Chianti Classico (5 page)

Michel put his hand on hers. “I’m so relieved you and the doctors are doing something about this.”

“Dani helped me wash my hair this afternoon. I’m afraid I’m losing some of it. I hope I’m still attractive when I don’t have any.”

“I’m not afraid. You’ll look beautiful no matter what,” said Michel.

Sister Daniela placed the lasagna on the table. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

Susanna turned to Sister Angela. “Did you learn anything about the case today?”

“You mean from the police? Yes, I understand they’re searching everywhere for the child. Volunteers are roaming the vineyards and fields.”

“I know,” said Michel. “I sent my workers out to lead police and volunteers between the vines. I needed someone to help me keep them from tramping on the plants in the middle of the rows because I need flowers to protect the grapes from insects and disease.”

“I saw them,” said Sister Angela. “A few volunteers must have had trouble stepping around the marigolds. Hopefully someone warned them about touching the vines. I’m sure the grapes are particularly susceptible right now.”

Michel took a sip of wine before he answered. “It’s a matter of priorities, Sister. Finding the child’s more important than the business. We can repair any minor damage the search has caused.”

“I noticed the vineyard between yours and the orphanage.”

“Yes, La Barca’s.”

“He doesn’t do as much for his rows. Everything looks more rustic.”

“Don’t let his methods fool you. He’s always experimenting with flavor, and that’s the game, isn’t it?”

“How are his methods different?”

“He uses amphorae—clay pots. It’s how they used to make wine as far back as 6000 BC. The clay manages to give both the reds and the whites a more beefy flavor. I prefer the woody tastes that my oak adds, but his isn’t displeasing, and with some foods, it can be preferred.”

“Do you know him well, Michel?” asked Sister Daniela.

“Not well, no. I have my family…”

“You mean he lives a different lifestyle?” asked Sister Angela. “I must make it a point to meet him.”

“What about the drawings, Sister?” asked Susanna. “Do you think the children saw something?”

“Yes, they’re all too similar for the likenesses to be a coincidence. Their caretakers will probably say that they must have talked among themselves before they drew them, but I don’t believe the younger children would’ve been influenced by the talk. They must have actually seen something.”

“Couldn’t the child have walked out on her own?”

“Do you think no one would’ve noticed? I don’t believe so. Yes, Pia could’ve gone to the toilet or climbed down the stairs sleepwalking. I don’t believe she would’ve walked out and closed the door behind her. We should find out tomorrow whether her prints are around the front door or not.”

“We don’t know which door she or they walked out of either,” said Sister Daniela. “They may have gone down to the basement first. I have to speak with the chief detective tomorrow morning. I want him to check the vent in the laundry room. I’m not sure what the detectives looked at down there. I can see several areas they might not have noticed.”

“And what about the heavy mist that took place just before dawn?” asked Michel. “If they questioned tire tracks on my drive, they must have found footprints.”

“I didn’t know about the mist. I only heard about full moons and sunlight,” said Sister Angela. “Needless to say, we still have work to do. I’d love to take you up on your offer to learn about how you make your wine, Michel, but unfortunately there’s a time factor. The longer we go without discovering a clue, the farther away the child can be taken. There are two of us, Sister Daniela. Before we go to sleep tonight, we should decide what things we need to investigate first and then divide them up and actually accomplish them.”

“I get up at six and turn on the espresso maker. I arrive at the orphanage at seven-thirty. When do you want me to knock on your door?”

The straight rows of vines, heavy with grapes, made Sister Angela stop in her tracks. Even though the harvesting season was near, roses bloomed, capping the end each row, and marigolds still dotted the paths in between. Carrying a shoulder bag full of corrected assignments, Sister Daniela scurried to catch up with the older nun.

“Can you smell it?” Sister Angela asked her, slowing down as she drew near. “It’s nearly time. Michel must feel the excitement in his stomach. Pretty soon the crusher will be humming.”

“Hopefully we’ll find Pia before that.”

“So you want to elicit a detective’s help to search the entire basement? I suppose one of your students will help you teach today.”

