L'Oro Verde (14 page)

“Well, I knew him to see him. Yes, he
came in here from time to time. But I didn’t really
know
him,” she said,
clearing her throat. “What did Gisella say?”

“Just that she knew him through the
job,” Sister Angela said, trying to think of something more to tell her.

“And Mrs. Giannini knew Gisella?”

“I believe his aunt knew of Gisella. I
don’t think they ever met…” the nun said, grimacing. “Oh my, I have to get back
to my appointment. Please tell Gisella I dropped by. I’m sorry I missed her.” She
turned to leave but suddenly spun around to face the counter again. “By the
way, I love that smell. May I ask what perfume you are wearing?”

“Oh, it’s one Gisella let me borrow.
It’s called
Sea Winds
or something like that. She keeps it around here
some place,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t think nuns wore perfume.”

“I don’t, but I still love to smell
it.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll let Gisella know
you were here.”

Needing to think, Sister Angela walked
out of the lobby faster than she entered. The last thing she wanted was to run
into Gisella. The nun had to think before posing a haunting question to the
receptionist. She did not want Gisella to know what she suspected, and if she
asked her any questions, Gisella might tell Nicola about it. Biting her lip,
the nun felt Nicola might have revealed a little too much of the receptionist’s
business. Miss Vitali’s curiosity was odd. Was she interested in gossip, or did
she know more about Bernardo than she let on? Either way, the interview was
unsettling. In this business setting, there was too much emphasis on Gisella’s
relationship with another employee, especially since they supposedly met
outside of work. Sister Angela almost bristled at Nicola’s question and told
her to mind her own business.

The nun suddenly stopped dead in her
tracks. She wanted to go back but did not dare. Why had she not asked Nicola
about her presence at Bernardo’s funeral?

*

From the piazza, Sister Angela decided
to take another way up the hill. The path wound around the edge of town. She
could stop at the canopied washhouse and feel the cool water and sea breezes.
She sat down on the stone bench along the edge of the pool. At one end of the
long rectangle, water still streamed through a lion’s mouth. Centuries earlier,
the bath was used to wash linens and draw water by Montriano residents.

From her seat, she looked out through
one of the ogival arches built in the fourteenth century. A haze shrouded the next
hill, perhaps signaling the approach of a thunderstorm. She hoped the storm
would bring cooler air to freshen her room at the convent. The leaves along the
hillside were dusty, and a storm would wash them clean. Not a lot of rain. Too much
water would put the grape harvest in peril.
Just a quick
storm
,
she thought—a violent one to remind her that God is ultimately in charge.

After a short rest, she felt better and
resumed walking. At the top of the hill, she circled back and stopped at the station
to talk with the inspector about the case. Everything was confusing, but she
remembered that discussing the clues always helped. Perhaps the storm would
bring order to this bewildering murder case too.

It was decided.

Sister Angela would go to the Reni home
and seek more information about Bernardo’s birth. After she returned from Petraggio,
the nun and Inspector DiMarco discussed the case at length. They agreed they
were going in too many different directions. There were several pieces of
information, but none of them fit together. The seasoned detectives knew the
mystery surrounding Bernardo’s birth was key.

DiMarco recalled that Mr. Lupoi said his
daughter, Gisella, would be married in a few weeks, so she probably was not
Bernardo’s girlfriend. “The father doubts that she met with Bernardo outside of
work,” he told Sister Angela.

“Well? Who’s the groom-to-be?”

“He refuses to say.”

“I tend to believe her about her
relationship with Bernardo,” Sister Angela said. “But why didn’t she tell us
about her pending marriage to another fellow? I don’t understand.”

Sister Angela recounted her visit to
Garibaldi’s processing plant. She informed him that Nicola Vitali, Vittorio’s
daughter, covered the reception desk while Gisella was away. Nicola originally
said she did not know Bernardo, but according to Gisella, Bernardo visited that
department regularly.

“Is that the same Vitali family that
owns L’Oro Verde? Surely we can’t pull them into this thing too,” he said. “The
chief will have a fit.”

The inspector drummed his fingers on the
desk—a sure sign he was nervous. Sister Angela understood his concerns immediately.
She knew the inspector—knew him well.

“I think we can do this offline. They
won’t even know they’re being investigated. There’s one other confusing piece of
evidence, Inspector.”

“How many more pieces are there? This is
getting too complicated as it is,” DiMarco said, pushing away from his desk and
raising his hands in resignation.

“Remember when I asked Gisella about her
perfume?”

“Yes. I don’t know why you asked, but I
remember she said she didn’t wear any because her father is allergic.”

“I asked because Bernardo’s aunt smelled
perfume in addition to the cigarette smoke on Bernardo’s clothes. She felt the
odor indicated that he was with a girl when he was out late in the evenings.”

