“I don’t, but I still love to smell it.”
“I’m glad you like it. I’ll let Gisella know you were here.”
Needing to think, Sister Angela walked out of the lobby faster than she entered. The last thing she wanted was to run into Gisella. The nun had to think before posing a haunting question to the receptionist. She did not want Gisella to know what she suspected, and if she asked her any questions, Gisella might tell Nicola about it. Biting her lip, the nun felt Nicola might have revealed a little too much of the receptionist’s business. Miss Vitali’s curiosity was odd. Was she interested in gossip, or did she know more about Bernardo than she let on? Either way, the interview was unsettling. In this business setting, there was too much emphasis on Gisella’s relationship with another employee, especially since they supposedly met outside of work. Sister Angela almost bristled at Nicola’s question and told her to mind her own business.
The nun suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. She wanted to go back but did not dare. Why had she not asked Nicola about her presence at Bernardo’s funeral?
*
From the piazza, Sister Angela decided to take another way up the hill. The path wound around the edge of town. She could stop at the canopied washhouse and feel the cool water and sea breezes. She sat down on the stone bench along the edge of the pool. At one end of the long rectangle, water still streamed through a lion’s mouth. Centuries earlier, the bath was used to wash linens and draw water by Montriano residents.
From her seat, she looked out through one of the ogival arches built in the fourteenth century. A haze shrouded the next hill, perhaps signaling the approach of a thunderstorm. She hoped the storm would bring cooler air to freshen her room at the convent. The leaves along the hillside were dusty, and a storm would wash them clean. Not a lot of rain. Too much water would put the grape harvest in peril. Just a quick storm, she thought—a violent one to remind her that God is ultimately in charge.
After a short rest, she felt better and resumed walking. At the top of the hill, she circled back and stopped at the station to talk with the inspector about the case. Everything was confusing, but she remembered that discussing the clues always helped. Perhaps the storm would bring order to this bewildering murder case too.
Fourteen
It was decided.
Sister Angela would go to the Reni home and seek more information about Bernardo’s birth. After she returned from Petraggio, the nun and Inspector DiMarco discussed the case at length. They agreed they were going in too many different directions. There were several pieces of information, but none of them fit together. The seasoned detectives knew the mystery surrounding Bernardo’s birth was key.
DiMarco recalled that Mr. Lupoi said his daughter, Gisella, would be married in a few weeks, so she probably was not Bernardo’s girlfriend. “The father doubts that she met with Bernardo outside of work,” he told Sister Angela.
“Well? Who’s the groom-to-be?”
“He refuses to say.”
“I tend to believe her about her relationship with Bernardo,” Sister Angela said. “But why didn’t she tell us about her pending marriage to another fellow? I don’t understand.”
Sister Angela recounted her visit to Garibaldi’s processing plant. She informed him that Nicola Vitali, Vittorio’s daughter, covered the reception desk while Gisella was away. Nicola originally said she did not know Bernardo, but according to Gisella, Bernardo visited that department regularly.
“Is that the same Vitali family that owns L’Oro Verde? Surely we can’t pull them into this thing too,” he said. “The chief will have a fit.”
The inspector drummed his fingers on the desk—a sure sign he was nervous. Sister Angela understood his concerns immediately. She knew the inspector—knew him well.
“I think we can do this offline. They won’t even know they’re being investigated. There’s one other confusing piece of evidence, Inspector.”
“How many more pieces are there? This is getting too complicated as it is,” DiMarco said, pushing away from his desk and raising his hands in resignation.
“Remember when I asked Gisella about her perfume?”
“Yes. I don’t know why you asked, but I remember she said she didn’t wear any because her father is allergic.”
“I asked because Bernardo’s aunt smelled perfume in addition to the cigarette smoke on Bernardo’s clothes. She felt the odor indicated that he was with a girl when he was out late in the evenings.”
“What about the cigarette smoke? Are we looking for a smoker?”
“No. Mrs. Giannini smokes enough for the odor to cling to all his clothes, but she doesn’t often wear perfume. When she does, it’s not that brand.”
“Was he out often? Why didn’t she ask him about it?”
“Yes. I think she did ask once or twice. He always came up with a story that didn’t include other people. But she also felt her sister was too strict with Bernardo and wanted to give him some freedom to experience normal things. That’s why she took him in.”
“But he could have picked up that smell at work.”
“If he wore those same shirts to work, but I think he wore a uniform like the rest in his department. That uniform would pick up the strong scent of the olive oil. Mrs. Giannini didn’t say she smelled that on these clothes. The whole company has a distinct odor, you know.”
“I knew about Miss Lupoi’s response and now understand that Mrs. Giannini thought he was meeting with someone who wore perfume. Where’s the clue?”
“Yesterday, Gisella wasn’t in when I went to the offices where she worked. Miss Vitali was filling in for her. I asked her about the perfume she was wearing. She said it was Gisella’s and that she had borrowed it. It was the same perfume, Inspector.”
“I thought nuns didn’t wear perfume.”
