Il Pane Della Vita (9 page)

F
ive minutes later, Neri stuck his head into the room. “I can assure you I am very busy today,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with
then, Mr. Neri. The sooner we start, the sooner you can get back to work. Please sit down.”

Brother
Salvatore entered behind the manager and placed a cup in front of the nun. “I remembered that you used both cream and sugar in your coffee at breakfast.”

“I’m surprised you noticed,
Brother Salvatore.”

“I’m in training to be a cook, Sister. The cooks will ask me those details when I return to the kitchen after a meal. I must learn that about all the brothers and report it.”

Neri continued. “Remember that I work during the day and would not have seen anything that happened during nighttime hours.”

Sister Angela smiled broadly. “I understand that,” she said. “But your position at this hermitage is very important. I find it difficult to believe that you don’t have a hand in everything. The night manager…”

“Mr. Scali.”

“Luciano Scali, yes. Mr. Scali usually waits for you to
arrive to update you on what happened during night.”

Neri’s shoulders slumped forward a bit. “Yes. I am trying to remember what he said that morning.
”

“He told you there had been an accident, right?”

“He talked about the gas tanks that had been installed to supply the houses with heat. We discuss that frequently because he disagreed that we should locate them so close to the property. They were placed on the other side of the parking lot at my suggestion.”

“Mr. Scali tho
ught one of the tanks blew up? Did Mr. Scali witness the explosion?”

“He said he did, but as we
are now aware, the tanks did not explode.”

“Have you talked about it since then?”

“We have not discussed much since that night. I am afraid I lost my temper, Sister. He was trying to discredit me by criticizing one of my decisions. I accused him of wanting to work the daytime shift, thereby making him in charge.”

“Have you tried to speak with him again?”

“No. I reported him and am awaiting permission to fire him.”

“Who dispenses the permissions?”

“The abbot does. I have not heard from the abbot yet. I suspect he is investigating. He should look more carefully into Scali’s background. I think he may have been fired before.”

“I see. Did the police ask you any questions?”

“They asked me to let them in to investigate again when there was light. They asked me for a list of visitors.”

“But you let them in the night of the explosion and fire, didn’t you?”

“The night administrator, Scali, would have let them in, and I believe he did. They had to know if anyone was hurt.”

“Do t
hey have a list of those who have visited the hermits lately?”

“No. I have not given it to them.”

“I would like that list, Mr. Neri.”

“I can only give it to you at the request of—”

“The abbot, yes. You will get that tomorrow. Please have it ready for me to see.”

“But
…”

The nun
slipped him one of those looks that only she could do.

“You will have it tomorrow, Sister.”

“What do you know about Brother Pietro? Have you ever spoken to him?”

“You
are aware that they don’t speak directly.”

“I
understand that someone has to inform them who’s calling on a hermit and the time of the visit. They have to tell you what they want to eat, don’t they?”

“They usually leave notes.”

“And what did that hermit want from you when I entered the gate yesterday? I passed him as he went into the administrative building. Did he just leave you a note then?”

“Brother Donato asked me to give him a bottle of wine for a guest that was coming the next day.”

“Was it a note?”

“No.”

“So you’re the one who speaks with the hermits when they need something.”

“Yes.”

“So tell me about Brother Pietro.”

“There are only t
wo ordained priests living as
eremiti
now. They are Brother Pietro and Brother Francisco.”

“What do you know about
Brother Pietro?”

“I know that he has always been here.”

“Where? Up here? He was a hermit when you arrived at the hermitage?”

“No. He came to the
eremo
immediately after arriving at the monastery. Most of the
eremiti
do only periods of time here. Many cannot take the quiet for long periods of time. I believe Brother Tiberio
will be leaving us at the end of the month. We shall have to prepare the house for someone new.”

“Once they return to the monastery, do they ever become hermits again?”

“Oh yes. Brother Tiberio has been here several times.”

“How long do they usually last?”

“On the average, they stay from four to six months at a time.”

“What about the ordained
priests? Do they stay longer?”

“No. They too return—except
Brother Pietro.”

“Why? Did he have a difficult time before coming to this monastery?”

“I would not know that. The
eremiti
do not reveal their secrets to me. You will have to ask the abbot for more information.”

“Do the
priests do anything different during their time here? Do they hear confessions and lead the brothers in prayer?”

“Yes, at least
Brother Francisco does. I am not sure I ever heard Brother Pietro lead the others in prayer though. He seemed to be quieter than the others. Few have talked about him—like they were not acquainted with him. And confession? Did Brother Francisco listen to Brother Pietro’s confessions? I do not know.”

