“Yes. The incident happened sometime last night.”
Mrs. Reni buried her head in Sister Angela’s ample bosom. The nun recoiled. What if she smelled it? Sister Angela had been around death, and the odor clung to her skin like oil. She would take a shower this evening, but the cloying aroma would still be there. It would take several showers to scrub it off. Would Mrs. Reni smell it too? Would she get a whiff of Bernardo? Would the woman know the nun had been around him, his blood, his viscera?
Sister Angela had not noticed it before. Of course, she had been around death—prayed over bodies, both prepared and unprepared—but she had not been aware of death’s odor until she read about it. A detective in one of the novels she devoured talked about death, “clinging to his body in search of a host.” It sounded ridiculous at the time, but the author was correct about the odor, permeating the pores, the hair, and the clothes. The nun wondered how DiMarco handled it. Did his wife notice it when he went home, or did he grow so accustomed to it that it no longer haunted him? Sister Angela doubted that. It tickled her nostrils, drawing her mind away from the glorious passage of the soul into God’s loving arms.
“Father Domenic will be here later this afternoon,” Sister Angela assured them. “He’s still in shock too, I think.” She paused, waiting for more questions, but no one said a thing. “Can I fix anything for you? Tea?”
*
Father Domenic finally returned to the rectory after eleven. Mrs. Torrisi brought him some coffee, but he did not touch it.
“You haven’t had any breakfast. Don’t you think you should have some cheese or something?”
“You heard what happened.”
“I heard it was a boy from town. Who was it?”
“Bernardo Reni.”
The housekeeper whimpered. He fell silent, presumably to let her compose herself. “You need to stay nourished at such a time,” she finally said.
“I’ll be in my room,” he said, getting up.
“Yes, Father.”
Mrs. Torrisi watched him ascend the stairs before remembering the dishes on the table. She needed to clear them away but could not. The thought of poor Bernardo made her chest ache. Sitting in the priest’s chair, she spooned sugar into his coffee and took a sip.
*
Father Domenic slid past the bed to his bureau and clasped the crucifix. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he dropped onto the kneeler that sat like a sentry in the corner of the room and beseeched the Lord to show him he had chosen the right path. He tried to clear the weight in his lungs, to make way for his Christ, even beating his chest with the pointed end of the wooden crucifix, but the relic broke in two.
“Why don’t you ever answer me, Father?” he cried out. “What am I to do?”
The silence pounded in his ears. After a couple of hours, he attempted another tactic.
“If you help me with this, I promise I’ll fulfill my duties. I vow to banish the fantasies that sneak up on me in the middle of mass, that overtake every sinew of my body. They seize my brain, giving your words nuance with that of the devil, words that cheapen my sermons with lies.”
He did not wait for a response but dragged himself up only to fling himself across his bed. Falling into a restless slumber, he soon broke his promise to remain celibate, dreaming of a liaison with another, touching smooth skin, and pressing against warm yielding flesh.
*
“Inspector, will you please fetch Mrs. Reni a glass of water?” She waited until the woman seemed to relax. “I believe we might want to talk about Bernardo. I’m interested in learning more about him. Do you think you are up to it now?”
“We don’t want to keep you, Sister,” Mrs. Reni said, sitting up to sip some water. “We know you have work to attend to.”
“I have all the time in the world. Maybe the inspector has other things he must do, but I can wait here until you feel better. The inspector can come back at a more convenient time.”
DiMarco had inched toward the door. Understanding this was not his favorite part of the investigation, Sister Angela sensed his discomfort. Tonight, he would go home to his son. He had three children, but only one son, the youngest. It was going to be difficult. The boy was not yet in school, but DiMarco worried about his future already.
