Il Pane Della Vita (4 page)

“What about the
hermitage? Have the investigators already cleared the scene?”

“No. It was
difficult, but we asked them to wait until you were here.”

“And they
agreed? That doesn’t sound at all like the police where I live.”

“The chief is a childho
od friend, Sister Angela. You’ll be working with Chief Inspector Monte Morena. He will indeed be raring to go in the morning. Someone will pick you up right after breakfast, which is at seven, and drive you up to the top of the hill.”

“I realize they’
re hermits, Father, but how does one talk to them if one needs to?”

“We all hike up. It’
s about an hour up the mountain. There’s a path if you ever want to try it. The people who tend to their needs telephone us for supplies. They’re delivered, or the attendants walk down here to pick them up.

“They have telephones, then?
”

“Members of the staff have them. The
eremiti
and the brothers here do not.”

So entranced by the story about how the hermits lived, Sister Angela barely
noticed that they had gone inside the building. The stairs were just across from the door. They did not wait for an elevator because there was none.

“The brothers and canons live on the ground floor. The entrance to the cells is through a set of do
ors beyond the stairway. Next up is the VIP floor, if you want to call it that. Not only do we have church officials, but Italian businessmen often have retreats for their executives. They stay on this floor. The rooms are en suite and modern.”

“
It’s difficult to stay away from the world beyond,” the nun said. “Why have this kind of room at all?”

“Businessmen help ke
ep the monastery standing, and they need to communicate while they’re here.”

Once off the stairs, the prior guided the
nun down the hallway. “Sorry it’s so far. There’s no one using this floor right now.”

“So it’
ll be quiet.”

The
abbot punched the keycard into the lock, but the door would not open. “I cannot stand these new-fangled things,” he said. “This is the only floor that uses these because most young businessmen don’t know how to use a key.” He turned the card over and tried again.

The door swung open to a
bright and cheery room that was still light. The windows across the room were open.

“I had them open these windows to air out the room.
”

“
Is that Avalle in the distance?”

“
Yes. It’s between the two mountains. You can barely see it in the haze during the day, but at night, the lights are glorious.

“It looks so far away.”

“It’s about a half-hour drive—a lot of switchbacks for the chief inspector to navigate. We don’t visit Avalle often. We get most of our supplies in Collinaterra.”

“I saw the shops in Collinaterra.
What’s that noise I hear?”

“
This room is at the back of the building. You can look straight down from the window and see a brook. Can you hear it? It can be very relaxing.”

“Yes.” She inhaled the sweet-smelling air.

“You crossed over several little bridges driving up to Collinaterra.”

“I didn’t notice. This is a glorious view indeed. I’ll spend all my time in here gazing out the window.” She turned back to the room.

To her right was the bedroom. The luxurious fabrics covering a canopied bed made her feel like she was in one of her childhood dreams.
Where’s the horse and handsome knight?

“A small fold—
out desk in the corner is for your laptop, and of course, there is a TV, but I’m not sure how many stations it gets because we don’t watch it here.”

“Oh, but I don’t need all this.”

“Sorry. These are the only rooms with internet connections. After dinner, I’ll send Brother Bruno to make sure you can get onto the Internet.”

“One of the brothers has technical experience?”

“He joined us after working for a tech company. He said he suffered burnout in the business world. I grabbed him immediately. Monks with that kind of background are rare.”

“
What about the floor above us?”

“There are two
. The one just above is for those who want the retreat experience. They have no access to the outside and share bathrooms at each end of the hallway as do the monks below. The top floor is for the staff. It isn’t full. We have a few housekeepers and a maintenance person. Most of the jobs are done by the brothers themselves so they live in cells on the ground floor. We make our own beer and wine and bake our own bread. Besides works of art, we also make the soap and shampoo. If you want a nice walk, you can take a path down the side of the monastery to the brook. Beyond the road, the woods are enchanting.”

“I can’t wait to try them.”

“You’re welcome to investigate the entire grounds, including sitting in the contemplative garden. You’re allowed to talk to the
eremiti
, but we ask you to tell us so we can inform the
eremo
when you’re coming. I’m afraid they’ll ignore you unless we call ahead. I’ll let you wash up now. I’m afraid you only have a few minutes before we eat. We’ll wait for you tonight because you’re our guest. Remember, when you leave your room, turn left. Follow that to the end of the hallway and turn right. You will soon see the stairs. Outside the door, turn right at the courtyard. You’ll discover another courtyard. At the far end of the second, you’ll find the door to the
sala
.”

