Chianti Classico (25 page)

“So now we have one car pointing this way and the car that tailed her facing her directly. She was staring into her assailant’s evil eyes. Do you think she recognized him?”

“Cut the drama and tell me your theory.”

“I think she tried to go down the embankment enough to go around him. He let her drive by, and then, as she managed to steer up and onto the roadway, he backed up accelerating until he hit her on the back corner of the passenger side, forcing the car down the embankment and into the tree.”

“Let’s assume she was killed,” said Sister Angela. “He—if it was a he—gets out of the car or truck and walks down the embankment, sees her dead, takes anything that might ID the car, and the child in her car seat, and takes off. When he gets back to the main road, he, for some god-forsaken reason, excuse my French, turns right toward town. Suddenly he sees a convent, and bless the Lord, he can now get rid of the child too.”

“No,” said Silvio. “That would be silly. He’d never do that. I think he didn’t get out of his vehicle at all. This whole thing must have caused some noise. He wouldn’t know if anyone lived close by. What if they came snooping around? I believe he took off to consider his options.”

“You think he called the mastermind?”

“If he had one—or he realized he needed to make sure she was dead. He’s facing this direction. He keeps driving but doesn’t find an entrance onto the highway. He turns around and approaches the site again. No one’s around. The dirt road must have muffled most of the sound. He gets out of his vehicle and climbs down to the car, opens the door, and her body falls out. He cleans anything that might tie her to him and leaves satisfied. He’s accomplished his mission.”

“What about Pia?”

“I haven’t solved that part yet. He either took her, the car seat, and all the paraphernalia that parents lug around for their youngsters, and then left—
or
someone else came along and did that before he came back.”

“In order to open up the case again, you’re going to need new evidence. How are you going to do that when we no longer have a car, a body, or a child?”

Silvio opened his file on the seat of the bike. “Look at this photo. The police were looking for a dent on the back fender of the car. If she were heading toward town he’d hit the fender on the rear toward the driver’s side. It’s like playing pool. If you hit her car here, she loses control and drives toward the tree. But she’d be on the opposite side. If she did a one eighty and tried to go round him he would’ve hit her where you actually see the dent in the photo. Look farther along the fender. This wasn’t her first accident. I’m sure the police saw it and figured the dent was from an earlier scrape. After all, she was a terrible driver who couldn’t steer herself away from the only tree around.”

The nun held the picture close to her eyes and then turned to face the direction in which the car would be pointing. Then she looked up to see the landscape around where the tree in the picture once grew. “You’re right. In the snapshot, there’s a telephone pole. It’s in the middle of the field in the direction out of town. Do you have a picture of her?”

“Yes, it’s the same one that was in the evidence we leafed through. She’s hanging outside the door, which was probably opened by the assailant.”

“Oh, and look at this. The back door behind her isn’t latched. Do you think he went into the back seat area to find evidence that might ID the car or did he open the door to retrieve the child?”

“My gut tells me he didn’t take the time to recover the car seat and other baby stuff,” said Silvio. “Why would he if he were going to drop her off up the road?”

“Then where did those items go? They never ended up at the convent.”

The two glanced around.

“There’s a fence here,” said Sister Angela. “That means there’s a farm nearby. I think there are people living around here. As for your gut, the nuns are good at relieving that. Let’s stop off at the convent and have some espresso and a treat.”

Weary, the pair returned to the convent to find most of the nuns working in the garden. After a cool drink and a roll, Silvio drove back to the police station.

“You look tired,” said Sister Tiberia. “Why don’t you sit here in the shade? I’ll go in and brew you an espresso.”

“Thank you. Maybe that’ll do the trick. I really don’t have time to sleep. I must solve this case before Sister Daniela and I return to Montriano.”

Sister Angela emptied the cup with one last sip. “Those were delicious ricotta cookies,” she said. “I’ll have to get the recipe before I leave here.” She sauntered into the kitchen to wash her cup when she heard the front door open and then shut. Sister Oriana chattered away as she accompanied someone to the kitchen.

