How long have you been driving? Where are you coming from?” He sat down next to Sofia and put his arm around her, then shook his head as he looked his great-uncle up and down. “My God, I still can’t believe you’re here. We’ve been looking for you.” He glanced at Sofia. “Did you tell him … about the bones and all?”
“Oh, yes. I told him everything.”
The kettle whistled. Nicholas went back into the kitchen and poured the boiling water over the tea bags. He brought the cups and some cream and sugar and set them on the coffee table. Sofia handed Angelo a cup and took one herself.
Nicholas stared at Angelo transfixed. “Do you realize you may be a suspect?”
Angelo shrugged. “Doesn’t surprise me. I didn’t do it though. But I think I know who did. Or at least who ordered it done.”
“Well they need you to testify. Why didn’t you contact us for such a long time?” Nicholas asked.
“There are many reasons. It’s a long story.” Angelo sighed. “I guess I’ve said that many times. I’m a little too tired tonight to tell you everything. But just for now, Fred was my friend. He and I did some work for his cousin Anton Leonardi. During one of the jobs, we witnessed Anton kill someone in cold blood. He saw us. We knew we were dead if he caught us. We decided to disappear separately. I went to our relatives in New York … you know about that.”
; Nicholas nodded. “Yes.”
“Then, as you know, I left for Italy. I’ve been hiding there and tried to start a new life, away from all the mess I was in back home. But I’m tired of running. I need to go back and at least try to clear my name. I feel terrible about Fred’s murder.”
“When did you leave for New York and for Italy?” Nicholas asked.
Angelo scratched his head. “I left for New York on July 27. I still remember the day. It was my mother’s birthday. The year was 1992. I stayed in New York for two weeks and then left for Italy.”
“Then, if Fred was killed later, you would have an alibi,” Nicholas said. “And the relatives in New York can verify when you got there and when you left.”
“I don’t know if they can pinpoint the day of his murder that well from a skeleton after such a long time.” Angelo suppressed a yawn.
“Well, I’m sorry to keep you up. You’re tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.” Nicholas got up. “We should call Grandpa, though. You want to talk to him?”
Angelo shook his head. “Not tonight … well, not today … or rather I’ll talk to him later today.” He glanced at his watch. “I couldn’t possibly deal with something that emotional without some sleep first.”
“I understand,” Nicholas said.
“I’ll show you your room.” Sofia got up.
Chapter 37
Anton Leonardi stood by the window, gazing at the fog on Lake Michigan.
It was the end, he knew it. The jerk who had killed Fred and was to take care of Angelo had disappeared. Of course, the ass didn’t know who gave the order to assassinate Fred and Angelo. Louie was trying to find him but so far without success. If Louie got caught, he would sing. Why wouldn’t he? He would look out for number one, couldn’t even blame him. Information in exchange for a lighter sentence. Plea bargain.
And Louie had another important piece of information. He knew that Anton had killed Eppolito. This by itself wouldn’t be the worst. Anton narrowed his eyes. He still had a couple of close friends who would back up his story, his alibi, that he wasn’t in California at the time. He would be arrested, but he still had a chance that they’d let him go. But at this point, not even a short stay in prison was an option for him.
Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) Page 15