Sixteen
Carlo walked up the hill, stopping every ten yards or so to wait for the nun to catch up. He seemed so mature and calm. Surely this nice young man could not have attacked Bernardo so viciously? Sister Angela felt the heat and wondered how Carlo and his men put up with it day after day. Soon, they arrived at a building. Carlo held open the door for Sister Angela, who was happy to get out of the sun. The inside of the cinderblock structure was about the size of two large rooms.
“This first sink-like vat is the cleaner. The olives can’t have leaves or dirt on them when they go to the press. To clean them, they are turned over and over in cold water. These huge granite stones then crush the drupe, pits and all, until a paste is formed. The paste is sent to the press over here, and a centrifugal force separates the paste into olive residue, water, and the oil. We can then decant the oil further or bottle it and sell it.”
“But I thought Garibaldi’s did all that.”
“If the price is right, we send some of the olives directly to Garibaldi. Of course, he wants to do all of it, but my father has always resisted. We do much of it here, primarily producing extra virgin. By law, it must have an acidity of less than one percent, and I’m not sure Garibaldi’s processing is fine enough to produce the best tasting extra virgin. It can have different flavors, you know, depending on the type of olive,” he added, looking directly at her. “That’s the tour. Do you have any questions? If not, we can head back to the house.”
“I wanted to speak with your father. Do you think the party has broken up sufficiently so I can talk with him alone?”
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea. My father usually parties too hard. The help will have to put him to bed before he makes a fool of himself.”
“Then maybe you can tell me something before we join the other guests,” she said, trying to hide her surprise. “An old friend of mine, who was also your mother’s friend, went to place flowers on her grave in the cemetery in Bologna. He was surprised to see another grave there—one for a young Mansuieto Vitali. Who was Mansuieto?” She hated it when she lied. Before she did it, the nun told herself that it was only a story and knew God was smart enough to see it for what it was. Tonight she would have to do extra penance in the chapel. Her failings were human, though. Sister Angela believed God would forgive her.
The young man stared at her. “Oh, you mean my older brother. He was named for my grandfather. Didn’t you know about him?” He leaned against the sinks and crossed hisarms.
“No. I didn’t know your mother lost a child.”
“Well, I wasn’t around, but she lost a baby at birth.”
“In a hospital?”
“No. I think she had it here. She went into labor and gave birth before anyone could help her. Actually, I’m not sure where I got that impression, though. Why?”
Sister Angela noted something in his voice—something she wanted to explore further but did not dare. He must know more than he’s revealed. “My friend said he had seen her in the spring of 1985,” she continued. “He didn’t think she was with child then.”
“No. I believe she had it earlier that year. But what would I know? I wasn’t here yet, and we don’t celebrate his birthday. I really think we should return to the party, don’t you? Without my father there, I’m the host.”
The two walked back to the house. Sister Angela noticed that only a few people remained on the patio. Father Sergio still sat in the same chair, absently talking to the only guest left at his table. He did not acknowledge the nun’s return. Sister Angela was thankful for that.
“May I get myself a glass of water in the house?” she asked Carlo.
“Yes. Let me show you the way.”
He led her through the family room. The furniture looked comfortable, but the colors and textures were exquisite. They rounded the corner to the long dining room. The wooden table and chairs were rough-hewn, in the style often considered Spanish. A matching hutch and buffet stood against opposite walls.
Sister Angela let her eyes follow the line of photographs on the buffet. “Oh, is this you?” she asked about a picture of two boys, the younger holding hands with a toddler.
“Yes, that’s me with my younger cousin, Giorgio. Nicola is the baby.”
“I couldn’t begin to guess who all these babies are,” the nun said.
“We don’t have any of my older brother, Sister. I presume that’s what you were going to ask.”
“But I thought you said he died at birth,” she said, honestly surprised by his assumption. When he did not answer, she picked up another photo. “And look at this large one,” she said.
“That’s my sister’s second birthday party.”
“Look back here. Isn’t that Mrs. Reni? The one with the little boy?”
“No. You must be mistaken. I’m sure that’s my Aunt Katarina, my mother’s sister. That would make the boy me again.”
A phone in a nearby room rang. A woman, presumably part of the staff, picked it up.
“Carlo, it’s about the flowers for next Saturday. The man wants to know if they should be delivered directly to Santa Maria’s or come here first.”
“I’ll get it in the other room, Antonella. Excuse me, Sister. Antonella can show you to the kitchen for the water.”
“Oh my, the bus should be arriving in a few minutes. I don’t really need the water, anyway. Carlo, thank you so much for the tour and please thank your father for inviting me.” The nun rushed out and headed for the driveway.
The pieces of the mystery just might be coming together. She could not wait to get back to her room and work on the puzzle.
*
And then what did you say?” Sister Daniela asked.
She and Sister Angela sat on a bench at the entrance to one of the towers. The students were on a field trip. They would climb the stairs of Polini Tower as far as they could, and through the barred window, look down on the roofs of the village. She could hear them at the top, giggling with pleasure.
