L'Oro Verde (8 page)

“Did he also do something in here?” she
asked. “Did he work with any of the equipment?” Sister Angela circled a long
labeling machine as a line of full bottles inched its way toward a steaming
box-like structure.

“Most likely, but never for very long.
Listen, I’m sure he filled in at most of these at one time or another.”

“But he wasn’t good at any of them?”

“Please step into my office here,” he
said, opening the door to a room surrounded by glass panels. When he closed the
door, much of the noise faded.

“What was your question, Sister?”

“Why didn’t you keep him on a particular
machine? I mean, was he too slow to pick it up?”

“No, I believe most of the positions
were already taken when he arrived so I used him to fill in for illness and vacations.”

“And the courier position?”

“That opened up about the beginning of
the year. Someone in the company suggested we could use a messenger who
delivered items or plans from department to department.”

“And you suggested Bernardo?”

“I guess so,” he said, scratching his
head. “Actually, I wanted him to continue to fill in, but evidently the other managers
didn’t think I needed someone to do that job and slipped him into the new
position.”

“Did you ever replace him?”

“Not at first, but I was finally allowed
to look for another head.”

The nun blinked.

“Excuse me, another worker.”

“May I talk to some of the workers who
knew him?”

“I would prefer not. It’s important they
finish their work.”

Sister Angela found it difficult to hide
her frustration. “Which machine actually bottles the oil?” she asked.

“The pipes from the next chamber carry
the oil directly to the machines along that wall. We can pass them as I show you
out,” he said, opening the door for her.

After pointing to the overhead pipes, he
quickly led her back down the hall to the front lobby where he waited until she
exited into the afternoon sun.

When the nun got outside, she sat on the
same bench to change her shoes. She was disappointed—convinced the answer lay
at the Garibaldi plant. Why did she have the feeling that both Mr. Garibaldi
and Mr. Rota had staged a production? She had been so stunned, in fact, she
could not think of anything to ask that had not been anticipated. She would
have to regroup—go over the clues again in her mind in order to get past this
dead end.

“Hello, Sister,” a voice said.

Sister Angela glanced up. It was Mr.
Vitali. A beautiful woman with long black hair clung to his arm.

“
Buongiorno,
Mr. Vitali, I was
just getting ready to leave.

“Vittorio, please, Sister. May I present
my daughter, Nicola? She has an office here to make sure our product is
processed properly.”

The girl pushed her hair back. Her skin
was clear and white, her eyes like dark pools framed in long lashes. She was nearly
as tall as her father but slender and wore a bleached linen suit with a bright
red blouse. The young woman confidently held out her hand.

“How do you do, Sister? My father was
just telling me you and Enzo had a meeting inside. I hope you had a pleasant visit.”

“I’m afraid my purpose came from
unpleasant circumstances. I came to find out about Bernardo Reni’s colleagues
at work. I’m sure you have heard about his death.”

“Yes. Everyone here is saddened by his
loss,” she said.

Sister Angela noticed Nicola leaned into
her father as if he were holding her up. “Did you know him?

”No .”

“Sister Angela, I’m afraid my daughter
has been ill and is still weak,” the grower interrupted. “Please feel free to
come to my home, however. When she feels better, my daughter or I would be
happy to show you around the groves. We are very proud of our trees. The place
is called L’Oro Verde, just down the road from the Montriano stop.”

“Thank you. This industry is so
fascinating. I was raised on the hill and should know more about it,” she said.
“To be shown around by an expert would be an honor.”

“We are headed there now. May we give
you a lift?”

“No thank you. I have other business to
attend to.”

Sister Angela was tempted, but it was
better not to get too close until the investigation was over. The fact that his
daughter worked in such close proximity to Bernardo but did not know him
intrigued her. It was quite possible, however. She heard that the Vitali
children attended an expensive school in Firenza. Perhaps Bernardo would have
been too old to notice her anyway. Other than seeing Bernardo when he served mass
at San Benedetto, there was a good chance Nicola never met him.

