L'Oro Verde (10 page)

“Then I have to say I don’t see your
point, Father Sergio. Sister Angela has permission from her superiors to
continue the investigation.”

“I believe these actions show the
community in a poor light,” Father Sergio said, his lip curled slightly. “The
creators of the constitution intended that nuns work for the benefit of the
young and the poor. Postulants are expected to become teachers, nurses, or
social workers. Sister Angela has become a rogue nun. She chooses what she
wants as a vocation and fails to take her vows into consideration.”

“I, too, have read our constitution,
Father Sergio,” the secretary general said. “I don’t believe the calling is so limited.
Our charter is to teach, yes. But that covenant was drawn up by us and agreed
upon by the Holy See. The bishop has no say in the vocations we choose.”

“But he’s in charge of this diocese,”
Father Sergio said, his voice crackling in frustration. “The bishop has absolute
authority in this case.”

“He can influence our decisions, yes,
but you have not convinced me that Sister Angela did not follow procedure in broadening
her vocation. If the bishop would like to seek my counsel further, please have
him call me in person.”

With that, the secretary general stood
up and walked toward the door. Both Mother Margherita and Sister Angela stood,
their heads bowed. Father Sergio sat until she approached. He then got up to
open the door and followed her out of the conference room.

Mother Margherita motioned for Sister
Angela to sit down again. “I’m satisfied with the outcome today but fear we haven’t
heard the last from Father Sergio.”

“Do you think the bishop will pursue the
case?”

“Not necessarily, although it is
certainly his right to do so. The question of who has authority in this
instance is a murky one. The constitution, drawn up with the Holy See, indeed
defines our vocation as teaching.”

“And I am a teacher, Mother,” Sister
Angela insisted. “But I’m also educating the public about a crime in their midst.
As long as we don’t have the murderer in custody, we are all in danger.”

The mother superior raised her hand. “I
don’t wish to debate the issue at this time. I only want to warn you that just
as the bishop must determine how he will proceed, this community must also pick
its battles. You are only one nun in this diocese, Sister Angela. I don’t think
the secretary general has time to spend fighting your cause.”

“I understand,” the nun said.

“And I’m glad you did not carry out your
plans to check into Father Domenic’s past. That would indeed have been an indiscretion.”

Sister Angela stood up, relieved she had
been slow to check on Father Domenic. “I would like to send Sister Daniela to
Petraggio this afternoon, Mother.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t choosing to
‘lie low’ as they say, Sister. You just had a close call.”

The mother superior walked to the door
but did not open it.

“Mrs. Giannini gave me a piece of
evidence on which we must follow up,” Sister Angela said. “I think I can
convince the police that their suspicions about Father Domenic are groundless.”

“Then you have my permission. I just
hope you are making sure the novice avoids trouble. It would be a heavy burden
indeed if something happened to Sister Daniela under our watch.”

Piombo was just finishing an autopsy
when Sister Angel arrived. She did not have to wait long. Joining her friend in
the hallway, she watched him remove his gloves and motion for an assistant to
wrap the corpse and return it to the refrigerator unit.

“I didn’t expect you today, Sister
Angela. What brings you? Have you found the processional cross?”

“No. I was in Petraggio to visit Father
Rossi at Santa Maria Church. He wasn’t available so I decided to visit you.”

“Are you looking for something from me?
The results of the tox screen perhaps.”

“You have them back then? Was he on
drugs or anything?”

“No. Nothing. He was clean. But that
doesn’t mean he wasn’t selling them.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t seem
likely,” she said, following the doctor into his office. “What about the robe?”

“The cloth? DiMarco sent it to me
yesterday. He requested a DNA test on it. I’m sorry to tell you I have to send
it away for that. It’ll take a good week or two to get the results—maybe more
than that. Next week is the beginning of August, and you and I both know what
that means.”

“To me, it means exams are here, and my
students will get out after that. I’ll be free until September if I’m lucky.”

“And to everyone else, it also means
vacation,” said the doctor.

“Will you be gone too?”

“Of course not. I’m very busy. My wife
and I hope to take a vacation in the off-season. She wants to go to Belize, and
it’s nicer there early in the year when hurricanes are no longer a threat.”

“About the cloth—did you check for hairs
or anything on it that could be identified early?”

“To tell you the truth, there was quite
a bit of material on the cloth. The assailant wiped the floor with it. It was quite
sticky, so it picked up everything. There were hairs from both parishioners and
visitors. I’m almost certain the priest has one or two among them. Why wouldn’t
he? I’m sure he’s been all over that church at one time or another.”

The nun looked disappointed. “Then
there’s no way to tell who actually wore it that day—if the murderer did indeed
wear it.”