“I don’t wear it, but I do like the scent. When I visit Siena, I always go to a certain store with a perfume counter. I smell all the fragrances that have sample bottles to see if I like them.”
“Do you know the name? I can have Tortini drop by Mrs. Giannini’s with a bottle and see if she can identify it. I’m not sure this is real evidence, though.”
“But it indicates that someone isn’t being totally honest,” she told him, busily jotting down the name on a piece of paper. “It’s called Sea Breeze. Sister Daniela went to an expert in a perfume shop, and both identified the scent. Funny, isn’t it, Alessandro, that most murders can be whittled down to two motives—money and love?”
*
Sister Angela made her way up the road past San Benedetto Church to where the Renis lived. The Romanesque church looked serene in the morning sun, and the small piazza in front of the steps was vacant. The nun sensed emptiness inside the church too, knowing Father Domenic was still away on retreat. She wondered if Mrs. Torrisi was keeping the church clean in addition to her duties at the rectory.
Potted flowers lined the stairs leading to the Renis’ doorstep—geraniums in a variety of bright colors. She looked down at her feet and noticed she still wore her sneakers. Should she change them? Hesitating for only a second, she knocked on the front door. Mrs. Reni eventually opened it.
“Hello, Sister. I’m sorry it took so long for me to answer. I was making soup for my husband’s lunch. He likes to come home for his meals,” she said, leading the nun into the front hallway.”
“Good. He’d probably like to get an update of our investigation too.”
Mrs. Reni froze. She dropped her head and let out a sigh.
“I know it’s difficult to talk about it, Mrs. Reni. But when we catch the murderer, I’m sure you’ll feel much better. Let’s go into the kitchen so you can finish making your soup. I can talk to you from the table if you don’t mind.”
Sister Angela waited for a response, but none came. Mrs. Reni finally turned and led her into the kitchen. The smell of her minestrone soup was heavenly, reminding the nun that she had not yet eaten.
“I’m sure your sister to
ld you we have been questioned her about Bernardo’s stay there,” the nun said.
“Yes. She says you were quite thorough and that you went to his work. Did you find anything there?”
“We have found some interesting things, Mrs. Reni, but nothing yet that seems to relate to the murder,” Sister Angela said, watching the woman’s face. “My friend, Sister Daniela, did find something unusual in the church records, though. And since Father Domenic is at a special retreat and can’t answer my questions, I have to ask you why there is no birth certificate on record at the church.”
She could see the woman’s body stiffen. The nun waited patiently for an answer. Mrs. Reni finally down put the spoon and lowered the gas on the stove before walking to the living room and sinking into the couch.
“You must have found other discrepancies too, Sister. I’m sure I didn’t do a good job of hiding it,” she said, looking down at her hands.
“Inspector DiMarco went to Roma and was unable to find any record of the birth there either.”
“Giuseppe couldn’t have children, Sister. I thought I could live with that. I knew about it when we married. I’m sure you have heard this story before, but it soon became unbearable to watch the children play in the streets. I wanted a child so badly. So when one became available, we adopted him.” The tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Had you applied for a child earlier?”
“No. And when I finally told Giuseppe I wanted one, we were too old.”
“Did you decide you wanted a child before you asked for this one or when you saw him?”
“I decided before that but didn’t tell Giuseppe because I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“When did you find out the baby was available?”
“Right after his birth in February. I got a call.”
“From whom?”
Mrs. Reni looked away.
“And you acted like you were pregnant right away?” the nun asked.
“Yes. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I didn’t want the neighbors to tell him he was adopted. I went to Roma at the end of March.”
Sister Angela passed her a tissue and sat down beside her. “Did you know Bernardo had problems before the adoption?”
“Yes. I suspected he might have some problems. Why else would he be available? But it didn’t matter. It never mattered. I loved him just the same. He had such a big heart. He wasn’t much older than the others when he learned to crawl, scooting all over the carpet here, getting into everything. I would put a cassette in the tape player—usually Vivaldi or Mozart. That would calm him down, and he would sit and listen to music for hours. He loved Giuseppe too. When Bernardo was a teenager, Giuseppe taught him how to make things out of wood. They made the table here together. My son also fixed things like the toaster and iron,” she said, wiping her nose with the tissue. “My sister, of course, thought I smothered him. She always said I overprotected Bernardo. But Giuseppe and I knew our son. He needed to grow up more before we let him go out on his own. We always planned to make him self-sufficient. I wouldn’t have forced him to stay with me forever. I just didn’t think he was ready.”
“Mrs. Reni, who are the parents?”
“I don’t know,” she said, again looking down at her hands. “I went to Roma to pick him up.”
“Then what’s the name of the agency?”
Mrs. Reni looked back at the nun. Her brown eyes were wide, almost pleading. “It was a private adoption,” she whispered.
“I need to know the family, Mrs. Reni. It’s very important that we find out this information.”
“Why do you need to know?” she asked, her eyes flashing. “They didn’t raise him. They don’t know him. They have nothing to do with the murder.”
“Is there something that stipulates you can’t tell anyone? If that’s true there’s nothing for you to lose now. They can’t take Bernardo back. What do you fear?”
