Chianti Classico (2 page)

Sister Daniela scooped the broccoletti and ricotta mixture into the small paccheri pasta bowls she’d prepared by standing the hollow noodles on end. Then she sprinkled the tops with breadcrumbs and hot pepper flakes. She placed the bowl into a tray of water in the oven to steam.

Michel walked in to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Sister Daniela said nothing. It wasn’t her place to tell her brother-in-law to wash his hands in the washroom when it was his house.

“Did you talk to Susanna today?” she asked. “I went to take her espresso, but she was asleep.”

“She was okay this morning. There’s an apron in the drawer if you want to keep your habit clean.”

The nun looked down at a stain on the front of her black blouse. “Luckily, I have another. I can wash it out and hang it on the line so I have a backup. You’re right, of course. I should keep myself tidier. I’m just not used to cooking for everyone.”

Michel smiled. “I’m very grateful you came to help out. Susanna doesn’t do well after one of her chemo sessions. I found I wasn’t spending enough time on the vineyard when I alone had to care for her.”

“What can go wrong during the summer before the grapes are picked?”

“A lot, actually. Weather can affect the grapes. We have to make sure we minimize the effects of too much heat or cold. I also have to supervise when the aging wine’s checked for irregularities in the process. Anything can happen when you leave others on their own. Classico can have a life of its own. If
I want the DOCG label from the control panel so that it’s even called Chianti, I have to have my eyes on the whole process
.
Too many vintners have sent second-class wines to restaurants, giving a bad name to the rest of us.”

“You use the oak barrels, don’t you?”

“Yes. I went the traditional route. I have to work hard but can achieve a beefier taste while the wine’s aging in the barrels. If for some reason the taste is off and I can’t adjust it, my investment’s lost.”

“Sounds complicated. You know, we had a young child go missing from the orphanage today,” said Sister Daniela, chopping tomatoes and tossing them into a bowl of lettuce.

“Did you find her?”

“No. I tell you this because the police might come knocking on your door, wanting to inspect the house and outbuildings. At least, I hope they do because I want them to find her.”

“You think she might have come here?”

“Or was brought here or any other place within walking distance of the orphanage.”

“Maybe I should check everything out right after dinner,” he said, taking time to savor his glass of wine.”

“That’d be nice. I’d help you, but I want to make sure Susanna’s fed before she falls asleep again.”

“What am I looking for?”

“She’s six years old with black curls that fall to just below her chin. She was last seen wearing pajamas, but the woman who supposedly walked her out of the orphanage might have had another set of clothes for her.”

“Woman? What did she look like?”

Sister Daniela grimaced. She hadn’t really concentrated on how the woman was described. “She supposedly wore a habit and was old. I had my students draw pictures of her but haven’t had time to looked at them yet. I haven’t accomplished much to help them, actually.”

“There’s still a lot of light left. I’ll have time to check out the buildings to see if anything might have changed. I think my fellow winemaker, Lucardi, is probably still around. He can help me.”

The nun served Michel his dinner and sat down to pick at her own. “Maximo Lucardi, isn’t it? I met him yesterday. He asked me about Susanna. He’s a very nice man. “

“And he knows what he’s doing. I’m lucky he works for me.”

After she finished wiping up and washing dishes, Sister Daniel grabbed her folder of pictures the children had drawn and lay over her full bed in the guestroom across the hall from her sister’s to examine them. She looked at the first, drawn by Terza. The woman she sketched was clearly a nun, her habit completely enveloping her body, and her head practically a tiny dot under the weight of an oversized, bulging wimple. The equally tiny hands, barely peeking out from her sleeves, were skeleton-like. The next sketch was Allegra’s. The more mature artist drew someone hunched over the nearby bed. Below, she drew a profile of the woman’s face, perhaps seen after the woman got up to leave with Pia. The hair peeking out from a wimple was stringy, maybe gray—hard to tell because the pictures were in black and white. The nun’s face was lined, and her nose was long and crooked. Did she look like Sister Octavia? Sister Daniela couldn’t tell. Another picture showed a nun on a broomstick.

This must be Cammeo’s
, said Sister Daniela to herself.
Is there anything to glean from this?
She stopped and laid out the pictures side by side. All three drawings showed a woman in a long habit and wimple—something worn by sisters in fewer and fewer convents nowadays. The figures in all sketches were tall and thin.

She turned over a few more drawings and wrote down some of the details. Within fifteen minutes, however, she was asleep, dreaming of witches and nuns herself.

An hour later she startled. What time was it? She heard a noise downstairs.

Michel held onto the front doorknob while he slipped out of his muddy boots.

Sister Daniela descended the stairs with some dishes. “She’s awake if you want to see her. She looks quite good. Maybe she can get out of bed tomorrow. I’d like that. It’s easier to help her wash her hair when she can stand up. Did the police ever come by?”

“Yes, but Lucardi and I had already checked everything. Nothing new except…”

“Except what?”

