Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) (8 page)

Sofia eased her car onto the freeway from Florence to
Bologna on her journey north toward the Piedmont and the Italian-French border.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax her tense shoulders somewhat. Sofia
was used to the multilane freeways in California, but here she felt insecure in
the jungle of signs, the fast-driving Italian cars, and the seemingly
never-ending construction sites.

No more gentle hills and fields
with colorful wildflowers. Ugly industrial compounds replaced the farms,
vineyards, and olive groves.

Another new challenge was the
constant toll stations on the freeways and the numerous gates. The first time
she approached one, she had no idea which gate to drive through and just
followed a line of cars. By accident, it was the right one. There was a
serious-looking but polite woman pointing at a box with a slit. Sofia pushed
her credit card in, hoping it would work. Fortunately, it did. The barrier
opened and Sofia drove on, exhaling deeply. The relief, however, lasted only a
moment. A multitude of new freeway signs pointing in all directions confused
her again. Luckily, she found the one to Bologna and continued her journey.

Angelo, you better make this
worth my while
. The next major city past Bologna was Parma, famous for its
prosciutto
by the same name. The farther north Sofia drove, the more relaxing and pleasant
the drive was. The view of the Alps was breathtaking. Perhaps one day she’d be
able to visit France or Switzerland together with Nicholas.

About four hours later, she saw
the exit sign to Ivrea and got off the freeway. After a few wrong turns, she
found her way to the town of Pavone and to Tina’s place. On the way there, she
got a glimpse of the Castello di Pavone, the impressive-looking castle on the
hill above the town.

Tina was an elderly woman, short
and plump, with gray, curly hair and a friendly smile in her wrinkled face.
Sofia liked her right away. She spoke a little English and with Sofia’s broken
Italian, they were able to communicate quite well. Tina lived in a small house
with a beautiful yard full of flowers at the outskirts of Pavone. She suggested
they have lunch and then visit the castle. Sofia wanted to invite her to lunch
in a restaurant, but Tina had already prepared a pot of minestrone.

While eating the delicious soup,
they talked about Sofia’s plan to get some information about Angelo. To Sofia’s
relief, Tina didn’t seem to be as worried about the dangers of this
investigation as everyone else. She suggested that Sofia go first to the police
department, although she didn’t think they knew anything, unless Angelo had a
criminal record or something bad had happened to him. Others who might be able
to help Sofia were the mayor of the town and the priest.

“Priests always know the latest or
the earliest gossip,” she said, laughing. “I hope you have a warm jacket
though. Bardonico is quite high up in the mountains. There may even be some
snow.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t think about
that. I only have a lightweight jacket.” She looked down at her sneakers.
“They’re not exactly made for snow either.”

Tina shook her head. “I do not
think there will be snow on the street, just on the mountains higher up. But
there might be a cold wind. You can borrow one of my jackets. She glanced at
Sofia’s feet. “I also have some thick socks that would help with your feet. You
will be driving through here on your way back. Or if not, you can send the
clothes back to me from Vignaverde.” She went into the next room and brought
out a down jacket and two pairs of socks, which Sofia gratefully accepted.

After lunch, Tina and Sofia took a
tour through town. Sofia admired the beautiful architecture. Old buildings and
modern stores and shops complemented each other.

In the evening, they drove to
Castello di Pavone. Pavone, or peacock in English, was the emblem of the town
and the castle. The castle dated back to the Middle Ages and had been the seat
of kings, cardinals, and other celebrities. It was now a restaurant and a
hotel. The family who owned it had done a beautiful job renovating it. Both the
inside and outside were left largely intact and renovations had been limited to
making everything comfortable with modern amenities. Sofia insisted on treating
Tina for dinner. The restaurant was located in a cellar with vaulted ceilings.
It looked like an old wine cellar. The food was excellent and they had a nice
choice of wines.

Early the following morning, after a light breakfast and a
thermos of coffee Tina had prepared for her, Sofia took off from Pavone and
headed for the mountains. A narrow, curvy road took her past stunningly
beautiful vistas of waterfalls, meadows of blooming wildflowers, and forests.
She drove through a few small villages. The higher she got, the sparser the
landscape became. Banks of fog hovered over the fields. In the distance, the
ever-present high snow-covered mountains greeted her.

It became clear to Sofia why
Angelo would choose a remote area such as this to hide. She wondered though how
he would survive. Was he able to make a living here? He knew about growing
grapes and making wine and the Piedmont was a famous wine region but up here in
the mountains? She had passed many vineyards farther down, but at this higher
altitude, cattle and sheep were grazing in the fields. Perhaps he had become a
mountain farmer.

