He smiled and touched her hair. “Long enough, Nicola.”
When they reached the bottom of the cliffs, the fine granules of sand warmed her feet. The beach was immaculate, no seaweed or fishing remains marring the shoreline. It was just how she had always imagined it. He went to the beach house and brought out a large blanket, spreading it over the smooth sand.
Nicola walked to the water’s edge. The waves were tiny, making small splashes as they stretched out over the sand. The water too was warm—very warm for March. She waded in up to her knees. Finally, he joined her and urged her out farther. Standing by her for support, he placed his hands on her waist and let the rhythm of the waves gently lift her off her feet. Then he moved closer, and she put her arms around his neck, letting her body graze his.
“Where are you going for holiday this year, Enzo?” she asked, her lips touching his ear.
“I think I’ll wait until the fall and go south—São Miguel maybe.”
“With the boat?”
“Do you want to come with me?” he asked, his voice husky.
She let her lips answer for her, and he responded, leading her back to the blanket and handing her another glass of wine.
“I think you’ll like this one, Nicola. It has a very smoky, almost beefy bouquet.”
Not wanting to return to Petraggio, she stretched out on the blanket, feeling safe, secure, and tired. She let him put lotion on her chest and shoulders, saying nothing as he unhooked her suit. She yielded when he pulled her toward him, his gritty thigh sliding over hers. Nicola dreamt about riding in the boat, gripping the railing as it skipped over the aquamarine swell, each thrust of the seat giving her rapturous pleasure. The cool spray of the salty water that caressed her face and arms suddenly burst, oozing hot liquid between her legs. Pulling her hands loose, she frantically adjusted her torso under Enzo’s heavy body. When he would not move, she relaxed, accommodating him. She had never seen Greece, the white houses against the blue sky, and she would do whatever she could to make the dream last. Before that she would have to prove she could do the job he had given her.
*
Pliers in hand, Carlo worked on the huge granite press in the small structure not a thousand meters off the end of the driveway to L’Oro Verde orchards. “Hand me that screwdriver, will you?”
“I will if you kiss me again.”
“Cut it out, Gisella. I have to get this done before Father gets home.”
Gisella pouted. “Why don’t you want him to meet me?”
“That’s not it. I told him I would get the press up and running. We have orders to get out.”
Gisella pulled herself up onto the edge of one of the basins and wobbled uncertainly. “But whenever he comes home, you tell me we have to go somewhere else.”
Carlo put the pliers down and wiped his forehead. The summer heat had collected in the small cinderblock factory at the edge of the olive groves. “Look, Gisella. Father doesn’t want me hanging out with anyone yet. When this place is mine, we won’t have to worry what he thinks.”
“You don’t believe he’ll like me?” she asked, falling onto her feet and twirling. “Do you think I look bad?”
“I like you the way you are, Gisella. Quit putting yourself down.” He looked up. “I need the other screwdriver now.”
*
“I have a confession to make,” Sister Daniela told the nun right after dinner that evening.
“I thought something might be eating at you,” Sister Angela said. “But you must have heard that nuns don’t hear confessions.”
“I’m serious. And I haven’t told you this because I didn’t want you to take me off the case.”
The nun sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well?”
“Remember when I was in the basement of San Benedetto?”
“The other morning?” the nun asked. Even though she had no idea what the novice was going to reveal, her stomach sank.
“I was kind of freaked so it may have been my imagination,” Sister Daniela said, “but Father Domenic came to the top of the stairs just as I was cleaning up.”
“Do you think you were dreaming, or was he really there?”
“He was there, but he kind of spooked me.”
“How? Did he touch you?”
“No. No. He just kind of gave me the chills. At first he only watched me. I wouldn’t have known he was there if the floorboards hadn’t creaked. Finally, he asked me if I had found what I needed.”
“How could that scare you?”
“It was just how he stood there. I really couldn’t see most of him because the top of the stairs was dark, but I could see his robe as it swished over his shoes.”
Hair prickled the back of the nun’s neck. “What did his shoes look like?”
“They were black and highly polished. I could see both basement windows reflected in the toes. Why?”
The nun pulled out her phone and quickly pushed the buttons. “DiMarco? Sister Angela here. Did you get results from the tests on Father Domenic’s shoes?” She listened while the inspector explained why the priest had his shoes back. “Are you sure? There was a lot of blood in the church. The blood on the floor should have coated the soles. Even if it was just a smear of blood, the soles must have revealed something.”
When she hung up, she turned to Sister Daniela who, only able to hear half of the conversation, was fidgety.
“Well? Can I do something else for you?” the novice asked.
“Yes,” Sister Angela said. “While I think it might be best to stay away from Father Domenic right now, I need a favor concerning a shirt that belonged to Bernardo.”
“Isn’t that evidence? Shouldn’t you tell the inspector you have something?”
“I have to give it to the inspector soon, but before that, you could help me by taking this with you into Petraggio. Be careful. Remember that it’s evidence.”
*
Nicola continued to think of that fateful day with Enzo.
The sun shone directly through the car windows after they finally loaded Enzo’s car for their return trip and climbed in.