“You know how it drizzled last night—not a lot, just enough to make it difficult to walk between the rows of vines to check the grapes. It’s clumping now, but I still need a stick to clean my boots.”

“Yes. It was sunny this morning, though.”

“Well, a car turned around in the drive sometime during the night. The police noticed it and asked if we’d been out during the night or early this morning. Lucardi said he left about eight to pick up a date and take her to a bar in town, but it hadn’t yet rained. He was the last to leave. They took casts of all the tracks, including the ones for our trucks.”

“And you were here. I know because your bedroom door was open, and I could hear you snoring.” Sister Daniela felt her face grow hot. “I didn’t mean that it kept me up.”

“Susanna complains about my snoring too. Don’t worry about embarrassing me.”

“Susanna must have eaten heartily. Her dishes are empty. That’s a good sign. I sat beside the bed and examined those drawings I told you about.”

“What did you find?”

“Most were nothing. I really wanted to examine the ones drawn by Pia’s roommates. One of them said she dreamed of a nun in the room. It looked the same as one of the others who said she awoke and saw the nun but went back to sleep. They figured it was Sister Octavia, an elderly nun belonging to the same order in Siena. Most of the drawings do look like her, but Sister Octavia doesn’t go out much anymore. She’s in her nineties and can only get around with a walker. I’m not sure a walker could help her get up to the attic. And nobody heard or saw a walker.”

“So they thought it was this Sister Octavia and drew how they remembered Sister Octavia. Perhaps they didn’t really see the old woman.”

“The main thing is that Sister Octavia’s very tall and skinny. That’s how they described the woman who took Pia. I tend to believe the girls actually saw a nun or someone who looked like her.”

He walked into the kitchen as Sister Daniela took the phone out of her pocked and pecked at the tiny keypad. She waited for the older nun to pick up her red cell phone. When it went to her voicemail, Sister Daniela left a message, “Sister Angela. I need you here. Please get Mother Margarita’s permission to visit

us and get here as quickly as possible.”

Sister Angela waited outside Mother Margherita’s office. She squirmed. Her chair was far too small for her ample backside. There should be chairs for adults. What happens when the parents have to meet with the mother superior? Is this waiting room designed to make everyone uncomfortable?

She heard Sister Marcella put down the phone with a click and looked up. The headmistress’ secretary gazed back at Sister Angela and smiled.

You think I look funny in this chair, don’t you?
Sister Angela thought. She sat up straight and glanced away.
Well, I’m not going to give you the pleasure of making your day.

The door to the office suddenly opened, and a man and a woman walked out. Behind them, Sister Margherita paused in the doorway and gestured for Sister Angela to enter. The nun started to stand when her knees resisted. Praying that God spare her the humiliation of asking for help getting out of this devil of a chair, she was finally able to extricate herself and move slowly toward the office. Is that Sister Marcella quietly snickering?

“Sister Angela, I know why you’re here,” Mother Margherita said before she returned to her seat across the desk from the nun. “You got a call from Sister Daniela saying she needed help on a case of a missing child. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I got a message from Sister Daniela last night. I didn’t answer, afraid that I would incur the resistance of the diocese. Sister Daniela was retired as a junior detective when she became a teacher, wasn’t she? I come here seeking your advice.”

The mother superior beamed. “I’m honored that you would come to me first, though I doubt you’ll follow direction regardless of my opinion.”

“I don’t wish to get Sister Daniela into trouble.”

“You’re off the hook. Sister Daniela made it so that she and she alone is responsible.”

“I have no idea why she’s there, Mother.”

“Oh yes, you were away when she left. Her sister lives in Filari and is undergoing chemotherapy for her cancer. The sister’s husband asked Sister Daniela to come and help. While there, she wanted to be useful during the days her sister didn’t need her. I believe she’s helping the Mission Sisters in Siena. They run an orphanage within walking distance of the brother-in-law’s winery. They needed a teacher. I assume the missing child’s from the orphanage. I have no other details to share.”

“But Father Sergio, the bishop’s assistant, is surely going to want to interfere in this case. Aren’t you afraid of his wrath?”

“This isn’t a big deal unless you make it one, Sister Angela. As of yesterday, you and the students went on summer holiday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I planned to sleep in this morning, but I was concerned about Sister Daniela and her case.”

“What you do during the three weeks of your vacation is your business, not mine. If you decide to travel to this village and take in some rest and relaxation, I can’t stop you because I won’t be aware of it.”

Sister Angela smiled.

“I only ask that you keep your little red cell phone with you so I can call you in time to remind you to return and join your students in four weeks.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I assume you usually book public transportation when you have holiday destinations in mind. That’s important because getting you a driver might attract unwanted attention.”

“I understand, Mother. I gather the ears in this office are agreed not to let this information go outside.”

Mother Margherita’s lips thinned—a bad sign that Sister Angela recognized immediately.