Sister Angela knew his wife, Francesca, too. She was beautiful. Her hair, still dark, was thick and shiny. The nun remembered their wedding. San Benedetto had been decorated with bright pink blossoms. The bride wore a stunning gown, and the guests let out a collective sigh when Alessandro lifted his bride’s veil. Her dark hair fell in ringlets from under the gauzy cloth. And her eyes—some called them black—were concealed beneath long dark lashes. Sister Angela knew how the inspector felt about her and was not surprised when Francesca gave birth to their first daughter just nine months later.
Both girls had their mother’s features. Sister Angela was sure DiMarco would have his hands full when they discovered boys. But tonight, the nun suspected he would watch his son, wondering how difficult it would be to protect him.
Sister Angela could see the concern when she looked into his eyes. DiMarco preferred the cold hard facts. Of course, everyone felt that way. The best part of the job was unscrambling the puzzle. Unfortunately, people and relationships always got in the way. Sister Angela was good at that part—dealing with people. No, it was not just her habit that made people trust her enough to talk. It was the way the nun listened and understood.
Sister Angela noticed relief in the inspector’s face when she mentioned he might have to leave. Nodding, he clumsily let himself out the door.
*
DiMarco was not the only one feeling awkward that day. Earlier, Sister Angela had had to report to Mother Margherita about the crime and explain what she thought could be done to help the Reni family. She arrived at school just as the warning bell rang. The students congregated in front of their second period classrooms. She quickly turned and walked to the offices in the main building.
A Dominican priest founded the school in 1903, but the building was erected in the seventeenth century. From the street, it looked like a large house, textured plaster with arched windows and doorways. By the early sixties, the school was bursting at the seams. There was simply not enough room for all the students. Fortunately, there were fourteenth century cloisters behind it that had not been used for decades. Sister Margherita, a teacher then, convinced the diocese to renovate them for classroom space. The outdoor corridors and large courtyard added distinction to the school, and Sister Margherita was soon promoted to headmistress for her efforts.
When Sister Angela entered the office of the headmistress, Mother Margherita stood behind her desk, staring at her watch.
“I trusted you would return on time, Sister Angela. You needn’t have demonstrated it directly.”
“I realize that but thought you might want to know. There are complications, Mother.”
Releasing a lungful of air in a long sigh, the mother superior sank back. There were always complications with Sister Angela. Was it her charge that made things more intricate? The nun certainly seemed to attract obstacles, and at her best, to make sticky situations out of black and white ones.
Sister Angela described the crime scene, and as soon as Mother Margherita heard Bernardo’s name, she agreed. She too had wanted to take the boy under her wing—such an innocent, that one. The Lord had certainly made life difficult for him. She wondered at the time how far he would go in life. Unfortunately, she was right to worry. “And the Lord taketh the best so he can sit them closest to him,” she said quietly.
“Will you ask Sister Daniela to fill in for me?” asked Sister Angela.
“I never asked her not to. Sister Daniela should be in the classroom already.”
“Then Sister Marcella didn’t tell Sister Daniela I would show up?”
Mother Margherita looked up. Sister Angela bit her lip, a sign she understood her indiscretion. That was one of the nun’s weaknesses, talking ill of others. In this case, Sister
Angela was right. The mother superior should have expected it.
“I took care of Sister Marcella. I told her I would take charge of the novice myself. I asked her to teach your later classes,” she said in a firm voice. “Not because I didn’t trust you to return on time, but just because there might be complications.”
She did not look up again. That was all. The mother superior was dismissing her, ending the discussion. She was much too busy with the three hundred students in her charge for more banter on the subject.
*
Sister Angela left much more relieved than when she arrived. She had just enough time to write up a few notes describing the crime scene before meeting the inspector at the station. A laptop would be much quicker, she thought, wondering if the police were willing to spring for one. Probably not. This was not the time to broach the subject. She had already asked for enough favors and would save it for her prayers another day.
*
Although she had not yet asked for any details about the murder, Mrs. Reni had calmed down considerably.
“Tell me about him, Mrs. Reni,” the nun urged. “I know you sensed he wasn’t ready to be on his own. What about him made you feel that way?”
