L'Oro Verde (24 page)

If Antonella continued talking, Sister
Angela did not hear it. She had already hung up.

“We need to get over to L’Oro Verde,
Alessandro. I’m not sure why Nicola scheduled a rendezvous with Mr. Garibaldi, but
considering the length of time since the procedure, I don’t think it is a lover’s
tryst.”

*

Nicola ran forward to meet Garibaldi as
he appeared over the top of the rise.

“I’m glad you came,” she said coyly.
“Come over here. I’ve packed wine and cheese. I also brought a dish of your oil
to dip the bread in.”

“Nicola, are you sure you are all right?
It hasn’t been that long since the procedure.”

“Ah yes, I’m fine. I’m feeling much
better. Both you and the doctor, or whatever you call the one who takes the
baby, assured me I would mend quickly.”

“Yes but not mentally, I think.”

“That’s where I’m the strongest, Enzo,”
she said, sitting him down on the cloth and pouring the wine. “I want to show you
how good I feel,” she said, her voice almost guttural.

He smiled in response. He must have
still been wary, but the slight smile could not be helped. She put out some cheese
and bread but ate nothing.

Dipping the bread in a dish of oil, he
took a bite, his face suddenly scrunching up. “What’s this, Nicola? Why does
the oil taste this way? Don’t try any of it. I think it’s spoiled.”

“I made it that way.”

“What’s the matter with you, Nicola? I
thought you needed me and wanted to show me that today.” He put his hand on
hers and leaned forward to kiss her. She turned her head away.

*

Sister Angela and DiMarco marched over
the ridge, but neither Nicola nor Enzo seemed to notice. He had his hand on the
back of her head attempting to kiss her lips, but she leaned back, trying to
push him away.

“Mr. Garibaldi,” DiMarco called out. “I
sense the woman doesn’t want the attention. Please release her now.”

“Inspector, your arrival is ill-timed.
The woman herself invited me for this purpose.”

“Nicola isn’t well, Enzo,” the nun
scolded. “Shame on you.”

“Maybe we should inform you now of the
evidence against you so that Miss Vitali is aware of it,” DiMarco said.

“The DNA results wouldn’t be ready yet,”
said Garibaldi. “Adriano told me the test would take weeks and that it’s neither
accurate nor conclusive.”

“You are only buying time, Garibaldi.
Miss Vitali, are you aware that Bernardo wasn’t really your brother, but most likely
your half-brother?”

“What?”

“Your mother delivered a son in Bologna
in February of 1985, but Mr. Vitali wasn’t the father of that child,” the inspector
said. “While we are still awaiting the final results of a match between
Bernardo’s DNA and that of Mr. Garibaldi, we have already concluded that the
head of Garibaldi Olive Oil is most likely the missing relative, or at least,
knows who is.”

You have nothing,” Garibaldi spat out.

“We know that you and Mariella Vitali
had an affair that lasted some time and ended when the baby was born.”

“You had an affair with my mother?”

“We were good friends. That was all,”
Garibaldi said.

“And that’s why you were involved in the
deception concerning the birth and the adoption of the boy by the Renis,”
DiMarco said. “Was Bernardo really so impaired, Garibaldi, or did you three
just decide to hide the infidelity?”

“Sister Angela knows he was slow, don’t
you, Sister?” Garibaldi said.

“He wasn’t slow,” Nicola insisted. “He
was just better at using his hands. He was interested in mechanical things. He fixed
the machines at the plant and even the computers in my department.”

“Sometimes the education system doesn’t
recognize those talents,” said Sister Angela. “You knew him better, I think,
Nicola.”

“But I don’t believe that’s all,” said
the inspector. “Garibaldi, maybe you should tell Nicola why you made sure she
had a private abortion instead of a legal one—one performed in a hospital.”

Nicola looked in his direction.
Garibaldi stood helpless. “My God, you convinced me to kill your own grandson.
Why? So the baby would never claim some of your money?” She paused, but only
for a second or two. “Did you ask my mother the same thing? Did you ask her to
get an abortion too?”

“I believe the DNA will support the
theory that Garibaldi is Bernardo’s father, but it may take a few weeks to find
out for sure,” DiMarco said.