“Yes, you can call this office if you need to,” said the mother superior. “I would suggest you leave the message that you want me to return your call and say nothing about the case or Sister Daniela. That way you don’t have to talk about my secretary as if she’s a spy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” said Sister Angela, thrilled that Mother Margherita seemed to be joining her in the conspiracy. “Would you like me to keep you informed about the details?”

“Good Lord, no. The less I know the better. If, however, you run into some sort of impasse, I might be a resource. That said I’ve never known you to run into one you couldn’t break yourself.”

“Then I’ll reserve my tickets now,” said Sister Angela standing. She felt much better, knowing Mother Margherita thought her a capable detective.

“So that she doesn’t worry and return too early, please tell Sister Daniela that Sister Eloisa’s becoming a strong teacher and that she must stay and take care of her sister. As for you, don’t let this go to your head. I expect you back in three weeks to welcome your new students. I’m a teacher short and am not prepared to teach in addition to my other chores.”

“What about…”

The lips thinned again.

Sister Angela, her hand on the doorknob, stopped and smiled. “I know what you believe I was going to say, Mother, and you’re right. Think about it. If someone in the outer office had to do it herself, she might be more polite once she saw how hard we all worked.” Sister Angela was out the door before the mother superior could answer about anything concerning her secretary, Sister Marcella.

Sister Angela had to hurry. She planned to visit Chief Detective Allesandro DiMarco before she caught the bus to Petraggio.

“Is he in?” she asked upon arriving at the station unannounced.

“Yes, of course,” said the police constable on duty. He lifted the counter and gestured for her to enter. “He’s in his office.”

Sister Angela peeked through the open door and found him sitting at his desk, deep in thought.

“Hello, Allesandro,” she said. “I’m on my way to Siena. I have a case.”

“Ah, my favorite detective, Sister Angela,” he said, standing. “What can I do for you? It’s been quiet here. I suppose it could get busier now that school’s out but probably not a murder or robbery. Maybe a drunk and disorderly call. That isn’t quite up your alley, is it?”

“As I said, my services have been requested in Siena. A child, an orphan, has disappeared.”

“They must have heard about your talents. Did Father Sergio call you in?”

“Sister Daniela’s working at an orphanage in one of the villages. She called. It isn’t official. It’s actually my holiday. The diocese hasn’t been consulted.”

“Ah, winetasting. It can’t be all bad, I suppose.”

Sister Angela smiled. “No, it isn’t all bad, but still—they’re looking for the child in earnest. She may not have a family, but the nuns who run the orphanage are just as worried. I was wondering…”

“I’m looking it up, Sister.” His fingers danced across his laptop keyboard. “It’s Chief Detective Ricco Pagano. I’m afraid I don’t know him. Would you like me to inform him you’re coming?”

“That would be nice. I’m sure they have lots of support. Siena’s much bigger than Montriano.”

“And I’m certain they’ll want you to reveal some of our winemaking secrets, Sister. They’re in the Chianti Classico area. Our vintners are in direct competition with theirs. Keep our secrets to yourself.”

“If I knew them, I would zip my lips. Too much alcohol might lead to loose ones, but without a car or knowledge of our methods, I can do little more than embarrass Montriano and the
scuola media
.”

On the way back down the hill to the school, Sister Angela stopped at San Benedetto Church where she sat in the cool interior to pray for the sisters’ success in locating the child. Making her way up the center aisle, she let her eyes follow the Stations of the Cross on one of the walls. Then she gazed the altar. To the right, the Virgin Mother drew in all her visitors. To the left, the white marble rendering of St. Francis of Assisi offered his services to protect the animals and all those poor souls who seek his blessing. Sister Angela took a seat in front of him and fingered her beads. She didn’t have time to repeat all the prayers on her rosary, but she could whisper some of them. After about ten minutes, she felt energized and exited as quietly as she entered.

At the
scuola media
, Sister Angela walked to the office and grabbed her packed bag. Then she hiked down the hill to catch the bus to the terminal in Petraggio where she’d transfer to another bus on its way to Siena.

Finally seated on the train, the nun retrieved a bottle of cold water from her red-striped tote and sat back to watch the olive orchards and vineyards sweep by. She loved Montriano and Petraggio. The two hill towns were her home. She’d never leave them, but her detective work was also important. She loved watching the world go by. Unfortunately, she usually traveled because something happened outside of Montriano, and this was no exception.

Sister Angela had been to Siena once before. She knew the large cathedral in the center of the city. All the hills and roads seemed to lead the visitor to its front steps. But the group of nuns that worked in Siena lived in an old house closer to the Basilica. Sister Angela worried that the distance between the Basilica and Filari, where Sister Daniela lived and worked, wasn’t supported by a bus. How would she get there? Would she have go into town to discuss clues with the police?

Some of her questions would be answered as she descended the steps of the bus across from the train terminal.

The nun heard a honk from a faded Fiat idling along the curb across the street.

“Sister Angela? Are you looking for someone affiliated with the
suore di missione
?”

Sister Angela waved and put her tote over the opposite shoulder. The driver leaned over to open the passenger door for the older nun. “I’m Sister Liona.”