The woman got up and toddled into another room. When she returned, she carried a large album. Reni left the house, but his wife probably had not noticed.
“These are our pictures. The album’s thick. Giuseppe took lots of pictures. We are very proud of our son.” She opened the book to the first page. “Here he is on my lap,” she said. “He was so beautiful. We couldn’t believe our luck.”
Sister Angela looked at the happy scene. Luck? She repeated to herself. That’s an odd way to phrase it. “Is that Giuseppe next to you? He was quite young there. Who took the picture?” the nun asked.
“My brother, Paolo. You remember Paolo, Sister. His son, Giorgio, was always in trouble in your class. You called Paolo and his wife in to see you all the time. He was at my party for the occasion.”
“Ah, yes, Giorgio was quite an active child. He’s a doctor in Milano now, isn’t he? I’ll always have to make sure I don’t go to him by mistake. I’m afraid he might remember how miserable I made him when he interrupted the class.”
“Oh no, Sister. He talks very fondly of you.”
“What was the occasion for the picture, Mrs. Reni?”
“This was the day we brought him home. It was in late April.”
“From the hospital? He looks so big. I would never have guessed he was a newborn here,” the nun said, holding the photo lower to get a better look through her bifocals.
Mrs. Reni smiled as tears welled up in her eyes. “They kept him in the hospital for a while because of his disabilities.”
Sister Angela looked up, surprised. “I don’t think I ever heard the story. Was this the hospital in Petraggio?”
The woman smiled again and gazed at the nun dreamily. “No. I went into labor while visiting my brother in Roma and had Bernardo in the hospital there. We took the picture when we were finally able to bring him home.”
“I’m surprised I never heard that story,” Sister Angela said. “How did Giuseppe stay out of work for so long? I remember he worked at the foundry in the valley, and they never seemed to let him take time off. You came alone to several conferences when Bernardo was in school because Giuseppe had to work.”
“He wasn’t with me in Roma. He remained here in Montriano. I stayed at my brother’s house,” she said, turning to the next page. “And did you see this one, Sister? This was
his sixth birthday party.”
“You have so many pictures. Do you have any of you and Bernardo in the hospital?”
“No. I told you Giuseppe wasn’t there.”
“But surely Paolo had a camera. I would think Paolo might consider getting some pictures for the proud father.”
“I don’t know why Paolo didn’t bring his camera, Sister, but look at this one. He was seven here, I believe…”
And so passed the afternoon. Sister Angela and Mrs. Reni went through every picture and reminisced about the boy whose life had been cut so short. Giuseppe Reni did not return until late in the afternoon. He had obviously been drinking, but Sister Angela felt she could leave Mrs. Reni in the loving hands of her husband.
“A few last questions. Did Bernardo ever mention being afraid of anyone? Other than the fact he lived away from home, was there any reason to fear for his safety?”
“He never mentioned any problems, Sister,” Giuseppe said.
“You must have something to eat, Mr. Reni. May I pull a meal together for you both?”
“No, no Sister. I can care for my wife,” he said. “I’ll make sure that she eats.”
*
The nun made her way down the hill to her room. She could feel her stomach grumbling too. Dinner would not be for another hour and a half. Perhaps she should stop by the station and to see Alessandro. They could go over her visit. She would tell him everything although nothing special happened at the Renis’. Bernardo’s childhood seemed normal with no apparent troubles. It would not be a surprise to either detective that they would have to dig a lot deeper for clues.
Five
Sister Daniela loved taking over Sister Angela’s first period history class. In fact, she would love to teach all of the nun’s classes. Though teaching was somewhat threatening, it made her feel important. Just a few years older than the students themselves, she had to remind herself she was in charge before she walked through the door.