“I’m afraid not. I explained that to the
inspector when he asked that I get it tested. He wanted it anyway, so I sent it.”
The doctor removed his white cloak and pulled out his keys. “I’m going home
now. Would you like a ride to the bus stop?”

Sister Angela looked at her watch. It was
five-thirty. She had to catch her bus back to Montriano.

*

In her small office at the Garibaldi
plant, Nicola looked at the pile of memos on her desk. She was too drained to
read them. Her work was overwhelming. Needing someone to tell her she was doing
all right, she tried to focus on her dream. The big house and yacht did not
seem important now.

She thought about the day in the spring
where she wanted it all and got more than she bargained for.

Nicola watched Enzo pour her a glass of
wine and peeked
over the
parapet at the water crashing over the rocky ledge below, making her feet
tingle. “How often do you bring business associates here to Vernazza for
meetings?” she asked.

“Not often. But I do bring customers and
investors,” Garibaldi
answered.

“And your wife?” she asked. “You must
bring Gina here too.”

“She comes to the coast sometimes. Are
we here at the same time? On occasion, but that could be awkward if she brings
her lovers,” he said. “I took a chance she would be away. I thought you should
see it—see what you might be able to buy someday.”

“Are you telling me I’m doing well—that
I can expect a promotion?”

“Undoubtedly. Your future looks
promising. I’m impressed with your work.”

Nicola let the salty wind blow through
her dark hair. The house was huge, stepping down the side of a steep hill and
stopping just short of the cliff’s edge where the rocky ground suddenly dropped
perilously to the sea.

He led her to an equally dramatic
meeting room overlooking the sea on two sides. The morning sun glinted off soft
swells that looked transparent as they peaked. A yacht race was taking place farther
up the coast. Nicola marveled at the boats’ billowing sails.

“Okay. Give me your projections,
starting with the orchards in Umbria,” he said.

Nicola deftly showed him her graphs and
explained how she got the numbers. “I would like to take on the whole area, if
you’ll let me. I don’t think managing my father’s account is enough for me.”

“I definitely like your methods here.
How would it be if I let you handle a few more at a time? I don’t want you to
feel too much pressure just yet. Get into it gradually.”

Nicola beamed. “I know I can handle it,
Enzo. Do you want Franco to train me or what?”

“I think I will train you myself. I want
to have someone else in the company who does it my way, if you understand what I’m
saying.”

“Yes. I certainly do.”

The two sat face to face as he described
one of her new customers. Soon, a woman came to the door and summoned them to
lunch on the patio. He and Nicola sat down at the table in the shade of a
brightly colored umbrella.

“Ah, this is a good wine. I have a
collection in the cellar, and this is one of the best. Let’s celebrate your
promotion,” he said. “To Nicola—future head of the company.”

Nicola raised her glass and took a sip.
It was wonderful. She swallowed more. Each time the wine level dropped, he filled
it to the top
.

*

The path to the beach was long and
narrow, zigzagging down the face of the hill. Nicola donned her sunglasses. She
carried the towels, and Enzo brought a bag of goodies. He pointed to a small beach
house at the bottom that held a blanket and chairs.

Nicola stopped along the path and looked
out. The fog that earlier hugged the coast to the north had lifted, and the
plaster and crystal palaces of Genova gleamed in the sun.

Ah, the coast. Her parents had never
brought her here as a child. They loved the land, the smell of dust and flies
and putrid fruit. In the winter after the harvest, the dirt turned to mud. She longed
to live away from the estate, and even asked her father to send her to
university in Roma. Mariella understood her dreams. If her mother had lived,
she probably would have convinced Vittorio to allow Nicola to go
away to learn to become a lady. But Father did not seem to understand Nicola at
all. He could not fathom her boredom, explaining that the best business in all
of Italy was just outside her door. He prepared both his children to take it
over—Carlo more than Nicola. Carlo understood so much about business. It was
only natural, of course, because he was a man. But Nicola showed promise too.
What could schools teach her when she had it all in her own front yard?
Vittorio assured her she would learn the business first hand and become an
asset to Carlo or whomever she chose to marry.

“I’ll show them,” she whispered into the
wind. “I don’t need Carlo’s business. I can succeed without my family’s help.”

“I love this house,” Enzo sighed,
pointing out places along the Italian Riviera that she might recognize
.

“I could come here often,” she said.
“Especially for business. I would need a yacht or two, of course. We could
travel by boat to see our customers. Do you have a yacht, Enzo?”

“Yes. Gina has it somewhere now.” He
chuckled. “I think she has taken her lover to Crete.”

Nicola was shocked but did not say
anything. No wonder he was free to come to Vernazza. She had been nervous but
now knew Gina probably would not be upset by her presence. Why did he not divorce
her? Would he do it some day? She felt the muscles in the back of her neck
tense.

