L'Oro Verde

by Coralie Hughes Jensen

Garibaldi let the phone ring while he studied the reports in front of him. Finally he picked it up.

  “Enzo? Eduardo here. I just returned from an interrogation with DiMarco in Montriano. I heard something quite disturbing.”

  “Eduardo, how are you? I hope there’s no plan for the police to pull me in there too. If so, you probably should have just stayed there.”

  “Your name did come up.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. The police tried to hold me responsible for releasing information on Vitali’s will.”

  “Ah. And didn’t you?”

  “Earlier this year, you tried to pin me down on who would inherit the Vitali estate. You told me it was imperative that you find out if Bernardo Reni would inherit the business.”

  “Yes. I was in a quandary. I was asked to hire the boy, but it was my belief that he was going to manage L’Oro Verde. If so, I would have given him a fitting position here so that I could train him personally.”

  “I didn’t tell you anything, Enzo. And certainly not that. You asked me if all of Vittorio’s children would inherit part of the estate. I told you ‘yes.’ Each child would take over a portion of it. That doesn’t say that Bernardo Reni, as the eldest son, would inherit L’Oro Verde.”

  “No. You’re right. I was mistaken about that. I apologize if it has besmirched your reputation, Eduardo, though I believe you might be exaggerating the damage.”

  “I just want to make sure you understand that the will doesn’t award one child the whole of the estate.”

  “Thank you so much for calling, Eduardo. I have no plans to release you as my counsel. You keep me on my toes. You have my apologies for any embarrassment I may have caused.” Enzo put down the receiver and smiled. “Oily bastard,” he whispered. “I hate lawyers.”

  *

  Nicola did not know how long she dozed. She wanted to get up and crawl into her own bed, but the procedure had sapped her strength. For hours she was in and out of consciousness. She dreamt that Bernardo had returned, running his fingertips up and down her arm. He held her in the tall grass, overlooking the orchard of leccino olives. She could feel his chest go up and down as he tried to catch his breath. She clung to him—clutching his torso until the last of the rush faded, her soul still mingling with his. When he started to pull away, he looked into her eyes. She waited for him to forgive her, but his lids slipped over the liquid-green orbs. Then he faded away.

  Nicola opened her eyes. The sun must have been straight overhead. Bright streaks formed angles on the half-drawn shutters. She slipped back into another dream. This time, Enzo stood over them.

  “You have to get rid of the baby,” he said, pulling Bernardo to his feet. Garibaldi bent over her until she could see every line in his face. His breath was gross. “The baby’s evil,” he continued. “It’s a deformity created by the devil. God doesn’t reward you for your sins, Nicola.”

  “It’s not a sin if you don’t know,” she cried, looking around for Bernardo.

  “But you do know, Nicola, because I told you long before Carlo did. I warned you that your relationship with your brother is a sin. He isn’t only your brother but a half-wit. His voice growing stronger, he added, “You choose to live in sin, anyway. And for that you must pay.”

  Bernardo stared back at her, seemingly oblivious of the predicament.

  Her eyes fluttered open again. The daylight had faded. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her pounding head slowly cleared. “Oh, Bernardo, I’m so sorry.” she cried, tearing at the grimy sheets. Nicola knew she had to leave now, or Garibaldi would be back. She had to catch the bus down the road and make her way home.

  *

  Carlo shut the door to the counselor’s Alfa Romeo. He leaned down on the rim of the open window. “That’s it, then,” he said.

  “Carlo, this isn’t over. Please don’t speak to anyone without calling me.”

  “Don’t worry, Eduardo. I don’t think they’ll come after me again.”

  “What are you saying? Who else are they going to go after?” Adriano asked. “You didn’t say anything that would convince them you aren’t a suspect. I’m telling you to be careful. Call me if you are approached again.”

  Carlo walked quickly into the house and headed for his sister’s room. She was not there. He then hurried to the kitchen.

