by Dick Rosano
“If we accompanied some of the hunters tonight, we would know more,” she suggested.
“But I thought you said no one would let us come along.”
“Probably not, but do you think I could talk them into it?” she asked.
Nicki gave no hint of using her alluring smile as bait, although Paolo almost suggested it.
“Maybe,” he admitted, “but who would do it?”
“We could call Edoardo and see if knew someone who would let us.”
Without hesitation, Nicki drew out her cell phone and punched in the number for Edoardo.
“Would one of the trifolài let us go along tonight so we can get a better understanding?”
“Understanding of what?” Edoardo asked, not masking his suspicion. “Hunting for tartufi, or hunting for thieves?”
Nicki ignored his direct reference to thieves, but replied, “Of course, the truffles. Rita and Stefano will be back soon and they'll want to know – we all want to know – how to solve this puzzle.”
Edoardo rubbed his chin and paused for a long time considering this. It was clear that he wanted to help, but he was checking his mental directory to come up with a name of someone who would cooperate.
“Nulla,” he said, “nothing.” Nicki paused to give Edoardo a moment to reconsider, but then kindly thanked him. They exchanged goodbyes, and then hung up.
While Nicki thought this over, Paolo easily saw the next step.
“Why don't you ask Francesco? Either he or his father would let us go along, right?”
“Surely,” she answered. “I'll talk to him tonight.”
They passed by a young couple talking in whispers. Paolo expected love talk in such subdued tones, but the anxious look on the woman's face discounted this.
“I don't know what happened,” she said, “That's all I've heard.”
“Dead bodies,” her partner responded with muted alarm. Then relaxing some, “It's just part of the whole medieval atmosphere they're trying to create for the Palio and the truffle season.”
“Yeah,” said the young woman, “That's it.”
Paolo and Nicki continued down the street but heard an older man, obviously a local farmer, confiding in whispered tones with his companion. They couldn't make out the words, but the conversation between the two men seemed ominous.
Chapter 41
The Warehouse
The morning chill had lost its edge and, with it, the fog that blanketed this area in the fall had burned off. The two seamen returned to their hotel rooms and doffed the heavier clothes, knowing that this afternoon would bring work and, with it, sweat.
They drove the identified route which took them down well-used roads, through factory areas, and into the farmland. At the foot of the hills, where the trees gathered more closely than on the plain, they turned right onto a rough gravel road and followed it for a few miles.
As the gravel gave way to dirt, the ruts in the road became more pronounced, and the men shifted side to side as the truck bucked with each exposed root and fallen branch that they drove over. Around a curve to the left and standing somewhat clear of the trees was a warehouse that had wires running to it to provide electricity but little else in the way of civilized convenience.
They backed the truck up to the warehouse, unlocked the door and stepped inside. The front room was small, with only a desk, file cabinets and the usual furnishings of an office. Off to one side there were large doors, at least twelve feet high, with large stainless steel handles. Pulling on the handles, the doors swung outward reluctantly. They were heavy, and the hinges seemed to be undersized for the task.
Inside the doors hung long strips of rubber, each about one foot wide, but hung individually so a person could push between strips and enter. Which they did.
There in the refrigerated room they found sacks and sacks piled up in the corner. But even the burlap of the bags could not contain the aromas that exuded from the heap. Even for two grizzled men of the sea, the aroma brought smiles to their faces. Then, their eyes growing accustomed to the dimmer light, they saw it in the other corner.
They looked at each other with expressionless faces, but the one in the felt cap pulled the cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and punched in a few numbers.
“Pronto,” came a woman's voice.
“What do we do with the guy in the corner?”
“Leave him.” Lidia's voice took on a steely edge, an edge she was careful to disguise when talking to Alfonso and his clueless friends in Alba.
Flipping the cover shut on the phone and exchanging one more glance, the two men set to work carrying the bundles of truffles out to the waiting truck, under the black lifeless gaze of the man in the corner with a dried stream of blood staining his left cheek.
#
Once the haul was completed and the refrigerated room stood empty, they locked the door to the warehouse and pulled silently out of the drive onto the dirt road they had come in on. By her instructions, though, they followed a slightly different route and climbed a gentle hill deeper into the trees on the mountain. Only about fifteen minutes along, they saw the landmark she had mentioned, a tall outcropping of granite that stood next to the road, and they pulled to a stop.
Lidia emerged from behind the rock with a box large enough to require two hands. She thanked them for their help, said she had their payment but that the other box with Euros was still “back there,” as she indicated by tossing her head back in the direction of the rocks.
As the men circled the granite stand to retrieve their payment, she followed them. They turned and stood face-to-face with the handgun she held.
“You've been very helpful and I couldn't have done it without you,” she said and without hesitation she put two bullets in each of them in quick succession. Approaching their bodies sprawled on the ground, she put one more bullet in each man's head.
What the seamen failed to notice, or didn't have time to consider, were the shallow graves that were already dug just feet from where their bodies now lay. So with little effort, the woman dragged their bodies that short distance, rolled them over into the soft earth, and covered each with dirt, then wet leaves, then a scattering of broken branches.