There was a question Sister Angela had
not asked that was now taking shape in her mind. Just how did Bernardo get his
job? She could not imagine him going out and applying for it on his own.
Someone must have helped him.

Bernardo’s aunt’s farm was too far to
walk. Sister Angela decided to head back to Montriano and call the Gianninis when
she got there. Did Mrs. Giannini find him the job? The nun doubted that.
Carmela Giannini probably would have mentioned that if she did. Who else, then,
did Bernardo know? Evidently, he was familiar with someone outside the family—someone
who met him late at night—someone who wore a specific perfume, a clue Sister
Angela had yet to reveal to Inspector DiMarco.

Sister Angela sat on the edge of her bed
directly under the dim bulb in the center of the ceiling, pouring over the
notes written by teachers before her—the teachers who taught Bernardo from
grade one on. The notes were copious even then. His first grade teacher, the
ever-patient Sister Maria, noted trouble with speech, reading, numbers, and fine
motor skills. She wondered if he was mature enough to be in school. After
meeting with his parents, she decided to help by tutoring him in the afternoon.

In second grade, the problems continued,
and he was evaluated by a psychologist at age nine. His parents provided copies
of the results for school records. Bernardo’s teachers and psychologist
concurred—the boy was slow. Some mental impairment was possible although there
were neither hospital records to detail a traumatic birth nor a family history
of mental illness. His defect did not fit all the criteria for specific mental
health diagnoses, so the professions continued to use the ambiguous and
ill-defined term
slow
.

After due consideration, the headmistress
and his teachers recommended that Bernardo remain in the normal classroom.
Expectations for academic growth, however, were low. In sixth grade, his
teacher recommended they keep Bernardo back until he caught up in all subjects,
but the final decision rested with the headmistress. After much thought and
prayer, Mother Margherita denied the classroom teacher’s request.

Sister Angela remembered him the same
way in the
scuola media
. He could read and write by then but only at a fourth
year level. Socially, he was also immature. She once found a book that fell out
of his pack at the church. It was a science book designed to teach sex
education to primary school-aged children. Sex education was not taught to younger
children at the school and certainly not in the detail found in this book. When
she leafed through it, Sister Angela found numerous scribbles in the margins on
it. One of them was a ring of daisies encircling an illustration of the female
body.

*

The nun must have fallen asleep. When
the nagging ring of her cell phone roused her, it was already seven-thirty, and
the morning sun was even with the top of the next hill. She had missed the
morning service and would be in hot water for that. But where was the phone?
She searched the nightstand and then ran her hand over the top of the bed
covers. It must be in her skirt pocket. She pulled herself out of bed and dug it
out.

“Hello?” she managed, still trying to figure
out where she was.

“Sister Angela, DiMarco here. Please
come to the station. We are about to question Father Domenic and need your
assistance.”

“What? Father Domenic?” she asked, her
voice rising in panic. Was she still asleep? But her only answer was the buzz
on the line. The inspector had already hung up.

While she bathed and dressed to go to
the interview, she let her mind wander to her conversation with Mrs. Giannini
the previous afternoon.

Having called ahead, Sister Angela was
expected. However, the noon bus from Petraggio had stalled out, and waiting for
its back-up made her later. It was nearly two o’clock. By the time she walked
up the gravel drive of the Gianninis’ house, Mrs. Reni’s sister was outside
hanging clothes.

“Hello, Sister Angela. Why don’t we sit
out here today? It’s so lovely and not too hot. I have some cold juice on the
table. Sit down and help yourself while I finish hanging my wash.”

Sister Angela was grateful for the
moments to relax in the sun. While the Giannini farm produced little in its dry
sandy soil, she noticed that the property backed onto a small grove of fruit trees
with rows of grapevines behind them. Suddenly, there was a rustle of leaves.
The nun watched Mrs. Giannini’s sheets billow and then whip to the side as the
breeze forced its way through them. Sister Angela held onto her veil.

“I hope Mr. Giannini’s well. How is his
job going?”