“Di
d anyone ever speak badly of Brother Pietro in front of you?”

“No. Nor would they say anything personal to me, Sister. I serve them. I am not an equal.”

“Who told you the details about the explosion?”

“No
one. I could see it was not the gas tanks, Sister. I am not blind. I checked those right away. I looked at the house. There is tape on the door, but I looked inside. I saw nothing there. It was empty. I saw the damage, but the police have never given me the details.”

“What about the fact that
Brother Pietro is dead?”

“Is he
? I heard that the body has not been located.”

“
Who told you that? One of the brothers?”

“No. I do
not know. I heard it through the chatter, I suppose.”

“Not from the police?”

“I barely saw them on that first day.”

“One of your employees?”

“I really do not remember.” Neri wiped perspiration from his upper lip.

“Anything else?”

“I have heard that there might have been some kind of miracle.”

“Did you hear that from one of help? A cook,
maybe? Or perhaps a housekeeper?”

“No.
I heard it from one or more of the brothers, Sister. I cannot remember which, but I assume one of them will tell you when you interview him.”

“So you’
ll pull together for me a list of visitors for the last two months and give me copies tomorrow morning.”

“For
Brother Pietro?”

“For all the hermits.
I would also like to see the paperwork passed around about the gas tank.”

“But a gas tank did not explode.”

“I would like to see what the difficulties were concerning the instillation of the tanks and if anyone from the gas company has visited in the last year. Let me see. I would also like to see who attended the services in the last week.”

“I a
m not sure the
eremiti
keep track of that, Sister. Their attendance is not official, you know. Perhaps one of the
eremiti
who went to the service can help you.”

“
I have a hermit visit in a half hour. Let me see, it’s Brother Gustavo. What can you tell me about him?”

“He is our newest
eremita, having arrived about a month ago. I barely know him. Perhaps the other
eremiti
do. He has the first house closest to the gate.”

The nun sat up. “
Other than coming here to see you or visiting the kitchen, do the hermits ever leave the premises?”

“I a
m sure they do, Sister, though if it is to meet with someone outside the
eremo
, it would sort of defeat the purpose of their being here. I have seen outsiders come through the chapel door to visit us or go to church but have never seen any of the
eremiti
leave.”

“It is locked at night?”

“Though the
eremiti
have keys to the gate, it is locked all the time to prevent unwanted visitors from bothering the
eremiti
.” The door from the chapel is locked except at specific times. The front door to the chapel is only open during the day. The doorman locks that up at night.

“You’
re free to get back to your job, Mr. Neri. I appreciate your candor. It will help me with the other interviews.”

Neri rose but seemed to have lost some of his arrogance. “I am glad I helped, Sister. I have confidence you will find out what happened, but I also hope you do not destroy the peaceful quiet of our holy place on the mountain.”

The nun watched him leave the room.
We cannot save this happy little hermitage without discovering and excising the cancer, Mr. Neri.
She stopped in mid-thought. “I thought we were investigating a miracle, Brother Salvatore. How would that ruin his pretty little hermitage? I don’t believe God would let that happen.”

Brother Salvatore sidled up to the nun’s table and stood quietly.

“Do y
ou need to reset my table?” she asked, removing her reading glasses and lifting her laptop.

The monk
deftly pushed the clean white linen under the laptop and scurried to the other side to pull it into place. “Are we going to the
eremo
again early in the morning?”

Sister Angela put down the laptop and folded it shut. “No, not so early. I believe we should go into Collinaterra and find the gas com
pany. We’ll leave the same time,about twenty minutes to eight, but we’ll have a little diversion before we head up. You don’t have any problem with that, do you, Brother? Did anyone say they needed you to stay and help here?”

“No, I’m fine, but there’
s a little bakery in Collinaterra that serves great rolls, Sister Angela. We can skip breakfast here and eat in the village.” He squirmed.

“Sounds like a good idea to me. Do they have coffee? What’s wrong?”

“I have to check my change, Sister. I’m not sure I have enough money until the beginning of the month.”

“Maybe you spend too muc
h on your monthly trip to visit the pub in Avalle. Is that possible?”

Brother
Salvatore shot her a sheepish smile.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m buying for both you and Ignazio.”

“Do you need me for anything else tonight?”

“No, w
hy don’t you get permission to sleep until they need help with the bread? I was just taking notes. I think I’ll hand Mr. Neri a list of names in the order
I
want to speak with them. It will take forever if we talk to people who know nothing first.”

