“Maybe La Barca killed the old nun because he suspected his wife was having an affair with her—I mean him,” said Sister Daniela. “Elmo also said they interviewed all the current workers and all their stories were similar. That indicates to me that either they’re all telling the truth or they rehearsed their stories and are all guilty.”
“But no one seemed to know the old nun or even noticed the children next door.”
“No. Tomorrow they’re interviewing suppliers. Someone must have noticed the victim. How did the old nun get around? Did he have a car? If so, where is it? In fact, I asked the chief detective and Elmo a lot of questions, but they answered almost none of them. I’m sure I exhausted them. That must be why they decided to ship me off to Triesa.”
“They sent you to Triesa to do a very important job,” said Sister Angela. “Not only must you approach Carlota without scaring her off, but at the same time, you have to get into her house and make sure she doesn’t have Pia there.”
“The police didn’t mention that. Of course we have to find that out.”
“I suggest you get Carlota to trust you. Buy her an espresso or something to relax her. You can ask her a few questions about what went on.”
“That’s sort of what the chief detective and Elmo suggested. I’m not to tell her about the murder and our suspicions about her right away. I thought I might talk to her about her relationship with her husband and why she came to Triesa. I have to see if someone has told her about what has happened with her husband and what’s going on in Filari before I go into any of the detail.”
“And if you can’t get her to take you home with her, you must go to the police in Triesa and get them to check the house.”
“I understand. This is exciting. I’m glad you let me get involved in the investigation.”
The nun hung up the phone and hesitated. Me too, Sister. I’m afraid Mother Margherita’s going to take away my veil herself if she ever finds out that I’ve put you in danger. I’m going to have to repeat three mysteries on my beads tonight.
Sister Daniela sat down at a table in a café along Via del Corso in Triesa. Via del Corso’s the main street in Triesa, thought the nun, smiling. Actually, it’s the only street in Triesa.
Suddenly, she heard a name and turned to look at the counter.
“Due cornetti per favore,” said the customer.
“Si, Signora La Barca. Altro?”
“Signora La Barca?” the nun asked nearly turning over the cup of espresso she was sipping. “Carlota La Barca?”
The woman took her bag from the cashier, spun around, and stared in the nun’s direction.
“You probably don’t recognize me. I’m the teacher at the orphanage next to your vineyard.”
“Ah, one of the nuns,” she said, looking as if she wanted to run.
“Please,” said Sister Daniela, gesturing her to the other chair at her table. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
The woman hesitated.
“How are your parents? Your husband indicated that there might be an illness.”
Slowly Signora La Barca approached the table. “My parents are well. What else did he tell you?”
“Perhaps you haven’t heard the news from Filari. Much has happened.”
“Why are you here?” Carlota asked.
“We’re looking for a child who disappeared from the orphanage.”
“I don’t understand why a runaway would come here. Triesa’s a small town.”
“Please sit down. It’s a long story.”
Carlota finally slid into the chair, and Sister Daniela gestured for the waiter to bring water.
“I suppose you weren’t planning to come back,” said the nun. “That’s fine. I understand the difficulties of marriage. Was your husband abusive?”
Carlota looked stunned. “Never. He’s a gentle man. Just not a good businessman. What news do you have for me? Is he all right? Has he lost the vineyard yet?”
“Actually I believe it has little to do with business. Do you know this man?” she asked, removing a photo from her pocket and placing it before her guest.
Carlota studied the photo. “No. What’s wrong with him? He looks sick.”
“He’s dead.”
Her face paled. “My husband’s all right, isn’t he?”
“He’s in jail for the murder of this man, Signora La Barca.”
Carlota glanced around to see if anyone heard what the nun was telling her. “Maybe you can tell me more on the way home. News spreads fast in small villages.”
The nun took a last sip of her water and went to pay the baker.
Carlota was already outside when she finished. “How’s the orphanage involved in this? How do you know my husband’s a suspect in this man’s death? Why are you really here?”
“I told you why I was in Triesa. The dead man was disguised as a nun. A child was snatched from the orphanage by an old nun. We have witnesses to the kidnapping.”
“If you have witnesses, how was Martino involved?”
“The body of the man was discovered at your vineyard.”
“Who is he?” she asked, failing to look at the nun directly. “Was he in our house? Did Martino tell you that he knew him?”
They two woman stopped in front of a small house along the same street.
“We haven’t identified him yet. His body wasn’t found in your house.”
“Please come in,” said Carlota. “I have juice or more coffee.”
Sister Daniela hesitated. This was her chance to see if there was evidence of Pia in the house—but was she safe? Carlota seemed to be sincere, but was everything just an act to get her inside? Was Carlota a murderer?
She looked into the young woman’s brown eyes. “Thank you. I don’t want to bother your parents.”
“They aren’t at home. They have a gift shop in town and are working during business hours. Please. I want to hear more.”
