Looking like a large warehouse, an outbuilding stood on the other side of an even larger house. Viviana wanted to ask De Capua if he lived there with his brother, but she bit her lip.
“This is the building where we create our tasty wines. In spite of our size, we’ve won awards all over the valley.”
The inside was a wide expanse of space at one end. A few tables and a desk in the middle formed an office and lab with a couple of laptops and a microscope. At the other end, rows of barrels surrounded a larger vat. Her gaze stopped at a door at the far end.
His eyes followed hers. “That’s where we store our supplies.”
“I know almost nothing about winemaking. Are there a lot of supplies?”
“Are you interested?”
“Yes, of course. I know that you grow grapes, crush them, and let them age.”
“That would be great if that was all there was to it. I’d pick and crush the grapes in September and then travel the rest of the year. Unfortunately there’s a lot of paperwork and politics involved too. Too much bureaucratic red tape. I hire more people to do paperwork than I do winemakers and experts on taste and quality.”
“What do you mean?”
“In order to sell the finest possible wine, I have to grow premium grapes and, using the best equipment and a special mixture of grapes and chemistry, produce the best-tasting product in the region.”
“I thought you grew all the grapes.”
He smiled. “I grow most of the grapes, but neighbors grow different types. I buy from them too. The other winemakers create varieties with different quantities of each grape. In addition, we might alter the process slightly. Each variance can make big differences in taste and texture. Alterations are necessary because the grapes are all grown in the same region and carry similar fruity tastes. My wine has a taste that’s distinct from the wine my neighbor produces.”
“Wow. I guess I really don’t know very much.”
“You must start by tasting the different products. I have some bottles over here.”
“I’ve been winetasting before. A tasting room that has some atmosphere or something to make the consumer feel comfortable is a must. Do you have something like that here?”
“No. Not now. I’ll have to ask you for advice when we build it, though. Come closer,” he said, holding up a glass of his red wine. “Do you know how creating what we call Chianti is governed?”
“I know nothing, except how it tastes.”
“It’s quite complex. Our prestigious standard production, labeled as superior, has several flavors.” He handed her a glass and filled it about a third full. “Hold it up to the light. What do you see?”
“It’s dark red. I can barely see any light coming through.”
“Now take a sip. Let it sit on your tongue. Does the taste remind you of anything?”
“I can taste a fruit. Cherry maybe? But it’s spicier than cherry.”
“What else?”
“There’s a smoky flavor. Is that from the oak barrel?”
“Take some more. Does it really taste like oak?”
“No, maybe a campfire.”
“What about a cigarette?”
“Oh, yes. I haven’t had one of those since my early teens so I hardly think about it. There’s a musty taste too, I believe.”
“So now you know how it tastes. If you were explaining this to a customer, I’d recommend you say that it has a black cherry, tobacco, and earth flavors. We’re in the Rufina sub region and are therefore included in the DOCG rules that regulate what we put into our wines and how long the wine must be aged. You just tasted Chianti following the rules for Chianti Superiore. Our finest Chianti is our riserva. The grapes must be eighty per cent Sangiovese, and all the grapes must be grown somewhere within the Chianti region. They once used quite a few white grapes in Chianti, but we no longer add them. To be competitive, only the best red grapes go into our wines. In our case, we grow over ninety per cent of our own grapes.”
“Whoever handles the business end must be overwhelmed. The desk’s messy. How can he or she pay all the bills when they’re strewn all over the table?”
“He has his methods. My brother takes care of that so I can work on getting the best wine possible.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s on the road right now.” He took her arm and turned her away from the surface. “He’ll be back by the end of the week. I see that Serena, my sister, has texted me and asks if you want to come to dinner. They’ve set a place for you at the table. Perhaps we can go into town another time.”
“So your whole family lives in the house?”
“My sister, my mother, and my brother. My father died about five years ago. We all take care of my mother now.”
At the house, Giulio showed her where she could freshen up. When she returned, the family had already moved outside.
Signora de Capua sat at the end of a large picnic table. Viviana went up to her to thank her for the invitation. Then she looked out to see Corsa Pietra across the valley. Setting behind the hill in back of her, the sun made the hill town shimmer.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “What a perfect view.”
Giulio took her arm and led her to the bench next to his sister. On the way to his seat across from Viviana, he grabbed a bowl of pasta and carefully placed some on her plate. To one side, a dish of lettuce, tomato, and olives looked equally inviting. Then he poured her wine from the bottle on the table. “This is the riserva,” he said. “Enjoy.” Giulio turned to his mother and began to tell her about the successes and frustrations that filled his day.
“I’m Serena. Giulio tells us you might be working for us.”
Startled, she looked back at Giulio.
“I was hoping we might work something out. I’m not even sure you’re interested in doing the job I mentioned.”
“I think I told you that I’m not from this area. I’m here because my grandmother’s ill. My aunts felt I should represent my mother and help them with Nonna’s care.”
“Are you saying you can’t stay here?”
