“Why?”
“Even though I don’t possess a list of visitors, several witnesses have pointed out that a woman often visited the hermit at his cell. I thought it might be a good idea to send the artist to the hermitage to talk to those witnesses and get sketches of the woman they saw.”
“Do you know who those witnesses were?”
“I don’t know them all, but I jotted a couple down on a piece of notepaper.” She dug deep into her pockets and finally presented the notepaper to the chief detective. “Perhaps we’ll be able to identify her. If she visited often enough and no one questioned her being there, perhaps she was able to add the few items to the brother’s cottage without anyone noticing.”
“I’m not sure she would have stuck around, Sister, but we have very little evidence to help us find the culprit. If nothing else, she might give us a glimpse into what the brother had been planning.”
Twelve
Field Trip
Sister Angela relaxed and rested her head on the pillow. She had made it so far. It was a whole day. The first stop would be in Florence. Bassi picked her up before breakfast and drove her to the station in Avalle. She inhaled the fumes as the train pulled out of the station in Avalle, and the familiar clickety-clack of the wheels soon picked up speed. In Florence she would transfer to the Trenitalia to Rome. That excited her. She had not been on a high-speed train before. In Rome, she would transfer back to a regional train toward the east to Pescara—the location Father Sergio had emailed her the night before.
The train arrived in Pescara in the late afternoon. Exhausted, the nun made her way to the information booth and asked how she could get to the cathedral. Glancing at her watch, she knew she would have to hurry to get to the offices before closing time.
The city bus dropped her off in front of the cathedral. Sister Angela did not slow down. She had little time to get to the Archbishop’s office. A security guard showed her the entry, and winded, she entered a finely decorated lobby.
“How can I help you?” asked a woman at a desk along the back wall.”
“I’m Sister Angela from Montriano. The archbishop is expecting me.”
“Please sit down.”
No sooner had she made herself comfortable than a young priest walked toward her.
“Good afternoon, Sister. My name is Father Torre. The archbishop asked me to see what I could do to help you.” He sat down beside her.
“Good afternoon, Father. I’m here as a detective for the diocese of Firenze. There has been an incident in the Santo Velo monastery, and I’m investigating it. One of hermits there seems to have changed his name when he entered the hermitage.”
“Yes, that’s common.”
“His former name was Father Teo.”
“The name was raised by the archbishop who was informed you were coming. Please bear in mind that the archbishop is new. His predecessor, Bishop Emeritus Trombetta is in his summer house in Otessi. The actual transfer was made by his office, but I’m not sure he would remember it because the transfer was made at least twenty years ago.”
“And Father Teo’s parish?”
“It was San Mattia in Salvi.”
The nun began to stand. The priest put his hand on her arms, and she sat down again.
“We aren’t trying to be evasive. The new Church laws require we keep better records of the careers of our priests, but alas, we didn’t do that for anything over ten years ago.”
“How do I get to Salvi?”
“There are buses to all the towns and villages around here.”
“Are we sure this is the same Father Teo that became a monk in the mountains above Avalle?”
“We didn’t find that name. I don’t know how your bishop found it. I can’t guarantee that this is the one. Do you have a picture of the monk with you?”
“No. I didn’t think I would need that. I can request one and inform you by email.”
“It’s late, Sister. Why don’t we find a place for you to stay? We have a convent, Suore di Santa Rita, nearby. Perhaps we can find a bed there.”
“I’m not sure I have enough funds with me.” She wriggled in her seat, embarrassed that she had to mention it. Father Sergio should have provided her with the necessary cash.
“This convent isn’t open to the public, Sister Angela. We house women there when we do business with them. The nuns will be excited that they have such an noted guest. A nun detective is a rarity here in Italy. I hope you have enough funds for the bus fares.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, relieved and tired.
The sky was blue and the sea breezes glorious as the nun boarded the bus for Otessi. Sister Angela would visit the bishop emeritus first, though she doubted he could help her. When she arrived, she saw that the little town would be easy to navigate. Otessi was a hill town like Montriano. She walked into a small grocery store and asked the clerk about directions to the address. The buildings were tall and straight, almost leaning against the side of the hill. The church was farther up the top of the hill like a star atop the Christmas tree. It glittered in the sun.
His building was rundown, the outside paint peeling to reveal a brick base, but wrought-iron balconies made the place look quaint. She hiked up the front steps and looked for his name next to the doorbells. A woman answered her buzz.
“Hello,” the nun said. “I’m looking for Bishop Emeritus Trombetta. Does he live here?”
The door buzzed, and the nun walked into an enclosure with a running fountain in the middle of the tile floor.
“Up here,” called the woman from the third floor.
Sister Angela glanced around for the elevator, but there was none. Frowning, she started up the stairs.
“I have cold water for you,” she told the nun. “I’m his friend, Mrs. Corti. Bishop Trombetta is on the balcony in back. He can’t really see you and is hard of hearing.”
