L'Oro Verde

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

  Unprepared for what met her, Sister Angela slowly walked into the designated conference room. Across the table, her order’s secretary general sat motionless. Her back was straight, her hands folded on the polished wood. White curls peeked out from beneath her gray veil.

  Under the superior general, the secretary general was part of the counsel elected to direct the chapter to which the nuns in the diocese belonged. Only the Holy See had direct authority over the superior general, and only the Sacred Congregation, a group under the Holy See that governed all the chapters of religious orders, could depose her. Sister Angela knew the secretary general would see her side—at least she hoped the preeminent representative of her order would. Sister Angela’s vows were at stake. She nodded her head when Sister Angela entered. The nun bowed from the waist.

  Next to the secretary general, Mother Margherita fidgeted with papers. Father Sergio, his back to the door, stood at the head of the long table. He turned to greet the nun and motioned her to the side of the wide table opposite Mother Margherita. Sister Angela glanced at her watch. She was one minute early.

  “I’m glad you are all here. As deputy to the bishop, I called this meeting to talk about an incident that embarrassed the entire diocese,” he said, looking around the table. “Yesterday morning, Father Domenic, acting rector of San Benedetto parish, was summoned to the station of the Montriano police before he was out of bed. This was not intended to be an arrest, mind you. He was supposedly only there as a witness to a local murder.”

  “Weren’t you there?” Mother Margherita asked. “How were you informed if he was told to come at once?”

  “Inspector DiMarco called me as soon as the priest was taken in, and I, of course, went over there to try to make certain the questioning was impartial. Surprisingly no avvocato was summoned.”

  “I don’t believe the law says he must have a counselor if he’s being called as a witness, does it?” Mother Margherita asked.

  “Why didn’t you call Don Bastiani, the church’s avvocato in Petraggio, if you thought it might be necessary?” the secretary general asked before the priest could answer.

  “Madame Secretary, the interview would have been over before he could get there. But that is not the problem.”

  The secretary general bowed her head.

  “Even though the inspector said Father Domenic was only a witness, he showed evidence the priest was indeed a suspect in the crime,” Father Sergio said. “In a stove in the church basement, the inspector found the cloak the murderer used to wipe up the victim’s blood. DiMarco accused Father Domenic of hiding it. He also alleged that our priest committed crimes against young boys, actually stating he thought the priest was trying to cover up another such crime by killing the witness, Bernardo Reni.”

  “Isn’t Father Domenic under investigation for such a crime at the present time?” the secretary general asked.

  “An incident is under inquiry, yes. But that is not the business of the police.”

  “I’m sure the inspector is aware of the allegation,” she said. “The police in Umbria must be in contact with him. Wasn’t the complaint made to the Umbrian police to begin with? And what does that have to do with the charges against Sister Angela?”

  “Sister Angela is behind the murder investigation. She gives her theories to the police and tells them what to do. The police did not have to embarrass the priest by hauling him off to the station. And a nun does not have the authority to take stories of improprieties out of the jurisdiction of the Church.”

  “Sister Angela,” she said. “Would you like to answer to the charges?”

  Sister Angela stood up. Her face was red but not from shame. She was ready to speak her peace. “Madam Secretary, I’m totally innocent of the charges against me. Even though I must confess I thought about looking into the priest’s record, I was not aware there were any inquiries about past improprieties. The police were present when I questioned Father Domenic about his discovery of Bernardo Reni’s body on that first morning. If the priest looked uncomfortable, they saw it. I didn’t need to tell them.”

  “Did you feel it was necessary to question the priest?” Mother Margherita asked.

  “I questioned him only about how he found Bernardo’s body on the day of discovery, Mother. You see, it wasn’t visible from the altar where the priest was praying. Father Domenic appeared agitated. Later, when the police went to the basement room under the sacristy, they found a robe. They naturally suspected the priest.”

  “But you directed the police there, Sister Angela, did you not?” asked Father Sergio.

  “Because I had to talk to the boy’s aunt in Petraggio, I sent Sister Daniela to ask Father Domenic if she could check the church records. He showed her to the basement stairs on the other side of the sacristy. When I told Inspector DiMarco about the records in the basement room, he realized they never searched there. The weapon and cloth used to wipe up the blood were still missing. The inspector never told me he found anything there.”

  “And did you question the priest further during the interview yesterday morning?” Mother Margherita asked.

  “No. In fact I told the police the robe they found most likely didn’t belong to Father Domenic. I said it looked like one that was used in the annual Christmas pageant.”

  “Are those answers enough for you, Father Sergio?” asked the secretary general.

  “My point is that I believe it is irresponsible of Sister Angela to investigate a crime that has nothing to do with the Church.”

  “Sister Angela,” she said. “You are a teacher, are you not? Is teaching not enough for you?”