When she drove around another one
of the many curves, she saw the sign of Bardonico next to the road. It listed
the number of inhabitants at 3000 and an elevation of 1300 meters. Sofia
realized she was low on gas and stopped at a gas station at the entrance of the
town. To Sofia’s relief it was a full-service station and she hoped to be able
to get some information about the town. A young man stepped out of the small
building and filled up her tank. He was tall, lanky, with tousled dark hair and
an engaging smile.

Sofia got out of the car to
stretch her legs. Now, she was grateful for the thick jacket and the socks. It
was cold, the kind of wintry cold that smelled of snow. She asked the young man
in Italian if he knew the town well. Since her first visit to Italy, she had
taken Italian classes and felt a little more comfortable speaking it. Still,
she was relieved that the young man spoke English. They talked for a while and
he told her that he learned English in school, and they got some English and
American tourists, mainly in the winter for skiing. He liked to practice the
language.

Encouraged by his friendly manner,
she told him that she was looking for a family member who might have lived in
Bardonico about eleven years before. She pulled out the photo of a younger
Angelo. “It’s an old picture from twenty years ago.”

He looked at it intensely, then
shook his head. He didn’t know of anyone here that resembled the man in the
picture. “Perhaps my uncle would know something,” he suggested. “He has worked
at this station for about thirty years.” He motioned her to come with him.

Inside the small gas station
building, an older man who resembled the young guy, sat behind the counter. The
young man explained to his uncle what Sofia had asked him. She pulled out the
photo again and showed it to the older man.

He narrowed his eyes, then said a
few words in Italian to his nephew. He looked at Sofia. “Is he a friend of
yours?”

Sofia didn’t want to tell the
whole story, so she just mentioned that he was a family member they had lost
touch with. The last they heard of him was a short letter mailed from this
town.

Both men looked at the photo again
and exchanged a few words in a local Italian dialect. The younger man, whose
name was Antonio as Sofia heard the uncle call him, turned to Sofia. “My uncle
thinks he looks somewhat familiar, but he does not know him and he is not sure.
The photo is quite old.”

“I know,” Sofia said. “Unfortunately,
this is all I have of him.”

“Perhaps you could ask at the
municipio,
city hall, or at the
polizia
,” the uncle said in broken English.

“Yes, I’ll try,” Sofia said. “Is
there a church in town? Perhaps the priest would know.”

The two men smiled at Sofia’s
question. “
Certo
,” Antonio said. “Just drive to the center of town and
you will see the church. Don Ambrosio lives in the house right next to the
church. He may know something.”

Sofia thanked them for their help.
She walked back to the car with Antonio following her. “If you need anything
else, just ask,” he said, then waved as she drove away.

As Sofia had read, Bardonico was a
ski resort. Surrounded by majestic mountains covered by snow, it was a fairly
small town with a few hotels and restaurants. It had a more “northern” feeling
than the towns and cities Sofia was familiar with in Tuscany.

She parked her car in a lot next
to the city hall. The church nearby was a beautiful medieval building. Sofia
found the police station in a side street off the central
piazza
, and
she decided to start there.

She entered the gloomy-looking
hallway of the rather small building. A few officers in uniform with pistols
attached to their belts were standing around, talking to each other and
laughing. They measured her with a quizzical look. One of them came up to her,
asking if he could help. She told him that she was looking for a family member
who may have lived in the town eleven years before. She showed him Angelo’s
photo. He looked at it, then called the other policemen who all checked out the
photo and shook their heads. One of them said something and motioned with his
head toward the hallway, which seemed to lead to a few rooms or offices. The
policeman who had asked her first, pointed out an office to her and told her to
ask the
agente di polizia
there.

Sofia thanked them and walked
along the hallway. She felt the officers were following her with their eyes.
They were quiet, then laughed and began to talk again. The door to the office
they sent her to stood ajar. She knocked gently, then opened the door all the
way. A man, reading some kind of magazine, looked up as she entered. He was
probably in his fifties, overweight, with a round face, black curly hair, and
small piercing eyes. He looked her up and down and Sofia had the distinct
feeling he was checking out her body. She began to feel uncomfortable.

“
Mi dispiace,”
she said,
then asked if the officer spoke English by any chance.

“Yes, I do.” To Sofia’s surprise,
he gave her a disarming smile.

Relieved she could speak in her
native language, she once again told the story she had repeated many times.

He listened carefully, and when
she showed him the photo, he glanced at it. His friendly smile turned into a
scowl. He stared at the picture for a long time, then raised his eyes and
stared at her.

“What did you say his name was?”

Sofia told the policeman Angelo’s name. He glared at her,
then at the picture, then back at her. “That is his real name?”

Sofia was surprised at the
question and the change of mood in him. She nodded. He looked at the photo some
more, then slapped it on his desk.