The old woman tottered out the back door. “Father, this is… Who are you?”
“Your Excellency, I’m Sister Angela from Montriano.”
“Oh?” he said, holding his glass of juice up for Mrs. Corti to refill. “You are who?”
The nun saw right away that this might be a problem. The courtyard was enclosed on all sides by other apartments, and her voice echoed as she tried to speak loud enough. “Sister Angela.”
“Are you a nun?”
“Yes, Your Excellency. It’s so nice out here on the balcony.”
“Speak up.”
Mrs. Corti brought out the water and juice and placed them on a little table beside the old man. The nun took a sip and was thankful. “Mrs. Corti, how long have you known the bishop?”
“Years and years. I was his housekeeper when he was a priest.”
“When did you marry?”
“He married my husband and me before he became a bishop, but I still worked for him. My husband has been dead fifteen years now so I have more time to nurse Bishop Trombetta.”
“If you were with the him when he was a bishop, then you might know of a Father Teo.”
The old woman scrunched up her eyes as she thought. “No. I don’t remember him.”
“He was assigned to San Mattia in Salvi.”
“I can’t even remember my husband’s first name half the time. How do you expect me to remember one of the dozens of priests in the churches of the archdiocese?”
The nun smiled. “I understand. What about the bishop? Do you think he would remember?”
“I don’t know. Last week, his niece came for a visit. I told him she was coming and made a cake for the occasion. He told her he was not hearing confessions today and asked her to come back on Saturday.”
“I see. Perhaps it would be best if I let myself out. Thanks for the water. It hit the spot.”
Exhausted, Sister Angela returned to the convent where the other nuns had prepared a wonderful meal for her.
“What are you investigating?” asked Sister Ines, stirring sauce in a large pot.
“I a
m trying to find out more about a local priest. His name was Father Teo, and I believe he was a parish priest in Salvi maybe twenty or so years ago.”
“Sister Nella was from Salvi, I think. You should ask her about this priest.”
“Will Sister Nella be here for dinner?”
“Yes.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No, dinner will be in a half hour. You might want to freshen up in your room.”
Sister Nella was seated beside Sister Angela at the long table. “I hear you want to speak with me about Salvi.”
“Yes, Sister. Did you go to San Mattia in Salvi?”
“I did. It had a school, and I went to high school there.”
Feeling the excitement, Sister Angela put down her glass. “Then maybe you knew Father Teo?”
“Yes, he was the headmaster. Are you investigating the priest? Tell me what his crimes were.”
The nun laughed. “No. There has been an incident at his monastery. I need to make sure the monk involved and the parish priest are the same person.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me what you know about him. What was his height? Where did he come from? When and why did he leave San Mattia?”
“He was fairly lean and nearly two meters tall. He had wavy brown hair—but it may not be brown now. I have no idea where he came from. As a student, I wouldn’t care about that. He left sometime after I graduated. I don’t know what happened. Priests get moved all the time. Was it a sexual offense? Many priests were moved around because they did naughty things. The congregations never have a say. I didn’t hear that he had a problem, but when you’re young, you don’t listen to those kinds of things, do you?”
“I see. You’re right. You were too young to notice any of that.”
“But I do have a picture in the yearbook. Let me get it for you,” she said, rising from the table.
“It can wait.”
“No, I’ll forget.”
When she returned, Sister Nella laid the open book on the table. “That’s him. Do you recognize him?”
Sister Angela was too shocked to admit she had never seen him. “He looks so young,” she said. “I’m so glad you showed me this. Now I’ll know what to expect if Father Pellicano shows me pictures too.”
“He was kind of attractive. The incident at your monastery must be a sexual one.”
Sister Angela smiled. “I wouldn’t call it a sexual incident, but it was explosive.”
The nun was pleased when the bus stop in Salvi turned out to be right in front of San Mattia Church. She waddled up the steps and opened the heavy door. The church’s interior was stunning. The colors in the frescoes were still bright. The tile floor was immaculate, and the pews were polished. She walked slowly up the aisle, gazing at the Bible stories depicted in the stained-glass windows. She heard someone clear his throat and stopped.
“Sister Angela, I presume.”
“Father Pellicano. Who told you I was coming?”
“Father Sergio in Montriano. I assume you know him. He tells me you have some questions about my predecessor.”
She would have preferred a surprise attack. The priest must have pondered and practiced his answers instead of saying the first thing that came to mind.
“When did Father Sergio call you?”
“Yesterday. What do you need to know? Please sit here in the front pew.”
“How long did you know Father Teo?”
“I met him when I was taking over here. He stayed a day or two to make sure I was comfortable before he left.”
“And that was when?”
“I’ve been here slightly under twenty years.”
“And why did you come here? Did you know you were replacing him?”
“Yes. We both knew.”
“Why?”
Pellicano did not answer right away. “I got the assignment from then Archbishop Trombetta that he needed a parish priest here.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That the current vicar wished to move on.”
