“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. No telling what happened between him and Angelo. There are corrupt policemen, that’s nothing new,” Don Ambrosio said.
The following morning, Sofia left the hotel early to drive to Moretta. It was a cool but sunny day up in the mountains. As she walked to her car in the parking lot, she glanced at a car parked next to hers. It was a Honda Civic, the same brand and color as her car in California, which is why she noticed it. A man sat inside, seemingly waiting for something or someone.
On her way out of town, she stopped for breakfast at a small coffee shop she had seen when she arrived in Bardonico. It was across from the gas station where she had filled up her car on her way into town. Except for a few people, who looked like tourists, the cafeteria was empty. A tired-looking waitress stood behind the counter, then came to the table and brought a menu. There wasn’t much of a choice, so Sofia ordered a cup of coffee, a couple of rolls, and a bottle of mineral water for the trip.
Later, as she walked to her car, she stopped, surprised. Parked a few cars away from hers was the blue Honda she’d seen earlier. At least she thought it was the same one, although blue Hondas of that model were no rarity. Sofia checked the inside as she walked by, but the car was empty. Perhaps the driver was in the coffee shop. She tried to remember if she had seen someone come in after her. She shrugged. Must be a coincidence or it wasn’t the same car after all. She started her car and eased her way into the street heading out of town. At a cross street where she turned right, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Startled, she noticed the blue Honda again. It was leaving the parking lot, following her.
Chapter 19
“Why would you sell the property without telling me? Frank, you’re an idiot, a complete fool.”
“It’s my property, for Christ’s sake. I have the right to sell it to who I want to.”
“You promised you’d tell me before you sold anything.”
“Anton, I haven’t heard from you in over ten years. You showed no interest in the farm. I’m the one who did all the work, who took care of it. And legally, it belongs to me.”
“Legally, legally, there was nothing legal about it. My father gave it to you, because he was pissed off at me. I could’ve contested the will. But I thought we were family. So we work together and not against each other.”
“I’m not working against you. You were gone, you didn’t care about the property, and so I sold it to my neighbor.”
“Great, you sold it to the family of that prick, Angelo. Real smart, asshole.”
“Anton, stop insulting me. You’ve no right. After all, you gave that prick a job.”
“Which I regret to this day. Angelo and Fred were a bunch of losers. I tried to help them out, but I had to fire them.”
“So what about the bones?” The voice at the other end sounded whiny. Anton Leonardi hated whiny.
“How should I know? I certainly didn’t put them there. I wasn’t even in California at the time.”
“Then who did it? There is an extensive police investigation going on. They’re digging, Anton. Both in the field and into the background of the people who are connected to it.”
“I don’t care, Frank. Let them dig. I’ve nothing to do with it. Did they dig up the whole field?”
“Yes.”
“And they only found Fred’s bones?” Anton pulled on his scraggly beard.
“Yes, what else should they’ve found?” The voice sounded belligerent now. Anton didn’t mind belligerent. It was better than whiny. What a screwed-up family I have.
“Hell, I don’t know. I’ve always told you Fred was a troublemaker, Fred and that no-good friend of his. Where in the hell is he, anyway? He’s probably the one who killed Fred.” Anton snorted.
“They’re looking for him. Last I heard he may be in Italy, somewhere in the Piedmont. I overheard the neighbors talk about it,” Frank said.
“Could you be a little more specific? Piedmont and Italy are fairly big, after all.” Anton glanced out the window of his high-rise apartment in Chicago.
“I don’t know, some place called Bardonico, I think.”
“Bardonico? Well … okay. They’ll find him and then they’ll have the culprit. So why are you bothering me?” Anton scratched his balding head, thinking hard. Bardonico, Bardonico, why does that sound familiar?
“I just wanted you to know. Be careful, Anton. Where are you anyway? … Hey, did you hear me?”
“What? I’m in Chicago. You know that. You have my phone number.”