  “I feel, Madame Secretary, that I have a special gift for solving crimes. I believe God gave me this talent to—”

  “I’m aware of Sister Angela’s exploits, Madam Secretary,” Mother Margherita interrupted. “She’s a good teacher and good investigator and has been able to juggle both well until now. The community is very pleased with her work.”

  “So you don’t believe her police work is a liability.”

  “No. And this crime has much to do with the Church. “The murder took place in San Benedetto,” the mother superior said. “I believe we should have someone following the investigation—someone who can protect the clergy as well as get to the bottom of the crime.”

  “Then I have to say I don’t see your point, Father Sergio. Sister Angela has permission from her superiors to continue the investigation.”

  “I believe these actions show the community in a poor light,” Father Sergio said, his lip curled slightly. “The creators of the constitution intended that nuns work for the benefit of the young and the poor. Postulants are expected to become teachers, nurses, or social workers. Sister Angela has become a rogue nun. She chooses what she wants as a vocation and fails to take her vows into consideration.”

  “I, too, have read our constitution, Father Sergio,” the secretary general said. “I don’t believe the calling is so limited. Our charter is to teach, yes. But that covenant was drawn up by us and agreed upon by the Holy See. The bishop has no say in the vocations we choose.”

  “But he’s in charge of this diocese,” Father Sergio said, his voice crackling in frustration. “The bishop has absolute authority in this case.”

  “He can influence our decisions, yes, but you have not convinced me that Sister Angela did not follow procedure in broadening her vocation. If the bishop would like to seek my counsel further, please have him call me in person.”

  With that, the secretary general stood up and walked toward the door. Both Mother Margherita and Sister Angela stood, their heads bowed. Father Sergio sat until she approached. He then got up to open the door and followed her out of the conference room.

  Mother Margherita motioned for Sister Angela to sit down again. “I’m satisfied with the outcome today but fear we haven’t heard the last from Father Sergio.”

  “Do you think the bishop will pursue the case?”

  “Not necessarily, alth
ough it is certainly his right to do so. The question of who has authority in this instance is a murky one. The constitution, drawn up with the Holy See, indeed defines our vocation as teaching.”

  “And I am a teacher, Mother,” Sister Angela insisted. “But I’m also educating the public about a crime in their midst. As long as we don’t have the murderer in custody, we are all in danger.”

  The mother superior raised her hand. “I don’t wish to debate the issue at this time. I only want to warn you that just as the bishop must determine how he will proceed, this community must also pick its battles. You are only one nun in this diocese, Sister Angela. I don’t think the secretary general has time to spend fighting your cause.”

  “I understand,” the nun said.

  “And I’m glad you did not carry out your plans to check into Father Domenic’s past. That would indeed have been an indiscretion.”

  Sister Angela stood up, relieved she had been slow to check on Father Domenic. “I would like to send Sister Daniela to Petraggio this afternoon, Mother.”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t choosing to ‘lie low’ as they say, Sister. You just had a close call.”

  The mother superior walked to the door but did not open it.

  “Mrs. Giannini gave me a piece of evidence on which we must follow up,” Sister Angela said. “I think I can convince the police that their suspicions about Father Domenic are groundless.”

  “Then you have my permission. I just hope you are making sure the novice avoids trouble. It would be a heavy burden indeed if something happened to Sister Daniela under our watch.”

  Ten

  Piombo was just finishing an autopsy when Sister Angel arrived. She did not have to wait long. Joining her friend in the hallway, she watched him remove his gloves and motion for an assistant to wrap the corpse and return it to the refrigerator unit.

  “I didn’t expect you today, Sister Angela. What brings you? Have you found the processional cross?”

  “No. I was in Petraggio to visit Father Rossi at Santa Maria Church. He wasn’t available so I decided to visit you.”

  “Are you looking for something from me? The results of the tox screen perhaps.”

  “You have them back then? Was he on drugs or anything?”

  “No. Nothing. He was clean. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t selling them.”

  “That’s true, but it doesn’t seem likely,” she said, following the doctor into his office. “What about the robe?”

  “The cloth? DiMarco sent it to me yesterday. He requested a DNA test on it. I’m sorry to tell you I have to send it away for that. It’ll take a good week or two to get the results—maybe more than that. Next week is the beginning of August, and you and I both know what that means.”

  “To me, it means exams are here, and my students will get out after that. I’ll be free until September if I’m lucky.”

  “And to everyone else, it also means vacation,” said the doctor.

  “Will you be gone too?”

  “Of course not. I’m very busy. My wife and I hope to take a vacation in the off-season. She wants to go to Belize, and it’s nicer there early in the year when hurricanes are no longer a threat.”

  “About the cloth—did you check for hairs or anything on it that could be identified early?”

  “To tell you the truth, there was quite a bit of material on the cloth. The assailant wiped the floor with it. It was quite sticky, so it picked up everything. There were hairs from both parishioners and visitors. I’m almost certain the priest has one or two among them. Why wouldn’t he? I’m sure he’s been all over that church at one time or another.”