“That’s the plan, yes. And you want to interview everyone, right? I showed you the sketches yesterday. When we get there, I’ll hand them over to you again.”

“When school lets out, we’ll go back to your sister’s vineyard and take the truck.”

“Yes. I made a dish last night and put it in the refrigerator, but I never left a note for Michel. He won’t know how to heat it up. Before we leave, I’ll write him instructions, and also remind him that I borrowed his truck.”

Sister Angela waited for Sister Daniela to settle down her class and assign her a student. Then she and Allegra climbed the stairs and walked to the office next to the dining room.

“Hi, I’m Sister Angela. I was going through the sketches of the roommates and found that you had drawn this one,” she said.

“Yes. That’s mine.” Short auburn hair fell just below Allegra’s ears, framing her wide smile.

“I believe Sister Daniela put you in charge because you’re the senior roommate. How old are you?”

“I’m fourteen. I’m the oldest in my room.”

“And you drew this picture. Did you actually wake up and see the figure leaning over Pia’s bed?”

“Yes. My bed’s right next to hers.”

Sister Angela stood. “Would you take me up there? I need to see where you sleep.”

Allegra stood and led the nun up the two flights of stairs. Winded, the nun paused on the top landing.

“There’s a chair right here inside the door.”

“Bless you, child.” Sister Angela looked up. “Which bed’s yours?”

“Mine’s here closest to the chair. Pia’s is the next bed.”

“So, what happened?”

“I was sleeping here on the bed. I was facing in your direction when I heard the floorboard squeak. I was asleep so it took a while for me to wake up, but when I opened my eyes, I was gazing at this wall.”

“Was it dark?”

“Yes, but not very dark. The nightlight in the hall was on. The little ones like to have a nightlight because they get scared. Unfortunately, it also makes shadows on the walls and ceiling, and sometimes that frightens them even more.”

“So you noticed the nightlight was on.”

“I’m not sure, but it still wasn’t that dark. I lifted my head and heard rustling and the squeaking of mattress coils. I was up on my elbow and turned my head to look at the others. The dark figure was crouching. I glanced at her back.”

“Why didn’t you ask what was going on?”

“Because her black costume was loose like a habit. I figured Pia was in distress, and the nun was comforting her.”

“Did you hear conversation?”

“No—maybe very low whispering.”

“Did the nun look up?”

“If she had, I would’ve seen the white of the wimple and know for sure she was a nun. Instead, I lay my head down on the pillow and dozed. When I awoke again, the sun was shining in through the window.”

“Did you hear any noises as the two left?”

“No. I can’t even say that the figure and Pia left together.”

“Since you’re the big sister here, who would you recommend I talk to next?”

“I think Terza said she saw something.”

“Who else rooms with you? I have a sketch by you, Terza, and Cammeo. Are there others?”

“Yes, there’s eleven-year old Elenora and nine-year-old Liliana. One sleeps in a bed across from mine, and the other in one next to her. Both said they didn’t wake up.”

“You don’t sound like you believe them.”

“I suppose I do. It’s possible they slept through it.”

“I’ll have to talk to them. Sometimes fear can make them keep details to themselves. Will you return to the basement and have Sister Daniela send up Terza to speak with me?”

Allegra nodded. “We didn’t talk among ourselves, you know. I didn’t see the other sketches, but if they’re similar, there’s a good chance some of us saw the person here.”

“Thank you, Allegra. The pictures are indeed similar. Let’s hope we can identify the person who Pia left with?”

Sister Angela could hear Terza’s confident footsteps on the stair treads. The noise stopped at the top landing. Even though she expected the young girl, the face peeking around the door frame gave the nun a jolt.

“Are you Terza?” she asked, pushing up her reading glasses to see the skinny little girl. “You’re eleven, aren’t you?”

“How do you know?”

The nun produced the child’s drawing and showed it to her. “You wrote it on your picture, see? Which bed’s your?”

“It’s on that side, near the window.”

