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They walked through the town on horseback, turning sharp curves and angular corners, traveling up and down grades. The cobblestonestreets were lined with small stone homes, their shutters closed. Dante could hear talking inside one or two of the houses, and a yellow dog ran past, scattering a flock of pigeons.
Dante looked over at Gaetano. “Where should we start looking for Tonelli?”
“I gave it some thought.” Gaetano smoothed damp hair from his forehead. “Mussomeli is small, and everyone goes to morning Mass, so we might try there first. We can begin asking around and see if anybody knows him. The church is just ahead.” Gaetano motioned down the curving street. “I came here for a friend’s wedding, and it’s a lovely church, called Madonna dei Miracoli.”
They continued downhill, and Dante could see a piazza where families were gathering in front of a church. They socialized in groups, dressed in humble clothes, the men in old caps and the women in worn black mantillas.
Dante and Gaetano came around the front of Madonna dei Miracoli, which had a gray stone façade dominated by a tall carved door, flanked by columns covered with verdigris. Above the entrance was a single window, and the church’s fluted cornice was topped with a cross gilded in sunshine.
Gaetano dismounted. “Dante, I’ll do the talking, okay?”
“Okay.” Dante dismounted and held the horses, and Gaetano approached a group of townspeople with a friendly smile. The townspeople eyed them with curiosity, giving the impression that few strangers came here.
“Excuse me,” Gaetano said, introducing himself. “I’m sorry to bother you, my friend and I are looking for Enrico Tonelli, nicknamed Scales. Do you know where he lives?”
The townspeople fell silent and their expressions changed instantly. Eyes narrowed. Lips flattened. Frowns creased foreheads.
“Never heard of him,” answered one man.
Gaetano blinked, his smile still in place. “I need to speak to him about an important matter. Are you sure you don’t know where he lives?”
“We don’t know him,” the same man answered, placing his arm around his wife and guiding her up the stairs to the church. The rest of the men began to turn away, and the women drew their mantillas around them, taking their children by the hand.
Gaetano stopped one of the men. “Please, tell me where Tonelli lives. I won’t say how I know.”
The man shook his head, turning away, and the townspeople hurried into the church. Families just arriving for Mass gave Gaetano wide berth.
Dante met Gaetano’s eye, and Dante saw the lawyer redouble his determination. Gaetano strode up the steps to the church, where a priest was emerging to greet parishioners. He was an older man with curly white hair, steel spectacles, and worn vestments.
Gaetano introduced himself to the priest. “Father Casagrandi, I doubt you remember me, but we’ve met. I was at a wedding you performed many years ago. It was of my friend Ferdinando Cella and his wife, Donatella Borrelli, whose family is from here.”
Father Casagrandi smiled. “I know the Borrelli family very well. My apologies, I don’t remember you, and I admit, I’m astonished that you remember me.”
“I never forget a priest.” Gaetano smiled back. “You may know, the couple now lives in Palermo, where I’m from.”
“Ah yes, I could tell by your accent. So how can I help you, Signore?”
“Please, call me Gaetano, and I’m here with my young friend Dante.” Gaetano gestured to Dante. “We need to speak with Enrico Tonelli, nicknamed Scales. Do you know where he lives? I won’t reveal to anyone that you told me.”
“You may tell anyone you please. I’m not afraid of Enrico Tonelli. I answer to a power higher than the likes of him.” Father Casagrandi pushed up his spectacles. “But Tonelli doesn’t live in town anymore. Neither do any of his people. His wife left and took the children.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Yes, he works in Don Bruno’s mine.”
“Who’s Don Bruno? I’ve heard that name.”
“Don Bruno Maresca? He’s the local boss, if you know what I mean. Tonelli lives at the mine, but he comes to the piazza to hirebraccianti. I know he’ll be there this morning because I saw him in town last night.” Father Casagrandi winked. “A good shepherd keeps track of his flock, even the black sheep.”
“Especially the black sheep,” Gaetano said, and they both chuckled.
“He’ll be at the piazza in an hour or so.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“I’ll say a prayer for your endeavor. Bless you. Now, I must go.” Father Casagrandi went inside the church, and Gaetano descended the steps toward Dante, who could barely contain his excitement.
“Bravo, Gaetano! Now we confront Tonelli!”