When she reached her room, Sister A
ngela sat down to send an email to Father Sergio. Though she had already broken her promise to write him often, she proceeded to tell him about the interviews with the service people at the hermitage.
So
far
, she wrote,
most of the people I have interviewed have not mentioned the resident as having an ascension. Of course, these are regular Christians who do not necessarily think such a miracle important to their daily lives.

Relieved that she had at least tried to communicate with the office that hired her, she then wrote an email to Chief Detective Morena, asking him if his medical examiner, Dr. Zaza
, had anything more to report. She also let him know that she had interviewed Neri, Pozza, the day cook, and Rodino, the dishwasher. She would also love some kind of report on Scali, the night administrator that Pozza mentioned.

Then she sat back to watch a bit of television while she got ready for bed.
No TV in my cell in Montriano,
she said to herself.
This is certainly a treat I could get used to
. The television continued through the night, but the nun did not. She could not keep her eyes open through the first commercial.

When the car stopped,
Brother Salvatore tumbled out of the seat and opened the door for Sister Angela. “I love this place,” said Salvatore. “You have to see the pastries.”

“Nico’s P
anetteria,” said Sister Angela. “It sounds heavenly already.”

Bassi entered and held the door for the nun.

“Hello Nico,” said Brother Salvatore. “We would like something fresh and sweet. What have you got?”

“Good morning, Brother. I have
sfogliatelle
just out of the oven. The
panettone
is fresh this morning, and of course, the cannoli. The ricotta is so sweet I do not need to add sugar.” He kissed his fingers. “Excuse me, Brother, but I see we have a
bella donna
among us.” He reached out to take the nun’s hands in his. “Sister, please, what can I get you this morning?”

“This is Sister Angela, a noted detective from Montriano,” said
Brother Salvatore.

“Yes? I know Montriano. It
is nearly as beautiful as its residents.”

A woman appeared from a door at the back an
d approached with a pan lined with
sfogliatelle.

“
And this is my
bellissima moglie,
Gina.” He slipped his arm around his wife’s waist, but she pulled away.

The nun inhaled
the smells of fresh-baked pastries, setting the pleasing scent in her memory. “I would like one of the fresh
sfogliatelle
,” she said. “And some coffee, please.”

“Americano or espresso?”

“Espresso.”

Salvatore ordered one too, and
Bassi asked for a slice of
pannitone
.

The group sat at a table and anxiously awaited their treats.

When the baker delivered their coffee and breakfast, Sister Angela asked. “Do you know the hermitage on the hill, Nico?”

“Yes. I
bake bread for both Santo Velo and the
eremo
.”

“I wondered if that bread was yours.
Each morning and evening, I look forward to spreading it with the fresh preserves. Noting the number of brothers at the monastery, you must sell quite a bit there.”

“Yes, my bakery sells to several enterprises around here. It is a good business, no? Someone from Santo Velo arrives at the back
door every morning, very early, and I pack up the warm loaves for him.”

“How long
has this bakery been in business here?”

“
More than four or five years now. Yes, this year is my fifth. The previous baker had to retire, and I was here to pay him for the store and equipment. It was a good deal for us both.”

“Did he
also sell to the monastery?”

“I do
not think so. I believe they baked their own bread. In fact they still do, but they cannot produce nearly enough for the number of monks there. They came to me a few years after I opened and asked me to bake for them.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t asked for pastries too.”

The monk laughed. “Father Rafaello worries we’ll get too fat. We don’t work in the fields as some monks do. We make wine, beer, cheese and produce artwork. We sit and chant most of the time. Can you imagine what we’d look like if we ate pastries every day?”

“You exercise when you go to Avalle, do you not?”

“Yes. Once a month we go to town and dance like we’re crazy. Unfortunately, what calories we burn off, we make up for with beer and other alcoholic beverages. You know that, Ignazio. You often have to come drive us home because we can’t see straight.”

“
Allora
,” said Bassi. “I have to drive them home when they call and then find a way to get their car back to the monastery too.”

The nun again turned to Nico. “Did you see the explosion?”

“No, I was too busy. Gina went out with friends that evening. She certainly deserves a night off. Anyway, I was alone and busy making the bread. I did not know anything had happened until the monastery came to pick up the loaves the next morning. I asked Gina if she heard anything, and she was just as surprised as I was.”

“Did you know Brother Pietro?”

Nico looked away for just a second. “I am sorry. I thought I heard something. I thought Gina would be coming out with more
pannitone
. You say it was Brother Pietro? No. Has he ever been sent here to pick up bread?”

“
No, he is an
eremita
,” said Brother Salvatore. “He would never come for that.”