Il Pane Della Vita Read online

  “Sister Angela, wait,” Neri said. “Brother Pascal said that you requested this from Father Rafaello.” He handed her the envelope. “I hope he went to the kitchen to get some refreshment after his long trek.”

  “Bless you both,” the nun said. “This day may turn out to be the most productive yet.”

  Eight

  What’s in a name

  “Good morning,” said Sister Angela, not looking up. “What’s your name?”

  “Mona,” said the woman across from her.

  “Mona Giunta, is that correct? How long have you worked here as a housekeeper?”

  “Yes. I have worked here seventeen years.”

  “My, that’s a long time. You must enjoy the beauty in the surroundings.”

  “It’s a job, Sister. I have a husband and two teenage sons. It isn’t easy to feed a family these days. My husband doesn’t make enough.”

  Brother Salvatore brought coffee to the two women and sat down, ready to take notes.

  “Where do you live, Mrs. Giunta.”

  “In Avalle.”

  “And you have cleaned for all the hermits at one time or another, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but there are always new ones.”

  “Have you cleaned Brother Pietro’s cell?”

  “I don’t know the eremiti by name.”

  “The one who’s cell blew up.”

  “I have cleaned that cell several times. I don’t know who lived there, but I have been to that cottage.”

  “I believe Brother Pietro has been there since before you began working for the eremo, Mrs. Giunta. What did you do when you cleaned?”

  “That particular cell? I’m not sure. I usually clean sheets, floors, and bathrooms.”

  “But not all brothers are the same. Sometimes they leave clothing on the floor instead of in the cleaning hampers. Sometimes they leave food on a table instead of returning all the dishes to the pass-through for pickup by the kitchen. Some of them have guests and therefore request extra cleaning. Did Brother Pietro have guests?”

  “I wouldn’t reveal their private habits to anyone, Sister. I would be let go.”

  “I don’t want details about all the brothers’ habits, Mrs. Giunta. I need help with the habits of a particular brother—one who is assumed to be dead.”

  “He was normal.”

  “How was he normal? Was his cell always clean?”

  Mona squirmed and then stood up. “He was unusually neat. His bed was always made. I unmade it to change the sheets.”

  “Did you notice when he had guests?”

  “He didn’t ask for any special help. I suppose he requested things from the kitchen when he was going to have a guest. I do know of one occasion where there was wine that had been spilled on the carpet.”

  “Of his sitting room, his bedroom. Where was it?”

  “In his sitting room. I had to clean it up.”

  “He asked you to clean it up?”

  “No, he was at a service in the church when I arrived. I just cleaned it up.”

  “When was this?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Is that the first time you noticed something different in his cottage?”

  “Yes, I mean, no.”

  “Go on.”

  Mona hesitated, turning to look out of the window to the courtyard. “When I clean the bathroom, I check his hair brushes to see if I have to clean them too. Several months ago, I found his brush had been used by someone else.”

  “Go on. How could you tell?”

  “There was dark hair tangled in the bristles. It was long hair.”

  “It could not have been Brother Pietro’s?”

  “Brother Pietro had a short gray beard. Otherwise, he was bald.”

  “I suppose you cleaned everything so we can’t look at it now,” the nun said out loud. “Can you be more specific on the date?”

  “Only that it was cool that day in winter.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Then you can go back to work. I promised I wouldn’t keep you long.”

  Mona headed for the door and put her hand on the knob. “Sister?”

  “Yes. Do you remember something?”

  “The incident with the wine…”

  “Yes.”

  “The wine was on more than the carpet. The drapes…”

  “There was wine on the drapes?”

  “Yes. They came back from the cleaners the week of the explosion. I don’t know why the cleaners kept them so long. He entered when I was trying to hang them, and he helped me. I liked him. Please find out who did this.”

  After she shut the door behind her, Brother Salvatore said, “We should go after the one who threw the wine at him.”

  “There’s a big gulf between spilled wine and murder. It’s curious, however, that the visitor showed so much passion during a visit with a hermit.

  “How do you do, Ms. Barone? How long have you worked here at the hermitage?” asked Sister Angela.

  “My name is Alicia Barone. I have worked here two years. Before that I was at Santo Velo.”

  The nun smiled. “Did you want to move up here?”

  “When I worked at Santo Velo, I had a room there, but I met my husband in Collinaterra and when we got married, I moved to a town in the valley. The abbot helped me get this job, even though it takes me over forty-five minutes each way to commute.”

  “Do you know Brother Pietro?”

  “Yes. I recognize most of the brothers. I think it’s important for my job to understand them.”

  “How so?”

  “I know that Brother Orsino is allergic to detergent. I wash his sheets using a special soap. I also know that one of the other brothers hates the smell of the cleaning fluid we use in the bathrooms. I use something else for him.”

  “And Brother Pietro? What do you need to do differently for him?”

  “Nothing. He rarely spoke to anyone. I heard some of the brothers complaining that he wasn’t too friendly.”

