Il Pane Della Vita (37 page)

“Those toes came in handy yesterday,” said Sister Angela.

“Yeah, he’s practicing for the next escape.”

“Look at Brother Pascal. He’s not wearing his glasses because he’s afraid of breaking them. He seems to be enjoying himself. Is anyone drunk yet?”

“We’re just letting down,” said Brother Enrico, depositing the pretzels he stole from the bar on the table for everyone to enjoy. “I wish they’d give us some over here.”

“What abou
t Father Rafaello’s knife?” asked Brother Alonzo, suddenly perking up. ”He didn’t give that to the police too, did he?”

“I don’t know,” said Sister Angela. ”We’ll have to ask him tomorrow. Oh my, that remind
s me. Who makes breakfast on the Friday after the party here?”

“I set up the coffee with a h
eadache. I don’t guarantee it will be the best coffee, but most of us don’t notice that. Nico delivers bread in the morning so we have breakfast, just not a fancy one.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s nearly midnight. Maybe you guys sh
ould switch to glasses of water soon so you won’t feel so bad on the ride home. What time am I supposed to drive you home?”

“
Hey, guys,” said Brother Alonzo. “We have another hour. One more drink before we go. Sister Angela‘s afraid we’ll mess up the van. Let’s all show her how well-behaved we are.”

Sister Angela ordered another orange fizzy, but Brother Salvatore pulled her to her feet before she could take a sip. “Get up and dance with me,” he said. He jumped up and down while sh
e moved her feet. Then he leapt out of the way and let another brother take his turn.

Sister Angela sat down as soon as she realized her dance partner was not one of the monks.

“Closing time,” announced the bartender. “Two minutes to closing time. Bring your dishes to the bar.”

The monks gulped down the rest of their final drinks while Brother Enrico pocketed the rest of the pretzels o
n the bar. Then she stuffed her brood into the van and sat herself in the driver’s seat. “No one in here is sick,” she said before starting the motor. “If so, please change places with the monk beside you so you have a window.”

The engine sputtered and died. There was silence. She turned the key again and the engine wound up until it roared. Everyone cheered. The nun
stepped on the accelerator and slowly released the clutch. They would be home in twenty minutes. Father Rafaello would have stayed up in order to make sure they safely arrived and then close everything down.

Sister Angela went to bed, satisfied that her job was done. She gazed at her alarm clock beside her pillow.
It
had already started. Monte and Draco probably returned Brother Pietro’s body to the hermitage, and his brothers had already washed his body and rubbed it with herbs and perfumes. Then they would have replaced the habit in which he was found with a clean one and taken the body to the church where it would lie until morning.

He
won’t be alone,
thought Sister Angela, relieved that his mistakes had not influenced the way they delivered him to heaven.
After all, he had dedicated his life to the Lord for twenty years, keeping his vows the entire time.

In the morning, Sister Angela would join with all the monks and most of Collinaterra to see him off. It would be solemn and joyful at the same time.

Sister Angela was up early, adrenalin masking her lack of sleep. The dining room was empty, save for a few who had to prepare for the celebration later in the day.

“
Bassi is waiting for you, Sister,” said Brother Alonzo. “You’re included in the monks who are processing past the body before the church is opened to the public. Here are two coffees, one for you and one for Ignazio. There are a couple of rolls in the bag and a luncheon after the burial. The monks are trying not to eat too much now.”

The nun proceeded to the front portico and approached Bassi’s car. “Here you are
, Ignazio. I’m told I have to hurry to make the processional.” The nun stopped to think. “But not too fast. I would hate to end up back down here because we couldn’t keep the car on the road.”

“Don’t worry, Sister. We still have a few minutes to spare.”

“What are
you
going to do?”

“They will open the chapel door after your viewing so the townspeople can attend the service too. I’ll come in with them.”

The nun processed with the abbey monks who followed the hermits around the church, singing. The sound of both choirs together was heavenly. She marveled at how nice Brother Pietro looked and thought of Gina, who had not been able to view him yet. After circling the pews, they recessed out the door for another procession that would lead the villagers inside. The line of people circled the pews once more, slowing down in front of the body. Then the monks filled up the front pews of the church, hermits on one side and monks on the other. Sister Angela sat in the first pew behind the monks. The townspeople ambled in to the back pews, including nuns from a neighboring Benedictine abbey. Was Brother Salvatore’s sister here?

