found scented lotions, a cell phone charger, a nail file, and a book of matches. I bent to peer deeper into the back of the drawer.
“Looking for something?” Maria asked.
Feeling like a criminal, I shut the drawer. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be snooping.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s your house,” Maria reminded me.
“I suppose it is. At least for now.”
While Maria tidied up, I opened a few more drawers and rifled through an old shoebox on the top shelf inside the wardrobe. It contained store receipts.
“Sloane said that Anton was a hoarder,” I mentioned. “But this room doesn’t seem that bad.”
Maria responded with a dismissive scoff. “Sloane was exaggerating. I’ll admit, Anton’s study could be a catchall for books and papers. It was always a challenge to dust in there, and his studio hasn’t been cleaned out in decades, but for the most part, he was fairly organized.”
“His studio?” I asked. “What sort of studio?”
I jumped as my cell phone rang in my back pocket. Quickly, I pulled it out. “It’s a local number. Hello?”
“Is this Fiona Bell?”
“Sì.” I wandered to the window and gazed out at the pristine Italian gardens below and the rolling hills and mountains in the distance.
“Ah, bene. I’m calling from the Mancini Bank in Montepulciano. We just received a copy of your father’s will. I’m very sorry for your loss. We understand that you arrived in Italy yesterday?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
The gentleman paused. “Just to be clear, we’re not the bank he used for his financial accounts, so that’s not what this is about. I am calling because he kept a safety-deposit box here with us, and we have instructions to contact you about the contents in the event of his death.”
A spark of adrenaline lit in my veins. “Do you know what’s inside the box?” Is it the letters?
“No, I don’t have that information,” he replied. “It was a private box, but I do have the key, which I’ve been instructed to turn over to you. When do you think you might be able to come by?”
I checked my watch. “How about this afternoon? Where are you, and what time do you close?”
“We’ve just closed for lunch,” he explained, “but we reopen at three. We’re in Montepulciano, not far from Piazza Grande.” The gentleman provided the street address, which I repeated to Maria.
“It’s not far,” she said. “Marco can drive you.”
“Perfect.” I made an appointment for three o’clock, then Maria insisted that I come down to the kitchen for something to eat before I left.
“Cars aren’t allowed into the town,” Marco said, “so I’ll drop you off here.” He pulled over in front of a restaurant with an outdoor patio. “If you walk straight ahead, you’ll reach the piazza. Turn right and go down the hill next to Contucci Palace. You have your map?”
“Yes, thank you. I should be able to find it.” I opened the car door and got out.
“Take your time,” Marco said. “I’ll wait right here.”
I thanked Marco again and started walking, careful not to stumble across the cobblestones while I gaped in awe at the magnificent stone architecture on either side of the narrow lane.
When I reached Piazza Grande, I stopped and wanted to pinch myself, for I stood before the Palazzo Comunale, an impressive town hall with an imposing clock tower, and Santa Maria Assunta, an ancient cathedral to my right. Children played games in the center of the square, and sidewalk cafés were busy with tourists.
“Is this even real?” I said to myself as I crossed the sunlit square.
Beyond Contucci Palace, the cobblestone streets were narrow, steep, and winding. It was easy to lose my sense of direction, but I soon found my way to the little bank and ventured inside.
It wasn’t anything like the banks back home. The tellers stood behind an ornately carved walnut counter, and the floors were stone. I felt as if I’d stepped into another century.
“Hello,” I said to the first teller who looked up and smiled at me. “I’m Fiona Bell. I’m here about a safety-deposit box.”
The young woman perked up. “Ah, sì. You’re Anton Clark’s daughter. I’ll tell the manager you’re here.”
She disappeared into a back office, then reappeared with an older gentleman wearing a suit and tie. “Ms. Bell. What an honor. Thank you for coming at such a difficult time.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Your father entrusted me personally with the task of guarding the key to the box and handing it over to you.” He passed me a small envelope.