Suddenly Mr. Reni appeared in the doorway. He stopped short when he saw his wife sobbing on the sofa.
“Sister Angela,” he said. “What bad news have you brought us now? I don’t think my wife can take any more of this.”
“Mr. Reni, your wife admitted that Bernardo was adopted. I’m trying to stress how important it is for us to contact his biological parents,” the nun said, continuing to hand Mrs. Reni more tissues. “She says she can’t reveal that information because it was a private adoption. I have explained that she has nothing to lose now that your son is dead.”
“Sister, what if the adoption wasn’t legal? What if the biological parents don’t want to be identified? This couple gave us the opportunity to have a child. Why would we turn on them now and change their lives forever? I can’t believe you would want us to do that, Sister. You say you are a servant of God, but you ask us to be less than honorable.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reni. I understand how you feel. It’s necessary, though, that we find the person or persons who murdered your son.”
“I think we have answered your questions. Thank you for dropping by. Next time we want a status report on the investigation, we will call the inspector,” he said defiantly. He opened the door and nodded at the nun, wordlessly telling her to leave.
*
Sister Angela did not return to the station immediately. She also needed time to think. Was this what Mother Margherita and Father Sergio tried to tell her? Had she crossed the line, urging the Renis to break a confidence?
She trudged to the top of the hill and down the path at the end of the street. It meandered through the grapevines, lining the hill on that side. The path dropped several rows and then circled around, only to move back up and enter through another gate a few hundred meters farther down the hill. About halfway across, the trail led under an arbor where an ancient grapevine spread out over an espalier and provided shade for a single bench. The nun sat down, taking in the musty smell of grapes, now only slightly green. Bunches dangled through the slats—perfect inverted pyramids. She did not pick them. It was unlucky to do so before they were ripe. She sat and admired their perfection. Was she right to push the Renis to break their promise? Of course they were indebted to the real parents. They thanked God for the gift and vowed never to reveal the secret. Sister Angela had already forced Mrs. Reni to break part of it. And what did the biological parents have to do with the murder anyway? Was it not enough to know he was adopted—that this was the big secret the family was trying so hard to conceal? Then why was the nun feeling so unsettled, wanting to investigate further? She went over the investigation again in her mind.
Others must be hiding something else.
She had to get to the bottom of it before the pieces could fall into place.
*
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Sister Daniela. “What are the chances we’ll find anything at all?”
“Not much, Sister, but what else would you do with your Saturday morning?”
The summer sun slid in through the two small windows at the top of the basement wall, but the rays of light did not travel very far. The novice slid another box out into a shaft of light emitted by the lone bulb in the ceiling. She pounded her apron, and a billow of dust swelled between them.
“What does that box say?” Sister Angela asked.
“These documents look bound. The books themselves are dated. Each binder contains the death certificates for ten years. Is this what we want?”
“Let me think. If someone were to have a baby and then give that baby away, fooling the state of course because it’s an illegal adoption, how would one explain the event to the others? They could have remained in isolation for six or seven months and have the baby delivered by a close friend. No one would know there had been a pregnancy, right?”
“Especially if the woman was young and single,” Sister Daniela said. “I don’t think that would be registered anywhere in the church.”
“No, but that scenario isn’t likely either. You trust people to be involved in the birth but offer ver
y little to persuade them to stay silent for a long period of time. Another possibility is that the baby is declared dead at birth. That clears the way for the child to be given away,” Sister Angela continued. “Of course, it may not have happened in this case. It might not even have been a local birth, but that’s the chance we have to take.”
“Are all of these people buried in the cemetery down the hill?”
“No, the burial spot is mentioned on the certificate,” Sister Angela said. “It’s more a record for the diocese. Up until fifty years ago, San Benedetto was the main parish in the diocese. That means there are records for several parishes here.”
“But we’re looking for the book containing items for 1985, right?” Sister Daniela pushed the other binders off as she read them out. Finally she pulled one to the top of the pile. “Here it is. It’s pretty thick. There must have been a lot of deaths in ten years.”
The nun and the novice sat on the bottom step of the basement stairs and leafed through the envelopes. Some of the names were hard to read. Many of the forms were handwritten, and the copies were sometimes of poor quality. Each one had to be opened and the contents thoroughly searched. Sister Angela handed the novice the first envelope and started to open the second.
“We are looking for dates. Any death occurring after 1985, discard by placing the envelope in the pile over here. Put any birth date greater than a year before the date of death in the same pile. Any certificate for a female, discard. We’ll gather them up and return them to the book afterward. We are looking for a male baby who died in 1985.”
The two women read each document carefully before stuffing them back into the envelopes. The pile on the floor at their feet grew. One or two were placed between them. About an hour later, they took a break.
Mrs. Torrisi brought them some tea. “Oh my, it’s dusty down here, isn’t it? I didn’t notice how bad it was. I only come here once in a while to help wash the albs and such. I’ll have to come down some time and tidy up, I think,” she said. “You two look filthy. I should have brought some towels.”
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