  “Antonella, was Nicola’s bed made up this morning? Did she sleep in it last night?”

  The maid’s face reddened, but she did not answer.

  Please, Antonella, I’m worried about her.” He firmly grasped her shoulders. “I want to find her and make sure she’s all right.”

  “I suppose I can tell you, but you must leave her be. She already has too many of you trying to run her life. She has suffered the loss of someone she loves and needs time to recover,” she said, biting her lip. “I don’t think she was here.”

  “Was anything missing? Did she take a bag?”

  “That I don’t know. She didn’t confide in me,” she said. “Gisella called, Carlo. If she phones again, what do you want me to say?” she asked the retreating figure.

  “Tell her I’m busy. I’ll call her this evening. Don’t worry her.”

  *

  Carlo circled the parking lot at Garibaldi’s, looking for his sister’s car. When he did not see it, he parked his own and ran inside. “Please tell Garibaldi I’m here,” he told the receptionist.

  “I’m sorry, but he left early.”

  “Was he here at all?”

  “Yes, but his wife called, and he had to leave. It was about an hour or so ago I think, Mr. Vitali. Can anyone else help you?”

  “His wife, you say?”

  “Yes, very definitely. We all know her well. Gina Garibaldi visits here frequently. Who else would call and tell us that she’s his wife?” she asked, smiling. “Anyway, I recognized her voice. I would call Gisella to come get you, but she’s out preparing for your wedding. Shouldn’t you be helping her?”

  *

  When Carlo returned to the house, Antonella stopped him in the dining room. “Nicola’s in her room,” she whispered, pointing to the den.

  “Carlo, is that you?” his father’s voice boomed from the other room.

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Come have a drink with me before dinner. I want to talk to you about the contracts. It isn’t that I see any problems, but you know how I like to be kept in the loop.”

  “I’m busy right now. Why don’t we have a drink after dinner? Then we can spend more time on it,” he said, stepping quickly into the hallway. He tapped on Nicola’s door. She did not answer. “Please, Nicola. Let me in. I must talk to you.”

  He turned the knob and found it unlocked. The room was dark. Nicola lay on her bed facing away from the door, a spot staining the back of her shift.

  “Nicola,” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you all right?” He shut the door and sat on the bed beside her. “Please talk to me.”

  “I did it, Carlo. I got rid of the baby.”

  He groaned.

  “You know I had to. No one would have accepted it, even if it were normal. The child would have always been known as Bernardo’s baby.” She sat up and slid her feet over the side. “I didn’t care if they taunted me. But they would have ridiculed the child, and I couldn’t bear that.” She buried her tear-stained face in her brother’s shoulder and sobbed. “I wanted it so badly. I wanted it because it was Bernardo’s. Why couldn’t I keep my lover’s gift? Why did Bernardo have to go?”

  “Because he was your brother, Nicola. There was nowhere to go to hide that. You would only carry the sin with you.”

  “Because God said it was a sin? Because the priests say it’s a sin? Oh Carlo, how can I live without him?”

  *

  Mother Margarita approached her charge, eating alone at a long table in the dining room. Sister Angela had just returned to the convent for dinner and was so late few still remained at the tables around her.

  “Good evening, Sister Angela. Do
you mind if I sit here with you?”

  “No, Mother, please do. It’s rather lonely here at this hour. But, of course, that small detail doesn’t deter me from a wonderful meal. What have you been working on that keeps you so late?”

  “I have been attempting to get money for items we’ll need for the next year. I do hope you’ll have everything sewn up with your other vocation so you’ll be able to join us when

  school starts.”

  “Most certainly. I believe we are very close now,” she said, smiling. “I would like everything solved so I can have a break before I receive new charges in the fall. But as to that other matter, Mother, I thought there was already money in the budget for the expenses this year.

  “Existence in the budget doesn’t specifically mean cash on hand, Sister. Being in the budget means it’s on paper. There are reports to write and battles to fight before it becomes change in our pockets.”