“I do not know him. No idea,” he
said in an unfriendly tone.

Sofia had the distinct feeling
that he was lying. She took the photo back and waited. He glared at her again,
but didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,”
she said.

“Why do you want to know where he
is?” he barked at her.

She repeated the family
connection. A smile curled his lips, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He shook
his head. “I do not know who this is,” he repeated.

He made her so uncomfortable that
she didn’t dare to ask more questions. She thanked him and walked toward the
door.

“
Signora
,” he called after
her.

She turned around.

“Are you staying in town?” he
asked, a little friendlier now, but the friendliness felt fake to her. “Perhaps
I can find out a little more if you give me a day or two. Where are you
staying?”

Sofia didn’t want to give him her
whereabouts. She felt too uncomfortable around him. “I’m not staying here,” she
said.

“There are some nice hotels in
town. Come back tomorrow. Perhaps I know more.”

“
Grazie
, I’ll try to,” she
said, then left. She realized she was sweating although it was chilly outside.

She took a deep breath. What
should she do now? She didn’t feel like dealing with any more unfriendly
government officials, so she decided to try the priest instead. But first, she
wanted to find a place to have lunch. She had seen a coffee shop at the central
piazza
. It was one of those coffee bars that served an array of
sandwiches and antipasti as well as coffee and liquors. She ordered a sandwich,
water, and coffee and sat down at one of the small tables next to the window.
From there, she had a view of the church. At one point, she saw a priest leave
the church and walk toward the house next to it. Perhaps he was on his lunch
break and this might be the chance to catch him. She quickly finished her
lunch, then walked across the
piazza
.

The modest house the priest lived
in was built in the same style as the more elaborate church. The walls were
made of irregular natural stones and the roof shingles looked like granite. Sofia
knocked on the door. It was quiet inside. After she knocked again, she heard
footsteps. The door opened and an elderly man with a tonsure of white hair and
a round, open face greeted her with a kind smile. Sofia told him that she had a
few questions about a relative of hers who might have lived in this town eleven
years before.

The priest introduced himself as
Don Ambrosio and invited Sofia inside. They entered a sparsely furnished but
cozy living room where an electric heater was humming. The warmth radiating
from the heater felt good. Sofia sat down and took off her down jacket.

“Would you like a cup of tea?
Unfortunately, I don’t have any coffee,” the priest said in fluent English.
Sofia complimented him on his mastery of the language. He told her that he had
lived in England for several years.

“Great. My Italian isn’t half as
good as your English. And yes, a cup of tea would be lovely.” Sofia got up.
“May I help you?”

The priest’s face stretched into a
mischievous smile. “Just because I’m a man and a member of the clergy doesn’t
mean I don’t know how to prepare a cup of tea.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,”
Sofia assured him.

“I know. I’m joking. Make yourself
comfortable. I shall be right back.” Don Ambrosio left the room, and Sofia
heard him rattle with dishes. A few moments later, the priest carried a tray
with a pot of tea, a small jug of milk, a bowl of sugar, and two cups to the
table. He went back to get a plate with cookies.

“I love these.” She pointed at the
biscotti
.

“Good. Because this is all I
have.” Don Ambrosio sat down. “The tea has to steep for a moment.”

“Interesting that you drink tea
and not espresso,” Sofia remarked.

The priest smiled. “I acquired a
taste for it when I lived in England.” He passed the plate with the cookies to
Sofia. “Now, tell me, what I can do for you. You are not from here and from
your accent, you are not from England either. America?”

Sofia nodded. “Yes, California.”

“Must be beautiful there,” the
priest said. “But what brought you to this lonely town up here?”

“Well, it’s a somewhat complicated
story,” Sofia said.

The priest lifted his hands with
his palms upturned. “I have time.”

“May I?” Sofia asked as she held
the handle of the teapot.

“You may.”

Sofia poured them both a cup. The
priest added two spoons of sugar and some milk. Sofia drank hers black.

After taking a sip, Don Ambrosio
put the cup down and motioned her to tell her story. Sofia gave him the usual
abbreviated version of her reason for being here while the priest listened
attentively. She pulled out Angelo’s photo and gave it to the priest. He looked
at it with narrowed eyes, then grabbed a pair of reading glasses on the small
bureau next to him. He examined the photo for quite some time without showing
any sign of recognition and Sofia was disappointed, feeling she had come to a
dead end.

All of a sudden, Don Ambrosio
looked up and faced her. “What did you say his name is?”

Sofia told him.

He looked at the photo again,
scratched the bald spot on his head, then said, “It must be him. He looks
different here, younger of course. But the name of the man in this photo is
Danilo Pedrotti, not Angelo Segantino.”