Chianti Classico (16 page)

Their relationship had changed. Viviana’s dress became less businesslike and more revealing each day. She even moved differently, watching Giulio over her shoulder as he passed by. Less than a week later, he asked her to dinner again. This time he had spread a blanket on the ground, making it even easier to move around.

After four or five encounters, they stopped. The sun stayed later in the sky, making it more difficult to hide in the dark.

The flowers on the vines had disappeared, replaced with tight bunches of young grapes. Tourists were beginning to show up, making it difficult for Viviana to flirt with Giulio, who was much busier trying to produce bottles of his product.

Viviana was late to work one day, and Ermanno made a point of chastising her for her laziness. She tried to ignore him, but it ate at her throughout the day.

As the last tourists found seats on their tour busses, Giulio suddenly appeared at the door with more bottles. “I figured your stash was low. It’s getting busy. We should talk about that idea to have tables outside. The ambiance would be good,” he said, moving to the back of the room to place the wine where she could get it.

“Ermanno yelled at me today.”

“Yeah, he said you were late.” He put his hands around her waist and pulled her toward him. “I hate it when we’re too busy to see each other.” He kissed her on the nose.

“I wasn’t that late.”

“No problem. He won’t do anything about it. He needs every hand he can get, and you’re really good at what you do. I thought I could take you into town, and we could grab a bite at the restaurant near the church.”

She smiled. “I guess we need to talk anyway. I’m not sure we did that during our picnics.”

He laughed. “We learned a lot not talking to each other. And I enjoyed it. Do you have more comfortable shoes you can wear into town?”

“It doesn’t bother you if I wear low heels? That’s good because I have another pair in my purse.”

At a quiet restaurant, as Giulio seated her at the table and began to talk about their plans for the tasting room.

“It’s going to be more work.”

“Maybe two or three at first,” he said. “With umbrellas, of course. Let’s see if you can handle two or three. No food. Just tasting. Or they can buy a bottle and enjoy it there.”

“As long as the empties aren’t taken out of my salary.”

He poured her some wine, but she put her hand up to stop him. “You don’t want wine?” he asked.

She gestured to the waitress and asked for water.

Giulio froze while pouring wine into his own glass. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, dear. I have something to tell you too. You’re such a good farmer. You’re able to produce more than grapes.” At first she couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, but the silence finally made her look up.

He stared at her, his gray eyes showing little but love and concern. She felt herself exhale.

“We’ll have to do something about that.”

What did he mean? Was he asking her to take care of the predicament? The rush of a giant wave suddenly made it difficult for her to hear him.

“We have the wine and tables and chairs already. I know Mamma and Serena would love to help you with the wedding. We don’t have time for a honeymoon, but we should plan the ceremony soon so we don’t let it run into the harvest.”

She stared back at him. Finally understanding, she smiled. “That would be fine. The answer is
yes.”

Sister Angela cleared her throat as she and Pagano sat down at the table, waiting for someone to bring in the suspect. The door finally opened, and La Barca was dragged to a seat at one end.

“Have you found my wife?” he asked.

Pagano looked up. “I’ve just received a report. Yes, your wife has been found in Triesa. Apparently she left you about two weeks ago. Again you tell us lies.”

“Carlota can verify that I usually kill the weeds along the fence right before harvest.”

“Did your wife help you in the winery?”

“Yes. She didn’t work all the time but filled in when we were shorthanded.”

Sacco entered and walked directly up to his boss. “I have Signor La Barca’s list of workers and can take a few men out to help me interview them.”

“How many are there?”

“Five.”

“Does that include the suppliers?”

“Yes. Not too many to tackle in one day, sir,” he said, heading for the door.

“Signora La Barca must have helped you much of the time,” he said, turning to face the winemaker. “I’m surprised you could run the winery with so few people.”

“Workers come and go. I’ll need to hire more in a week or so to help with the harvest.”

“Who’s checking the aging Chianti to see when the wine’s ready?”

“It depends which amphora you’re talking about. Each year’s wine’s aged in different areas of the winery. The wine that’s been aged the longest has charts. Winemakers, usually myself but sometimes assistants, also do tests on the resting wine at least once monthly. That’s why I hire people—to help perform tests that include ones for sugar content, acidity, sulfur, and percent alcohol.”

“How do these charts indicate who checked the wine in all the amphorae?” asked Sister Angela.

“Every person who touches an amphora has to mark what actions he or she performed and initial the chart.”

“That includes all the amphorae?” asked the nun.

“Yes. Once fermentation has taken place, the wine’s poured into a clay vessel to be aged.”

Pagano leaned forward. “Evidently, the last person to initial the sheet on one particular clay pot was your wife exactly two weeks ago.”

“Carlota went to her family on the twenty-seventh of last month. She must have checked the wine just before she left.”

“I suppose if your wife tampered with that particular amphora, she wouldn’t have signed her initials.” He handed the chart to La Barca. “Can you verify that these are your wife’s initials?”

La Barca carefully studied the initials. “They look like hers.”

Sister Angela interrupted. “Martino, why exactly did Carlota leave?”

The vintner sighed. “She complained for months before she left that I worked all the time. She threatened on several occasions in the last few weeks that she’d run off with one of the workers.” He looked up at Sister Angela. “I didn’t believe her because she didn’t seem to pay attention to any of them. I guess she wanted more from me. I was too busy to give her more attention.”

“What do you mean?” asked the nun.

“She thought her life would be easier—marrying a successful winemaker. It was a fantasy, of course. All the winemakers I know work many hours.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Three years.”

“And no children?”

“We’d planned to have children, yes. But the winery struggled to make money. Our nest egg never grew.”

“Perhaps Carlota left because she was afraid you didn’t want children.”