Sister Angela stood and walked over to the bed. “Your pillow’s in the middle of the mattress. At which end do you usually put your head?”

Terza smiled. “It depends on how I feel.”

“And when you saw the person in the drawing?”

“I was sleeping near the window.”

“You actually
saw
this figure, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear her coming?”

The child nodded her head. “I pretended to be asleep, though, because I was afraid Sister Carmela would get upset if she noticed I was still up.”

“Has Sister Carmela ever been angry with you?”

“Yes. She holds my head to keep me from squirming. She’s says I’m a top and need to be stopped before I disrupt everything.”

“So the night before last, you couldn’t sleep.”

“I may have slept earlier, but I was awake when I heard steps on the stairs. They weren’t loud.”

“But it sounded like one person?”

“Yes.”

“How did it sound?”

“Thump-thump-thump. Really soft.”

“Could the figure have worn slippers?”

“No. It was like she wanted to tiptoe, but she wore big shoes so it would have been clomp-clomp-clomp if she didn’t try to be quiet.”

“You saw her shoes? I don’t see them in the picture. You show a long habit that covers her shoes.”

“Yes. Her skirt wasn’t so long, I think. She had dark socks pulled up her leg so the skirt must have been shorter.”

“You also drew white cuffs and wimple. Are you sure you saw them?

“Yes.”

“You saw hair?”

“She had bangs that stuck out of the front of her wimple.”

“What color were they?”

Terza stopped to think. “I’m not sure I saw the hair.”

“Did she have rosary beads hanging from her cincture or a cross on a chain around her neck?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you recognize her?”

“Yes. It was Sister Octavia.”

“When was the last time you saw Sister Octavia?”

“At Christmas she was here.”

“Did she walk around on her own at Christmas?”

“No, she sat in a chair most of the time.”

“Did she have a walker or a cane?”

Terza thought about it. “She had a cane, maybe.”

“Wouldn’t the sound of a cane make her coming up the stairs sound different?”

After she left, Sister Daniela sent up ten-year-old Cammeo. Her blond curls bounced as she pirouetted through the doorway.

“And who are you?” asked Sister Angela.

“My name’s Cammeo.”

“Ah yes, I have the picture you drew. Where do you sleep?”

“My bed’s on this side near the window. It’s the one with the doggy.”

“A well-loved doggy, I see. What side do you sleep on?”

“Sometimes I sleep toward the wall, but that makes me have nightmares so I try to remember to sleep facing the door.”

“Can you see Pia and Allegra?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure how I slept when Pia left.”

“I have your drawing here. You drew a woman floating in the air.”

“She was a witch. “

“Did you sketch it because you actually saw her on a broomstick or is that part not what you remember?”

“Oh, no. I saw the broomstick.”

“Tell me about what you saw.”

“An old woman flew through the door. When her broomstick got to the window, it turned around, and she landed in front of Pia’s bed.”

“And then?”

“She gave Pia a magic mushroom and told her to come with her.”

“You saw Pia eat something?”

“No.”

“Did they both fit on the broomstick and fly away?”

Cammeo laughed. “No. She took Pia’s hand and led her down the stairs.”

“Did she leave her broomstick?”

“No. She took it with her.”

“Did the witch ever look up and see you watching?”

“She had dark green eyes—like a swamp. They twinkled when she looked at me. I was frozen. I wanted to pull my blanket over my head, but I couldn’t because she put a spell on me.”

“It was too dark to see her eyes, wasn’t it?”

“No, there was a full moon. It shone in like it was daytime.”

“Could her broomstick have been a cane?”

Cammeo laughed. “No. Witches don’t ride canes.”

“So let me see. The witch flew in. That means you didn’t hear her coming up the stairs.”

Cammeo let out a swishing sound.

“But she did walk downstairs with Pia. Did you hear her shoes on the stairs?”

“Yes. The witch tried to make her shoes hush, but they didn’t. I suppose she forgot to put a spell on my ears.”

“You told Sister Carmela you had a dream. Do you still think it was a dream?”