Lidia went to the truck, pulled one wire off the distributor cap and replaced it with a burned out wire, then retreated to her own car and drove away. The gun was tossed out of the car as she drove over a bridge covering a primitive-looking ravine, an overgrown rift in the earth that didn't look like it had witnessed human traffic in centuries.
Chapter 42
Losing Faith
It was time for the truffles to be moved, that he knew, and the smuggler suspected that she had someone hired to handle the chore. She always had strings of employees working for her, each with only a small piece of the puzzle, so no one knew enough to cause her trouble.
Funny thing, though, her employees always seemed to disappear. He knew that; why didn't they?
So he needed to track her to her next destination, but he knew this next chapter of the plan was taking place in the deep woods, so there would be no way for him to keep close without her hearing his rental car or reacting to some movement along the trail.
But he knew the men she was going to meet would be coming from the warehouse that he had worked so hard to fill. So instead of following her, he decided to hide out near the warehouse and follow them. Dumb old men; they'd never be able to pick up the scent.
They arrived on schedule, as instructed, spent nearly two hours loading the sacks, although he thought they could have worked faster. Just when the big fat one fired up the engine of the old truck, he started his own car. Then he drove behind, carefully behind, and watched their turns from the roadside before following.
The truck was old enough to make more noise than his car did; so with his windows open in the October air, he could hear them far up ahead. Until the rumbling sounds of the truck engine suddenly choked to a stop.
He stopped his car, climbed out o
f the driver's seat and tip-toed up behind them. There were many autumn leaves on the ground so he had to pick his steps carefully, but he got to a small clearing just as he heard a “pop-pop” sound, followed by another “pop-pop.” The man hid behind a tree and saw her standing over two bodies, then he watched as she put another bullet into each of them. He turned around and tip-toed back out instead of waiting.
He let his car coast down the hillside road for a few hundred yards before starting the engine. Just as he did, he heard the low rumble of another car behind. He pulled quickly into a forested drop-off on the right, and dug back in far enough to be concealed. Just in time.
She rolled past in her car. “Must have left the truck up the hill,” he thought, and wondered whether he should retrieve it himself and abandon her, but thought better of it. She didn't leave loose ends. If he went up the hill, something bad was bound to happen.
When the sound of car had disappeared down the hillside, he pulled his car out and started down.
Chapter 43
Palio degli Asini
About two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, large crowds began to drift in the direction of the Piazza Cagnasso where the Palio degli Asini would be run. The permanent bleachers were augmented by additional stands to handle the crowd at Alba's biggest celebration of the year.
All day, parades of costumed actors had marched through the streets, announcing their approach with trumpets and drums, dressed in the colors of their borgo, or neighborhood.
The donkeys and riders assembled on the oval track as the crowds filled the stands. The donkeys established early that they would decide when to go and when to stop, even which direction to go if they chose.
Every race has winners and losers, and usually the results matter. The borghi of Alba no doubt cared about the results of this race too, but all was done in good sport and backs were slapped and jokes were told at everyone's expense.
The Palio degli Asini was completed and the crowds began to draw out of the stands, while the costumed “royal family” departed under the sound of trumpets. Nicki and Paolo slipped out of the bleachers too, and joined the throngs now moving toward the streets of Alba.
“Did you see Bruno and Giorgio in the stands?” asked Paolo.
“Si, I'm sure they enjoy the Palio too.”
“And many of the truffle hunters we've met,” he continued.
At first, Nicki didn't get his point, but then realized that even the truffle market seemed to be suspended during the festivities.
“Again, not too surprising,” she said.
“True,” Paolo said thoughtfully, everyone was here, except Alfonso and Lidia.”
“How can you tell in this crowd?” Nicki asked.
“I told Alfonso we'd meet at Caffè Rossetti before the race, but he never showed up,” Paolo said.
That struck Nicki as strange, since Paolo was not very friendly with Alfonso.
“Why meet with him?”
“Well, actually, I was more interested in Lidia, and I thought I could talk to Alfonso and find out more about her,” was Paolo's reply.
Nicki seemed even more confused.
“I still don't understand. Why do you want to find out about Lidia?”
“Something's not right, and I don't trust her. I think Alfonso's been acting strange, and I think she has something to do with it,” he continued. “Besides, where's Francesco?”
At that, Nicki's face burned red, since Francesco was supposed to meet her at the Palio and didn't, and she hoped that Paolo would not bring it up.
“So, Lidia, Alfonso, and Francesco are among the few people in Alba who didn't attend the race,” he said. “Doesn't that make you curious?”
Nicki looked at Paolo, her eyelids drooping in a way that someone does when facing disappointment and uncertainly, but she only turned and walked toward the side street with a determined stride.
“It's Antonio,” she heard from someone standing in the doorway of a bakery at the edge of the Piazza Cagnasso.
“No, please, no,” exclaimed a woman in an apron, soiled from a day of tossing loaves of bread.