Lino, a star science pupil, planned to release a helium balloon from the top of the tower. Neither sister could figure out how he would do it, the bars fit too close together. They both knew, however, that he would succeed. The students were quite resourceful.
Sister Angela could remember Bernardo delighting in his visit to the tower, the only one open for exploration. It was the second tallest in town, slightly shorter than the tower of the original town hall built in the fourteenth century. But toward the end of the thirteen hundreds when another town hall was built, an even taller tower was erected making it third tallest. Bernardo had memorized everything she told his class about the towers. He liked them so much that he climbed to the top of Polini every afternoon before going home from school.
They picked a good day for the trip. The sky was only slightly hazy. From the top, the students would be able to see all the way to the Mediterranean. The Tuscan hills, slowly turning to gold in the heat, rolled up and then down. Directly below them, the patchwork of crops made a quilt of the valley.
“I told him I thought both of our suspicions were true. Bernardo was the eldest son of Mariella and Vittorio Vitali. The inspector and Officer Tortini have only to figure out if the Vitalis and the Renis met within two months of the baby’s birth.”
“Do we know anything about the Vitali baby? Where or exactly when he was born?” Sister Daniela asked.
“The baby boy supposedly died at birth. DiMarco has to find out from the cemetery whether the body is actually interred there. He should be able to start with the records held by the cemetery and work backwards to find out the place of birth. At least I hope so. Carlo said his brother was born sometime early in the year. I think that’s when Bernardo’s birthday was too.”
“I don’t see why he just doesn’t have the body exhumed.”
“Oh my, Sister Daniela, I hope it doesn’t come to that. I really think the bishop might have my veil if we dig up a real body. I’m almost positive the casket is empty but am
not ready to bet my vows on it.”
“So that’s one suspicion. What’s the other?”
Sister Angela sighed. “That Carlo is to be married next Saturday at Santa Maria’s.”
He’s a bit young, but what’s so troublesome about that?”
“The bride is Gisella Lupoi. I suppose it’s a secret because Vittorio is against the marriage. She didn’t mention it when the inspector questioned her.”
“That name strikes a bell. Isn’t that Bernardo’s girlfriend?”
“I certainly thought so, but now I’m not so sure.”
“So is the inspector going to follow up on the leads?” the novice asked.
“Maybe. He’s rather worried about pulling these particular people into the station.”
“Why? He has good reason to question them. This is a murder case.”
“And these are powerful people, Sister. After all, knowing who Bernardo’s real parents are and that an heir to a family fortune is marrying a girl at a church next week doesn’t tell us who the murderer is, does it? These events might not even be tied to the murder. The embarrassment could cost the inspector his job.”
“So he wasn’t happy with what you found out.”
“I think he needs the information, but I don’t believe he’s going to do anything about it yet. He has to do a lot of homework before he can make a move.” Suddenly, the two nuns heard a cheer and looked up to see a large red balloon sail skyward. Later, Lino would explain that the bars on the window were loose. He was able to pull the grate in and squeeze the balloon, only partially filled, through the opening. Then, holding up the portable helium canister, he filled it the rest of the way.
“I hope you put the grate back in place,” Sister Angela said as students lined up for the walk back to the classroom.
“Oh yes. I couldn’t pull it all the way in so I just pushed it back out,” said Lino.
The two nuns gathered up their class and herded them back to school for a late afternoon discussion about the trip. The investigation proved a refreshing break for the nun, but she loved teaching and did not want to neglect her students—especially so close to the end of the term. Her discoveries over the weekend were important, but she had invested so much of the year watching these young people grow up. Being away now at the end of the year was not good for her or her class.
*
“My goodness, I’m tired. I didn’t even walk up those stairs with you. I guess it was the wonderful sun,” Sister Angela said after her students took their seats. “Now, let’s talk about what happened today. I’m sure you all remember that most of the towers were built in the thirteenth century. Pretend your family has just built Polini Tower. Can any of you tell me why?”
“They are there to hang ropes from so we can erect our stall,” shouted one student, waving his arms. “My family sells shoes to the pilgrims because theirs are worn out.”
“To defend the city,” said another. “We can pour hot oil down on raiders and watch them sizzle.”
“It might be interesting to test you on that. I’d like to see how you get all that hot oil up there and then how far you could throw it since it’s nearly two blocks from the town wall,” Sister Daniela said. “Too bad school is nearly out. Maybe we can do that next year.”
“Then I’ll throw garbage and fruit at all my neighbors,” he said. “I would love to do that next year.”
The class laughed, and a number of paper missiles soared overhead.
“In light of these conjectures, maybe we should go over the timeline one more time,” Sister Angela said, masterfully taking control once again.