  “That’s why I prefer teaching, I think. There are battles, but they are with real children.”

  “Yes, and some of us are better at communicating with children than others. I’m glad you still enjoy it, Sister Angela.”

  “Is that why the bishop or his representative keeps popping up when I’m trying to do my other job—because I’m such a good teacher?”

  “I’m certain that reason is at the back of his heart, yes. If I didn’t believe that his motives were good, it would be much tougher for me to serve. I hope you know that.”

  “You mean that serving the Church is a whole package, don’t you.” Sister Angela said. “I understand you. But why the male half of our church has to tell us how we conduct our vocations, I’ll never know.”

  “If you look at them as the male half, you’ll always find it difficult. I try to see them as the administrative part. They are dealing with the Church as a business. If we don’t guard our income, we can’t protect the poor. If those who are inclined to share their wealth with the Church are wiped out because of how they accumulate and administer their prosperity, then we no longer have the means to show our friends how to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.” The mother superior buttered another piece of bread and placed it beside her soup. “You haven’t heard any complaints about how you and the inspector are conducting your investigation lately, Sister, have you?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, everything has been a bit quiet.”

  “Maybe that’s because there are those who care about you and the people you are trying to protect. Those individuals are working on your behalf.” She paused to take another sip of her soup. “So if you’re finished eating, Sister, please don’t sit and wait for me. I know how busy you are.”

  “As long as…” Sister Angela began.

  “As long as you show up for the first teachers’ meeting on the sixth of September at nine-thirty sharp,” she said. “Good night Sister.”

  *

  Carlo changed his shirt, still stained with his sister’s tears, and went to dinner. “Nicola won’t be coming to dinner tonight, Father.”

  “Isn’t she feeling well?”

  “No. She’s a little feverish. She’ll probably feel better tomorrow.”

  “And you, Carlo. Did you have a busy day? Have you finally decided on how you are going to split the crop?”

  “Yes. It was very busy, Father. I had several contracts to discuss and am convinced it’s going to be a productive season.”

  “Good. Tell me again about the drupe. How are they coming? Are the leccinos doing well? I always had to watch them carefully. They can run into trouble very quickly, you know. Did you fertilize exactly when I told you to?”

  “Yes, Father. The frantoios look healthy. I always do precisely what you tell me to do.”

  “That’s my son. You have always been so good with the olives. I know you’ll take care of everything when I’m gone,” he said. “Oh, Gisella called and wanted to know

  where you were. I told her you were very busy and that you would get back to her tonight.”

  “Thank you. And what did you do today?”

  “I drove myself to the cemetery in Bologna. I wanted to put some flowers on your mother’s grave.”

  “And did they look nice?”

  “Yes. She said she was concerned about you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “She thinks you are working too hard for a start. She also wanted to know about the wedding. Your mother worries that you aren’t going to be a good husband,” he said, grinning. “But then that’s something women think about, isn’t it? I miss that around here, what with Nicola out working all the time at Garibaldi’s slave factory.”

  “Thank you for the message, Father. I’ll work on doing better.”

  “Mariella has been particularly busy lately, you know.”

  “Oh?” Carlo said absently, still sipping his soup.

  “She says that Mansuieto is very active. Like you used to be, Carlo,” he said, chuckling. “She has to chase and catch him before he gets himself into trouble.”

  “Mansuieto?” he asked, swallowing hard.

  “Yes, the baby. Mariella is so happy, having the baby with her, you know. I’ll have to ask her to bring the young fellow around. I’ll ask her to bring him here for a visit. This house gets so quiet sometimes. Too quiet, if you ask me.”

  Twenty Two

  His feet on the desk, Inspector DiMarco leaned back and stretched. It was hot—one of those days when the air did not move. The doors and windows to the station were open, but the papers did not have to be anchored down. They lay lifeless on the counters and desktops.