“How big is your yacht?” she finally
asked.

“Twenty-eight meters. Not too big, but
she’s beautiful.”

“How long will Gina be gone?”

He smiled and touched her hair. “Long
enough, Nicola.”

When they reached the bottom of the
cliffs, the fine granules of sand warmed her feet. The beach was immaculate, no
seaweed or fishing remains marring the shoreline. It was just how she had
always imagined it. He went to the beach house and brought out a large blanket,
spreading it over the smooth sand.

Nicola walked to the water’s edge. The
waves were tiny, making small splashes as they stretched out over the sand. The
water too was warm—very warm for March. She waded in up to her knees. Finally,
he joined her and urged her out farther. Standing by her for support, he placed
his hands on her waist and let the rhythm of the waves gently lift her off her
feet. Then he moved closer, and she put her arms around his neck, letting her body
graze his.

“Where are you going for holiday this
year, Enzo?” she asked, her lips touching his ear.

“I think I’ll wait until the fall and go
south—São Miguel maybe.”

“With the boat?”

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked,
his voice husky.

She let her lips answer for her, and he
responded, leading her back to the blanket and handing her another glass of
wine.

“I think you’ll like this one, Nicola.
It has a very smoky, almost beefy bouquet.”

Not wanting to return to Petraggio, she
stretched out on the blanket, feeling safe, secure, and tired. She let him put
lotion on her chest and shoulders, saying nothing as he unhooked her suit. She yielded
when he pulled her toward him, his gritty thigh sliding over hers. Nicola
dreamt about riding in the boat, gripping the railing as it skipped over the
aquamarine swell, each thrust of the seat giving her rapturous pleasure. The
cool spray of the salty water that caressed her face and arms suddenly burst,
oozing hot liquid between her legs. Pulling her hands loose, she frantically
adjusted her torso under Enzo’s heavy body. When he would not move, she relaxed,
accommodating him. She had never seen Greece, the white houses against the blue
sky, and she would do whatever she could to make the dream last. Before that
she would have to prove she could do the job he had given her.

*

Pliers in hand, Carlo worked on the huge
granite press in the small structure not a thousand meters off the end of the
driveway to L’Oro Verde orchards. “Hand me that screwdriver, will you?”

“I will if you kiss me again.”

“Cut it out, Gisella. I have to get this
done before Father gets home.”

Gisella pouted. “Why don’t you want him
to meet me?”

“That’s not it. I told him I would get
the press up and running. We have orders to get out.”

Gisella pulled herself up onto the edge
of one of the basins and wobbled uncertainly. “But whenever he comes home, you
tell me we have to go somewhere else.”

Carlo put the pliers down and wiped his
forehead. The summer heat had collected in the small cinderblock factory at the
edge of the olive groves. “Look, Gisella. Father doesn’t want me hanging out
with anyone yet. When this place is mine, we won’t have to worry what he
thinks.”

“You don’t believe he’ll like me?” she
asked, falling onto her feet and twirling. “Do you think I look bad?”

“I like you the way you are, Gisella.
Quit putting yourself down.” He looked up. “I need the other screwdriver now.”

*

“I have a confession to make,” Sister
Daniela told the nun right after dinner that evening.

“I thought something might be eating at
you,” Sister Angela said. “But you must have heard that nuns don’t hear confessions.”

“I’m serious. And I haven’t told you
this because I didn’t want you to take me off the case.”

The nun sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Well?”

“Remember when I was in the basement of
San Benedetto?”

“The other morning?” the nun asked. Even
though she had no idea what the novice was going to reveal, her stomach sank.

“I was kind of freaked so it may have
been my imagination,” Sister Daniela said, “but Father Domenic came to the top
of the stairs just as I was cleaning up.”

“Do you think you were dreaming, or was
he really there?”

“He was there, but he kind of spooked
me.”

“How? Did he touch you?”

“No. No. He just kind of gave me the
chills. At first he only watched me. I wouldn’t have known he was there if the
floorboards hadn’t creaked. Finally, he asked me if I had found what I needed.”

“How could that scare you?”

“It was just how he stood there. I
really couldn’t see most of him because the top of the stairs was dark, but I
could see his robe as it swished over his shoes.”

Hair prickled the back of the nun’s
neck. “What did his shoes look like?”

“They were black and highly polished. I
could see both basement windows reflected in the toes. Why?”

The nun pulled out her phone and quickly
pushed the buttons. “DiMarco? Sister Angela here. Did you get results from the
tests on Father Domenic’s shoes?” She listened while the inspector explained
why the priest had his shoes back. “Are you sure? There was a lot of blood in
the church. The blood on the floor should have coated the soles. Even if it was
just a smear of blood, the soles must have revealed something.”