Out of curiosity, Nicki stopped to listen, and Paolo was right behind her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Shhh,” was her terse reply, which she said without taking her eyes off of the couple at the bakery doorstep.
“What happened?” the aproned woman asked of her companion.
“Non so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “His son came to the farm, looking for his father. Then he saw the dirt in the barn turned over, carelessly, like someone was digging for something.”
He paused, then added ruefully, “Or burying something.”
“He dug around it with his zappino, then used the shovel, till he struck something.”
“Oh, no,” she cried. His son, Carlo, he didn't find his father's body, did he?” she asked, hoping the answer would stop the twisting feeling she had in her stomach.
The man looked at her for a moment, then down at the pavement, and only nodded his head.
“Si, Antonio, and their dog, buried together in the barn.”
Chapter 44
The Secret Starts to Unfold
Alba was caught up in the revelry of the Palio and that evening everyone was retelling stories of the race. The costumed parades resumed after the Palio and street scenes resembled something from the 16th century. Lords and ladies proceeded past restaurants and sidewalk cafés, fools and thieves were dragged roped together by their wrists, and trumpets blared to clear the path.
It didn't seem to matter which borgo won the Palio. At least, Paolo couldn't tell which one had, since all the groups that marched down Via Vittorio Emanuelle that evening seemed to be as full of cheer as the last one.
By evening, Francesco had joined up with Nicki and Paolo, and he walked down the sidewalk at Nicki's side. Paolo wandered off, his attention spent on searching the crowds for pretty girls.
Nicki was quiet for a time, then said matter-of-factly, “I thought the rider on Bruto was the best,” making small observations to pretend interest.
“No,” countered Francesco, with the confidence of being a former rider himself. “Piccolo was best,” referring to the donkey that had bested the field coming around the last curve, only to quit the race in favor of munching on the pot of fresh flowers at the gate.
Nicki peered for an uncomfortable time into Francesco's eyes, who sought to avoid her gaze.
“Where were you today,” she asked, with an evident tinge of anger in her voice.
“I was at my father's farm,” he replied, but didn't try to explain further.
Nicki switched subjects, and explained to Francesco her idea about investigating the truffle problem. “We could interview as many trifolài as we can, take notes, and ask them how much the crop has dropped since last year. Maybe, by charting where the hunter works and how much he lost, we might discover whether it's a virus, a thief, or something else. Could I go out on a hunt with you tonight?”
Francesco listened with some interest, but showed some doubt.
“No, no,” he replied thoughtfully. “The hunters always try to avoid the fisco, the government tax man, so they won't admit anything about their harvest. And even if they were willing to tell you how much they lost this year, they won't let you go on a hunt. Their grounds are secret.”
“And what about hunting with you?” she repeated.
Francesco appeared slow to reply. It was a combination of tradition that made only men truffle hunters and a reluctance to let Nicki become even more involved. With that thought, he recalled Alfonso warning that they had to tamp down the investigation of this problem. So he didn't answer her.
Nicki stared directly at him, waiting for a response as they walked down the via. Nothing was offered by Francesco, and Nicki retreated to a sullen silence.
At the corner, they saw Paolo talking to Giorgio, the trifolào, with their heads close together as if trying to keep their conversation fro
m being overheard. Francesco looked down at the cobblestones, pausing instead of moving forward, but Nicki wanted to find out what Paolo was learning. Seeing them approach, Giorgio turned to the couple and welcomed them into the conversation.
“I was just telling Paolo, here, that Edoardo thinks there has been a great theft.”
“Yeah,” said Nicki, “that's what everyone thinks,” and as if on reflex, she cast a suspicious eye toward her boyfriend.
After a bit more conversation, mostly covering ground each of them had already dug through,
Francesco was showing signs of giving in to his annoyance with Nicki. He complained that she was spending too much time trying to find the truffles, the same complaint he raised with Paolo that morning at the hotel.
Paolo listened to Giorgio, and Nicki's questioning during the conversation, but he also kept an eye on Francesco whose body language suggested a growing discomfort with the trend of the discussion. In fact, Paolo's silence during the conversation even got Nicki's attention at one point, causing her to glance over at Francesco, who was standing idly by, acting as if he wished the conversation would soon end so he could move on. Paolo now suspected that Francesco knew more than he was telling.
##
Turning her attention to Francesco, Nicki said, “Rita and Stefano left us in Alba to find out more. Why aren't you more concerned?” Her words eerily recalled Paolo's own that morning.
“Your father is a trifolào, you are a trifolào,” she continued, as if accusing him of betraying his heritage.
“My father is a farmer, and if the fates decide so, I will be also,” Francesco fired back. “Hunting for truffles is a noble activity, but it's not an occupation. I do care,” he emphasized his point, “but we can't live on truffles.”
Paolo listened with some detachment, knowing this quarrel was spurred a bit by the relationship between Nicki and Francesco and not just the truffles, and yet he disagreed with a part of Francesco's last comment. It's true the trifolài couldn't live on their profits from selling the little tuber, but Alba certainly lives on its reputation.
