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“You’re not thecarabinieri. It’s up to them to solve the crime.”
“They do nothing, we both know that.”
“But you have responsibilities at work. Bartolomeo says you were given agreements to edit. Is that the stack in the study?”
“Yes, I’ll get them done.” Gaetano was halfway through, working at home.
“He says Don Matteo is very unhappy with you lately.”
“Don Matteo is fine with me. It’s Bartolomeo who stirs up trouble.”
“But I don’t understand, Gaetano. This kidnapped boy, he’s not your son.”
“Morally, what difference does that make? We believe, Love thy neighbor as thyself. Saint Paul tells us, ‘No one should seek his own advantage, but that of his neighbor.’ That makes the boy a son to all of us.”
Maria sighed. “I should have known when I stole you from the priesthood.”
Gaetano had wanted to be a priest, but when he met her, he’d fallen completely in love. “I can’t turn away from the boy.”
“Nor can you forget about your own sons, and you’re starting to.” Maria shook her head slowly. “You haven’t been home much lately, and you’re distracted at mealtimes. You don’t play with the boys or read to them anymore. They want your attention.”
“They have you.”
“A mother doesn’t substitute for a father.”
“You overstate it, Maria. I’m here and they know I love them. I’m not neglectful.”
“Fine, but nevertheless, I... need you now.” Maria touched his arm, and Gaetano saw a sly look cross behind her eyes.
“Why? What’s the matter?”
Maria smiled. “I’m pregnant, dear.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Alfredo wasn’t about to be bullied by the note on the rock, thrown at his door. He had a right to earn a living and a family to feed. He walked down the street to the piazza, leading Beatrice with the baskets of cheese.
He spotted the crowd on the piazza, led by Signora Tozzi, her ladyfriends, and even more women. Two uniformedcarabinieriwere trying to get them in line, and so was Father Casagrandi, the priest at Madonna dei Miracoli church, which bordered the piazza. But as soon as the women spotted Alfredo, they started calling to him.
One of thecarabinierihurried toward him, waving. “Are you the man who sells the goat cheese? You’ve got customers waiting for you. They’re not orderly.”
“I can’t help it.”
“They say you put a charm on the cheese and it cures sickness.”
Alfredo sighed. “I told them it’s just cheese, but they don’t listen.”
“They call you Magic Alfredo. They think you’re a wizard.”
“Why?” Alfredo asked, blinking.
“Have youlookedin a mirror?”
“No, I don’t have one.”
“Well, look here.” The officer took Alfredo by his shoulders andturned him to face a glass window. Alfredo’s reflection surprised even him. His hair was long, his beard overgrown, and his clothes shabby.
“Okay, I see your point, but there’s no such thing as wizards.”
