No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Read online

  The pope struggled to stand, wobbling, so Slash put a hand under his elbow to steady him until he took his cane.

  “Grazie,” the pope said, smiling as the photographer snapped a photo of them. It was a nice, unguarded moment and I hoped that Slash could get a copy of it someday.

  The photographer told us where to stand and arranged our positions. He spent an inordinate amount of time on me, fixing my hair, lifting my chin, telling me to stop scowling and hunching my shoulders. He also straightened Slash’s tie and collar before shooting us from numerous angles and with different degrees of flash and light. I tried to look like I was happy to be there, enjoying the incredible honor of having my photo taken with the pope. Unfortunately I was becoming increasingly agitated and wishing the entire thing was over yesterday. My face was stretching into less of a smile and into more of a grimace. Finally the pope waved his hand to indicate an end to the session. He called over another of the priests and spoke briefly with him, before the priest bowed and moved away.

  The pope and Slash exchanged a long glance, and then they both looked at me. I had no idea what was going on. The pope turned and started shuffling toward another door when Slash put his hand in the small of my back.

  “The Holy Father is requesting a private audience with us,” Slash murmured. “We’re moving into his private study now.”

  “Oh.” I’m sure Slash saw the surprise on my face, but his expression was inscrutable. Together we followed the pope into the adjoining room.

  When we were in the study, Slash closed the door behind us. Now it was just the three of us. The pope sank down into a tall chair with a white cushion and gold-plated back. Slash and I took chairs across from him.

  “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me in private,” the pope said.

  Slash lowered his head. “I am deeply honored for the opportunity.” He paused and glanced at me.

  “Me, too,” I added hastily.

  The pope balanced his cane against the side of the chair. He straightened, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands in front of him.

  “Let’s speak frankly, Nicolo. If I may be so bold to ask, what really brings you to Italy?”

  I looked at Slash, realizing the weight of the question. I knew next to nothing about high-stakes church politics, but even I understood the delicacy of his answer.

  “My brother,” Slash finally answered. “He was refused the right of marriage in the church.”

  The surprise on the pope’s face seemed genuine. “Stefan?”

  Slash shook his head. “No, that’s my older brother. My younger brother, Giorgio.”

  It surprised me that the pope knew and remembered the names of Slash’s brothers, which indicated to me that the pope was very interested in Slash’s life. Perhaps more than Slash had realized.

  The pope asked for more detail, so Slash told him what he knew. Eventually, the pope sat back. “I do not understand why the church won’t sanction the marriage. I will personally look into it.”

  “I am deeply appreciative of your support, Holy Father. Thank you.”

  “Does Father Armando know of this?”

  Slash dipped his head. “He does. He is also investigating the reasons for the refusal.”

  “Hmmm. That’s interesting because I spoke with him yesterday, and he made no mention of this.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t want to bother Your Eminence with such a minor matter. It is not something typically in your purview.”

  “All matters dealing with a child of God are in my purview. Especially when it deals with holy matrimony.”

  Slash lowered his head. “Of course. I apologize for suggesting otherwise.”

  A smile crossed the pope’s face. “I am teasing, you know. But, speaking of matrimony, I understand that you two are to be married.”

  “We are,” Slash confirmed.

  “I am disappointed that I had to hear this from Father Armando.”

  “I apologize again. I always intended to tell you personally. The engagement only recently occurred. So, now that I have your undivided attention, I am most pleased to present Lexi Carmichael, my fiancée.”

  They both looked at me. I sat there frozen, surprised that Slash had so casually mentioned he would call the pope personally to tell him about our engagement, and wondering if I was supposed to stand up, curtsey or do something else. Instead, I held out my engagement ring. Better that everyone look at that instead of me.

  “It was Slash’s grandmother’s,” I explained.

  I guess it was an okay thing to do because the pope asked me to come closer. I rose and walked over to him. He took my hand, inspecting the ring with great interest. “Congratulations to both of you. It’s a lovely ring. A circle is an unbreakable symbol of unity. You two together will be strong in life.”

  He made the sign of the cross over my hand. “May your union be among the most blessed of God.” A smile touched his lips as he looked directly at me. “You do understand I’m anticipating a large Catholic family, Ms. Carmichael.”

  I froze, struggling with a response—of which there was none appropriate—when the pope laughed. “I am sincerely happy for you both.”

  I returned to my seat, embarrassed by his comment, which had apparently amused Slash, because he was grinning, too.

  Then, to my utter astonishment, and apparently Slash’s as well, the pope stood without the use of his cane and strode over to the French windows. He walked perfectly, without difficulty or shuffle. He looked out the window, standing tall and strong, at the exact spot where he greeted the faithful in St. Peter’s Square most Sundays and on special occasions.

  “You can walk,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  Slash shot me a warning glance, but it was too late. The words had been said. I clapped a hand over my mouth, wishing I owned duct tape to keep my mouth shut at all times.

  The pope turned around from the window, his expression reflective, and perhaps slightly amused. “I can. Are you surprised?”