Nicola’s head ached. “I shouldn’t have had so much wine. The drink and sun must have done a number on me,” she said, looking Enzo in the eye. “I hope you still think I’m worthy of the promotion.”
“Of course. Thank you for the wonderful day. You are such a giving person, Nicola. God knows I don’t deserve this.”
“Well it’s back to work now. We can’t take just any day off. I want to do the best job I can for you. You know that, Enzo.”
“And you will,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
He leaned over and pulled her toward him. She could smell his breath. Stale alcohol permeated the sweet salt air. It made her want to retch. She longed to pull away but did not dare, giving him a short kiss. His response was not so short. His wet lips enveloped hers until she automatically pulled away.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked, his voice like steel. “You were much more responsive on the beach. Did you want me to give you the house too?”
She smiled. “I guess it’s me. I don’t feel so fresh now. The wine and heat were too much. Please don’t take offense. It’s not you.”
*
Nicola felt relief as soon as he dropped her off at her car in the factory parking lot. She would return home and bathe before joining her father and brother for dinner. But by the time she drove her car up the drive to L’Oro Verde, she had already changed her mind.
Leaving her things in the car, she walked up the path, passed Carlo’s little building with the olive processing equipment and into the first orchard. Her pace slowed as she approached the clearing. It was the same field she always used when she wanted privacy. The early evening sun cut through it, leaving shadows imprinted on the unturned soil. She waded through the mud around the sprouting grass to a dry spot and fingered the clumps of dirt.
“I’ll do anything to get out of here,” she said, the damp chill
of early spring seeping through her jacket. “He’s not that bad,” she said, still trying to convince herself. “Granted, I’ll have to watch my step. He’s married, for god’s sake. But how can I expect him to love me when I can’t return it. I’ll just have to avoid him. I’ll throw myself into my work and scratch my way up. If I can’t have love, I’ll just have to be satisfied with travel and a big yacht.”
*
But so much had happened since that trip in the spring—so much had changed. Did he still want to help her move up? In the office, she groped for the framed picture of someone else in her desk drawer and positioned it in front of her. Would Enzo ever take her for a trip on the yacht? More important, did she still want him to?
Eleven
Lazaro Tortini was new on the force. Years earlier he daydreamed in Sister Angela’s class, but he always wanted to be a policeman. He trained for his career in Bologna but had to wait five years for an opening in his hometown, Montriano. He already had a family—three boys, two girls, two cats, and Anna, his wife. At first, he was afraid to tell her he wanted to switch jobs. When they were newly married, he worked as a guard in the Etruscan Museum and was beginning to make better money. As a junior police officer in the village, he would have to take a cut in pay. But Anna understood. Montriano was not a dangerous place, and as long as he was happy, they would make ends meet.
Today, Lazaro was going to drive the inspector to Roma. The A1 was the easy part. He knew the way to the autostrade, and once there, signs to the capitol would be abundant. He was rather nervous, though, about finding his way around the large city.
He cleared his throat, nervously. “Sir, you did bring a map of Roma, didn’t you?”
DiMarco smiled. “Yes, of course. It’s in my pocket. I have marked the way to Paolo Ferro’s house. Do you need to see it now?”
“No.” Lazaro let out a long sigh.
At least they did not have to go to all the hospitals. He and DiMarco checked out many of them by phone the day before. None had a Mrs. Reni in their records on any dates around the boy’s birthday. Of course, Ferro might say the dates were miscalculated or actually tell them the hospital was wrong. But then they would only have to make their way to the one hospital. Surely Ferro would not lead them on a goose chase.
He leaned forward to turn on the radio. This was his car. They used his car since taking a marked car would make things more difficult. Polka music burst out of the speaker.
Surprised, DiMarco stared at his driver.
“Sorry, Sir. My wife likes it. Do you enjoy rock? I can find some of that.”
*
DiMarco did not reveal that he preferred Puccini. Tortini probably could not find that on the radio anyway. The inspector always carried a cd in his back pocket but did not bring it out. No, rock was not his style, but it was only a couple of hours. He would survive.
DiMarco thought about the possibilities. If Mrs. Reni did not have the baby in a hospital, then she must have had it in Paolo’s house. That must be it. There were complications—they couldn’t get her to a hospital, and the family’s covering up for a midwife so she won’t lose her license, he thought.
DiMarco remembered the births of his own children. Wanting his son to be born at home, his wife had worked with the midwife and thought she was ready. When the time came, however, there were problems. The baby’s head was caught. She was in labor for more than twenty-four hours. DiMarco rushed her to the hospital himself, not thinking about the midwife’s feelings—only of his wife and baby. The hospital physician performed a caesarian, and everything seemed to be all right. Maybe if Mr. Reni had been there, the correct decision would have been made.
DiMarco’s son did not seem slow. Although it was still too early to tell what kind of student he was going to be, the boy would probably become a soccer star. He was already kicking the ball accurately. DiMarco had put him into the town youth league, and he was the star of a championship team. One of his daughters was also good at soccer, and his wife made sure she supported the girl’s team. But it was the boy’s team that interested DiMarco.