“Where in Chicago? Chicago is fairly big, after all,” Frank tried to imitate Anton’s voice.
“Shut up. Sarcasm doesn’t become you. Chicago is all you need to know. I’ve business to take care of now.” Anton pressed the disconnect button and threw the phone at the sofa in his office. He hit the desk with his fist. “Goddamn it. Stupid idiots.”
His wife opened the door. “What’s the matter? Who are you screaming at?”
“Nothing’s the matter. Now, shut the door. I’ve work to do,” he snapped. He waited until she closed the door. “Nosy bitch.”
He stood by the window staring down at Lake Michigan as if the answers to his questions were somewhere in the water. It was early May and the metal-gray surface of the lake glimmered in the diffuse sunlight. “Damn it,” he grumbled again, oblivious to the view from his apartment on the sixth floor of a modern high-rise building. He picked the phone off the sofa and, after a brief hesitation, tapped the button of one of the stored numbers.
Someone picked up after the fourth ring. “Yeah?” said a hoarse voice.
“Louie?” Anton said.
Another “Yeah.”
“It’s Anton Leonardi. We have a problem.”
Chapter 20
Sofia kept glancing back while she tried to concentrate on the traffic at the same time. She saw the blue Honda, but then it was gone again. Sofia breathed a sigh of relief. False alarm.
Ever since her phone conversation with Don Ambrosio, the uncomfortable feeling around the rude police officer had intensified. Something was wrong there. Why did he want to know what Sofia told the priest and why did he lie to her about not recognizing Angelo? She was convinced he’d lied. Sofia shook her head and exhaled deeply. She kept glancing back but didn’t see the blue Honda anymore. After she entered the freeway, traffic increased and she focused on the road.
After two hours, Sofia took the exit to Moretta. She drove along a two-lane road through the countryside. Unlike in the higher mountains, here it was warmer again and the meadows were full of flowers, vineyards, and red and blue flowering trees.
Moretta was a small town, smaller than Bardonico. It reminded her of the less well-known hill towns in Tuscany, except for the snow-covered mountains toward the north. It definitely didn’t look like a tourist resort. A few older men and women were strolling through the narrow streets. She passed a school and heard children laughing and playing in the schoolyard. She didn’t spot any hotels. In the center of the town, she parked her car next to the post office. She hoped someone there might know something about a present or former resident of the town by the name of Danilo Pedrotti.
The young woman at the counter looked at the photo and shook her head. “He does not look familiar, but I have not been here long. Let me ask my supervisor.” She waved at an older man, who stepped up to the window and listened to the postal worker. He gave Sofia a stern look, then spoke in broken English.
“Signora, we cannot give out private information about a resident.” He turned to his employee and said a few words in Italian that sounded like an admonishment.
“He is a relative of my family.” Sofia tried again. “We lost touch with him, but he sent this from here.” She handed the man the envelope with the Moretta postmark on it.
He looked at it. “That was a long time ago.” He shook his head and stepped back, ignoring Sofia. The young woman gave her an apologetic smile.
“Thanks for trying,” Sofia said, feeling s
orry for her. She hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble with her boss. Disappointed, Sofia stepped outside. She looked around, then glanced at the distant mountain chain. She put up her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. What now?
“You must be American,” a voice said next to her.
Sofia turned her head and looked into the blue eyes of a woman she had noticed standing in line inside the post office. She must have been in her forties or fifties and had short blond hair. Tall and slim, a shopping bag in hand, she looked at Sofia expectantly.
“Yes I am,” Sofia said. “You sound American, too. From New York?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, I guess you never lose that accent. I’ve lived here for several years. What about you?”
“I’m just visiting. I’m from California, but I have some property in Tuscany. So I’m here quite frequently,” Sofia explained.
“I’m sorry, but I overheard you asking about a relative of yours in the post office. Danilo Pedrotti, right?” The woman’s sharp eyes studied her with intensity.
