Chapter 9: Behind Mamma's Plate

Saint Michael's in Brooklyn opened at six for the early Mass.

The caretaker, an old man with a ring of keys on his belt, took one look at Teresa and let us through a side door without a word.

Raf came behind me with two men.

They stopped at the top of the stairs.

He kept coming.

The crypt was narrow and smelled of cold stone and candle wax.

Brass plates marked the wall in rows.

The Rinaldi niche was on the lower shelf at the end, behind a small oval plate that read, Concetta Rinaldi, 1931 to 2004.

My grandmother.

I knelt on the stone.

The plate was held on with two screws that had been taken out and put back many times.

Raf crouched beside me and handed me a coin from his pocket.

I turned the screws with it.

The plate came away.

Behind it was a metal box the size of a loaf of bread, wrapped in an oilcloth.

I lifted it out with both hands.

It was heavy.

The brass key fit the lock, and the lock turned like it had been oiled yesterday.

Inside were two things.

A small gray tape recorder with a spool of microcassette in it.

And a white envelope with my name on it, in my father's hand.

I did not open it for a long time.

Raf did not hurry me.

He sat on the stone floor with his back against the opposite wall and his coat spread under him.

At last I broke the seal.

One page, folded in three.

My father had written the way he spoke, in short lines, no wasted words.

Elena. If Dario has given you this, then I am gone and you are not safe. I am sorry for that. I should have sent you away sooner.

Do not play the tape in Sandro's house or near any man who works for him. Play it with Teresa beside you. Then decide who to trust.

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