Love and Courage in the Village of Corenno Plinio, Amid Mysteries and Conspiracies

by Marco Arezio

Stories. The Secret of Corenno Plinio. Chapter 4: The Forced Return

The late-afternoon light descended like a golden curtain over the vineyards of Piedmont. For a couple of days, Lisa and Andrea had rented a stone cottage perched on the hills—a peaceful retreat to recharge after months of intense work. The porch, entwined with grapevines and climbing plants, offered a breathtaking view of the valley dotted with farmhouses, while inside, the simple yet cozy decor—sturdy wooden tables, old sideboards, and wicker baskets—soothed the senses with a rustic, old-world charm.

Yet, right at the height of their relaxation, something began to unsettle that suspended atmosphere. It all started with the first anonymous phone call, when Lisa, comfortably seated in a rocking chair on the porch, was distracted by her ringing cell phone:

Lisa (pressing it to her ear): “Hello?”

(Silence. Only a distant rustling, like wind in a cable.)

On the other end, no greeting, no recognizable sign. Perhaps a stifled breath, then the line went dead. Lisa thought it was a misdial. But the repetition of those rings disrupted the tranquility like a bothersome insect.

That evening, while Andrea was busy in the kitchen preparing a vegetable soup, came the second call:

Lisa: “Yes?”

Unknown voice (breathing softly): “Mrs. Lisa… I have to warn you… Come home. Right away.”

Lisa (startled): “Who’s speaking? What’s going on?”

Silence, then a faint murmur that sounded like a groan, and the line went dead again.

Lisa’s eyes widened, gripped by a sense of danger. Andrea approached, drying his hands on a kitchen apron. Gently, he asked who it was, but she had no idea. And just when the night seemed like it would end in a reassuring embrace beneath the covers, the third call broke the last remnant of peace in the heart of the darkness:

Unknown voice (in a tense whisper): “Come back… there’s no time… please…”

Lisa’s heart pounded wildly. That agitated, fear-stricken voice had the same urgency as someone desperately trying to save someone else from disaster. Andrea switched on the bedside lamp, his eyes filled with worry. It was clear that whoever was sending these anxious messages intended to warn them of impending danger in their home village.

At dawn, with the sky still veiled by gray haze, they decided to cut short their vacation. They quickly gathered the clothes left on the wrought-iron beds, the cups scattered on the kitchen counters, and the books Lisa had brought to relax with. After a brief farewell to the owner—a slim, friendly man whose face was weathered by the sun—they set off by car.

The road home was a series of curves winding through the hills, made all the gloomier by a thin wind bending the rows of cypress trees. Lisa, who had remained mostly silent, replayed those unnerving calls in her mind; she wondered who or what might be in danger back home. Andrea, focused on driving, kept his lips firmly set, but from time to time he glanced at her with concern.

When they finally approached their village of Corenno Plinio—an ancient hamlet of a few hundred souls stretched out along the lake—the sight that greeted them felt different than usual. There were no clothes hanging from windows, no dogs barking happily in the courtyards. The old stone houses, with pastel-colored shutters, seemed immersed in an eerie stillness. The normally calm and gleaming lake water was rippled by an unexpected wind, as if it were rebelling against some unknown force.

Walking on foot, they noticed a group of people gathered near the small pier where the fishermen’s boats docked. A long strip of red-and-white tape cordoned off an area while two Carabinieri tried to hold back onlookers. The expressions on the villagers’ faces were troubled; some showed dismay or muttered under their breath to the people beside them.

Andrea: “What the hell happened here?”

Lisa (with a lump in her throat): “Those phone calls… maybe that’s what they were trying to tell me. Something terrible…”

They approached with hesitant steps. A tall carabiniere with graying hair recognized them—Andrea had worked with him in the past during some healthcare emergencies. He lowered his voice slightly:

Carabiniere: “Good evening, doctor. I’m sorry you have to see such chaos. A body was found here behind the boats, apparently a stranger. No ID, no one knows him. We ask that you stay back: this scene needs to be preserved for the investigation.”

Lisa felt the blood freeze in her veins. A murder—because that’s what the villagers were calling it—was a shocking event in their tiny community, where everyone knew one another and helped out, and days were governed by the rhythm of small habits. Now someone had been killed. Perhaps that was what they had tried to warn her about?

They decided to return home. Their stone house lay inside a small courtyard: you reached it by descending three steps framed by pots of geraniums and hydrangeas. On the walls, the gray hue of the stone contrasted with the green shutters and the climbing vines creeping up to the roof. Usually, that view filled their hearts with joy. But that day, every detail felt tinged by a menacing shadow.

As soon as they went in, the musty smell struck them like a warning. The silence was almost palpable. They let the luggage drop in the entryway and exchanged a glance: outside, they could still hear distant murmuring, confused voices, the excited chatter of people discussing the murder.

Lisa: “I don’t understand. Why were those calls directed at me? What do I have to do with this man who was found dead?”

Andrea (trying to reassure her): “Maybe he was seeking help and knew you’re interested in historical documents, art… or maybe he just had a wrong number. Whatever the case, it’s unsettling.”

That evening, they had a quick meal without really tasting it: a plate of lukewarm pasta, then some fruit, eaten in a silence steeped in dread. Outside the kitchen window, the lake lay flat, darkened by a blanket of clouds that concealed the stars. Lisa switched on a lamp in the living room, where an ancient framed parchment hung on a wall, a testament to her lifelong passion for studying the borough’s past. It was a reminder of calmer times, when nothing seemed to threaten their peace.

Late at night, just as they were about to turn out the lights, Lisa’s phone started vibrating incessantly again. This time the number on the display was visible—a local area code she didn’t recognize. Lisa hesitated for a few seconds before answering, fearing another silent call or yet another cryptic warning.