Brother Francisco carried
the cross up the center aisle. The abbot brought up the rear. The two choirs, the monks and hermits, stood to sing. The sound in the
chiesa
was both beautiful and haunting.

After about twenty minutes of singing, the two groups began to repeat psalms, followed by more singin
g. The Eucharist followed that and the recession began. The morning air was moist, a fog clung to the treetops on the side of the mountain.

Sister Angela found Nico and Gina and guided them down an ally along the side of the kitchen building to a perimeter gate that op
ened onto a small cemetery. The monks and townspeople lined the walkway, waiting for the wooden casket, carried by six of the hermits, to pass them on their way to the field. A century earlier, bodies of hermits would be buried without a wooden box, but times had changed. At least they kept the box simple.

Everyone surrounded the gravesite as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground. Prayers we
re repeated and more hymns sung. Everyone present picked up a handful of dirt and threw it on the lid of the casket. Then the hermits removed their habits. They grabbed the shovels that lay beside the mound of dirt and began to fill the hole.

Tears streamed down Gina’s cheeks as Nico held her close.

Beyond the cemetery, a large tent was erected overnight. Nico kissed his wife and jogged toward it to join Brother Alonzo, Brother Pozza, and Brother Augeri at the food tables.

Brother Salvatore and Brother Enrico stood by set card tables. Brother Salvatore seated Gina and Sister Angela at one of the best tables. The abbot and Brother Francisco joined them
after serving the two women lunch. When everyone was seated, the feast began. Meat, cooked on grills, salads, and pasta were available. For dessert, Nico served luscious pasties the nun hadn’t seen in his bakery. When everyone was served, they ate and talked.

“Tell me, Sister,” said Brother Francisco. “Did they ever find out how Brother Pietro left the
eremo
?”

“Before Lauds, he found a note in his cottage that Gina supposedly wrote, asking him to come ta
lk with her at the waterfall. Brother Pietro attended the service as far as we can tell and left through the back perimeter gate. He circled the hermitage to the trailhead on the other side of the parking lot. Brother Bruno walked up to Brother Pietro’s cottage and set the timer to go off in twenty minutes, giving him plenty of time to leave the area. Then he, too, left through the back and continued to the waterfall where he stabbed Brother Pietro. He concealed his body under rocks—not a very effective way to hide it, I might add.”

“But how did they get through the gate without the doorman seeing him?”

“Brother Bruno, technical genius, rigged the camera to just shoot one scene the entire time. The doormen should have caught that. Either they weren’t very good at their jobs, or they were too lazy to see why no one ever went through that gate, even though the hermits all possessed keys.”

“And the note?”

“Somehow destroyed.

“I didn’t write it,” said Gina.
“I was having problems with my grandfather. He was ill and needed me at Campofiore. I had heard about the explosion before I left but had no idea it was my father until days later.”

Morena and Loria pulled their chairs up to the table.

“Did you get a plate, Monte?” Sister Angela asked. “I’ll get Brother Salvatore to serve you too. There’s also beer and wine, unless you’re working. Then I strictly forbid it.”

“Yes,” said Loria. “We have to drive down the mountain and work the rest of the afternoon.”

“We just wanted to thank you for everything you did to help us, Sister Angela. Draco has a badge for you that you can use whenever you visit.”

“Thank you. I would love to work as a consultant any time you want me. I’m afraid you already have one, however. Brother Salvatore is ready to help you when you need it—with the permission of Father Raf
aello, of course.” She nodded to the abbot.

“I would appreciate that,” the abbot said. “Brother Salvatore is very dear to us in the monastery, and we wouldn’t want to lose him.”

The nun signaled to Brother Salvatore to bring some food for the detectives, and he ran off to fill their plates.

Gina passed the bread around the table.

“This is wonderful, Gina. Did you make it or did Nico?”

“Nico won’t let me cook. Since I returned he has waited on me hand and foot. I’m certain it won’
t last, but I’ll appreciate the rest while it does.”

“How do you think Brother Bru
no found Brother Pietro?” Morena asked Sister Angela.

“He was here at least six months before he made his move, wasn’t he, Father?”

“Actually, Brother Bruno was a pretty good monk. He kept your computers up to date and answered all technical questions concerning the phone. Online records were kept safe for almost a year. We’ll have trouble replacing him.”

“At least you don’t depend on him, Father Rafaello,” said Sister Angela. “
Santo Velo has survived for centuries with little or no technology.”