“Yes.” Sofia’s heart jumped. “You know him?”
“I used to know him.”
“My God, what a coincidence. I almost gave up hope. Do you know where he is?”
“Why don’t we go to the coffee shop over there?” The woman pointed at a coffee bar across the street. “We can talk there. By the way, I’m Miriam.”
“Sofia. Yes, let’s do that.” Sofia felt excited. Whenever she was about to lose hope, someone emerged who knew or had met her great-uncle.
“I met Danilo about eight years ago when I first moved here,” Miriam said after Sofia explained to her why she was looking for him. She didn’t tell her that Angelo had changed his name or what happened in California. She wanted to get to know the woman a little better before revealing possibly damaging information about him.
“We ran into each other at one of the vineyards in the area. I had just moved to Moretta after an ugly divorce. I wanted to get away from everything back home.” Miriam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “At first, I was quite lonely. I didn’t know Italian very well and it took me quite a while to get to know people.”
Miriam shrugged. “You know, Italians have the reputation of being very hospitable, but that’s only partly true. In small villages and towns such as this one,”—she pointed at the old stone houses around the piazza—“people can be quite standoffish, even distrustful of foreigners. Anyway, after a while I made some friends and I’m very happy here.
“But back to Danilo. When I got here first, I went on a tour of one of the vineyards in the area. My grandfather had a vineyard in New York State, so I’ve always been interested in the whole process of winemaking.”
“How interesting,” Sofia said. “My husband and I and the rest of the family have vineyards in California.”
“Yes, Danilo told me that his family owned an estate,” Miriam said. “Anyway, he was one of the guides for the English speaking guests at the vineyard. Most of the people in my group were from England and Australia. I was one of the few Americans, and somehow we started talking. After the tour was finished, Danilo had a break and we chatted for a while. He invited me to have lunch at the restaurant on the property. So, that’s how it started.”
“Did you see him again? How was he?” Sofia wanted to know.
“Yes, we kept seeing each other. It was such a relief to find a fellow countryman here with whom I had many things in common—language, an interest in vineyards, and so on. And he was kind and charming. We became a pair for a while.” Miriam gave a wistful smile.
“How was he?” Miriam sighed. “He was very secretive about his personal life. He told me that he had had family trouble back in California, but he didn’t want to talk about it. I understood. I felt the same way about my problems back home. We needed to move on, so I didn’t push him. But there were other things. He didn’t mingle easily with people. He had been in Italy for over ten years, spoke Italian fluently, but he didn’t have many friends. He seemed distrustful, as if he had been hurt or betrayed.” Miriam’s expression was quizzical.
Sofia was trying to decide if she should tell her what happened back home when Miriam continued.
“I asked him a few times, but he said there was nothing. I tried to believe him but …” Miriam glanced at Sofia, then looked across the piazza. “One day, Danilo told me that he was seriously thinking of becoming a Benedictine monk.”
“Oh, yes? That’s what Don Ambrosio hinted at.” Sofia told Miriam about her meeting the priest. “He told me the same thing about him, that he was withdrawn, distrustful, and that he was interested in the religious life.”
“Yes, and that was the beginning of the end of our relationship.” Miriam lifted her hand, then let it drop into her lap. “I knew then that we had no future together. It wasn’t that we ever talked about getting married or anything. He told me that his wife had died and I mentioned my divorce. We were both kind of damaged goods when it came to marriage and relationships. However, I really began to care for him deeply and I thought the feeling was mutual. When he mentioned his thoughts about joining a monastery, I knew that I would not play a role in his future.” She paused. “We parted amiably and stayed friends. Until one day, five years ago, when he disappeared without saying goodbye or anything. I was shocked … and hurt.”
It was quiet for a while; both women sipped their coffee. Sofia took a deep breath and told Miriam about the name change.