“What about the cigarette smoke? Are we
looking for a smoker?”

“No. Mrs. Giannini smokes enough for the
odor to cling to all his clothes, but she doesn’t often wear perfume. When she
does, it’s not that brand.”

“Was he out often? Why didn’t she ask
him about it?”

“Yes. I think she did ask once or twice.
He always came up with a story that didn’t include other people. But she also felt
her sister was too strict with Bernardo and wanted to give him some freedom to
experience normal things. That’s why she took him in.”

“But he could have picked up that smell
at work.”

“If he wore those same shirts to work,
but I think he wore a uniform like the rest in his department. That uniform would
pick up the strong scent of the olive oil. Mrs. Giannini didn’t say she smelled
that on these clothes. The whole company has a distinct odor, you know.”

“I knew about Miss Lupoi’s response and
now understand that Mrs. Giannini thought he was meeting with someone who wore
perfume. Where’s the clue?”

“Yesterday, Gisella wasn’t in when I
went to the offices where she worked. Miss Vitali was filling in for her. I
asked her about the perfume she was wearing. She said it was Gisella’s and that
she had borrowed it. It was the same perfume, Inspector.”

“I thought nuns didn’t wear perfume.”

“I don’t wear it, but I do like the
scent. When I visit Siena, I always go to a certain store with a perfume
counter. I smell all the fragrances that have sample bottles to see if I like
them.”

“Do you know the name? I can have
Tortini drop by Mrs. Giannini’s with a bottle and see if she can identify it. I’m
not sure this is real evidence, though.”

“But it indicates that someone isn’t
being totally honest,” she told him, busily jotting down the name on a piece of
paper. “It’s called
Sea Breeze
. Sister Daniela went to an expert in a perfume
shop, and both identified the scent. Funny, isn’t it, Alessandro, that most
murders can be whittled down to two motives—money and love?”

*

Sister Angela made her way up the road
past San Benedetto Church to where the Renis lived. The Romanesque church
looked serene in the morning sun, and the small piazza in front of the steps
was vacant. The nun sensed emptiness inside the church too, knowing Father
Domenic was still away on retreat. She wondered if Mrs. Torrisi was keeping the
church clean in addition to her duties at the rectory.

Potted flowers lined the stairs leading
to the Renis’ doorstep—geraniums in a variety of bright colors. She looked down
at her feet and noticed she still wore her sneakers. Should she change them?
Hesitating for only a second, she knocked on the front door. Mrs. Reni
eventually opened it.

“Hello, Sister. I’m sorry it took so
long for me to answer. I was making soup for my husband’s lunch. He likes to
come home for his meals,” she said, leading the nun into the front hallway.”

“Good. He’d probably like to get an
update of our investigation too.”

Mrs. Reni froze. She dropped her head
and let out a sigh.

“I know it’s difficult to talk about it,
Mrs. Reni. But when we catch the murderer, I’m sure you’ll feel much better. Let’s
go into the kitchen so you can finish making your soup. I can talk to you from
the table if you don’t mind.”

Sister Angela waited for a response, but
none came. Mrs. Reni finally turned and led her into the kitchen. The smell of
her minestrone soup was heavenly, reminding the nun that she had not yet eaten.

“I’m sure your sister told you we have
been questioned her about Bernardo’s stay there,” the nun said.

“Yes. She says you were quite thorough
and that you went to his work. Did you find anything there?”

“We have found some interesting things,
Mrs. Reni, but nothing yet that seems to relate to the murder,” Sister Angela said,
watching the woman’s face. “My friend, Sister Daniela, did find something
unusual in the church records, though. And since Father Domenic is at a special
retreat and can’t answer my questions, I have to ask you why there is no birth
certificate on record at the church.”

She could see the woman’s body stiffen.
The nun waited patiently for an answer. Mrs. Reni finally down put the spoon and
lowered the gas on the stove before walking to the living room and sinking into
the couch.

“You must have found other discrepancies
too, Sister. I’m sure I didn’t do a good job of hiding it,” she said, looking down
at her hands.

“Inspector DiMarco went to Roma and was
unable to find any record of the birth there either.”

“Giuseppe couldn’t have children,
Sister. I thought I could live with that. I knew about it when we married. I’m sure
you have heard this story before, but it soon became unbearable to watch the
children play in the streets. I wanted a child so badly. So when one became
available, we adopted him.” The tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Had you applied for a child earlier?”

“No. And when I finally told Giuseppe I
wanted one, we were too old.”

“Did you decide you wanted a child
before you asked for this one or when you saw him?”

“I decided before that but didn’t tell
Giuseppe because I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“When did you find out the baby was
available?”

