Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [141]
It was a given that they couldn’t keep traveling as hunted criminals from one place to another, trusting that somehow someone would help them. Danny needed a place safe enough and secure enough to rest and recover to the point where he could talk to Harry in a thoughtful, coherent manner about the murder of the cardinal vicar of Rome. Moreover, and as important, they needed to acquire powerful legal representation. And those two things, Harry knew, had to be his only priorities.
“WE HERE?” Danny asked weakly as Father Renato set the hand brake and turned off the engine.
“Yes, Father Daniel.” Father Renato half smiled. “Thankfully.”
Getting out, Elena saw Harry glance at her briefly as he opened the van’s sliding door and then he turned away as Father Natalini brought the wheelchair from the back. Father Daniel had said almost nothing during the trip, just stared out the window at the passing countryside. Elena was certain he was still exhausted from the events of the past forty-eight hours. He needed to eat and then to sleep for as long as he could.
Elena stepped back, watching as Harry and Father Natalini hefted Danny into the wheelchair then carried him up the steps into the second-floor living room of the house on Via Monte Ceneri. What had happened the night before made her feel more awkward than embarrassed. In the exhilarated, emotional rush she’d had when she’d gone to Harry, she’d revealed more about herself and her feelings than she’d intended, or at least more than was appropriate when she was yet to give up her vows. But she’d done it nonetheless, and there was no taking it back. The question was how to act now. It was why she had been unable to look at him directly all day, or to say more than the few words that were necessary. She just didn’t know how.
Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs opened, and their hostess appeared.
“Come in quickly,” Veronique Vaccaro said and stepped back to make way for them.
Once they were inside, she immediately closed the door and looked at everyone in turn, as if sizing them up. Diminutive, temperamental, and middle-aged, Veronique was an artist and sculptor who dressed in earth colors and whose quickly spoken sentences came in a bewildering mix of French, English, and Italian. Abruptly she looked to Father Renato.
“Merci. Now you must go. Capisce?”
No offer to rest, use the washroom, even a glass of water. No, he and Father Natalini had to go.
“A vehicle from a Bellagio church parked in front of a private house in Lugano? Might as well call the police and tell them where you are.”
Father Renato smiled and nodded. Veronique was right. And as he and Father Natalini turned to leave, Danny surprised everyone by suddenly perking up and moving his wheelchair forward to take their hands.
“Grazie. Grazie mille,” he said with genuine gratitude, understanding what the two men had risked to bring them there.
And then the priests were gone, and Veronique, saying she was preparing something for them to eat, left, passing one of half a dozen large abstract sculptures that sat like characters in the small, sunny room, and disappeared through a doorway on the far side of it.
“Father Daniel should rest,” Elena said almost the moment she had gone. “Let me ask Veronique where.”
Harry watched her cross the room and push through the same door Veronique had used. He stared at the closed door for a moment longer, then turned to Danny—the two bearded and in black, with the black zucchettos on their heads, looking the way they were supposed to, like rabbis.
Until now Harry had held back, trying to give his brother as much time as he needed to heal, both physically and mentally. But Danny’s sudden responsiveness in thanking the priests made Harry begin to suspect that Danny was stronger and more cognizant than he was letting on. And now alone with him, he felt a rush of anger. He didn’t need Danny keeping him in the dark and at bay for reasons of his own.