Page 61 of No Stone Unturned

The priest’s smile stretched wider. “Coca-Cola?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

He shuffled off to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two coffees and a Coke without ice. Lexi thanked him and Slash noticed she didn’t mention the missing ice. His American girl was learning the European way.

Slash took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. “Eccellente.”

The priest put a spoonful of sugar into his cup and stirred it. “I’m glad it suits you. Now, how can I help you?”

Slash set his mug on the table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know more about the time you spent at the church at San Mauro Cilento.”

“Ah, yes. I enjoyed that year very much. Father Emilio Armando, who was the lead priest at the time, is a dear friend of mine. He’s now a cardinal, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Then you’ve heard the rumors that he might be our next pope. I understand he is quite popular in Genoa, and with the other cardinals, as well.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Slash said.

“Well, largely because of Emilio, my time spent in San Mauro was most memorable. Working in a small parish can be quite rewarding.”

Slash pushed his cup aside. “When you were there, do you remember the night of one of the worst rain and lightning storms Italy had experienced in decades? There was widespread flooding and some roads were washed away. A baby boy was left at the church that night.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that night and the baby quite clearly.”

“Veramente?” As soon as he said it, Slash realized he’d slipped back into Italian. He flashed Lexi a grin that said, ‘I told you so,’ and added in English, “Really?”

The father met his smile, his eyes curious. He had to be wondering about Slash’s reasons for a stroll down memory lane, but graciously let Slash lead the way. “Really. Mostly because Emilio took a special interest in the baby. We all did. We had to take care of him ourselves for several days due to the storm. We agreed the experience was a God-given gift to all of us.”

“Why was the experience a gift?” he asked. “Surely it had to have been an unexpected burden to be faced with caring for an infant just a few days old.”

“Oh, no! It wasn’t a burden at all even though none of us had ever taken care of an infant before. There was something truly illuminating about the experience. We could not help but draw comparisons to how it must have been to care for Jesus as an infant. This poor, abandoned baby was such a sweet child. He rarely cried or fussed. But when he did, he could be soothed by a cuddle or singing. The baby seemed especially fond of the music of a pianist whose name escapes me at the moment.”

“Hai Tsang,” Lexi supplied and then pressed her fingers against her lips. “Oops. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Father Opizzi said looking at her in surprise. “You’re correct. Itwasthe Chinese pianist Tsang. How did you know?”

Lexi glanced at Slash with an apology in her eyes, but he shook his head slightly, wanting her to know it was okay.

“I’m that baby,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that from the start, but I wanted to hear your version of the story without being aware the infant being discussed was me.”

The father studied Slash with undisguised interest. “Well, it makes sense. I was wondering where you were going with that line of questioning. This is quite a surprise. A pleasant surprise, of course.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, you haven’t. By God, I heard you went missing shortly after you were placed with a family. Emilio looked for you for so long. Did he ever find you?”

“He did.” Slash didn’t offer more information and the father didn’t pry even though he had to be curious. “Sir, did you happen to find the name of the other priest who was there at the same time you were? The young acolyte assigned to the church from Rome during the summer?”

“I did, and I should mention he was quite the handsome lad. The young ladies of the village attended mass far more often when he was assisting.”

“Father Bianachi also mentioned his physical appearance.”

“Oh, yes.” The priest set his coffee down and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. “That young man looked as if God had created an angel on earth. The proverbial tall, dark and handsome man, if you will forgive my indulgence.”

“His name?”

“His name was Manuel de Rosa. He returned to Rome not too long after that big storm.”

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