Nicola suddenly lifted an object out of
her waistband and pointed it at Garibaldi. “You killed him, didn’t you? You killed
Bernardo.”

At first, the three were too shocked to
react. Stunned, they all stood facing Nicola.

“Bernardo wasn’t what you thought,
Nicola,” Garibaldi said. “He knew about it. He figured out that Vitali wasn’t his
father and blackmailed his way into the company. He was aware of our affair too
and told me he went after you to make me jealous.”

“I think you have confused some of your
facts,” she said.

Nicola could not have shot him. She must
have wanted to, but the gun was still empty. She later admitted that she had
found it on her desk at work but did not know where the bullets were. Letting
the gun drop to the ground, she turned her back to him. Sister Angela realized
that this was the first step. It would take a long time for her to recover. But
Nicola had taken the first step.

Sister Angela pressed her hanky to the
corner of her eye. She was weepy again, the third or fourth time today.

The inspector handed her a full glass of
red wine. “This’ll help,” he said.

It was a glorious day. Sister Angela,
DiMarco, Tortini, and Sister Daniela sat at a long picnic table set up under a
tent in a field at L’Oro Verde. They had not been invited to the wedding at
Santa Maria Church but went anyway. After all, they knew the couple well. They
were friends.

Vittorio invited them to the reception
that followed. He seemed much happier than they had seen him before. Maybe it
was because he was now meeting his wife at the cemetery at least once a week.
He claimed to talk with her, and it comforted him.

Sister Angela looked out at the trees,
the heavy dark purple drupes stood out against the tiny silver-gray leaves. The
colorless trunks twisted and branched out unpredictably. She picked up an olive
from the dish of oil on the table and popped it into her mouth. Such gifts,
olives—the fine differences in flavor and texture between them were a treat.

Someone had spun the long grasses
carpeting the sides of the hill into strands of gold. Over the treetops, she distinguished
the valley beyond, making out colorful squares of farmland under a bluish
haze—fog rising after a shower the night before. The sky was very blue. Surely
the mists would vanish soon, though it was truly a heavenly sight.

She inhaled the damp air, drawing in the
scent of yellowing grass—musty, not unlike the dregs of the red wine in her
glass. That odor would get stronger as the season progressed. The grapes were
just about ready for harvest. Soon they would hear the hum of the machines in
the valley, cleaning and crushing them. Still over a month away, the autumn
here was not the end of the year—it was another beginning. There was also the
scent of salt, just a hint from the sea over the next hill. Both aromas
reminded her of the graveyard where she sat and watched the towers and steeples
that distinguished the Montriano skyline. It was not the same now, of course.
Recent history had changed the character, but time would alter her feelings
about that too—it always did.

The wedding was beautiful. One would
never have imagined that it had been such a well-kept secret. Yes, the bride
was beaming, and Carlo looked so happy. Who cares what others said behind their
backs? Gone were the red spikes. Gisella’s short brown hair was combed to the
side and pinned behind her ears. There was no earring in her nose. Sister
Angela knew the inspector was relieved about that. On a cord around her neck
hung a large purple stone, probably glass, the only hint of her unique
personality. She was radiant in the eggshell-colored satin gown that draped off
her shoulders. Tiny seed pearls dotted the short bodice. The neckline was
low—the straps, lacy vines gracefully preserving the maiden’s modesty. The
skirt dropped straight down just under her breasts. All the excess of silky
material, and there was an abundance of it, was drawn up into a stylish bustle.
Elegant embroidery flowers embellished the scalloped hem, and the train crawled
meters behind.

And then there was the bouquet—a long
line of roses, creamy Ash Wednesday buds dappled with apricot queens trailing
to her knees. The flowers reminded the nun of things fresh, new, and untouched,
appropriate for this young couple—almost too young some would say. But Sister Angela
reveled in their innocence. Neither seemed harmed by the cynicism that
surrounded them, which was surprising after all the families had gone through
recently.

The nun listened intently to the music.
The organ at Santa Maria gave up a haunting sound deftly coaxed from the keys
by a talented organist. He played Vivaldi’s “Largo” as the guests were seated.
Then he switched to Bach’s
Jesu, Joy
of Man’s Desiring
as the
members of the bridal party slowly inched up the center aisle.