Viviana hesitated, her mind whirling. She’d much rather have the job than care for her dying grandmother, but she’d made a commitment. How would she get out of it? “Let me see what I can do.”
Every time Viviana took a sip, Giulio would refill her glass. She had no idea how many glasses of wine she had. “The meal was delicious,” she said. “Please let me help you with the dishes.”
“No, no,” said Signora de Capua. “It will be dark soon. Giulio can at least see you back to the road.”
Giulio pulled her toward the first rows of vines, and walked behind her as they trudged back the way she’d come. At the end of the first row, he took her arm, and turning her to face him, he leaned down to kiss her.
Viviana felt her cheeks grow hot but didn’t retreat. When he rested his hand against her back, she leaned into him. Perhaps it was the wine or maybe the strong attraction to him that she felt from the first moment they’d met. She wouldn’t resist.
Giulio lowered his hand and drew her up. She could feel his hardness just below her bellybutton and wanted to explore it further, but he pushed her away from him and stared into her eyes. “I hate women in trousers,” he said, his voice gruff.
Viviana smiled. “Trousers are good protection for day one, don’t you think?”
He took her hand and began walking with her again. “No. And they aren’t very good for your job either. I want you in a dress when you deal with the public.”
“Not business wear?”
“A skirt then. Just so the men don’t think you’re trying to be like them. No ponytail. Keep your hair down. Oh, and the shoes—wear heels.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to sell me instead of the wine.”
Giulio laughed. “Damn right I’m trying to sell you. Once you get them to taste the wine, they’ll get confused and end up buying the bottle.”
They reached the road just as the mo
on began to rise behind hill town. He continued to walk with her, his hand gripping hers, and they talked about business and family until they were in front of her grandmother’s house.
“So I might be bought. I thought you wanted me for yourself.”
“I always take what’s left over, Viviana. Rest assured I won’t sell you. I’m keeping you for myself.
Chapter Four
Sister Angela hoped Sister Daniela was still at the orphanage. Fortunately, she found the young nun correcting papers in the basement classroom.
“I’m glad you came so quickly,” said Sister Daniela, rushing to hug her old friend.
“This is Sister Liona. She drove me from Siena.”
“Yes, I know Sister Liona,” she said, turning to hug the driver. “She often drives people back and forth. We’re grateful for all who assist us at Mission House.”
“We’d like you two to come to dinner tomorrow night,” said Sister Liona. “Do you think you’ll be able to break from your investigation? I can pick you up when I retrieve Sister Natalia.”
“No. I think I’ll be able to borrow Michel’s truck. I’ll let you know if there’s a problem. Sister Angela, I hope you can drive. It’s much easier to drive around here than to call for help.”
Sister Angela smiled. “I can operate a vehicle and have a perfect driving record. I’m just never offered a car. I hope your brother-in-law doesn’t mind.”
“We’ll expect you at eight at Mission House then,” Sister Liona said, retreating to the stairs.
“Thank you,” said Sister Daniela. “We look forward to seeing Mother Faustine. Hopefully we’ll have some news for her.” Sister Daniela stopped to examine her old mentor. “I’m glad you’re fit. Let’s go up and get Sisters Carmela and Natalia. We must bring you up to date so we can start work first thing in the morning.”
The two nuns and the cook sat at a table in the office just off a TV room and situated in the front corner of the old house. The afternoon sun shone through all four windows, making it the warmest room in the house. They stood when Sister Daniela and Sister Angela entered the room.
“Good afternoon, Sister Angela. I’m Sister Carmela. I’m the night administrator and discovered that young Pia was missing when the children rose the morning before last. This is Sister Natalia here on my right. She cares for the children during the day. She and I hunted for Pia, as did the police, yesterday morning. The two of us are aware of all the hiding places on the property.”
“And the outbuilding?” asked Sister Angela.
“The garage, yes,” said Sister Carmela. “It’s no longer used for cars, however. We don’t have one here. We store supplies in the garage. The woman at the end of the table is our cook, Sister Edita. She too went through many of the hiding places in the house yesterday.”
“I noticed other doors near the classroom downstairs when I was taken to see Sister Daniela.”
“Yes, one of them is the laundry,” said Sister Carmela
“I assume you all checked the laundry room,” said Sister Angela.
The two head nuns looked at each other. “Of course. Did you see anything amiss?”
“Oh no. I haven’t been inside. I just wanted to know who does the laundry. I presume it’s a job that takes most of the week to accomplish, but you haven’t mentioned a housekeeper.”
“The older girls do the housekeeping,” said Sister Natalia.
“Not in the kitchen,” said Sister Edita. “I keep the kitchen tidy.”
“There are older girls in each room,” said Sister Carmela. “The more mature ones are in charge of their rooms and wash all towels, sheets, and clothing on specific days.”
“They take turns cleaning the bathrooms, both of them on the ground floor,” said Sister Edita. “They have toilet duty once a month. It’s all on a board in the dining room. The younger children have chores too. The common rooms and hallways are cleaned by the younger children. Some pickup and others vacuum.”