“Emilio’s fine. This is a good time for
him. The plums are ready for harvest. There’s a good crop of fruit—especially
the grapes this year. Pretty soon, he’ll be in demand all over the valley.”

“When we talked a few days ago, Mrs.
Giannini, you mentioned that Bernardo might have been meeting someone in the evenings,”
the nun said. “I went to the plant where he worked and learned there are no
single women in his department—no one to whom he might have been romantically
attached. Do you know anything more about how he might have met someone?”

“Well, sometimes I’d find papers in his
pockets when I sorted the laundry. One of them, a half-piece of letter paper,
had the name ‘Gisella’ on it. I assumed she worked at the same place because
the paper had Garibaldi’s logo at the top.”

The nun retrieved a notebook from her
bag and scribbled across the first clean page. “Gisella,” she repeated as she
wrote. “No last name?”

“No.”

“I’ll look into that. You say he went
out with her often?”

“He was gone almost every evening. I’m
still unsure who he was with, but as you already know, I suspected it was a
girl.”

“On another subject, can you to tell me
more about Mrs. Reni’s pregnancy? When did you find out your sister was
expecting a child?”

Not answering right away, the woman bit
down on a clothespin and pawed at her pockets, presumably searching for a fresh
cigarette.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone in your
family, but I must find out who had a motive to murder Bernardo. Sometimes
mistakes are made when a woman gives birth. I don’t know why Mrs. Reni went to
Roma to have the child, but I need to find out. Be aware that we have no plans
to prosecute anyone who may have erred during the delivery.”

Unable to procure a smoke, Mrs. Giannini
pulled the clothespin from her mouth and slowly exhaled. “I honestly don’t know
what happened in Roma, Sister Angela. I just know my sister and Giuseppe tried
to have children for years. She was so happy when she found out she was
pregnant. When Valeria started to show, she threw a big party for the
neighbors. I was there. Mind you, she wasn’t that big. She was never very big.
He was a small baby. If she hadn’t thrown the party, hardly anyone would have
noticed.”

“So you found out right away. It was a
momentous occasion.”

“Oh yes. We were all very happy for
them.”

“But you discovered the problems after
she went to Roma to stay with Paolo?”

“Yes, Giuseppe called and told us Paolo
telephoned, reporting complications. It was such a pity. But my sister
loved the child anyway. I don’t think she worried about Bernardo’s difficulties. She just wanted to be a mother.”

Mrs. Giannini stopped to pour more juice
for her guest and then plopped down in the chair across from her.

“I love this time of year. Fruit is
beginning to fall from the trees. The smell is sweet and also somewhat
sour. The pears are still too hard to pick, but the plums and some of
the peaches are ready. I picked a few from that tree in back of you
yesterday. I’m baking a tart to surprise Emilio when he comes home
tonight.”

“Did you talk to your sister about the
complications later?”

“No. We never talked about that,” she said,
finally discovering a cigarette package behind the flowerpot on the
table beside her and tapping it until one slid through her long fingers. She clicked her lighter and cupped her hands to protect the flame.
Then she removed her shoes and tucked both heels onto the edge of her
seat. When she exhaled, the smoke carried away by the brisk wind
immediately dissipated.

The nun squirmed, finding it difficult
to believe that two sisters never discussed a child’s birth. Mrs. Giannini must
have been curious about it, and it seemed only natural that Mrs. Reni would
want to confide in her sister.

“Did Bernardo go to mass while he lived
here?” Sister Angela asked.

“I don’t think so. He never came with
us.”

“And he didn’t return to San Benedetto?”

“If he had, he never mentioned it.”

“But was he here on Sunday mornings?”

“I’m not sure. We never checked his
room before we left for mass at Santa Maria. When we returned, he was
sometimes here and sometimes not. I’m afraid I didn’t watch him as well
as my sister wanted me to. I feel terrible about that.” She checked her cigarette and still had enough of the stub to keep going.

