Chianti Classico (10 page)

“That’s a small refrigerator. We can get hors d'oeuvres or munchies to serve with the wine. The sink will go into the shelves that I plan to build behind you.”

“Wow. I see now that you and Ermanno are serious. I can get some plants or flowers.” She picked up a can of paint and climbed the ladder.

He looked up at her. A boyish grin crossed his face. “Ermanno was impressed with you.”

“Was it the shoes?”

“The whole package. You’ll have to promise me you aren’t attracted to him, or I won’t finish the shelves.”

She bent down and brushed his face with her free hand. “There’s no comparison,” she said. “I’m the loyal type.” Then she took the roller and began to cover the wall with Ermanno’s paint.

Giulio took her to the house at lunchtime. The two made sandwiches and sat in chairs overlooking the valley to eat them. Giulio washed his down with milk, and Viviana laughed when the milk formed a mustache. He wiped it away. “Back to work.”

“What about your job? Don’t you have to check the aging wines?”

“I have an assistant doing that. We should be finished tonight. Then I can hang out the tasting sign I made and go back to my other work. Before you leave tonight, you should take home a manual that gives you information you’re supposed to know. You’ll start on Monday.”

“What about the rest of the week?”

“Read the manual. You’ll need to study it. There’s a lot you have to know so you can answer questions.”

“Did you get someone to give tours?”

“No, but we have plenty of people who can do that.”

“So I can wear my shoes.”

His voice softened. “Definitely wear the shoes. And if they hurt you, you can take them off. There’s nothing more appealing than to watch a woman remove her shoes. The tasters would love to see that.”

Viviana smiled. Did she have him hooked? She was beginning to think so, but there was work to be done to make certain he didn’t get away. She looked out over the valley. After all, this is where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

The morning was sunny and hot. It was only nine when Sister Angela entered the police station, but the offices were already busy.

“I’m looking for Chief Detective Pagano,” she said to a uniformed policewoman scurrying down a long hallway.

“He’s in his office,” she said. “Follow the hallway to the desk, and they’ll tell you where he is.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Pagano’s office had glass walls so he was easy to spot. He waved at the nun and held open the door for her. “I suppose you’re here to help investigate the child’s background. The mother superior at Mission House called ahead and gave me the details. The nuns in Castel Valori took the child in just a few years ago. I suppose that means the newspapers in that area were already online. Poppi and Arezzo are two that might be found on the Internet. We have a man on holiday. If you’d like you can use his desk and computer up front. I don’t think he’d mind. Do you know how to browse?”

“Yes, of course, but you’ll show me how to get on, won’t you?”

“Elmo sits up front too. He can serve as a resource if you get into trouble.”

Pagano led her to the desk and got her started. She looked over her shoulder at Detective Sergeant Sacco, talking on the phone. He seemed very busy.

Sister Angela went directly for the maps, intending to identify all the towns and villages around Castel Valori. Then, beginning with the smaller ones, she looked for online news feeds. Nothing. After an hour she sat back, defeated. Sacco approached and asked if she needed refreshment.

“Do you have any orange soda in your machine?” she asked.

“Of course. It’s my favorite too. I’ll get you some. Are you having any luck?”

“No. It seems most of the smaller regions have no online news. Perhaps they have no crime.”

“I’d start by putting in the specific story, if you know one. Do you have any names?”

“Well, I have the convent name where Pia lived for the last few years.”

“The stories about the smaller hill towns often end up in papers in Florence and here in Siena.”

“But is it a worthy news story if a child was dropped off at a convent? I’d say the story’s a local one and therefore not picked up in larger papers.”

“That’s possible. Then I’d dash to the library. They have news stories for the local papers on microfiche.”

“That’s an idea. Perhaps I can try a bit longer here and then go to the library. It seems this might be a more difficult job than I thought. What about police issues?”

“What do you mean?” asked Sacco.

“Did the local police investigate a baby being left on the convent steps? They probably did, even though they failed to act at the time. They might have investigated the circumstances. How does one get that information?”

“I can call them. If they failed to remove the child from the convent, it might be considered a cold case. They may not want to admit to that, though.”

The nun smiled. “But they might admit their failure to me. I think I’m going to have to set up a visit. Perhaps you can tell one of the detectives that I’m coming and would like to talk with him.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll get your orange soda first, Sister. You’re going to need your strength.”

Having ordered news content for the required date from the reference desk at the library, Sister Angela settled into a chair in front of a table holding up a large microfiche machine.

“The event took place four years ago,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s look at stories about a week before the child was delivered to the nuns.”

The first paper she found was a regional newspaper that included Castel Valori, Val d’Alsa, and Ascedo. She scanned the front page for news. Most of the stories involved local businesses and their offerings. One had to do with a family feud. There was also an armed robbery of a produce market. She couldn’t think of any tie to a missing child. She scanned the obituaries and then moved on to the stories the next day. After over an hour, she increased the search radius to include villages a bit farther away. Again, she searched the local news a week before Pia’s appearance. Lunchtime came and went, and her stomach began to growl.