The usually gloomy church was divine.
The sunny day lit up its large stained glass windows, creating colorful patterns
on the white marble floors and faded frescos along the opposite walls. The
statue of the Virgin Mary stood on a pedestal to the left of the altar. The sun
glinted off the gold halo and rosary beads hanging from her marble girdle.
Along the aisle at the end of every other pew, a candle lit the way. Not a
flame flickered—each of the candles glowed steadily.

Flowers festooned the bare wood of the
candlestands—bright mums of assorted colors wreathed the base of each candle.
The antique-pink satin ribbons that held them fell gracefully toward the floor,
rustling as the attendants marched by. They may have done so when the bride
passed too, but no one noticed. Their eyes were glued to her beautiful face.

Two larger candles framed the altar.
Pots of mums and lilies circled the base of each. The odors of stone, humanity,
and flowers mingled, reminding Sister Angela of the powerful strength and
simple sweetness that complement each other in the glorious sacrament of
matrimony.

Sister Angela thought about the
candlestand used to take Bernardo’s life. How could Enzo carry the somewhat heavy
and awkward piece up the stairs without Bernardo seeing it? She shook her head
in an effort to free her mind of Garibaldi and the evil wrought with a
candlestand that was meant to bring beauty and blessing to the altar. It
angered her to think of the businessman. The nun asked God to calm her mind and
then put such thoughts aside—at least for today.

Kindly Father Rossi faced the couple. A
smile appeared on his normally stern face, and two cherry cheeks blossomed on
each side of his nose. Sister Angela had not noticed them before.

And when Carlo kissed his bride, the nun
felt the electricity. The couple looked at each other as if that was all they
saw—all they chose to see. Santa Maria Church never looked so bright, so alive,
or so hopeful.

*

“More pasta or bread, Sister?” DiMarco
asked.

“Yes please, the pasta would be
wonderful, but excuse me for one minute. I think I’ll just call the hospital
and check on Nicola one more time.”

The inspector had arrested Garibaldi in
the haven that protected the precious frantoio olive trees as soon as Sister Angela
urged Nicola back to the main house. Even though the DNA evidence was not in,
he charged Garibaldi with the illegal adoption twenty-five years earlier—the
crime he had already acknowledged committing.

“Clearly, Bernardo visited him and gave
him reason to worry that the young man would tell Gina the details of his birth
and Enzo’s affair with Nicola,” the inspector said. “We searched the office and
found the clip to the gun Gisella retrieved from the ashcan so Bernardo must
have been there.”

“I’m not sure Bernardo knew that
Garibaldi was his father,” Sister Angela said. “Nicola didn’t seem to be aware of
it.”

Using presumption of guilt as a charge,
the police could not hold Garibaldi for long, but they hoped the arrest would
provoke a confession. Of course, Enzo would call a lawyer as soon as any
questioning began. That would make it more difficult, but Garibaldi had
practically confessed already. DiMarco was confident his men could collect
circumstantial evidence that might also force a confession. Maybe Sister Angela
could help, too, at least for a while. The nun said she has to go back to the
classroom soon. A confession would end the case and tell her about Bernardo’s
last hours.

After seeing Garibaldi escorted back
into town the day before, the inspector dropped off Sister Angela and Nicola at
the hospital. Nicola was calmer and no longer resisted treatment. Sister Angela
knew all that had happened to her would hit her later. Nicola would need
support while she grieved and sifted through the events of the last few weeks.

“Will she ever forgive Enzo?” the nun
asked him later. “Probably not. Will she forgive Bernardo? Most likely. But we
still all have to find out what really happened between the boy and Enzo.”

Yes, it would take a long time for
Nicola to heal. Even if Bernardo did blackmail Enzo or try to make him jealous,
in Nicola’s eyes, the transgressions would fade quickly.

Sister Angela doubted that Nicola’s love
would ever really change. Indeed, the nun remembered her early love like it was
yesterday. Not that she would alter anything if she had the chance.

But caring never ends
, she thought.
It nourishes
my
vocation and still warms me on lonely nights
.

*

Having finished eating, Sister Daniela
leaned back in her chair. “But I don’t understand where the weapon came from,”
she said. “If the gun was Carlo’s, how did it get there?”