“Sister Angela, look at these beautiful tomatoes and carrots. Signor Petrini has shared some of his harvest with us.”

“How do you do, Signor Petrini?” she said, wiping her hands on the napkin still tucked behind the rosary beads hanging from her side. Sister Angela put out her hand, but the gentleman didn’t respond.

“Signor Petrini’s our special friend,” said Sister Oriana. “He was in an accident when he was a boy and still gets confused.”

“But I can see he’s a good farmer,” Sister Angela said, examining one of the tomatoes. “Is this from his farm?”

“Yes. He lives not too far from here. He’s done very well considering his hardships.”

“Do you still need a nap, Sister?” asked Sister Tiberia.

“No. Silvio and I planned to go back out after I’ve rested a bit. He should be here soon to pick me up.”

Not fifteen minutes later, they could hear Silvio rev the motor of his bike as he tried to climb the short drive.

Sister Oriana and Sister Angela emerged onto the front porch to meet the young man with hopes of becoming a detective like his uncle. Sister Angela handed one of the tomatoes to Silvio and introduced him to her colleague.

An old man limped out of the front door, nodding his head. “
Vroom, vroom
,” he said, hobbling down the steps to the drive.

Silvio looked lost.

“
Vroom, vroom
,” Petrini repeated, as he passed them on the drive. “
Screech, bang
!” he said, clapping his hands to make the explosion sound even louder. Then he toddled to the road below and, after checking for traffic both ways, crossed it.

“Where did you say he lived?” asked Sister Angela.

The nuns consulted each other. “I don’t know exactly,” said Sister Oriana. “Somewhere out there.” She made a sweeping gesture in the direction he’d just taken. “Perhaps one of the other sisters knows.”

Silvio handed the nun her helmet before donning his own. “We can find out at the station, though I’m not sure how the man can help us.”

Sister Angela climbed on and encircled his waist, knowing the trip down the drive would be a bumpy one.

At the station, Detective Sergeant Turo barked instructions into his phone.

“I’m not the only one who didn’t get much sleep,” said the nun.

Turo let out a long sigh. “I was talking with Agent Alba with the Corsa Pietra police. They haven’t sent us the information on your victim, Nocera. Perhaps they’re having trouble with the winemakers too.”

“Sounds like police practices in the region are lax. Have they given us anything?”

“They said they’re overrun with tourists. Many of the vineyards are beginning to harvest this weekend. Lots of strangers in town means increased petty crime and heaps of reports. They’ve neither time nor the inclination to interrupt the town’s biggest business. I did ask about this vineyard you found in the paper. He warned me that they were the most popular. They’re growth in the last five years has been phenomenal.”

“Really? And the other wineries?”

“I guess neither the big vineyards nor the other startups have benefitted as much from the bigger draw.”

“Their wine must be good. Silvio and I should take another trip there and investigate.”

“Silvio’s too busy to romp around the Rufina zone,” he said. “You’ll have to find someone else to take you.”

“What about my theory concerning the car accident?” asked Silvio.

“What about it? It’s a sound theory, but where does that get us?” asked his uncle. “We have no new evidence. Find me the identity of the driver or an eyewitness. Then we’ve an investigation.”

Sister Angela logged into Turo’s laptop and checked her email. Sister Daniela asked her mentor to call her when she got a chance. Sister Angela stepped outside to dial her friend.

“What do you have?” she asked.

“The ring. I told you about getting Grazia to admit she unlatched the door for the old nun, um—Nocera. What I didn’t have time to tell you is how we both missed something about what she described. You told me she mentioned being mesmerized by the glint of the nun’s ring. When I looked down at my own, I conclude it looks too tarnished to reflect moonlight. I gazed around at the other nuns at the orphanage and saw that they didn’t possess anything that might sparkle either.”