  He directed the question to me. I looked over at Slash, but he didn’t attempt to speak on my behalf. He seemed as stunned as I was. I considered my answer carefully before speaking. “You’re...acting.”

  “Let’s just say that I may be exaggerating my weakness. Oh, I’m ill, but my immediate situation is not as dire as the Vatican press...or others...might be so inclined to believe.”

  “But why disguise that you are healthier than you appear?” I asked.

  He considered a moment and then returned to the window where he looked out at the people below. “It’s not a simple or easy rationale, but I believe it’s what I must do. If you will bear with me for a moment, I will explain. When a pope dies, God guides the church leadership in the selection of the next Holy Father, which is the purpose of the conclave. Unfortunately, if you look back over the church’s history, the cardinals haven’t always listened to God’s will when selecting the next pope. For many flawed and undeniably human reasons, cardinals have selected popes for the wrong reasons, reasons that had devastating consequences for our followers, and diverted the church from its true mission—loving one another, lifting up the poor and disenfranchised, and taking care of all of God’s children. Obviously, I will not have a voice in selecting the next pope. However, there is yet an important role for me to play. Too often in the past, popes have overlooked their leadership responsibilities in preparing the church for their departure. They’ve failed to mentor and encourage those cardinals who seem to have God’s special blessing and wisdom—qualities that would make them an ideal candidate. Likewise, they often fail to discern and counsel those who would seek the papacy for prideful or selfish reasons. I will not be a pope who fails to prepare the church for my death. When I was a young cardinal, I realized it was easier to discern the intentions of those more focused on their own good than of others, as it c
orroborated the belief in their own superiority. As I am truly declining, though not as fast as I may appear to be, this allows me to better identify those who would jockey for my position, and thus need to be counseled, versus those who would humbly accept the papacy if it were offered to them.”

  I took a minute to digest all of this. I couldn’t begin to fathom the pressure and difficulty of his position and the responsibilities he held on his shoulders yet, his words about discerning the intentions of the cardinals suddenly made sense in the context of Slash’s and my presence.

  I looked up at him, understanding dawning. “You already know what’s happened to Slash...what’s going on with Cardinal Lazo and what’s happened to us. You were the one who set this whole thing in motion.” Part of me was shocked, while another part of me was impressed, thinking he had the brain of a hacker.

  The pope leaned against the corner of his desk. “Yes, and no. I provided the fertile soil from which honest, or dishonest, actions might spring. I, unfortunately, didn’t know that both of you would be brought into this. Now that you have, it confirms that my actions were guided by a higher power. God works through us always and shows us the way.”

  “What does that mean?” I murmured.

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until the pope answered. “It means God has chosen both of you for his work. I see it now, and I am deeply humbled by that knowledge. I am convinced that your presence here is divine intervention.” He turned to look at Slash. “Now, Nicolo, we shall see it through, shan’t we?”

  He glanced at Slash and a look of understanding passed between them. “We shall,” Slash responded.

  “Good. Now, it is my great honor to announce to you that later today I will formally canonize the two candidates for sainthood. Cristian Descantes, the first Savior of Salerno, and Sister Ana-Paula Núnez, the Mother of Maldonado. You are the first to know.” He held up his hands. “Pray for us, o Holy Mother of God.”

  “May we be worthy of the promises of Christ,” Slash murmured in response.

  I bowed my head respectfully and waited.

  The pope walked over to Slash and gently rested a hand on the top of his head. “There remains, however, one more important matter between us, Nicolo, and it involves forgiveness. Yours. You must not be afraid of the vulnerability of living in forgiveness. In our violent world, largely abandoned by people of good intention, we must never stop asking for and receiving forgiveness. Those of us who bear the extraordinary weight of the present and future of this church must continue to live in forgiveness while praying for guidance and strength. It is not an easy task. Do you understand, my son?”

  “I do.” Slash kept his head lowered.

  “Good.” The pope watched him, a contemplative look on his face. “One of my favorite quotes came from one of my predecessors, Saint John Paul the Great. He often said, ‘Thanks to the healing power of love, even the most wounded heart can experience a liberating encounter with forgiveness.’ So, I ask you to forgive yourself and those who have hurt you. That is an order from your pope.”

  Slash left the chair and knelt on the floor, taking the pope’s hand and kissing the ring. “Thank you for your guidance, Holy Father.”

  Now the pope glanced at me. “And for you, Miss Carmichael, there is a matter I wish to discuss.”

  “Me?” I pointed at myself and then looked over my shoulder, as if another Lexi Carmichael might magically appear. I couldn’t begin to fathom what the pope could possibly want to discuss with me. Unless it was family planning. In that case, I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

  He approached me, putting one hand on my shoulder, the other pushing aside the Salerno medal and gently holding the crucifix between his fingers.

  “You are wearing it. You honor me deeply. Thank you.”

  Thank goodness Slash had told me to put it on. I opened my mouth intending to say “you’re welcome,” but instead I blurted out, “Why did you give it me?”

