Il Pane Della Vita (32 page)

“For the record, do you have a name?”

She handed a list of friends to the nun.

“I’m glad you have an alibi. I didn’t think you were ready for prison. Did yo
u ever notice anyone else that you recognized when you were sitting in the garden with your father?”

“Yes. I had forgotten about that.
Papà had gone inside to fill my water glass. Suddenly a monk walked by, heading for the courtyard gate. I swear he tripped when he saw me so he stared right at me, and I saw his eyes. It was Rocco, Rocco DePollo.”

“What about
his eyes caught your attention?”

“
They were mint green with little yellow flecks. I had never seen such beautiful eyes. He worked at my grandfather’s company. I didn’t know what position it was, but my grandfather sent him places. When he was back in Campofiore, he would hang around the house. I was seventeen when I found him sitting at the fountain in our garden. He was probably twenty years my senior at the time, but he didn’t look that old with his sandy hair and long blond lashes, framing those amazing eyes. He didn’t make any pass at me. My grandfather would have killed him if he did, but I dreamt about him. I was so in love, I secretly followed him for a whole season. And then after a few years, he left. I don’t know if Grandfather fired him or what, but I forgot all about him until that day in the garden.”

“Did you tell your father
who you saw?”

“Yes. I told him I th
ought I saw Rocco. Of course, I’m not sure he knew who Rocco was. Rocco came to Busto Sistemi when my father was there, but I’m not sure he recalled him.”

The nun finished her limoncello and stood. “What are you going to do with this beautiful house?”

“It’s mine, you know. He left me everything except the company. I know a group of monks that would like to do religious retreats using a place like this. I might give it to them. I haven’t decided. Grandfather also gave me a sum of money. Nico and I will probably use that on a business venture of some sort—or will put it away for our children.”

“I hope you plan to be home soon. I know he misses you.”

“Can I do anything else for you, Sister Angela?”

“Yes, will
you call the current president of Busto Sistemi and get me an interview? I have a few questions for the company.”

Though the sun still hung in the western sky, it would soon sink behind the hills. Maurio Sabatini, newly appointed chief executive officer of Busto Sistemi Enterprises, had explained to Gina that he would be busy until five-thirty or six o’clock. He would be willing to meet with the detective at that time. The nun took a train into Rome soon after Gina’s call. She wanted to take the metro from the termini and visit the Vatican Gardens before making the short hop from there to the electronics conglomerate.

The aft
ernoon sun cast long shadows over the squares of lawn. Walkways around the grass were lined with lemon trees. Tall stone walls divided the squares. Sister Angela sat on a bench along one of the walkways and inhaled the sweet fruity air.

What would she ask him? Gina had
finally revealed a name, but Sister Angela still did not know who this Rocco was. Was he a monk, or did he wear the costume to confuse everyone? Who with green eyes had she seen at the monastery? Did he still use that name or was he hiding from the police in general?

She inhaled again to clear her mind. She would rather think of the beauty of the setting. Was the Pope in? Would she run into him if she went inside? Of course not. But what a story that would make. She smiled to herself, now more relaxed.

After an hour, she wandered into St. Peter’s Square, still teaming with visitors and then got in line to see the Sistine Chapel. The company was just off the next metro stop so she still had plenty of time to be a tourist. The line was slow as it meandered up flights of stairs and through ancient artifacts. She studied the Etruscan columns in one room and commented to those around her on the Etruscan Museum in Montriano. Forty-five minutes passed, but Sister Angela did not tire of gazing at the scenes around her. And then she was there. An attendant gestured for her to enter, and she was mesmerized by the splendor. No one around her was too tall because they all looked straight up and turned to view the paintings until they were too dizzy to continue.

When she was finished, St. Peter’s Square was transformed. Deep shadows ripped throu
gh the delicate spokes that led to the obelisk, brutally transformed by its silhouette. She shaded her eyes to see the papal balcony on the front of the Basilica. It was empty, of course. What would she do if she met him?