Sister Angela finished her juice. “Thank
you, Mrs. Giannini. You have given me some new things to think about.”

“My sister tells me the funeral is the
day after tomorrow. Will you be there?”

“Yes, of course. It’s at San Benedetto.
I don’t know who will officiate, but it should be lovely.”

*

It was nearly eight when Sister Angela
hurried into the station. She knew the interrogation room was down the hallway
and around the corner. It was not very large. As she entered, she waved to the
men behind the long counter and waited for one of them to lift the end of it
and let her through.

Inspector DiMarco’s office was off the
passageway and next to the chief’s. The chief wanted to make the whole station
larger. He thought two cells and one interrogation room were too few. But
Montriano was not that busy. It would be cheaper for the chief to switch his
office to the storage room across the hall. That way he would at least have a
bigger office. Sister Angela could see as she passed by that he had already
begun to clean out the storage room. Boxes and files littered his office floor.

Strolling by the offices, Sister Angela
swung her arms to the march she hummed. She rounded the corner and stopped
short. Father Sergio sat on a bench stretched along the wall across from the
interrogation room. The priest stood up the second she rounded the corner, and
the nun’s good humor came to an abrupt end.

“What’s the meaning of this, Sister?” he
asked.

The words tripped out of his mouth in a staccato
cadence. The nun was tempted to resume her march to match them.

“I should have known you were behind
this,” he said, raising his voice.

“I had no idea this was about to happen,
Father,” she said honestly. “The police are conducting this inquiry into the
murder of Bernardo Reni. I’m not calling the shots.” She breathed deeply and
kept her voice low and respectful.

Father Sergio was not about to let her
pass. In fact, his face grew red, and the veins in his neck popped out. He remained
speechless, however. Sister Angela knew the bishop must have sent him to
protect Father Domenic, but she hoped his agitation was not a sign of trouble.

“Why don’t you sit down, Sir? May I get
you some water? I think it would be best if I were present during the
questioning. Maybe I can help with Father Domenic’s defense.”

Finally, Father Sergio sat back down on
the bench, and Sister Angela quickly moved passed him to the room.

“Good morning, Sister.”

“Good morning, Inspector Tortini.”

The officer hovered over a tape machine
at the inspector’s end of the table. DiMarco leaned against a wall sipping
coffee. The priest sat sullenly at the far end of the table, and a full cup of
coffee in front of him remained untouched. The nun helped herself from a carafe.
Satisfied the dials were perfectly adjusted, Lazaro took a chair near the
witness.

“We haven’t yet started, Sister Angela.
Please sit down,” DiMarco said, blowing into a tiny microphone. “The date is
Thursday morning the twentieth of July. Present are Officer Tortini, Sister
Angela, Father Domenic, and myself. Father Domenic, at the present you are not
a suspect. You are here as a witness to matters concerning the murder of Bernardo
Reni.”

The nun wondered if anyone had bothered
to explain that to Father Sergio. She looked closely at Father Domenic. He did
not seem to be the confident and handsome priest she knew. His collar was
unattached and stiff and poked into the soft flesh under his stubbly chin. His
beautiful black hair stuck out in different directions. The bags under his eyes
made him look at least twenty years older. His shoulders drooped over the
table, his eyes downcast. He did not seem to have the strength to hold up his
head.

“What were you doing the night of the
murder?” the inspector began.

“I already told Sister Angela that I
fell asleep on my sofa soon after dinner. I woke up at about midnight. I now remember
hearing dogs barking, although I’m still not positive about that. I finally
went upstairs to bed.”

“You didn’t hear any other noise?”

“No.”

“You didn’t investigate what might have
caused the neighborhood dogs to bark?”

“No.”

“Did they bark long?”

“I don’t know. I can’t hear them as well
from my bedroom, and I wasn’t listening anyway. I pulled off my cassock and
went to bed. I awoke at five to shower and go to the church.”

“Do you always go to the church that
early?”

“I sometimes go to the church that
early.”

“Were you worried about something that
morning?”