“Hello… I’m… my name is Enrico. Are you all right? I… I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. I tried calling you several times, but… the line kept dropping. Now I’m hurt, I’m on my way to the ER in Bellano.”

Lisa (her eyes widening): “Do you need help? What’s going on? Were you the one warning us to come back?”

Enrico (panting): “Yes, Mrs. Lisa… It’s about the man they found dead. I saw him die. He told me to find you. He spoke your name…”

The phone line started crackling, as though the connection were poor. Lisa caught only a few hurried words: a meeting, a piece of paper, a secret. Then Enrico’s voice vanished, leaving an even heavier silence.

They didn’t hesitate about what to do: Andrea immediately grabbed the car keys, and within twenty minutes, the two of them were driving along the lakeside road toward Bellano. The street was lit by the glow of streetlamps reflecting on the water, while the nighttime breeze ruffled the branches of the trees along the roadside. Lisa sat stiffly in the passenger seat, clutching her phone as though dreading it might ring again at any moment.

When they reached the small hospital, they found Enrico in the ER corridor, seated on a metal bench. He was a man of about thirty, with short, disheveled brown hair, his face etched with tension. A makeshift bandage covered his left forearm, stained with fresh blood.

Andrea (in a reassuring, doctorly tone): “Let me take a look at that wound, Enrico. That’s a bad cut you’ve got there.”

Enrico (looking around anxiously): “Yes, they attacked me while I was trying to get away. But that’s not the point. I… I found the man… he was still alive, and all he said was ‘warn Lisa,’ that… that an enemy was after him. He shoved a piece of paper into my hand, a snippet of an old map, I think. I don’t have it anymore—I lost it while running away.”

Lisa felt a chill run through her. Those words—“warn Lisa”—echoed in her mind. But why would a stranger utter her name in his final moments? Enrico went on, eyes feverish:

Enrico: “I met him through an online forum discussing local history. He said he’d discovered something very important, but that he was in danger. He thought you, Lisa and Andrea, could help him piece it all together. I don’t know anything else, I’m sorry… The night we met, I only managed to catch his last words. Then I fled. Someone chased me, hurt me.”

It was a story that left them both breathless. Andrea tried to keep a clear head, had Enrico taken to an exam room for initial care, and recommended further tests. But Lisa’s thoughts were already dwelling on the ominous phone calls. At last, they had a name and a face behind those frantic rings. And they also had confirmation that a much bigger—and more dangerous—mystery was hidden among the centuries-old stones of the borough.

By the time they left the hospital, it was late at night, and the air had turned cold and biting. The streetlights cast distorted shadows on the pavement. As they got back into their car, Lisa couldn’t shake a sense of guilt and unease:

Lisa: “Why did that man call us in particular? What vital knowledge could he have had? And who is this ‘enemy’ he mentioned?”

Andrea (drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel): “I don’t know, but he’s already killed once. If Enrico is telling the truth, it’s likely he’s after something valuable—a document, a historical secret… something you might be able to interpret. Remember all your research on the ancient events of Corenno Plinio?”

Lisa (eyes filled with distress): “Of course I do… But I never imagined anyone would kill for dusty old papers… and why say my name at the point of death? Maybe he knew I study local records, and he hoped I could shed light on what he’d discovered.”

The drive back home was wrapped in silence, broken only by the sound of the engine and the rush of their troubled thoughts. As they passed the moored boats, now swallowed up by darkness, they caught sight of the flashing lights of the police still in the distance. A shiver ran down Lisa’s spine, imagining that somewhere, in that blackness, the murderer might be lurking.

When they got home, the familiar smell of the stone walls couldn’t dispel their anxiety. They switched off the light in the foyer and sat in the living room, side by side, facing the framed parchment. That ancient document, telling the story of the village, now looked different to Lisa: could it be that between its lines—or in other manuscripts she knew—there lurked a secret compelling enough to attract people with no scruples?

Still, a realization was dawning: that unknown man had lost his life but managed to send a last desperate plea to her. She couldn’t turn away. If a secret had lain hidden for centuries among those stones and papers, Lisa felt duty-bound to uncover it. Andrea took her hand, trying to give her a little courage.

Andrea: “We have to tell the Carabinieri everything. The truth might emerge faster that way, and we’re not detectives. We can’t risk going it alone.”

Lisa (bowing her head with a sigh): “You’re right… But I have to be honest: I’m afraid the police alone won’t grasp the importance of the documents. Maybe they need my expertise. I’ll look through the papers I’ve collected—my notes, the library… I want to see if there’s any reference to maps like the one that man was carrying.”

Their words trailed off into silence, as the ticking of an old pendulum clock marked the seconds until daybreak. They both knew that whatever the truth was, they had already set a dangerous process in motion: there was a killer on the loose—someone who would stop at nothing to protect or acquire a mystery Lisa might have unwittingly brushed against in her studies.

They didn’t sleep a wink in that last hour before dawn. With fatigue weighing down their eyelids and tension rattling their nerves, they clung to each other in a silence heavy with questions. The first morning light filtered through the shutters, promising a day that would bring no peace, only new challenges to face and, possibly, new twists and turns.

One thing was certain: those anonymous calls and the words choked out amid static were no mistake. Someone, with anguish in their voice, had truly pleaded for Lisa’s return. And now they knew that warning was a dire alarm, a call to unearth an intrigue whose magnitude they still did not fully grasp.

Thus ended that restless night, their hearts heavy with fear but also steeled by a flicker of resolve not to run away. From that moment on, their lives would never be the same. And the village of Corenno Plinio, so cherished and comforting just hours before, had transformed into a labyrinth of truths waiting to be uncovered and dangers lurking in the shadows.

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