The inspector played in a league too. Since there were not enough policemen in Montriano, he joined the league in Petraggio. Calling themselves the Petraggio Marksmen, the police force had lots of men eager to play. Some of the team wanted to call themselves the Bombers, but since they were law enforcement officials, the name did not seem to be appropriate. Tortini had played for a while, but he was not well coordinated. DiMarco was glad when his officer decided he was too busy to drive to Petraggio several times a week. A younger more talented man replaced Tortini. The team was five-two-two after they beat the firefighters, who were supposed to be good, the week before. After that game, DiMarco felt like he was on top of the world. This Friday, they would play the team from San Anselmo University. Many of the players were seminary students, teaching or taking classes there. DiMarco was a little worried about them. He did not think it was fair to use students let alone ones who had an edge with God
“When does Fiorentina play?” he asked Lazaro.
“Tomorrow night—against Milano. I can’t wait for the game against Roma. I think that’s coming up soon.”
“Ah. Fiorentina’s play has been a bit disappointing. I’m looking forward to the Euro Cup. I think the schedule is coming out next month.”
“Yes, two weeks from Thursday. That’ll be exciting,” Lazaro said, turning down the music. “Do you go to Roma often?”
“Yes, my sister and her husband live there,” DiMarco said. “He’s a commander in the Papal Guard.”
“The Swiss Guard?”
“Yes. He’s Swiss.”
“Then they live in Vatican City. Do they have a nice place? What a job that is. I’ll bet you are a bit jealous, Sir.”
DiMarco did not answer. “I think it’s the second exit. We follow that road until we get to Piazza Trasimeno.”
“Are we going directly to their house?”
“Yes. They live in an apartment on Via Rubicone. We’ll have to park about a block away—at least that’s what Ferro said.”
*
Paolo Ferro waited on the steps of his building. After shaking hands with the two policemen, he led them up the stairs to the second floor. The apartment building was nice on the inside. The marble staircase spiraled around a small courtyard. The glass ceiling, about six flights up, illuminated a fountain, gurgling in the center of the lobby. Paolo’s wife, Giuliana, waited nervously upstairs and seemed to cower behind a chair as the two men walked inside. After introducing themselves, the policemen sat down. Mrs. Ferro made them coffee.
“I’m so sorry for the sudden death of your nephew, Bernardo. The funeral was nice. Did you come to Montriano for it?” DiMarco asked.
“No. I had to work. My sister has forgiven us,” he said. “Do you have any leads?”
“We have actually questioned a suspect and obtained some evidence, but no motive. That’s why we’re here. Anything you can remember will be of help. We need more documentation. The suspect can’t be put away on what we have.”
“Oh. Have you told my sister? She didn’t mention this new development.”
“We didn’t want to bother her with it just yet. Right now, I think you can give us the information we need.”
“I’ll try to answer your questions the best I can.”
“I’m afraid we haven’t been able to locate the hospital where Bernardo Reni was born,” the inspector said.
Paolo looked at his wife. “Yes, that surprises me,” he said. “My sister didn’t tell you she went to San Giovanni Hospital? Did you call them?”
Lazaro looked down at the crumpled list of hospitals he had stuffed into his pocket. “Yes, they responded that Mrs. Reni had never been a patient there.”
“Oh my, I knew this would happen. The hospitals always lose records. It’s a national embarrassment. Anyway, that’s where she went.”
“Then may I have the doctor’s name?” the officer asked. “Perhaps he can
give me the records I need.”
“Giuliana, do you remember his name? He was just on duty there,” he said, moving his head from side to side until his neck cracked. “It was over twenty years ago. How can we be expected to remember?”
“Mr. Ferro, yes, it has been a long time. Perhaps you should think more carefully. Could a midwife have delivered Bernardo? That might be the reason why we can’t find any records,” DiMarco said. “I ask not to find fault. Of course things were handled differently twenty years ago. Officer Tortini and I are trying to track down his murderer. We need the birth documents so they are available for use in court.”
“No, no, no. I drove her to San Giovanni Hospital myself. She was in a lot of pain.”
We know you are very close to your sister, Mr. Ferro. I repeat that no action will be taken against any of your family or the midwife. We just need to clear up this one detail.”
“I don’t lie, sir. Giuliana, tell them she went to the hospital. I remember driving her myself.”
“No need, Mrs. Ferro. My partner and I shall go to the hospital again,” the inspector said. “If you remember anything else, please call me. Here is my card with the cell number.”
*
Sister Daniela stood outside the small perfumery in Petraggio and sniffed inside the bag again. Then she pushed open the open and bravely trundled inside.
A woman busily wiped the counters, straightening bottles as she walked along. “Buongiorno,” she sang. “What can I do for you, Sister?”
“Good morning. I’m looking for a certain fragrance.”
“Ah, a gift. I can wrap it for you too. What did you have in mind?”
“The truth is, I’m not sure.”
“What is the age of the recipient? I can tell you what’s popular for that age.”
“I come from the department store that just opened off the autostrade. You know the one in that new shopping center?”
The woman frowned. “I’m aware of it, yes. They couldn’t find something for you? Something on sale, maybe? If cost is your primary interest, Sister, perhaps the department store is the better choice.”
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