Perhaps I need a meal. I fear they’ll ask me to leave if my stomach gets any louder.
Outside the door, she spied a lunch cart and let the scents of food lure her across the street.

“Hello, Sister,” said a voice.

“Hello, Sister Liona. I was just trying to decide what I was going to eat for lunch. What do you recommend?”

“I didn’t realize the nuns had revealed our secret eating place the other night. I always recommend the pizza, but Sister Agata would tell you the focaccia is superb. What are you doing in town?”

“I’m trying to figure out the event that led to discovery of Pia at the convent’s front door.”

“Oh, that might be difficult. Perhaps you should ask the nuns for more information.”

“Mother Faustine indicated the nuns knew very little about where the child came from. I figured I’d look through the events of the week before I went to see if something might have precipitated the deed.”

The legal expert bit her lip. “It could’ve happened earlier than that. I mean, the decision must have been very difficult to make. Families tend to chew on their particular problem for weeks or more before finally making the decision.”

“You’re right, of course. It could’ve been as simple as that.”

“I believe the nuns would go to the parish priest and question him about recent confessions,” said Sister Liona. “Presumably, he wouldn’t reveal the details. But he could’ve counselled the parents about laws regarding leaving an unwanted child. The nuns were probably satisfied they could keep the child.”

“That’s true. There might not have been third-party episode that led to the convent at all. But failing to let the state know they had the child was wrong because the relatives weren’t given a chance to intervene. I believe the nuns would’ve involved the authorities much earlier if they thought they could avoid having a child raised in an orphanage.”

“Ah. Perhaps you’re right, Sister Angela. The child should’ve been raised by a loving family who knew the parents. But I’m not sure the police ever found answers because they sent Pia here. You might also acknowledge the orphanage was an excellent place for the child to end up.”

Sister Angela smiled. “You have a point, Sister Liona,” she said. “But the orphanage in Filari lost the child, and I don’t think she’s in a good place now. It’s incumbent upon us to find her and send her to a loving home, whether it’s a family related to her or the larger family at the orphanage with whom she has shared her childhood so far.”

Sister Angela checked in at the police station before returning to Filari.

“I’m leaving for home,” said Pagano. “Would you like me to give you a ride back to the orphanage?”

“Oh, no, Chief Detective. I have the truck. I hope it’s still where I parked it. It would be a shame if the police towed it because I left it in a restricted space or because it wasn’t straight enough.”

“What did you find out here or at the library? Were there any occurrences in the region that caught your attention?”

“There were lots of stories about events there during the time of Pia’s discovery. Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue which ones might have contributed to the drop off.”

The chief detective picked up his lunch box and accompanied the nun to the exit. “Tell me some of the stories, and I’ll give you my opinion.”

“Let me see. There was an avalanche in the hill above Alceda. Three people were killed in addition to injuries. Then there was an armed robbery of a bank in Castel Valori. At least two thieves dressed up in masks. There was a ten-car pileup on the autostrada near Poppi. Three people were killed there.”

The two stood on the curb outside the station.

“One paper reported on three different domestic disputes two weeks before the drop off. And there was a single car accident on one of the back roads where the driver was killed. There were no passengers.”

Pagano scratched his head. “None of them seem promising, but at least you’ll sound like you did your homework in preparation for meeting with the police.”

“And the nuns. I plan do that in person.”

The chief detective looked up. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s the truck. I parked it right across the street, and it’s still here. Please give my regards to your wife, Chief Detective.”

“And good luck with your investigation. We’ll continue to search through the local vineyards for Pia and our old nun.”

Sister Angela pulled the truck up the drive next door to the orphanage. She heard someone in the large building near the house and walked up to its open entrance.

“Good evening, Sister. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Signor La Barca.”

“I’m Martino La Barca. Are you from the Mission Sisters next door?”

“I’m visiting them, yes.”

“I’m so sorry they’ve lost a child. When I heard, I checked all around, but I found nothing.”

“I’m staying with Michel Matta and his lovely wife. He mentioned that you were an authority on the use of amphorae in making wine, and I was wondering if you might have a bit of time to tell me about it. I know you’re busy, but if there’s a better time…”

“Please, I can tell you now. My wife’s visiting her mother, and I’m on my own for dinner.” He took the nun by the arm and led her inside.

A long row of strangely-shaped clay vessels stood upright in a row in the center of the chamber.

“It looks like the aliens have landed,” she said.

“During the Bronze Age, the Greeks used pots called
dolia.
They buried them in the ground and fermented the grapes that way. The Romans had open pots. They spread olive oil over the top of the wine and emptied the
amphora from the bottom. Still serving as a lid until the pot was empty, the oil on the top would spread over the surface as the wine level went down.”

“But yours have lids.”

“More recent history has shown fermentation in terracotta can yield new and very fine wine characteristics.” He patted the one closest to him. “
I moved away from oak and steel because I was looking for a less-aggressive medium to ferment and age my wines. Whereas in ancient times amphorae were the natural vessel of choice, now it’s a conscious or a philosophical decision to use clay jars. I swear by them. There’s a marked difference between wines fermented in wood or steel and those aged in terracotta. We need that—variety, I mean.”