“She might have complained about waiting,” said La Barca. “I thought she’d come back sooner so I didn’t touch her things. I figured she left them because she planned to return. I told you she was with her family, but I didn’t know for sure. Did she say she planned to return?”

Pagano squirmed. “We didn’t ask her that. We may have to bring her back though.”

“Why? Does she need to verify her initials? Why don’t you take the chart to her?”

Pagano looked up, seeming to scrutinize the prisoner’s face. “You don’t want her here? Are you trying to protect her or do you think she witnessed the crime?”

La Barca’s body visibly stiffened. “What crime? Did you find the orphan?”

The nun followed his gaze to the chief detective.

Pagano appeared uncomfortable. “Your wife seems to have been the last one to check the wine in a clay vat that was broken into.”

“Carlota would’ve reported there was a breach in one of the amphorae. An amphora holds a lot of wine. The loss could be staggering.”

“She wouldn’t have been able to test for sugars or check for its acidity,” said Pagano.

“Are you saying she signed the chart but didn’t do the work?”

“No, Signor La Barca. I’m telling you that the wine had been dumped out and replaced with a dead body. This chart suggests your wife was involved in a homicide.”

The guards removed La Barca when they heard yelling in the interrogation room. Pagano ordered espresso and cookies for the two remaining interrogators and sat across from the nun at the table.

“The fact that Carlota initialed the chart doesn’t mean she murdered the old nun,” said Sister Angela. “The chart actually indicates the acidity level. If she went to the trouble to dump out some of the wine and replace the space with a body, she wouldn’t have signed it, let alone tasted it.”

“Perhaps I just wanted to stir things up.”

“And what does Martino’s response tell you.”

“That he probably wasn’t acting. He didn’t seem to know about the body. I hoped he’d try to defend his wife, but he seemed surprised by our discovery.”

“That chart tells us our old nun was murdered about a ago,” said Sister Angela. “If Carlota signed the sheet and then left immediately, there was only Martino left to man the winery at night. Our interviews with the workers will shed more light on that.”

Sacco entered with a report from the medical examiner. Before reading it, he reached for one of the cookies. Sister Angela and Pagano waited for him to swallow.

“The victim was stabbed with a small knife. He was dead when he was stuffed into the amphora. About three-quarters of the wine remained in the amphora so his head was submerged, but there was no wine in his lungs.”

“I suppose we still don’t know the victim’s name.”

“No. There’s nothing in the report.”

“Elmo, you went through the clothing on the body,” said Pagano. “Was there nothing in the pockets?”

“No,” said Sacco.

“Which would be unusual. Someone must have emptied them to hide his identity,” said Sister Angela. “There was a partner.”

“How do you know?” asked Sacco.

“Because someone had to have taken Pia from him. Until we discover the child’s body, she’s still out there. The question is who took her and why?”

“Tomorrow I’m going back to the convent,” said Sister Angela at dinner. She buttered a piece of bread. “I need to find out where Pia came from. There has to be some connection to her kidnapping.”

“But the old nun’s here,” said Sister Daniela. “The connection’s to the winery next door to the orphanage.”

Taking a sip of Chianti, Sister Angela turned to face Michel. “Suppose you’ve just signed the chart above one of your barrels. If you’d murdered someone and stuffed him inside the barrel, would your have signed it?”

“Probably not. I’d have to cut up the body to get him into one of my barrels.”

“So Carlota La Barca most likely tasted the wine and signed the chart and went home. At dinnertime, she found that her husband was running late so she made her decision. She’d depart and go home to her parents. That leaves her husband home alone. Sometime during the week, someone murdered Pia’s abductor and, when all was quiet, dumped out enough wine to hold the body.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Michel.

“Because if the killer hadn’t dumped out some of the wine, the wine would’ve spilled over the top and stained the clay vessel.”

“Would you know that, Sister?” asked Sister Daniela. “I wouldn’t know to dump some of it out. I would’ve made a mess of the amphora.”

The mature nun gazed at her friend. “You’re right. We must conclude the killer knew something about the winery.”

The nun looked over at Susanna who sat dreamily next to her husband. “Are you feeling all right, Susanna? You haven’t said a thing. Aren’t I giving you a chance to speak?”

“I’m fine. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t check the other workers. It sounds like a local abduction and murder to me. Aren’t you all making this more complicated?”

Sister Angela smiled. “You’re right. But while we’re rounding up and interviewing the workers and suppliers, some of us can be following other leads. I believe the kidnapping somehow involves the child’s past.”

“We don’t know anything about her past, do we?” said Sister Daniela. “I thought that was a dead end.”

“I’m not so sure. That’s why I need you, Sister Daniela. Someone should be following what’s happening with the investigation here. I don’t think La Barca or his wife was involved, but neither has explained how the nun’s habit was buried under the vine and why Martino watered down the dirt over the hole it was buried in or why he raked the entire area, covering up any evidence we could’ve used to find Pia.”

Sister Daniela suddenly sat up. “You’ll have to speak with Mother Faustine, of course. Someone will have to take over in the classroom.”

“That might pose a problem. Do you think one of your students can help out there?”

“I’m willing to do whatever Mother Faustine tells me to do. You know that. I’m always up for investigative work.”

After a call from the chief detective, Sister Daniela drove to the station in Siena. She, Pagano, and Sacco convened in the interrogation room and sat around the table to enjoy a morning coffee. The break lasted only five minutes before Pagano asked Sacco for a report.

“We have five workers—all temporary. I thought La Barca said he had a fulltime winemaker helping him, didn’t he? None of these qualifies as a winemaker.”

“He probably only wanted to convey that his establishment was professional,” said Pagano. “He has a propensity for lying. Did the workers have any records?”

“No. We were able to look up each one. They have all worked in this or that winery all over the valley.”

“So we’ve established what? The old nun never worked there, right?”