  “Before or after the explosion?”

  “Before, of course. No one has talked to me about him in the last few days.”

  “What do you think the brother meant by being unfriendly? Didn’t he talk to them? Did they ever say anything else about another brother?”

  “They sometimes talked about each other. It was always funny. They liked to make me laugh. I’m not sure I believed all of it.”

  “But you believed them when they talked about Brother Pietro?”

  “Yes, I guess.”

  “Because he didn’t talk to you like the others did. Could it have been because he wasn’t supposed to be talking to others? ”

  “Perhaps he was a stickler for the rules.”

  “I assume the rules extended to you too. Perhaps Brother Pietro didn’t want you to get into trouble for talking with him.”

  “We’re allowed to speak with them.”

  “To speak about cleaning issues, I think. Perhaps Brother Pietro didn’t have any issues. When you cleaned for him, did it look like there were any problems with cleaning his cottage?”

  “No.”

  “Was there any incident that made you have to work longer at cleaning his room?”

  “I suppose I should have reported the woman who visited him.”

  “Did she visit him more than once?”

  “Yes, but not often. She was young and beautiful, and when she visited, they sat close, out in his garden. They laughed, and he held her hand.”

  “Describe her. Was she a blonde?”

  “No, the color was more chestnut, about shoulder length.”

  “When was the last visit?”

  “About a week or so ago.”

  “When she visited, did you find anything else amiss in the house? Did the inside of the cottage look different?”

  “I didn’t do his cottage that week. Mona usually cleans the cottage. I only do it when she’s on holiday.”

  “Speaking o
f work, I suppose I should let you get to it. Mona wouldn’t appreciate having to cover your cottages because I kept you.” She turned to Brother Salvatore. “I recommend you take a nap. I promised the abbot that you would make up the sleep you miss because of your work.

  The nun entered the church off the courtyard and slowed to admire the simple beauty of the altar.

  “Please, let’s sit in the pew, Sister, said Brother Francisco. “I’m sorry that I asked to meet with you in the church instead of across the courtyard. This room keeps me grounded.”

  “Me too,” said Sister Angela. “On the night of the explosion, did Brother Pietro come to Compline?”

  “Yes, I’m surprised that you didn’t already know that. He sits in the first pew to the left at every service.”

  “Did he look troubled?”

  “No, his face showed nothing different than usual.”

  “Do you lead the services?”

  “Most, yes, though he has filled in for me when I got sick. He’s welcome to do more, but he chooses not to. I feel better when I’m leading the prayers, and he prefers to repeat them. It’s just a difference in style, I suppose.”

  “And you hear all the confessions?”

  “No. He does a number of confessions too. Usually, a brother comes to one of us and requests a confession. I schedule confessions at a certain time and make an appointment with the requesting brother. I believe Brother Pietro does the same. I’ve seen him in here on occasion doing just that.”

  “So brothers asked him to hear their confessions?”

  “Yes. Several brothers prefer him, why?”

  “I heard a comment that brothers found him unfriendly.”

  Brother Francisco smiled. “He’s quiet. That’s true. But he doesn’t lose his temper and speak when spoken to. You are aware, Sister, that we don’t speak to each other often. Perhaps I should remind the brothers again that we all prefer the serenity of the wind whispering through the pines to the screech of a voice. We have new brothers all the time, and I have to repeat the rules often.”

  “Do you hear each other’s confessions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he troubled lately?” She looked up when he did not answer.

  “We’re troubled when we feel we haven’t done our best to please the Lord, Sister. So it’s difficult to say if he felt more disturbed than during a usual confession.”

  The nun tried frantically to think of another way to put it without breaking the Church’s confession rules. “What about fear of something?”

  “Sister?”

  “Fear of being killed, Brother,” frustration beginning to come into her voice. “Did you understand him to be in fear of his own life?”

  “I don’t think so. I believe he might have been anxious about his life in heaven, but fear for his physical life was never mentioned.”

  “A name…” said Sister Angela. She leaned back in her chair in the dining room after enjoying a tasty pasta meal. She had to remember to thank Brother Alonzo. “I asked for background, and all I get from the bishop is a name. He’s a priest. I already knew that. But from where did he come? Did he have a parish?”

  “Lift your arms, Sister,” said Brother Salvatore, tugging on the tablecloth. “What’s the matter? You look confused.”

  “He’s Father Teo.”

  “Who?”

  “Brother Pietro.”

  “Why did he change his name?” Brother Salvatore gathered the dirty tablecloth and let it drop to the floor.

  “Good question. I wonder where he came from. Was he a vicar in a parish?”

  “Can’t a computer tell you that?”

  Sister Angela smiled. “Yes, but I would need a few other tools.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a list of all the parishes in Italy and their vicars on a given date.”

  “Maybe Brother Bruno would know where to get that.”

  “Perhaps Chief Detective Morena can get the information too. I’ll have to call Father Sergio and see if he can help.” She stood up. “Are you telling me that I’m not up to date with my computer skills? I already Googled it. No luck.