Miriam stared at her. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know all of the reasons, but that’s what happened and that’s why we’re trying to find him.” Sofia told Miriam about Angelo’s past and the fact that he may have been involved in some illegal activities, that he witnessed a crime, that the criminal knew he had seen him, and that this probably is the reason he disappeared and changed his name.
Miriam put her hand on Sofia’s arm. “Thank you for telling me. It makes me feel better about his sudden flight. I was hurt that he didn’t confide in me. But at least he must have had a reason to disappear.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Want another cup of coffee? They have some nice pastries here. My treat.” Miriam called the waitress.
“Thank you very much,” Sofia said. “If you give me your address or phone number, I can let you know what happens. And, in case you remember something more, here is my cell phone number and email address.”
They exchanged contact information and continued to talk, sipping espresso and eating delicious fruit tarts.
“So the last time you saw Angelo was five years ago?” Sofia asked.
Miriam nodded. “Yes.”
Sofia sighed. “I don’t know what to do next now.” She gazed across the plaza. “Do you know if there is a Benedictine monastery nearby? If Angelo was serious about joining, they may know something.”
“In fact, there is. It’s about five miles from here. Just drive out of town, turn left, and follow the road. It’s up on a hill to the right, you can’t miss it.” Miriam drank the last of her coffee, then glanced at her watch. “Where are you going to stay?”
Sofia shrugged. “Gee, I don’t really know. Is there a hotel in this town? I didn’t see anything coming in. I also need to get back to Pavone. I’m staying with a friend there.”
“It’ll take you about an hour and a half from here back to Pavone. But if you want to stay here for the night, you can stay with me. I live five minutes from here.”
“That’s so nice of you. I really should get back, though. I want to check out the monastery and if I see that it gets too late, I would love to come back to your offer. If that’s okay with you?”
“Absolutely. I have no plans tonight. Just give me a call or come by. Here is where I live.” Miriam drew a map on her paper napkin and wrote down her phone number. “It’s right around the corner, easy to find.”
Miriam got up and the two hugged. “It’s great to meet a fellow countrywoman. I really hope you find Dan … Angelo. I was heartbroken when he d
isappeared and I have to admit, I’m still angry at him. But I hope he’s okay.”
“Yes, I hope so, too,” Sofia said. They both went outside. Miriam waved as she walked away. When Sofia approached her car, she was shocked to see a blue Honda again, parked two cars away from her. There was a man in it. He had dark hair, a fleshy face, and scrutinized her with a hostile look. Her heart clenched.
Chapter 21
“You’re dead, man.”
The guy, his hands tied behind his back, his face bloodied, moaned. “I did what I was told.” He was middle-aged, skinny, with greasy brown hair plastered against his skull and falling into his face. He smelled of sweat and fear.
“No, you didn’t. I told you to kill them both. You lied to me. One is still alive. Why?” Louie punched the guy’s face again.
“Please, I tried. I took care of one. I tried to find the other one, but he was gone.” The bound man was trembling, the left eyelid swollen, the eye almost closed.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You told me you took care of them, of both of them.” Louie raised his fist again.
“Stop, please. I’ll do it now. I’ll find him.”
“Too late. He’s gone. Out of the country. Somewhere in Italy. And you’re gonna be in a grave soon. If the boss finds out, you’re dead meat, buddy.”
“Don’t tell him. I’ll go to Italy. I’ll take care of him. I will, promise.”
“You’re a fucking coward. You’re not gonna take care of anybody.” Louie slapped the guy again, then untied him.
The man, blood flowing from his nose, stared at Louie, stunned. “You’re letting me go?” His voice exuded fear, with a hint of hope.
“Oh, I’m not gonna dirty my hands with you anymore. Someone else is going to do it. Get out.” Louie took the guys jacket and tossed it at him. “And don’t even try to disappear. The word is out. They’ll find you. I give you a piece of advice, as a friend.” Louie smirked. “Write your will … if you still have time.”
Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) Page 9