“I’ll be
down in a few minutes, Father Abbot. Thank you for the tour.”

“Everyone here calls me Father Rafaello. Please feel free to use that address,” he said, stepping out into the hallway.

She shut the door and made her way to the sink. How was she going to explore the whole place? Would they all expect a miracle? Would the Church kick her out if she found out the explosion was caused by an accident or that the hermit was covering up for something he did or, God forbid, the explosion was a real murder?

Sister Angela returned to her room after dinner. Easily maneuvering her keycard into the lock and pushing open the door, she jumped when she s
aw the figure, hovering over a laptop. “Excuse me,” she said. “Perhaps I have the wrong room.”

He turned his head to
ward her. He looked young, his eyes were pensive—no, numinous. “Sister Angela? Sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I saw you downstairs and thought it might be better if I had you up and running by the time you returned. I’m Brother Bruno. I just have to get the Wi-Fi running so you can use your phone. We don’t have a cell tower close by, and your mobile won’t work without it.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Does that mean it won’t work on the mountain?”
She was mesmerized by his eyes, dark brown pools framed by light-brown brows.

“Yes, they don’t need it, Brother Bruno said. He automatically tousled his
short graying hair. “There you have to use the landline in the offices.”

“That’s good to know, I suppose. Father Rafaello mentioned that you worked in the business world before you decided to become a brother.
How long did you do that?”

“A few years,” he said.

“Your experience is much prized here.”

He smiled but continued with his task. “There. You’re all set. This connects you automatically so you won’t have to call up a connection to the Internet each time you want an email to go out.”

“You must have worked longer because you seem to know so much.”

“Not
that long,” Those dark-brown eyes gazed directly at her. “I’ve been playing with computers since I was a child, Sister. Those growing up today don’t have to learn about how they work. If you need me again, don’t hesitate to call Father Rafaello. He’ll contact me.”

“I can’t call you directly?
”

“No,
Sister. The monastic life has cured me of my addiction to things electronic. I only dabble with them when they need me to help out, but everything is supervised so I won’t go overboard.”

“Good night then,” said the nun.

“Good night.”

In the morning, Sister Angela opened the window to let in the sweet spring air. She shivered and shut it again. It must have rained during the night. A low fog clung to the treetops.

After s
howering, she made her way down the stairs and out the door, walking around the second courtyard. An open door and the din of conversation made it easy for Sister Angela to find the dining room without help.

“Good morning. Sister Angela, isn’t it?”
asked one of the brothers.

“
You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

“I’
m Brother Enrico, the breakfast cook.”

“
Nice to meet you, Brother. Where am I to sit?”

“You can s
it anywhere there’s a chair. I think I see one at the first table. It’s near the windows if you don’t mind the light. There are rolls in the baskets and coffee in the
caraffe
. You can serve yourself juice or cereal at the tables along the wall here.”

The nun waddled to an empty chair and waited for a carafe to be passed to her. The bread
, with an assortment of local jams and honey, was delicious. She gazed around her, wondering if she should talk to anyone, but most of the men seemed to be more interested in the hot libation and food than a lone woman wearing a habit.

Sister Angela finished her meal and waited for the
abbot’s prayer that would dismiss them so they could begin their daily tasks.

He finally approached her. “Sister, there is a car outside. It is waiting to take you to the scene of the explosion at the
eremo
.”

“
Would you like to tell me something, Father? Is there anything I might expect from the police who have already investigated the scene?”

“I was told I wasn’
t to interfere,” he said quietly. “We can’t withhold information from the police. I wouldn’t want the Church to lose control over the buildings and lands here because we didn’t allow the authorities to come to their own conclusions. Inspector Morena will be there, of course.”

“In the case of murder, it would be essential that w
e turn over any evidence to both parties. My intention is to present alternatives to those of the Church. But you and I remain on the same team, Father. If something untoward happened up the mountain, we would both want to make the hermitage safe by working with the local police detective to solve a crime.”

“You are corre
ct, Sister. Any activity on the mountain that does not involve prayer and contemplation is not welcome. I believe you will find the chief detective quite easy to work with.”