“The first theory is a good one,” Sister Daniela said. “This town, on the trade routes from Roma to France and England, was a popular stop for both traders and pilgrims in the thirteenth century. Montriano could have sold many different items to the visitors, but its principle product was saffron from crocuses that bloom down in the valley in early autumn. The flavoring and dye made the town very rich. In fact, Montriano became so rich that the beautiful houses built by the wealthy merchants didn’t seem to be enough for them. The town passed a rule that a house could only be three stories high, seventeen meters wide, and twenty-four meters deep. Their shops would take up the first floor, and they would live on the second and third. While the residents could design the houses and use all types of fancy brickwork, there was little else to distinguish them from their neighbors.”
“Obviously, our hilltop perch isn’t very big,” Sister Angela added. “While taking up little space, a tower could be used as advertising for the owner. So now the residents spent their money to build towers, the taller or more illustrious, the better. The only restriction was that it couldn’t be taller than that of city hall. As for residents throwing things at their neighbors, that theory might be true. But the fierce feuding went on more in the early fourteenth century when the economy began to slow. By the middle of that same century, of course, the great plague killed three-quarters of the population of Montriano. After that, our city would never again achieve the wealth it had the century before.”
“Why aren’t there as many towers now?” one student asked.
“A number of them weren’t built very well. The foundations weren’t secure. Most just fell down,” she said. “Now, Sister Daniela assigned you a project. Maybe you can show her what you did.”
“I asked you all to draw freehand or do a rub on something historical in the vicinity of or inside the tower,” the novice said. “Let’s go around the room and see what you have.”
Most of the students had drawn pictures of churches and other towers from the top floor. A few did rubs of engravings inside. One sheet was being passed around the room as the others spoke.
“I see that some of you have done some extra credit artwork. Can you pass that sheet up to me?” Sister Daniela asked, obviously disappointed the assignment was not being taken seriously. “The quicker we get through this, the sooner you can go home.” She took the folded sheet and placed it on the desk in front of Sister Angela.
“I hope you put your name on this,” Sister Angela said. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on the extra credit.” She slipped on her reading glasses and opened the sheet just as
Sister Daniela pointed to a new volunteer. “Oh my,” Sister Angela said. “Who did this rub?”
The classroom went silent. The students did not even look at each other.
“I need to see the person who did this right now. You won’t get into trouble this time, but I need to be led to the location from which this was traced.”
Finally a hand went up.
“Celia? I’m quite surprised. It isn’t usual for you to be making jokes—at least for you to get caught at it. Please step outside with me for a minute.”
The girl, the smallest in the class, slowly rose from her seat and followed the nun into the hallway.
“Celia, these letters look very familiar. Can you show me where you saw them?”
“In the tower. I don’t know how many stairs up.”
“If we go back now, maybe we can find this message. Meet me in the courtyard in five minutes. I’ll need my sneakers for this.”
*
The two returned to the site. The sun dipped lower in the sky, and the tower cast a long shadow over the roof of the church next door.
“At least it’s still light out here,” Celia said. “It may start to get spooky in here soon, though. I brought the flashlight we used today just in case.”
“We’d better hurry,” Sister Angela said, slipping into her sneakers. “I think they lock the door in another half hour. I don’t look forward to spending the night in there, do you?”
They started up the first flight. A path had been worn in the middle of the uneven stone steps, making it difficult for them to walk side by side. On each landing, Celia flashed the light toward the ceiling.
“How did you get so high to do the rub?”
“I was with Ricardo. He let me stand on his sho
ulders.”
It did not take long. On the fifth landing, Celia caught sight of the spot. Sister Angela studied the letters, etched into the stone. The beam of light cast shadows on each, making them easier to read.
“There it is, Sister Angela. Just like the rub: N.V. loves B.R. I didn’t get the heart outline around it. I didn’t have enough paper.” Celia glanced around at the spreading gloom. “Can we go back down now?”
“Yes, Celia. This is a bit eerie, isn’t it? I’ll get Inspector DiMarco to come back out here with me tomorrow. He can bring a camera.”
“Is something wrong, Sister? We didn’t do it. It was already here.”
“I know, child, I know. But these letters could be very important.” Very important indeed, the nun said to herself.
She already knew Bernardo spent a lot of time here. Had he decided to make a little history of his own?
Seventeen
Nicola Vitali left her office just as the cleaning crew arrived. She was always the last to leave her department. Work was solace. Her life seemed to be unraveling. There was her father—it fell on her shoulders to put the old man to bed after each binge. He was always weak. Each time there was another problem, he would turn to his wine. And now, there were more crises—a lot of them. Would he be able to cope? She had been surprised to see the nun at her father’s barbeque. What had the woman asked Carlo during their little adventure? What was Sister Angela investigating there?
Garibaldi stood on the landing as she turned to lock the department door. He waited for her.
“Enzo, I thought you would have gone home already.”
“No, no. There’s nowhere to go. Gina’s on another trip. The apartment seems so empty. You know that. Do you want to get something to eat maybe?”
L'Oro Verde Page 15