“It was Carlo’s to start out with,”
Tortini said. “He told me he kept it with some ammunition in a kitchen drawer.”

“Evidently, Bernardo somehow found out
where it was,” DiMarco said. “He must have confronted Garibaldi with it, though
the older man didn’t say that—he only alluded to being blackmailed by the boy
at some point. Bernardo had the gun when he left Garibaldi’s office but didn’t
leave the factory with it. Instead he stuffed it into an ashcan near the entrance.
Gisella Lupoi—um, the new Mrs. Vitali—said he showed it to her and told her he
would use it to scare Garibaldi to stop him from harassing Nicola. If anything
happened to him, Bernardo instructed her to look in the ashcan. When she heard
about her friend’s death that first afternoon, she retrieved it and left it on
Nicola’s desk so she could return it to the kitchen drawer at home. Gisella
didn’t want Carlo implicated in the crime in any way. Unfortunately, Nicola didn’t
know that Gisella left her the gun Bernardo used and decided to hide it in her
desk. I’m not sure why she kept it. Perhaps she hoped to use it if she ever
discovered the identity of the murderer.”

“Maybe she thought the police might
implicate Carlo if they found his gun at the house,” the novice said. “But Sister
Angela said that Nicola later threatened Mr. Garibaldi because he made her
abort the baby. Maybe she thought about keeping the gun to use it on him.”

“She was nearly right about our
suspecting Carlo,” DiMarco said. “At one point, we looked at him as a suspect. Sister
Angela knew better, however.”

*

Sister Angela returned to the table and
noticed that Father Sergio now sat in her seat. When he saw her, he immediately
slid over and poured her more wine.

“I am here to congratulate you, Sister
Angela,” he said as she sat down.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “But why
do I feel that you’ll pop up again in the middle of the next case?”

“That is my job, Sister—to help the
bishop run this diocese. I too sense that this will not be the last time we are
forced to deliberate on your activities.”

“I only dispute your vocabulary. I
believe
squabble
might better describe the summits you organize for my
benefit. Perhaps God has assigned me the task of keeping you busy.”

Father Sergio smiled as he filled his
own glass.

“I don’t see the Renis here,” Sister
Daniela said. “If Bernardo was given away because he was retarded, how did Mrs.
Reni know she was going to get that baby?”

“She acted like she was pregnant in
front of the neighbors, but remember that she did it in March, bringing young
Bernardo home in April and presenting him as a few weeks old. Mariella Vitali
gave birth in February. Mrs. Reni must have already known she would receive
Bernardo.”

“Is everything all right with Nicola?”
DiMarco asked.

“Yes. Nicola is accepting the therapy
she needs. They didn’t have to sedate her quite so much today. I think she’ll make
a good witness—eventually.”

Sister Daniela picked up an olive and
studied it before popping it into her mouth. “So Nicola had a gun on her at the
picnic, but she couldn’t find Carlo’s ammunition because Bernardo had evidently
taken it,” the novice said.

“That ammunition was found in Enzo’s
desk at the factory,” Sister Angela said. “Two of the guards corroborated Enzo’s
story that Bernardo was there and had threatened him. Since they didn’t actually
hear the conversation, however, they couldn’t back up Enzo’s claim of
blackmail. The ammunition in the oil executive’s desk drawer also proves that
Nicola couldn’t have used the gun, thank the Lord.”

“Knowing it was empty did Nicola only
want to scare Mr. Garibaldi with it?”

“Yes. She didn’t need to kill him,” the
older nun said. “She had already attempted to kill him another way. While she
didn’t find the ammunition in the kitchen drawer, she did discover ant poison
in the pantry and added some of it to the oil Antonella put out for the
picnic.”

“While Sister Angela was taking Nicola
to the hospital, we had to rush Garibaldi there to have his stomach pumped,” DiMarco
said. “He was in a lot of pain. The young woman could have killed him if she
had added more. I like to think that common sense prevailed, and she only
wanted to make him sick.”

“On a more positive note, Nicola just
asked about the wedding,” Sister Angela revealed. “I know she misses being in
it, but I really don’t believe she could have handled it yet. I described
everything to her. She’s proud of Carlo and feels the couple will be very
happy.”