“What ring? Nocera didn’t have a ring on his finger when we found the body. I suppose if I’d thought about it I would’ve concluded that the murderer saw it and took it, thinking it might be worth something.”

“No. According to Grazia, the old nun gave her the bling when Grazia left the door open and guided her to it. Nocera placed the ring on a table in the nurse’s office for her. Grazia showed me the key to the former nurse’s office by digging it out of a stuffed animal. After questioning the existence of the ring in my mind, I decided to poke deeper into the little elephant and discovered the ring.”

“What does it tell us?”

“Signor Nocera was no slouch. The ring has diamonds and sapphires on it. I took it into town, and it appraises well. Our victim wasn’t a picker.”

Sister Angela thought about what the winemakers in the Rufina zone had insinuated. Perhaps they hired him for a bigger operation and discovered he was a thief. Why didn’t they say anything?

“I believe I’ll have to go back to Rufina. Nocera had a record, but the offenses were minor. The Police in Corsa Pietra don’t seem to want to give us more. Sounds like a bigger operation than we thought. Thanks for the great detective work. You might have delivered the biggest clue we have yet.”

Dispirited, the nun returned inside to take a short nap.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Mother Patrizia. “I promised Signor Petrini that we’d deliver some eggplants to him since we didn’t have time to pick them for him this morning.”

“Those are beautiful, Reverend Mother. You have some great gardeners here too.”

“He brought us some equally beautiful tomatoes and carrots. We’ll have a tasty salad this evening. Would you mind delivering them for us?”

“Not at all. I could use the walk to keep me awake. Do you know where he lives?”

“He’s off the next road down.”

“Via Veneto?”

“Yes.

“The turnoff’s quite far, isn’t it?”

“If you go all the way down the main road before you turn off, yes. But just a few hundred meters from here is a pedestrian path. It’s beside the house with the birdhouses hanging from the eaves. Follow the path down the hill until you get to Via Veneto. Then turn up the road toward town.”

“I didn’t see any houses along that road.”

“If you follow it up about a hundred meters, you’ll eventually see a narrow dirt drive leading down through some rangy bushes. You won’t see the house from the road, but it’s there.”

“Will he recognize me?”

“Of course. He’s neither stupid nor dangerous. You’re wearing a habit. He’ll recognize that. He has trouble communicating, but that doesn’t mean he fails to understand.”

Sister Angela took her package and spun around, coming face to face with Silvio. “I have an errand to run. Do you want to come with me?” She started for the door but quickly stopped. “I don’t think we need the bike. I’d like to walk this time.”

The two sauntered down the driveway and crossed to the other side. Then they trudged down the road toward Via Veneto.

“I hope you don’t plan to walk to the accident site. It’s a distance to the entrance and an equally long trip back up the dirt road.”

The nun smiled. A few hundred meters along, they came upon a row of houses. The nun took a left beside a house with long vines and birdhouses hanging from the eaves.

“Where are we going?” asked Silvio.

“This is a shortcut,” she said.

When they got to the dirt road, she turned left again.

“I think the accident site’s in the other direction.”

“No, no. I have to give these eggplants to Signor Petrini. He lives just up the road here.”

After walking about ten more minutes, Sister Angela noticed a narrow dirt drive.

“Is there a house back here?” asked Silvio.

They continued through the arch formed by the tall bushes and immediately saw the house. It looked more like a hovel. The outside plaster was chipped, the shutters worn and unpainted. A barn nearby leaned into the house, its door left open to reveal a rusty tractor, gardening tools, and miscellaneous equipment.

The two passed the open barn, walked up to the door, and knocked. Suddenly a man carrying a rake hobbled around the corner and stopped to stare at them.

“Signor Petrini, I’m Sister Angela. We met at the convent this morning, remember? You brought us fresh carrots and perfect tomatoes. The prioress wanted you to have a couple of eggplants.” She held out the bag.