  Slash closed his eyes and I interpreted that to mean one didn’t question the pope. Oops. But I’d done it, so there you have it. I expected the pope to say he was trying to save my nonbeliever soul or something along those lines, but he didn’t.

  “This crucifix is very special to me,” he said, still holding the cross nestled in his palm. “It was given to my mother by my father. When he proposed, he was too poor to afford even the most inexpensive of rings. So, he gave her a silver crucifix, something that had been handed down in his family for generations. He added the wooden back himself, made from the heartwood of the oldest tree in his neighborhood. My mother wore it until the day she died. She pressed it into my hand and told me to give it to a worthy woman.”

  I looked at him in dismay. “Oh, if I’d known this was such an important family heirloom, I never would have accepted it. I am not the worthiest of women. In fact, I’m not worthy at all... I’m not even Catholic.” I reached for the chain, starting to take it off. “Please, take it back. It belongs in your family.”

  His hand closed around mine, preventing me from removing it. “Miss Carmichael, I never question the motives of God. I may not always understand them, but I do not question them. I assure you, I’d been waiting for years to give that crucifix to the right person. It’d been my constant companion for more than three decades. The moment I saw you in that room several months ago, although I’d never spoken a word to you, God moved me to present the cross to you. At the time I did not understand why, but I did not question it. That is not my way. Now you are here and in His grace and wisdom, I finally understand why. As always, I am in awe of His goodness and plan. I assure you, this crucifix belongs to you. You must keep it. Please indulge an old man in this request.”

  I looked at Slash who was watching me, but said nothing. Surely he had to be as stunned as I to hear this story. But either he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell me what to do. It would be up to me to keep it or not. Still uncertain, I turned my gaze back to the pope. He waited patiently for my answer, which paralyzed me more because I was probably violating every sacred rule in regards to interaction with the pope.

  Finally, I managed to connect my brain with my mouth. “I don’t know what to say, Holy Father, except thank you. I’m deeply honored you’ve entrusted me with such an important family heirloom. I will cherish it always.”

  This now made me—the Queen of All that is Awkward and Klutzy—the keeper of two precious family heirlooms, one of them from the pope himself. Me! The woman who had her own personal little black cloud. I wasn’t one to question God either, but in the grand scheme of things, this did not seem like a good idea even if it came from above.

  “Now, there is one final matter,” the pope said quietly. He took two steps forward and requested Slash to stand. He withdrew something from beneath his cassock, a small, worn, leather bag the size of his palm. He held it out to Slash.

  “Take this to Father Armando and you will get the answers you seek, my child.”

  Having said that, he pulled Slash into a hug. Slash hugged him back. I wasn’t sure where this fell on the proper pope protocol chart, but seeing as how the Holy Father had initiated it and no one else was in the room, I figured it was okay.

  There was clearly a palpable affection between the two of them. When the pope finally released Slash, the two spoke quietly in Italian for a minute. Slash knelt to kiss the ring again. The pope retrieved his cane, heading for the door. Then he turned and looked at us with a glint in his eyes before slouching and resuming the familiar, old-man shuffle. Slash opened the door for him, and the three priests waiting outside rushed inside to assist him.

  The pope held up a hand stopping the priests as he turned to us one more time. “Go with God, my children, and may the mercy and the blessing of His goodness bring you peace and light always.” He blessed both of us with the sign of the cross. “I know you are both destined for great things.”

 
We exited his study and one of the priests took immediate charge of us, leading us through the maze of rooms and corridors back to the security station at the entrance.

  After we had retrieved our phones and passports from security control and walked outside, I asked Slash the question burning on my tongue. “What did he say to you before we left?

  Slash slipped on his sunglasses. “He gave me some advice.”

  “Which was?”

  He put an arm around my shoulder. “He told me to take the peace she offers.”

  “Mother Mary?”

  He took my hand. “No. You.”

  “Me?” I stopped, pointed at myself. “You mean me me?”

  “You.” He continued walking to the car. “And he’s right, and not just because he’s my pope.”

  “I’m sensing a pattern here,” I joked, but his face remained serious. I’d left my hat in the car and my head was hot. I shaded my forehead with my hand. “Slash, do you think the pope knows who your father is?”

  “I do. I think it’s why he’s sending me to Father Armando with the package, whatever is in it.”

  “Are you going to peek?” I sure as heck would have opened that package by the time we walked out of the Vatican. But that was me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But not now.”

  Slash held open my door and I climbed in the car. He came around to his side, getting in and starting the car.

  “Does this mean we are heading to Genoa?” I asked my hands on my lap.

  “It does. Just not yet. We’ve got other work to do first. I’m going to get us a room here in Rome for now.”

  “What other work?”

  “I’ll explain when we get to the hotel.”

  I fastened my seat belt and as Slash backed out of the parking lot, I shifted in my seat to face him. “Slash, why do you think the pope gave me his mother’s crucifix?”

  “You heard him. Because you were meant to have it.”

  That didn’t help my clarity at all. “Did you know it was his mother’s?”