Il Pane Della Vita (28 page)

As fall cast its spell on the landscape, Ciana found that he was no longer coming around. One evening, supposing that she was free to play with her daughter instead of wait
ing for him in the bedroom, she rose and toddled to the nursery, thinking of the games she and Regina could play. Opening the door, she looked up. The blood drained from her face. Her husband, sitting naked on the floor beside her daughter, was trying to teach his stepdaughter chess.

Suddenly aware of his wife’s presence,
Martinus disappeared through his daughter’s closet without bothering to explain his actions. Ciana grabbed some clothes from the same closet, dressed her daughter and pulled her down the hall. Then she put on some clothes from her own closet before exiting the house with her daughter and nothing else. Martinus did not call Fabri until the next morning, livid that Ciana had run out on him.

Sister Angela asked Bassi to pass the turn off for the monastery and take her to the small grocery store in Collinaterra. “I have a few items to pick up, if you don’t mind.” Grabbing a basket at the entry, she headed for the shelf that offered shampoos and soaps.

“Hello, Sister,” said a voice. The woman pushed a cart full of items in front of her. A toddler sat
in the seat, trying to pull boxes from the shelves around him.

“Ah, yes, Renata, isn’t it? What a cut
e little boy,” Sister Angela said, pinching his fat cheek.

“If you’
re busy, I can approach you later. I saw a picture of the pattern for a knife on Brother Pascal’s desk. I shouldn’t have snooped, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s not snooping if you recognized the picture,” said Sister Angela.

“Yes. I saw a knife like that in Brother Valente’s studio.”

“I didn’t know Brother Valente
had a studio. Where is it?”

“It’s in one of the outbuildings at Santo Velo.
The structure is on the northwest corner of the property.”

“Why would he have a knife?”

“He cuts the clay with it. He’s a potter. He makes earthenware that he sells to people in the surrounding villages. I don’t want to see him get into trouble, but I did see it.”

“Was it there when you last cleaned his studio?”

“I don’t think I noticed it then. I clean his studio bi-weekly. I might have noticed it about a month ago.”

The toddler began to fidget and whimper.”

“Thank you, Renata, for that information. I’ll follow up on it. It might be safer for you to keep quiet about what you saw. I wouldn’t want to spook the murderer.”

Renata looked alarmed. “I hope you don’t think Brother Valente is a murderer.”

“I don’t think he’s guilty. But one among you might be, and if he hears that you’re helping us…”

At dinner, Sister Angela asked Brother Salvatore if he knew Brother Valente.

“Yes, I know him pretty well. He’s the potter with a studio on the other side of the drive.”

The nun turned her head from side to side, wondering who might be listening. “I’m interested in earthenware,” she said. “I would love to meet him.”

“I don’t see him here.”

“Is he tall or short?”

Brother Salvatore smiled. “Taller than I am, but not like Brother Pietro. How about we stroll over there after breakfast tomorrow?”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, a windy storm tracked across the valley, hitting the monastery on the valley side. Sister Angela listened to the whistle of the strong gales through tiny fissures around the window frame while she read a mystery novel Brother Salvatore had offered her. The crack of a tree branch suddenly shook her. She turned off her light and sank into her pillow, trying not to think of solving the whodunit up the hill or the one on paper.

The dream came, but it would not be what the nun expected or wanted. It was dark
, and the nun did not know where she was. She followed a path down the mountain when she heard someone coming. Ducking behind a bush, Sister Angela tried to hold her breath, but her seemingly loud pants got louder the harder she tried to hold them in.

The footsteps belonged to a tall monk. His long gait overtook the bush in seconds. He was concentrating and not listening
for hideaways along the way.

He
doesn’t look scared
, noted Sister Angela.
It’s like he’s taking a walk on a sunny afternoon. I’ll have to follow him
.

But the hermit had disappeared into the trees.

The waterfall must be around here, but I don’t know where I should turn off.
She wandered around for what seemed like an hour but never saw the monk again. Instead her thoughts drifted to finding her way back to Santo Velo. She could follow the downward slope, but what if she missed Santo Velo on the way down? Where would she end up?

The nun sat straight up in her bed and soon realized she was
already at Santo Velo.
That’s odd
, she said to herself.
Could Brother Pietro have left the hermitage on his own? If so, which door did he take and why head to the waterfall? Who was he going to meet? Who did he trust to meet in the forest in the middle of the night?

She must have somehow gone back to sleep because when she opened her
eyes again, light streamed in from the window above her head. It was going to be another glorious day.

Grabbin
g coffee at the breakfast table, Sister Angela and Brother Salvatore walked out the back door and followed the drive to a little two-room building on the corner of the property.

“
Hello, Brother Valente?” called Sister Angela upon entering the room.

“I’m in here. I have something coming out of the kiln. Give me a minute.”