  The nun looked disappointed. “Then there’s no way to tell who actually wore it that day—if the murderer did indeed wear it.”

  “I’m afraid not. I explained that to the inspector when he asked that I get it tested. He wanted it anyway, so I sent it.” The doctor removed his white cloak and pulled out his keys. “I’m going home now. Would you like a ride to the bus stop?”

  Sister Angela looked at her watch. It was five-thirty. She had to catch her bus back to Montriano.

  *

  In her small office at the Garibaldi plant, Nicola looked at the pile of memos on her desk. She was too drained to read them. Her work was overwhelming. Needing someone to tell her she was doing all right, she tried to focus on her dream. The big house and yacht did not seem important now.

  She thought about the day in the spring where she wanted it all and got more than she bargained for.

  Nicola watched Enzo pour her a glass of wine and peeked over the parapet at the water crashing over the rocky ledge below, making her feet tingle. “How often do you bring business associates here to Vernazza for meetings?” she asked.

  “Not often. But I do bring customers and investors,” Garibaldi answered.

  “And your wife?” she asked. “You must bring Gina here too.”

  “She comes to the coast sometimes. Are we here at the same time? On occasion, but that could be awkward if she brings her lovers,” he said. “I took a chance she would be away. I thought you should see it—see what you might be able to buy someday.”

  “Are you telling me I’m doing well—that I can expect a promotion?”

  “Undoubtedly. Your future looks promising. I’m impressed with your work.”

  Nicola let the salty wind blow through her dark hair. The house was huge, stepping down the side of a steep hill and stopping just short of the cliff’s edge where the rocky ground suddenly dropped perilously to the sea.

  He led her to an equally dramatic meeting room overlooking the sea on two sides. The morning sun glinted off soft swells that looked transparent as they peaked. A yacht race was taking place farther up the coast. Nicola marveled at the boats’ billowing sails.

  “Okay. Give me your projections, starting with the orchards in Umbria,” he said.

  Nicola deftly showed him her graphs and explained how she got the numbers. “I would like to take on the whole area, if you’ll let me. I don’t think managing my father’s account is enough for me.”

  “I definitely like your methods here. How would it be if I let you handle a few more at a time? I don’t want you to feel too much pressure just yet. Get into it gradually.”

  Nicola beamed. “I know I can handle it, Enzo. Do you want Franco to train me or what?”

  “I think I will train you myself. I want to have someone else in the company who does it my way, if you understand what I’m saying.”

  “Yes. I certainly do.”

  The two sat face to face as he described one of her new customers. Soon, a woman came to the door and summoned them to lunch on the patio. He and Nicola sat down at the table in the shade of a brightly colored umbrella.

  “Ah, this is a good wine. I have a collection in the cellar, and this is one of the best. Let’s celebrate your promotion,” he said. “To Nicola—future head of the company.”

  Nicola raised her glass and took a sip. It was wonderful. She swallowed more. Each time the wine level dropped, he filled it to the top.

  *

  The path to the beach was long and narrow, zigzagging down the face of the hill. Nicola donned her sunglasses. She carried the towels, and Enzo brought a bag of goodies. He pointed to a small beach house at the bottom that held a blanket and chairs.

  Nicola stopped along the path and looked out. The fog that earlier hugged the coast to the north had lifted, and the plaster and crystal palaces of Genova gleamed in the sun.

  Ah, the coast. Her parents had never brought her here as a child. They loved the land, the smell of dust and flies and putrid fruit. In the winter after the harvest, the dirt turned to mud. She longed to live away from the estate, and even asked her father to send her to university in Roma. Mariella understood her dreams. If her mother had lived, she probably would have convinced Vittorio to allow Nicola to go away to learn to become a lady. But Father did not seem to understand Nicola at all. He could not fathom her bor
edom, explaining that the best business in all of Italy was just outside her door. He prepared both his children to take it over—Carlo more than Nicola. Carlo understood so much about business. It was only natural, of course, because he was a man. But Nicola showed promise too. What could schools teach her when she had it all in her own front yard? Vittorio assured her she would learn the business first hand and become an asset to Carlo or whomever she chose to marry.

  “I’ll show them,” she whispered into the wind. “I don’t need Carlo’s business. I can succeed without my family’s help.”

  “I love this house,” Enzo sighed, pointing out places along the Italian Riviera that she might recognize.

  “I could come here often,” she said. “Especially for business. I would need a yacht or two, of course. We could travel by boat to see our customers. Do you have a yacht, Enzo?”

  “Yes. Gina has it somewhere now.” He chuckled. “I think she has taken her lover to Crete.”

  Nicola was shocked but did not say anything. No wonder he was free to come to Vernazza. She had been nervous but now knew Gina probably would not be upset by her presence. Why did he not divorce her? Would he do it some day? She felt the muscles in the back of her neck tense.

  “How big is your yacht?” she finally asked.

  “Twenty-eight meters. Not too big, but she’s beautiful.”

  “How long will Gina be gone?”