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“Ah, cara,many people consider them already blessed, official sainthood or not. Requesting their assistance and intercession with a problem or prayer is quite normal.”

I didn’t get it, but I refrained from saying so aloud. Instead I glanced over at the priest who had resumed rearranging items on the altar. “Did you find out anything interesting from him?”

“I did. His name is Father Adam Bianachi. He’s worked at the church for the past thirty-six years. He and Father Armando are friends. He knew who I was. Well, not me exactly, but the baby. He remembers when I was brought in during the great storm, and how I stayed with them for three days until the regional child services were able to reach here.”

“That’s promising. Did Father Bianachi happen to see the person who brought you in?”

“Unfortunately, he did not. The first he saw of me was when I was already in Father Armando’s arms.”

Slash pulled out his wallet and slipped some bills into an offering box near several unlit votive candles. He picked up a couple of matches and struck one to flame before lighting two wicks.

“So, did he say anything else?” I asked.

Slash straightened. “Father Bianachi says that it wasn’t just he and Father Armando who were working here at the church when I was brought in. There were two others. One was an associate priest by the name of Father Daniel Opizzi, and the other was a young acolyte from Rome who was visiting for the summer. Father Bianachi doesn’t know if Father Opizzi is still alive, he recalls him being in his forties, which would put him in his seventies now.”

“What about the acolyte?” I asked.

“He doesn’t remember the kid’s name, but says he was an extraordinarily handsome young man who happened to leave a few weeks after I arrived at the church.”

“That’s interesting. Did Father Bianachi know how we can reach Father Opizzi? Maybe he’ll remember something about that night or, at the very least, the acolyte’s name.”

“That would be ideal. Unfortunately, Father Bianachi does not know how to reach him, but we should be able to track the father down online if he’s still alive.”

“What happens if Father Opizzi doesn’t remember the acolyte’s name?”

“I already thought of that. Father Bianachi has granted us access to the church library for a few hours to see if he’s mentioned anywhere in the records. How about we split this task up? You do a search online to see if you find Father Opizzi, and I’ll go through the ledgers and journals to see if I can locate the acolyte’s name.”

“Deal.” Finally we had two good leads. Maybe we could get some answers to Slash’s past.

“That was nice of Father Bianachi to give us access to the library,” I said. “Would he have done that for just anyone?”

“Without the personal connection to Father Armando, I doubt it.”

“Well, then, let’s not waste any time. We don’t want him to change his mind.”

“And this is why I love you, my single-minded woman. Let’s go get your laptop. You can use your hotspot to work, as it’s doubtful they’ll have decent wifi here.”

After we returned from the car with my computer, Slash introduced me properly to Father Bianachi. The priest shook my hand and welcomed me to the church in broken English. I thanked him in broken Italian before he led us through a door to the right of the altar, revealing a stone corridor. We followed him down the passage until he stopped at a door. Using a key on a keychain attached to his belt, he let us into a small room with a thick stained-glass window that didn’t allow in much light. Leaning over, he switched on a lamp sitting in the middle of a round wooden table with four chairs. The walls were lined with bookshelves and crammed with books, ledgers, papers and boxes.

The priest said something to Slash in Italian and then left, keeping the door slightly ajar.

The minute he left, I started sneezing. “Wow, it’s dusty in here.” I looked at all the books and papers. “Where in the world do we start?”

“The year of my birth. Go ahead and get started online. I’ll see if there is any rhyme or reason to this antiquated filing system.” Slash started pulling boxes and books from the shelves.

I sat at the table, sneezed some more and opened up my laptop.

An idea suddenly occurred to me. “Hey, Slash, do you know if you were baptized in this church?”

He was already seated on the floor in front of the bookshelf, a box between his legs, flipping through a blue leather journal. He had his phone out and was using it as a flashlight to view the papers. “Si. Father Armando told me he baptized me on the second day.”

“Wouldn’t the attending priests be noted somewhere?”

Slash looked up. “Not necessarily on the baptism certificate, which by the way, I’ve never seen, but it might be noted on an official event record for the church. I’m not sure how official my baptism was. Still, that’s a good idea,cara.”

I flexed my fingers and got to work. It took me over two hours to track down the former Father Daniel Opizzi. The wifi, even with my hotspot and an enhancer, was as slow as molasses.

“Bingo!” I finally exclaimed. “I’ve found him.”