Sister Daniela acquiesced. After all, Sister Angela always told her to go with her gut. The younger nun’s gut was in turmoil. Was that telling her something or did she actually need juice or coffee to settle it down?
Carlota led the nun to the kitchen door. Sister Daniela followed silently, listening for any noise that indicated movement in another part of the house. Suddenly she stopped. Something shattered on the hardwood floor around the corner.
“Gattina!” said Carlota, her voice loud. She went around the corner of the short hallway. Sister Daniela followed and discovered the bits of glass at her feet. A black cat lay on his back on the book shelf nearest the hallway.
“Mamma will be so disappointed,” Carlota said, picking up a good sized chunk of a crystal object. She stood up. “I’ll clean it up later. Please, let’s go into the kitchen so I can pour you a drink.”
Sister Daniela sat down at the table.
“So let’s see if I understand. Martino’s been arrested. Are the police checking on others at the winery?”
“Yes. They’re also investigating suppliers.”
“The murder victim was a man who kidnapped a child at the orphanage dressed in a nun’s habit. Who was it?”
“It was Pia.”
“How terrible. I know that one. So you came here looking for the child?” She paused. “Oh my God, you must suspect that I’m hiding her. You wanted me to bring you here.”
Sister Daniela froze, realizing that Carlota was smarter than she thought. “I considered that, yes.”
“You think I was in on the kidnapping.”
“Possibly in on it, yes. You do have ties to the murder, Signora La Barca.”
“The house is open to you,” she said. “Now that you’re here, go ahead and search. You must be closer to the investigation than you told me.”
“I never told you I wasn’t working with the police. That said, I’ll go through the house before I leave, but perhaps you should hear the whole story.”
Carlota fell into her chair as the espresso maker hissed and chugged.
Carlota looked at her in disbelief.
“He wasn’t wearing the habit. That was found buried among the vines. But the children described someone tall and thin. The body fit that description.”
“My husband would’ve noticed the wine stain. If you dump something like that into a vat of wine, the object would displace the wine. The escaping liquid would have stained the terracotta on the outside of the amphora.”
“And it didn’t. The culprit would’ve had to empty the amphora and then place the body inside.”
“Then he didn’t drown.”
“No. He was stabbed before being stuffed inside.”
“So the murderer knew the amphorae are big enough to hold a man and that it would have to be emptied first. You’re looking for someone who knew the industry. The number of wineries that use clay vessels is limited. There aren’t too many people who are expert enough to know about them. What about the child? I assume she wasn’t found at the scene. That bodes well that she’s still alive.”
“Yes. One other thing that you should know, Signora La Barca.”
“Please call me Carlota. I believe you know me better than you do my husband.”
“The chart for that particular amphora was initialed by you just before you left. Is that possible?”
“Yes. I often checked the aging wine. I even add necessary chemicals when needed. I see now why you might suspect me. How long had the body been in the amphora?”
“According to the coroner, the man had been murdered just over a week ago.”
“And that’s the same time I left my husband.” Carlota stood. “I see you’ve finished your espresso. You said you needed to check the house. Please do that right away. I assure you the gattina and I are alone here today. I’ll finish my espresso while you’re examining the rooms and basement. If you have any questions, I’ll be here with my coffee.”
“And the shop? Are there places there where a child could be hidden?”
“We can go there when you’re finished here.”
The nun wanted to apologize for the inconvenience. Her news must have been terrible for Carlota to hear. But she had to remain professional—for Pia.
Chapter Eighteen
Sister Angela sat in a chair across from Detective Sergeant Este Turo. His dark, brooding eyebrows seemed incongruous with his graying hair.
“I don’t know what you mean, Sister. The avalanche in Alceda wasn’t in my district. I stay out of investigations under the jurisdiction of Inspector Sbarra. I’d have no idea what they found in Alceda.”
“I’d like the files, please. This is an investigation concerning the kidnapping of a child. Time’s an issue. Perhaps you’d like me to call Chief Detective Ricco Pagano in Siena.”
Turo leaned forward in his chair, his arms stretching clear across the desk. “I understand your problem, Sister, but if I request the files now, it’ll take the police at least a day to find them and have them delivered here.”
“I believe it would be more fruitful to approach Inspector Sbarra myself.”
“As you wish,” he said, starting to stand.
The nun remained seated.
Turo sat down again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you needed something else. I’m afraid…”
The nun looked him in the eye. “The nuns at the convent don’t have a car. At least they haven’t offered me one.”
“Are you saying you need me to come with you? If so, I’m too busy to leave the station.”
“No, no. I need a car so I can go to Alceda.”
A pile of letters plopped down on the detective sergeant’s desk, and Turo looked up.
“Some of these need to be taken care of soon,” said the young man standing beside the nun’s chair.
“Sister Angela,” said Turo. “May I present Silvio, my aide.”
“I didn’t know the police department had aides,” she said, looking the dark-haired youth from head to toe. “How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m sixteen,” he said.
“Silvio?”
“I’ll be sixteen in a couple of weeks, Uncle Este.”