“Let me see. If I got the assignment, I might assume the current vicar had a problem. You didn’t ask?”
“No. I was surprised Father Teo offered to stay and train me, though. He seemed robust enough. I asked him why he was leaving. He told me he was tired and wanted to explore other roles of the Church.”
“That’s code for ‘I screwed up, and they’re sending me away.’”
“He was popular. Several parishioners left after he did.”
“That could have simply been attrition, couldn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I heard through the grapevine that most of those who left were close to him, whatever that means.”
“The new Papa might bring more parishioners back. I heard he’s popular too.”
“So you see I can’t help you much.”
“Do you have a photo of him?”
“Yes, there’s one in the front office. Follow me,” Pellicano said, standing and walking to a door beyond the altar.”
“So you never heard anything about his past?”
Father Pellicano stopped to recall those months when he first arrived. Evidently he could not think and walk at the same time. “I heard he was a very good with software. I don’t know where he came from or what his business was, but he seemed to be well-versed in high-tech matters. When I got here, he showed me how to keep all the records, saying that he did a lot of spreadsheets when he was a programmer. Of course we couldn’t afford a big computer in the parish, but he managed to create business plans he used.”
“So he taught you how to use his plans.”
“No. He tried to teach me, but I couldn’t take it all in and have not used them since he left. We went back to doing the bookkeeping the old fashioned way.” He started walking again.
“So only Archbishop Trombetta was aware of Father Teo’s past, and only he knew why he encouraged Father Teo to leave.”
“Did you meet with him?”
“Yes. His mind has a few holes—including having Father Teo in the Pescara Archbishopric.”
She looked down at the small photo of the new priest with Father Teo.
“I looked younger there, didn’t I?”
The nun hesitated, trying to memorize the face of the younger Father Teo.
“You can keep that. I have the negative. I wish it were digital. Give me a little time to ask some of our older parishioners about what they knew. Can I email you at the monastery?”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for his help.
She walked out into the sunshine. The bench in the garden in front of the church was inviting. She still had an hour to wait for the bus back to her friends in Pescara. Suddenly the sun disappeared.
Sister Angela looked up. “Father Pellicano. I thought you had nothing more to say.”
He sat down on the bench. “That’s right, I’ve run out of information that I can contribute. I just wanted to remind you that it is nearly five o’clock Saturday evening. I was thinking that maybe you need a Mass that might attract people who remember Father Teo better. Several people are staying after for a dinner where everyone brings a dish. Do you already have plans?”
Sister Angela smiled. “I can call the convent and change them. A good Mass is always more satisfying than a plate full of food, but getting both is a celebration. What about the bus?”
“The bus runs until ten. You can catch one in plenty of time.”
The two stood up and went back inside.
Thirteen
Conflicting Opinions
Announcing during the potluck dinner that famous detective Sister Angela needed to know more about Father Teo, she had several people who offered their opinions. Quickly filling her stomach on a wide range of delicious dishes, she then took each parishioner to the opposite corner and asked them what they knew.
The first woman was elderly and clearly had an opinion about him. “He was young and handsome. What more does a woman want in her priest
?”
“So you liked him. Did you hear anyone complain about him?”
“No. Well, maybe the men did, but I didn’t talk to them so I’m not sure.”
“If he was so popular, why did he leave?”
“I heard the bishop pulled him. The bishop never told us why. They sent us Father Pellicano.”
A married couple about the same age as Sister Angela mentioned they heard there was a problem with the people who were close to the priest. Those friends may have prompted the move.”
“Did you ever ask the archbishop why he moved him?” asked Sister Angela.
“No. We’ve never even seen the archbishop in person. Are we allowed to address him? Isn’t it a sin to bother him?”
An elderly gentleman approached Sister Angela. He told her that a young woman with dark red hair walked directly into the rectory like she owned it.”
“Auburn hair?”
“I guess that’s what they call it.”
“Did she knock?”
“I’m sure she knocked, but they let her in.”
“The priest’s office staff is located in the rectory, aren’t they? Maybe she was visiting one of the staff.”
“No, no. She came with him.”
“She didn’t live in the rectory, did she?”
“No, but she arrived shortly after he became the vicar.”
“What did she look like?”
“Young and very pretty with long, gorgeous hair. She had a blond child, with her.”
“How old was the child?”
“Three or four. The woman sometimes pushed a stroller.”
“Anything else? I’ll have to ask one of the vicar’s staff when he first arrived.”
“She’s here.”
“Who? The young woman with auburn hair?”
“No, Mrs. Albo. Do you want me to get her?” The old man leaned on his cane as he toddled across the floor. He whispered to an elderly woman behind one of the tables. Sister Angela watched her approach while he stayed back to get another plate of dessert.”
“Mr. Navarra said you wished to speak with me? Is it about Father Teo? I’m not sure I can tell you much. It wouldn’t be right to judge him when he isn’t here to defend himself.”
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