Rick’s boots clicked softly on the stone floor. The seated man did not react to the sound, nor did he appear to notice when Rick slipped in next to him. His hands were clasped and he leaned forward, elbows on the back of the next pew. He kept his gaze on the row of robed figures above him, but his eyes were dull, almost lifeless. After they had been sitting together for almost two minutes, the young man slowly turned his head toward Rick.
“You’re the American,” he finally said. “With the policeman.”
“Yes.”
Vittorio’s tired eyes searched Rick’s face, then he slowly nodded and returned his attention to the altar. After a slow sigh, he spoke. “You know, don’t you?”
“Yes, Vittorio. And I understand why you did it.”
There was no attempt to wipe the tear that crept down his cheek. “Fiametta should not have died.” The voice was hoarse and firm. “I’ll go, I knew I would have to eventually.” He turned around, understanding what was going on. Luca and a uniformed policeman stood in the back of the church, just inside the door. “Not here. It would not be right.” He stood, touched his chest to form a cross, and walked to the side door.
Rick turned back and held up a hand to Luca.
When he emerged into the graveyard, the scene was what Rick expected. Heavy snow had begun to cover the smaller headstones on the ground, and the wind was pushing gray drifts against the stone walls. Luca and the other policeman stood back patiently, collars turned up to protect themselves from the icy wind. They watched Vittorio, who knelt in the snow before the girl’s grave, one hand touching the photograph on the stone slab before him. After moving his lips silently he rose to his feet, adjusted the plastic flowers in the metal vase, and walked slowly toward the policemen.
Rick began to follow him, but something made him stop and turn his eyes up toward the side of the church. The day was losing light, and the storm was gaining strength, but he could still see them. As they had done for centuries, and would be doing for centuries to come, the skeletons performed their dance of death.
***
Rick poked through the bread basket and found a piece of crusty pane rustico. “I thought that the encounter with Vittorio was going to take away my appetite, but I’m affamato. Though I can’t stop feeling sorry for the kid.”
“So will a judge,” said Flavio. “I know Luca is obliged to tell us that people can’t just go around stabbing other people, but if there ever was a justification for violence, Vittorio had it. Fiametta, the girl he loves, gets involved with a married man who then gets her pregnant, forces her into an abortion, and abandons her. What man would not want revenge?”
“He will, at the very most, get a minimum sentence,” Luca said. “I may not have the highest opinion of my public prosecutor, but she will look at all the aspects of this case.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “You are correct, Flavio, we police must frown on stabbing, no matter what the motive. But at least Vittorio had the right man, and it wasn’t Riccardo.”
“One more attempt on Rick’s life wouldn’t matter. He’s used to it by now.”
“If my mother finds out about all this, I will have to fear for my life.”
“Your uncle will not tell his sister, Riccardo?”
“Fortunately not, Luca.” He chewed on the bread without enthusiasm. “How did Bruno get caught up in this?”
“It was the store, Rick,” answered Flavio. “Melograno had lent him the money to do the renovations. But business was not good, as everyone in town knew. So my guess is he was having trouble paying off the loan. Umberto was in a perfect position to extract a big favor from the guy. He could have put Bruno out of business if he wanted.”
“We did notice that,” said Luca. “Not many customers in the place.” He saw Flavio looking toward Lori’s empty table. “Flavio, your consolesa is not dining with you tonight? Is it because you prefer the company of Riccardo and me?”
Rick chuckled. “Hardly, Luca. She is having dinner with Signora Taylor. I invited Cat to join us here at the hotel, but she declined, said she needed to take care of some final details with Lori.”
“I don’t get it,” said Flavio, shaking his head. “Cat Taylor looked for any excuse to avoid spending time with Lori, and now she chooses to have dinner with her.”
Luca swished his wine and leaned back in his chair. “Gentlemen, I am reminded of my Aunt Giulia.”
Rick and Flavio exchanged glances, and Flavio heaved a sigh.
“Giulia,” Luca went on, “is married to my mother’s brother, and is the mother of my cousin Federico who is several years younger than I. They live in a small town about two hours south of Rome. I’ve only been there once. When Federico was growing up, at family events Aunt Giulia never wasted an opportunity to extol the pious virtues of her son. He was going to be a priest, and a smart one too. No doubt about it, he was destined for the priesthood and he would not be just some parish priest. Something in the curia, perhaps even a red hat someday. I remember Federico as being a quiet kid who sat in the corner by himself at family gatherings.