“You have to be organized,” said Sister Angela.
“They need time to study for an hour after their classes,” said Sister Daniela. “I stay and make sure they’ve finished their homework before dinner.”
“So efficient,” said Sister Natalia.
A bell rang, and Sister Edita rose to answer the front door.
“Sister Angela, I presume. I’ve heard of you,” said a man entering the room.
“This is Chief Detective Ricco Pagano,” said Sister Natalia. “Ricco can explain to all of us what they’ve discovered.”
The chief detective wasn’t as old as his position implied. He had loose curls, something that added to his boyish face. He reached up and brushed his bangs to one side. His blue eyes lit up when he talked. Obviously the pressure of the job hadn’t yet fazed him.
“The nuns call me Ricco because I was raised here at the orphanage—before it was just for girls.”
Everyone sat down.
“I don’t know what you’ve been told, Sister Angela, so I’ll start at the beginning. Detective Sergeant Elmo Sacco and I arrived at seven-thirty yesterday morning. I believe Mother Faustine called the station at six-thirty.”
“What time do the children usually rise?” asked Sister Angela.
“At five-thirty,” explained Sister Carmela. “It may sound early, but it takes a lot of work to get them all fed before they start school.”
“The program’s awful,” said Pagano. “I couldn’t wait to graduate out of here. In the first year of freedom, I had to teach myself how to sleep in. Now my wife has to get me up because I sleep through the alarm.”
Sister Angela smiled. “Who roused the children that morning?” she asked.
“There’s a bell that goes off,” said Sister Carmela. “It isn’t that loud, but loud enough to awaken some of them. The roommates urge the rest of the girls out of bed.”
“So by six yesterday morning, you all knew she was missing?”
“Yes. We didn’t go looking for Pia right away, but Mother Faustine called from the house in Siena so I told her we were busy searching for Pia.”
“Excuse me,” said the nun detective. “Does the mother superior usually call so early?”
Sister Carmela appeared confused, but she looked that way only a few seconds. “No. She called because she wanted to tell me something before I retired. I go off duty by seven. I’d tell you what she told me, but I don’t remember. I was so befuddled with the problem here that I guess I didn’t really listen to her. Anyway, she called the police, and Ricco and Elmo showed up a half an hour later. That was important because we needed the help. With all the children up and about, it was hard to look for her and take care of the other girls’ needs.”
“What did you find out, Chief Detective?”
“We inspected the attic chamber where she slept. We interviewed her roommates. Then we examined the other rooms and questioned all the girls. Elmo dusted the doors for fingerprints. We checked the windows and everything else in all the rooms.”
“And the garage?”
“Yes. I informed Mother Faustine that the garage was a fire hazard. We had to move a lot of supplies in order to uncover possible hiding places.”
“What about footprints or tire tracks?”
“We made casts of any larger footprints. The child’s footprints matched half the other orphans in the house. We formed casts of tire tracks in the area and recorded the tire marks from cars and trucks that regularly visit.”
Sister Angela sat up. “What about the people who don’t come here regularly?”
“What do you mean?” asked Sister Natalia. “The girls would be familiar with people like the handyman or food delivery men. We aren’t sure they recognized the culprit in this case.”
“They witnessed the kidnapping?”
“Sister Daniela didn’t tell you?” asked Sister Carmela.
“We always feel it’s best if I learn the facts on my own.”
“A few of the girls believe they saw someone enter t
he room and walk out with the child,” said Pagano. “We don’t see their stories as credible.”
“I had them draw pictures of what they saw,” said Sister Daniela. “I’ll show you the sketches after dinner.”
A young girl entered the room and served each guest a cup of espresso.
“How do you do?” said Sister Angela. “You are...”
“This is Grazia,” said Sister Natalia.
“How old are you?” asked Sister Angela.
“I’m nine.”
“Did you see Pia leave the orphanage?”
“I saw a shadow pass under the bathroom door when I was using the toilet.”
“Going what direction?”
“Toward the stairs.”
“Who did you think it was?”
“I didn’t know,” said Grazia. “I guess I thought it was one of the girls.”
“I don’t think you mentioned that,” said Sister Carmela. “Did you tell one of the detectives?”
“No. Nobody asked so I didn’t think of it.”
“What made you look at the bottom of the door?” asked Sister Angela. “Were you scared?”
“Sometimes I’m nervous about people wandering around at night. Simone—she’s one of my roommates—says the house is haunted. I worry a little about that. But that night I heard something—like someone was rattling the front door to see if it was locked. Maybe it was Evelina. She always checks it to make sure all the doors are latched before we go to bed. I looked down to see if she was going to return to her room. She did because she was heading up the stairs. It must have been Evelina.”
“Did you see her shadow going toward the door before she rattled the knob on the front door?”
“No.”
“What time was it, Grazia?”
“I don’t know. I must have slept because I suddenly awoke. My blanket had fallen off the bed, and I was cold. I put on my socks and went down the stairs to the toilet so I wouldn’t have to get up again.”
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