“Right after his birth in February. I
got a call.”

“From whom?”

Mrs. Reni looked away.

“And you acted like you were pregnant
right away?” the nun asked.

“Yes. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I
didn’t want the neighbors to tell him he was adopted. I went to Roma at the end
of March.”

Sister Angela passed her a tissue and
sat down beside her. “Did you know Bernardo had problems before the adoption?”

“Yes. I suspected he might have some
problems. Why else would he be available? But it didn’t matter. It never
mattered. I loved him just the same. He had such a big heart. He wasn’t much
older than the others when he learned to crawl, scooting all over the carpet
here, getting into everything. I would put a cassette in the tape
player—usually Vivaldi or Mozart. That would calm him down, and he would sit
and listen to music for hours. He loved Giuseppe too. When Bernardo was a teenager,
Giuseppe taught him how to make things out of wood. They made the table here
together. My son also fixed things like the toaster and iron,” she said, wiping
her nose with the tissue. “My sister, of course, thought I smothered him. She
always said I overprotected Bernardo. But Giuseppe and I knew our son. He
needed to grow up more before we let him go out on his own. We always planned
to make him self-sufficient. I wouldn’t have forced him to stay with me
forever. I just didn’t think he was ready.”

“Mrs. Reni, who are the parents?”

“I don’t know,” she said, again looking
down at her hands. “I went to Roma to pick him up.”

“Then what’s the name of the agency?”

Mrs. Reni looked back at the nun. Her
brown eyes were wide, almost pleading. “It was a private adoption,” she whispered.

“I need to know the family, Mrs. Reni.
It’s very important that we find out this information.”

“Why do you need to know?” she asked,
her eyes flashing. “They didn’t raise him. They don’t know him. They have
nothing to do with the murder.”

“Is there something that stipulates you
can’t tell anyone? If that’s true there’s nothing for you to lose now. They
can’t take Bernardo back. What do you fear?”

Suddenly Mr. Reni appeared in the
doorway. He stopped short when he saw his wife sobbing on the sofa.

“Sister Angela,” he said. “What bad news
have you brought us now? I don’t think my wife can take any more of this.”

“Mr. Reni, your wife admitted that
Bernardo was adopted. I’m trying to stress how important it is for us to contact
his biological parents,” the nun said, continuing to hand Mrs. Reni more
tissues. “She says she can’t reveal that information because it was a private
adoption. I have explained that she has nothing to lose now that your son is dead.”

“Sister, what if the adoption wasn’t
legal? What if the biological parents don’t want to be identified? This couple gave
us the opportunity to have a child. Why would we turn on them now and change
their lives forever? I can’t believe you would want us to do that, Sister. You
say you are a servant of God, but you ask us to be less than honorable.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reni. I understand how
you feel. It’s necessary, though, that we find the person or persons who murdered
your son.”

“I think we have answered your
questions. Thank you for dropping by. Next time we want a status report on the investigation,
we will call the inspector,” he said defiantly. He opened the door and nodded
at the nun, wordlessly telling her to leave.

*

Sister Angela did not return to the
station immediately. She also needed time to think. Was this what Mother Margherita
and Father Sergio tried to tell her? Had she crossed the line, urging the Renis
to break a confidence?

She trudged to the top of the hill and
down the path at the end of the street. It meandered through the grapevines, lining
the hill on that side. The path dropped several rows and then circled around,
only to move back up and enter through another gate a few hundred meters
farther down the hill. About halfway across, the trail led under an arbor where
an ancient grapevine spread out over an espalier and provided shade for a
single bench. The nun sat down, taking in the musty smell of grapes, now only
slightly green. Bunches dangled through the slats—perfect inverted pyramids.
She did not pick them. It was unlucky to do so before they were ripe. She sat
and admired their perfection. Was she right to push the Renis to break their
promise? Of course they were indebted to the real parents. They thanked God for
the gift and vowed never to reveal the secret. Sister Angela had already forced
Mrs. Reni to break part of it. And what did the biological parents have to do
with the murder anyway? Was it not enough to know he was adopted—that this was
the big secret the family was trying so hard to conceal? Then why was the nun
feeling so unsettled, wanting to investigate further? She went over the
investigation again in her mind.

Others must be hiding something else
.

She had to get to the bottom of it
before the pieces could fall into place.

*

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said
Sister Daniela. “What are the chances we’ll find anything at all?”

“Not much, Sister, but what else would
you do with your Saturday morning?”

The summer sun slid in through the two
small windows at the top of the basement wall, but the rays of light did not travel
very far. The novice slid another box out into a shaft of light emitted by the
lone bulb in the ceiling. She pounded her apron, and a billow of dust swelled
between them.