  Brother Salvatore smiled. “What about tomorrow? Do we have more interviews up top?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ve got to think about it.”

  Nine

  Choices

  He was there when the train pulled into the station. She could see him through the window, standing there. Was he excited?

  She grabbed the bag on the rack above her head and followed the line of passengers disembarking.

  Dante grabbed her bag and dragged it down the steep steps. “What the hell are you carrying in the bag?” he asked. “It feels like you packed your whole life in it.”

  “It is,” she said smiling. She kissed his cheek and felt a tinge of excitement. ”I’m glad you came, Dante. I was worried you’d be off in another country like an obedient puppy.”

  “I was, but you sounded uneasy over the phone, and I figured you had an emergency of some sort. Why else wouldn’t you call your father’s driver?”

  She looked around her. The place was dingy, like most of Rome in the fading summer. “Why don’t we go to a nice restaurant? My treat.”

  “You don’t have to treat, Ciana. Do you want to hobnob with friends, or do you want someplace your friends don’t go?”

  “I don’t think it would be wise to show up with you in front of my father’s friends, do you, Dante?”

  Russo smiled. “No. I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about flaunting our relationship.”

  “You think he saw us leave the dance floor?” she teased. “I hope you didn’t worry about it the rest of my school term.”

  “My car is over here. It’s late. I suppose you’re hungry. We can eat and then talk.”

  Russo ordered Ciana an aperitif, and she took a long sip before settling down to gaze at the view.

  “I asked for the table overlooking the Tiber and the Vatican. The lights are beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “I could look out at it forever.”

  The waiter approached and asked if they wanted to order. When Ciana showed no interest, Russo gestured him away.

  “I thought you were hungry, Ciana. Do we need to talk first?”

  “As soon as you order me another drink.”

  Russo called for the waiter once more.

  “I need to discuss the relationship, Dante,” she said, still looking out of the window.

  Russo squirmed, even though he suspected that she might want to talk about it. “I explained why we can’t meet often, Ciana. Your father…”

  “I know what my father told you.” She stared into his eyes, the waiter slipping another drink near her hand.

  “You understand the position in which that puts us.”

  “You’re afraid that he’ll take your position from you, I suppose.” Her voice was hard.

  “I’m afraid of what he’ll do to you. Wouldn’t it be easier for both of us if you get your medical license before we reveal our relationship?”

  “You think he’ll want me to marry you then? That’s a laugh. He has a line of gentleman waiting for me and my degree. I assume you didn’t know that part of it.”

  Russo felt the sting of her remarks but tried to ignore them. He had considered the impossibility of the relationship since the party. Of course Fabri would not sanction a liaison with a man that did not have the credentials. Russo’s father was educated but lost his tenure when his relationship with a prostitute became public. Two years later, he had drunk himself to death. His mother sewed church vestments at pennies an hour. She still lived in Umbria with a new husband who sold produce from a cart on the street. Russo visited her soon after his successful promotion but moved to a nearby hotel when his half-siblings soiled the sheets of the bed he shared with them.

  “If you called me because you wanted to break off the relationship, you needn’t have bothered, Ciana. I’m fine. I can take you home as s
oon as you’ve eaten dinner.”

  “I don’t want to break it off, Dante. Perhaps this would be easier if we went to some place more private.”

  That night, the nun tossed and turned, thinking about the interviews she had in the afternoon with Brothers Donato and Orsino, both neighbors along the back fence.

  “I was reading in bed, Sister. My bedroom window looks right into Brother Pietro’s living room. I saw the flash and then heard a loud boom. I reached up and turned off my nightlight so I could see better.”

  “How long after returning from Compline did you see something?”

  “Maybe about twenty minutes. Compline ended at midnight. I was on the path to my cottage within five minutes of the of the recessional.

  “Did you notice Brother Pietro through his living room window before the blast?”

  “Sadly, no,” said Brother Donato.” I try not to look through the windows of the other brothers, especially when their shades are drawn.”

  “Were the shades drawn in Brother Pietro’s cottage?”

  “Yes. The lights were on. I saw that. I would have put down my own shades, but when I’m lying down, I don’t see into his cottage, and he doesn’t see into mine. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Sister Angela. “You saw that his lights were on in his living room as you were preparing for bed but did not see him. Had you run into him earlier?”

  “That’s the point. He was behind me when we recessed from the church. I saw him at the gate because I held it open for him. He followed me all the way up the hill. At least I think so. I may have just heard his footsteps, but I’m sure he was home.”

  “So you wished him good night and saw him go into his cottage.”

  “Well, not exactly. We don’t usually wish each other good night because that would break the spell of evening prayer.”

  “Did you see him go up to his front door, Brother Donato?”

  “No, I can’t see his front door from here, but I heard a click and then a door close.”

  “Is it possible you heard one of your other neighbors? Who lives on the gate side of your house here?”