I’m talkative
, she thought,
but in front of someone I admire, I get all tongue-tied. Better to try to avoid him—unless he needs me to help him on a case, of course. I wouldn’t turn him down.

After breakfast, Brother Salvatore walked over to the potter’s studio. Brother
Valente and Brother Bruno sat over the computer discussing an image of a pitcher the potter was trying to make.

“Hello, Brother Salvatore,” Brother
Valente said. What can I do for you?”

“I thought it might be fun to watch you work on that new software. Do you mind?”

“I’m just finishing up. Perhaps you would like to try it yourself.” Brother Valente rose and retreated to the room with the kiln.

Brother Bruno gestured for Brother Salvatore
to sit down. “I have just a few adjustments. Then I’ll show you what to do.” Brother Bruno tapped away on the keyboard. “You know what? This software is boring. I also installed games on this. We could do that as soon as I’m done with Brother Valente’s problem.”

Brother Salvatore sat up. “You have games on that thing? That’s something we don’t get to do every day since we aren’t supposed to have computers. Are you sure Father Rafaello doesn’t mind?”

“It’s just a game, Brother. We have games in the rec room. We have a foosball table in there. There’s no difference between playing on a machine and doing it on the computer. We can play cards on here and other games that we can’t play without the computer. Father Rafaello told me I can’t let you guys see the Internet or mail on the computers. Brother Valente can’t access those. He doesn’t mind if we play games, though.”

The afternoon passed as the two monks played game after game on the computer.
The two giggled and fought as each won a number of them.

Brother
Valente left and returned without either of them seeming to notice him. “Don’t you two have work to do? Lunch is nearly over. Aren’t you supposed to be serving, Brother Salvatore?”

The young monk
grimaced. “I didn’t notice the time. Let’s run and get lunch. Then I’ll have to stay and clean up. This was fun, though. We’ll have to do it again.”

The two monks rose and walked over to the
sala
. Instead of sitting down with Brother Bruno, Brother Salvatore immediately helped to remove tablecloths from the empty tables. Hoping Brother Alonzo did not notice his absence, he decided to make sure the
sala
was ready for the dinner crowd before going to his room to rest. He would check the doors to the potter’s studio when Brother Valente was at dinner. That way he would have something to report to Sister Angela when she returned.

At four-thirty Sister Angela
trekked to the metro and got off at the next stop. She was not nervous. She was determined to find out how this company was involved in the death of a hermit. The edifice was formidable; glass windows formed the façade around the entry. Were they watching her?

Sister Angela stopped at a bench in front of the building and changed shoes. Then brushing the front of her habit, she walked into the lobby. She immediately looked up
, her eyes following the stairs that coiled around the inner walls until she could see a dome of stained glass several stories above.

“Can I help you?” asked a very femini
ne voice. The crash of water, cascading over the top of a fountain just in front of the nun, drew her attention away.

Sister Angela glanced around her. A young woman stood behind a desk at the foot of the stairs and waved. The nun approached, smiling.

“I thought I heard something. Such a beautiful lobby,” the nun said. “I could sit for hours in front of that fountain and meditate.”

“The lobby closes at six-thirty, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, and I have work to do. I would like to speak with Maurio Sabatini.”

The receptionist was almost speechless. “Mr. Sabatini is very busy,” she said. “Perhaps you should call and make an appointment.”

“I have an appointment. Ms. Regina Vicari called ahead. Mr. Sabatini said he would see me at five-thirty. I’m a few minutes early, but it looks like it may take me more than a few minutes to climb those stairs.”

The receptionist phoned ahead
, and the nun turned to watch the fountain while she waited. “You can take an elevator if you wish. I always do. The elevator is just across the lobby behind the second column.”

“You’
re so sweet. I’d love to have your job, watching people go in and out as they admire this lobby.”

“When you get to the tenth floor, turn right. His office is on that corner. Open the door. His secretary will tell him you’re here.”