  Tortini attempted to set up a fan at the back of the reception area. Chairs rolling over the cord having frayed it, the fan was dead. The officer was on his hands and knees plugging it in when a sudden gust sent a flurry of papers cascading to the floor.

  “It works now,” he announced, too late.

  Everyone groaned as they joined him to gather their work.

  The nun removed her collar and opened the top two buttons of her black blouse. She waved her handkerchief and took another sip of water.

  “I have to get Tortini to set up a fan in here,” DiMarco said. “Leave it to the captain to pick this week to take off. He seems to be in the know about the weather.”

  “You have already missed your holiday, haven’t you, Alessandro? Weren’t you planning to go to England?”

  “Scotland, actually. I’ll bet it’s beautiful there right now,” he said dreamily. “I had hoped to take in some fishing.”

  “Well, this is nearly solved. You and the family will get to go soon.”

  “And what did you think of Carlo? Is he telling the truth?”

  “Yes. I don’t see why he would begin to believe what Enzo told him, do you? There doesn’t seem to be a good reason to think Vittorio would do such a thing as reject Bernardo because of his mental capacity and then leave the business to him.”

  “Guilt,” the inspector said. “A remorseful father might do something out of the ordinary.”

  “But he added Bernardo to his will long ago. Why train Carlo to run it if he intended to give it to the eldest son? It simply doesn’t make sense.”

  “Do you think Carlo is capable of committing the crime to protect his sister?”

  “You mean kill his own brother to protect Nicola, who’s a young adult already in the workplace? Not even in my day did a young man murder to protect a sister’s modesty. I think he told her, maybe even warned them both, but I don’t think he killed her lover.”

  “Then that leaves Nicola. Think about it. Well into the relationship, she suddenly finds out she’s having an affair with her own brother. She is angry and…”

  “And what, Alessandro? Blames Bernardo? Why? Obviously the young man didn’t know.”

  “But they could have argued, Sister. She may have wanted to leave him, and he wouldn’t let her.”

  “This crime was pre-meditated. She decided to follow him to the church and then walked down to the basement to get
the candlestand, lugging it up the stairs to hit him. I’m not even sure she knew what was in the basement. The only women who go down there, I believe, are those in the altar guild. Maybe one of them did it.”

  The inspector smiled. He knew Sister Angela well enough and did not take offense at her comments. She was right. Going after Nicola at this time would probably produce little. If she were told her relationship with Bernardo had come to an end, she would probably have lashed out at the messenger, not her lover.

  “Maybe the ladies in the altar guild, then. I’ll have Tortini get me a list.”

  The words were hardly out of DiMarco’s mouth when his officer suddenly appeared in the doorway. Both the nun and the inspector jumped.

  “Inspector, there has just been a call that the grate from the window at the top of Polini Tower is on the ground,” Lazaro said, breathless. “Someone is sitting in the opening.”

  “Damn kids,” DiMarco said. “Get someone over there before there’s an accident.”

  “No, you don’t understand, sir. One of the witnesses said she passed Miss Vitali in the stairway on her way down. The person sitting in the opening is a woman.”

  *

  “I’m going up the stairs,” Sister Angela told DiMarco as soon as the car stopped. “You set up something down here to catch her, if that’s possible.”

  “An expert is on his way from Petraggio. Maybe we should wait until he arrives to talk her down.”

  “I’m not waiting for anyone,” she said, slipping out the car and disappearing through the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  By the fifth flight, Sister Angela was winded, but knowing she had to hurry, she did not slow down. If the woman was indeed Nicola, she was serious. Sister Angela had met her only once or twice, but she was sure of that.

  The nun stopped short when she heard the voice. Bending over to catch her breath, the smell of damp brick filled her lungs causing her to choke on the dust.

  “Stay there! Tell me who you are,” the voice demanded. The jumper sounded like she was just around the next turn.

  “This is Sister Angela. Nicola, please wait. I need to talk with you.”

  “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you were going to ask.”