It was not only teaching the young novice looked forward to. She also wanted to help Sister Angela with the murder case. Sister Daniela knew solving crimes was intriguing and important, and she longed to take part in her mentor’s cases. It was not only an idle or a romantic yearning. Just last summer, Sister Angela recruited the novice to play shopkeeper at a pottery store that was robbed three times at gunpoint. The thief demanded money and threatened to
shoot and destroy the beautiful plates and vessels that lined the shop’s shelves.
For two scary days, Sister Daniela took over the register while Sister Angela and Officer Tortini hid in back. When the thief returned with another demand for money, Tortini arrested him without much of a struggle. The gun turned out to be a toy, but it looked real to Sister Daniela. At the trial, Sister Angela learned that the thief was down on his luck. She visited him in prison and, after he was released, helped him get a job so he could repay the shopkeeper.
As Sister Angela’s student, Lazaro Tortini loved to draw designs of sleek automobiles in the margins of his history papers. She described him then as an adequate student and predicted he would become a mechanic in Petraggio or design luxury cars at the Alpha Romeo plant in Milano. Instead, he stayed in Montriano and broke into police work. At first, he did little more than maintain the two police cars and painstakingly detail their doors with police logos. He gradually became move involved in crime solving. Back in school, Sister Angela never anticipated that either she or Lazaro would work on a police case—and she certainly did not foresee that they would do so together.
*
Vittorio made his way down the dark hallway at the far end of the house and tapped on the door.
“Nicola,” he said, knocking louder. When she did not answer, he quietly entered. Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he whispered her name again. “Are you all right, Nicola? I don’t understand why you didn’t come to dinner. Should I call a doctor?”
“I’m all right, Papa. Please don’t worry. I must rest so I can go to work tomorrow.”
He sat on the edge of her bed. “Is it Enzo? Did he say something? Is your work too much?”
“No.”
“If Enzo says anything to you, you must ignore him. That man isn’t any good, Nicola. If he offers to hire you, you must turn him down.”
Nicola sat upright. “Why, Papa? What did he do to you? Did he squeeze a few too many dollars from the business? Or are you just jealous of his accompli
shments?”
Vittorio rubbed his eyes. “You ungrateful child.”
“I want to be successful too, Papa. You don’t think so, but I’m capable of being somebody.”
“Why do you want to work at a plant, Nicola? You know the orchards will always be here for you and Carlo.”
“I know they will be Carlo’s when you are gone. I’ll have nothing. I’ll be his burden.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I want to see the world, Papa. I can’t stay here. I just can’t,” she wailed, her voice trailing off into sobs. “I no longer have a reason to stay here.”
“My dear child, how I wish your mother were here. Mariella would know what to do, what to tell you. I am so helpless.”
Vittorio stood up but was unsure if he should leave her like this. “We need you here, Nicola. Neither Carlo nor I are good with the customers. They love you, Nicola. We need you,” he repeated. Dropping his hands, he quickly walked to the door. He had run out of words to comfort her.
*
At the end of class, Sister Daniela skipped over to the bulletin board outside the administrative offices to check the schedule for the rest of the day. The mother superior posted the schedule and all teacher-related notes there. Sure enough, Sister Angela’s name was crossed off for the next class at eleven and again at two and three. Sister Daniela’s name was penciled in.
“Wow!” she said. “This must be a big crime.”
Sister Lucia was checking the board too.
“Congratulations, Sister. Looks like you’ll be teaching for a while.”
“Do you know what pulled Sister Angela away?”
“No. But I’m sure she’ll tell you first,” she said, smiling. “And then you’ll have to tell all of us.”
Sister Daniela looked at the other teacher, her mouth agape. “I can’t tell everyone about the crime. Sister Angela would never trust me again. I have to respect her request for strict confidentiality.”
“Normally, you are such a chatterbox, my dear,” said Sister Lucia, pushing a strand of hair behind the novice’s ear. “I’m sure Mother Margherita says many prayers for your future here. But when you work for Sister Angela, you keep your lips sealed tight. We would all like to know her secret—how she gets the best out of you.”
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