“Is your motorbike working, Silvio?” Turo asked.
“Yes. I have it outside.”
Turo gestured for his nephew to face the nun.
“You have wheels?” asked the nun.
Silvio turned to his uncle. “I’m being paid for this, right?”
“Yes, it’s official police business. I want you to stay with Sister Angela as long as she needs you.”
The nun rose to leave with the boy, but stopped. “Please call ahead and ask for the evidence to be ready for me,” she said to Turo. “I’ll give the inspector your regards.”
Outside, Silvio mounted his motorbike and patted the space behind him. “I’m afraid she doesn’t go too fast. We drive on the side of the road. It’s illegal for anyone to hit us.” He handed Sister Angela a spare helmet. “You wear the red one so drivers behind us can see us.”
Sister Angela pulled the helmet over her veil. Then she gathered up her skirt and put her leg over the back wheel. Looking down, she could see the drawbacks of Vatican II’s modified habit. Hopefully she could hang onto Silvio’s waist with one arm and hold her skirt down with the other, imagining the wind blowing her skirt over her face. “I don’t think any car will fail to notice us,” she said in his ear.
The small bike jerked and then rolled forward. Sister Angela could feel the eyes on the pair of odd bikers, passing through town.
About forty-five minutes later, Silvio pulled the motorbike into a small parking lot.
“Are you all right, Sister?” asked Silvio. “You were very quiet, especially on the hills.”
Sister Angela slid off the back wheel but didn’t straighten up right away.”
“Are you sick?”
“No, Silvio. Let me hold your arm and try to stand up properly.” She handed him the helmet.
“That’s better. You look normal now.”
I wish I felt normal, she said to herself.
The two entered the station, and Silvio asked for the inspector.
“He’s not here,” a policeman said. “But we have the boxes on the desk over there. You can go through them.”
“What if I have questions?” asked Sister Angela.
“Agent Cira has the desk next to the boxes. He’s at lunch. He’ll be back shortly.”
“Does he know about the case?” asked Silvio, suddenly sounding protective.
“He’s the one who investigated the avalanche at the ski slope. The inspector knows less than he does.”
Sister Angela settled into the desk chair, and Silvio pulled another up beside her. The nun slowly sifted through the documents. The officer’s report was on top.
“What we’re looking for is anything having to do with a child,” Sister Angela said. “People were hurt and killed during the avalanche. Did any of those people have a child they may left in childcare? Did the police have to deal with surviving relatives?” She handed him a short stack of papers. “These are police interviews. Scan through them and let me know if there’s anything about children in it.”
“How old?”
“The child would have been two.”
A half-hour later, the nun and boy began to place the documents back into the first box. Agent Cira had returned and taken a seat at his desk. The nun rose and introduced herself and Silvio.
“What do you want to know about the avalanche?” Cira asked. “There were three deaths and several injuries. Many were sent to the hospital or checked out at the scene and then released.”
“We’re looking for the children that were in the daycare that morning.”
“That’s in one of the boxes,” he said, rising. He opened the second box and leafed through the documents that neither Silvio nor the nun had yet examined. “Here it is.”
Sister Angela scanned the names and email addresses. “Do you kno
w the ages of any of these children?”
“If it’s not on the sheet…”
“Did you check to see if any of the victims was a parent of any of these children?”
“No. We interviewed the caretakers at the daycare, and all the children ended up with a guardian.”
“Do you mind if Silvio makes a copy of this?”
“You’re going to double check my investigation?”
“No, not at all. There was a toddler left on the steps of a convent around the time of the avalanche. I’m trying to find out who might have left her there and why.”
“The avalanche was four years ago, Sister. Don’t you think the relatives would’ve missed it by now?”
“Until recently, that child’s been sitting in an orphanage. She disappeared a few weeks ago. Perhaps the relatives turned up and took her back.”
“Not likely.”
“In my investigations, I leave nothing unturned, Agent Cira.”
“Is that all you wanted to see?”
“This is all I needed,” she said, slipping the copy into her red-striped bag.
Walking out into the hot sun, the nun paused. “Have you had lunch, Silvio?’
“No. There’s a panini place about a hundred meters up the road,” Silvio said, slipping on his helmet.”
“I’ll see you there,” she said, beginning to walk in the direction of the sandwich shop.
“Wait, I can give you a ride, Sister.”
“No thanks,” she said, knowing the inevitability of having to straddle the back wheel would come soon enough.
Having told Chief Detective Pagano that she’d found nothing at the home of Signora La Barca’s parents or their shop in town, Sister Daniela was ready for another adventure. “She really didn’t seem to be hiding anything,” the young nun explained. “She left her husband because the vineyard wasn’t doing well. She hadn’t planned to leave permanently but instead left it open.”
“What did she say about La Barca?” Pagano asked.
“She described him as a gentle man that wasn’t abusive. She just couldn’t stay around to watch him run the vineyard into the ground.”
“And the amphora?”
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