Satisfied that the
abbot understood her completely, she grabbed her red-striped bag and rose from her chair. She followed him around the colorful courtyard to the front door. “I shall want to talk to some of the witnesses here either this afternoon or in the morning, Father.”

“And they’
re eager to speak with you. If you have any problems on the mountain, come to me when you return, and I’ll help set up your interviews.”

The dusty road
that twisted into the clouds was indeed narrow. The nun glimpsed down the steep slopes beside the car and felt queasy.

“Don’t
worry, Sister,” said the driver, passing her his card over the front seat. “I drive this road all the time to take supplies to the chefs and housekeepers above. In fact, I’m making a delivery to them today. When the road is dry, like it is now, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But surely you don’
t make the rounds in the winter, Mr...”

“
Bassi. Ignazio Bassi. Please call me Ignazio. Everyone down below helps dig the
eremiti
out when it snows. I think a muddy road is harder to drive than a frozen one.”

I’m not so sure
, the nun said to herself, sneaking a peek over the ledge of the steep slope that disappeared in a fogbank about halfway down.

Sister Angela
let out a sigh of relief when she was able to step out onto firm ground near the mountaintop. The driver parked the car in a small lot outside the plastered walls and opened her door. The nun surveyed the lot and recognized an Avalle police car and truck parked side by side. She turned toward the wall that lined the little lot. Directly above its top, she could make the towers of the
chiesa.

“
The door is in that tiny chapel. I called the doorman who’s inside so it should be open for us,” said the driver, carrying a couple of grocery bags he had pulled out of the trunk. “Everyone must already be inside.”

“It wouldn’
t be so difficult to climb this wall. Perhaps anyone could get in easily.”

Bassi pushed the button and the doorman immediately opened it.
They passed through the doorway into a large courtyard, surrounded by tall buildings and the church.

“Are these their cells?” asked the nun.

“No. This is the gatehouse. It has offices for those who oversee the needs of the
eremiti
. There, beyond the church and wrought iron fence are the cells.”

At the far end up the hill, more than a dozen houses with walled gardens
dotted the landscape like candy.

“Those
are larger than I thought,” she said.

“Each cottage has a sitting room, a place for prayer, and a bedroom.
The meals are delivered. There’s a pass-through near each door for their meals. Each cottage also has private outdoor space where the
eremiti
can garden if they wish.”

The nun was impressed.

“Follow me. This gate to the cottages is usually locked, but since the police are here …”

Sister Angela followed
Bassi along one of the paths. It twisted up the low hill to a grouping of cottages near the back fence.

“It’s the last
cottage before the back fence. Beyond the perimeter, the forest begins again.”

The nun tried to pee
k into some of the gardens, but Bassi was walking too fast. In front of them, a man approached.

“Sister, this is Inspector Morena.” said Bassi. Leaving the nun in the inspector’s capable hands, the driver retreated to the gate and disappeared into a building abutting the gatehouse.

“How do you
do, Sister Angela? We’ve been waiting for you. Inspector DiMarco tells me you’re on a mission. He also mentioned that you’re a good detective. I look forward to working with you. Let me show you the crime scene.”

The final
dwelling sat at the end of the walkway with its side front door facing a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, the forest rose to eventually crown the mountain.

She examined the shorter fences that enclosed each house and yard. Was there a gardener
, or did the hermits create their own gardens? She leaned over the neighbor’s stone fence to take in the aroma of the numerous blooms.

“
This spot is where we start,” said the inspector.

“There’
s still a cell here?”

“Without
most of the tile roof, yes, Sister. It was identical to all the others.”

“And the body?”

“We have found no human remains. With an explosion this size, one would still expect a body. If the fire ran hot enough there would be at least a skeleton. My men are sifting through the rubble inside and out. The size of the explosive shouldn’t have burned the body of the inhabitant beyond the skeletal frame. Breakdown of the human tissue would be unlikely here because the blast, necessary for the disintegration, would also have leveled the hermit’s neighbors. No one has found ashes, which makes tissue breakdown doubtful. A larger debris field, partly inside the walls, should contain some evidence. As you probably already know, Sister, the resident was a Brother Pietro. I was under the impression you would supply us with Brother Pietro’s real name. I have spoken to a few others around here. They claim they don’t know that information. But we’ll need it in order to inform the family.”