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

by Marco Arezio

Stories. The Secret of Corenno Plinio. Chapter 5: The Start of the Investigation

The glimpse of dawn over Lake Como reminded Lisa and Andrea of the happy early hours of every new day in Corenno Plinio, but that morning the air was filled with tension. After their hasty return from the Piedmontese hills and the tragic discovery of a lifeless man on the pier, they had tried to restore order to their emotions. Yet, as had emerged the previous night thanks to Enrico, the “enemy”—whoever it was—already seemed to be on their trail.

Inside the stone house, where laughter and moments of closeness usually echoed, an unusual silence reigned. Lisa, sitting at the table in the living room, was wrapping her cold fingers around a cup of coffee that was already lukewarm. On the surface of the table lay notebooks, photocopies, and books on local history: everything she had managed to gather, hoping to find a clue that would connect the murdered man, the mysterious map, and the origins of the village.

Andrea (placing a hand on Lisa’s shoulder): “Have you slept at all?”

Lisa (shaking her head slightly): “Not much. Enrico’s voice keeps coming to mind, his agitation. I wonder if he discovered something even more unsettling while on the run.”

The first rays of daylight filtered through the green shutters—the same ones that had once gently welcomed each dawn; now they seemed to reveal a different world, as if the village had lost its innocence. Lisa recalled the most serene chapter of their life: their arrival in Corenno Plinio, the garden with rose trees, and the walks along the lake with which they inaugurated their free days. Even the stories they had exchanged about their respective families in Bergamo exuded warmth and affection, but now that warmth seemed to have faded in the presence of a faceless killer.

It was Andrea who suggested stepping out for a few necessities, although the thought of facing the villagers’ inquisitive looks made him uneasy. The small market in the main square was coming to life despite the ever more insistent rumors about what had happened near the harbor.

As they walked through the cobbled alleys, Lisa noticed that the usually friendly greetings had grown colder or had disappeared entirely. Some acquaintances lowered their gaze, as if afraid of getting drawn into questioning. Others muttered words under their breath, lost in speculation.

Alessio, the bartender they had met weeks earlier, saw them pass by and leaned out from behind the counter of the shop that opened onto the street:

“Lisa, Andrea! Is everything all right? I heard you had a tumultuous return.”

Lisa (nodding, trying to smile): “Yes… quite a commotion. For now we’re fine, though everything is confusing.”

Alessio put on a concerned expression: “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Better not wander around too late at night… You never know.”

Though kind, the bartender’s words seemed to carry a warning. The village, once a refuge of serenity, was now dressed in distrust. As they turned the corner to reach a small fruit and vegetable stall, Andrea squeezed Lisa’s hand, aware that the unease was not only theirs.

Once they returned home with a bag of peaches and some produce, they decided to spend the day closely examining what Lisa had filed away over the past months. The parchment framed above the fireplace—the same one that mentioned the ancient history of the village, from the time of Pliny the Elder to the families who had ruled the area—was their first starting point. Lisa knew its content by heart, but this time she looked at it with different eyes. Realizing that the murdered man had come there because of a similar document made everything more tense.

Lisa (glancing at the parchment): “I don’t think this is the key to the mystery… It’s a fairly generic text, but maybe it connects to other historical records. I remember that in my studies, there were references to maps drawn to guide trade on the lake. They might date back to the 16th century or so.”

Andrea (carefully leafing through an old folder): “It could be something hidden in the stories of the Visconti family, or maybe the upheavals of the Napoleonic period? You mentioned a while ago that Giuseppe Garibaldi left some record in the village.”

Lisa frowned: if there was a map, it might concern secret passages, military routes, or underground locations. It wasn’t out of the question that someone coveted a treasure or a political secret. For the first time, she realized that her studies and her passion for art and local history had placed her in a precarious position.

In the afternoon, while the sun kissed the stone walls and made the lake glisten, a persistent knocking came at the door. Andrea went to open it, expecting to see perhaps a neighbor or someone driven by curiosity. Instead, he found a carabiniere in civilian clothes who, in a decisive tone, asked to speak with Lisa.

Carabiniere (with a watchful look): “I’m Marshal Colleoni, colleague of the carabiniere you met when the body was found. The investigation requires your cooperation. I heard that someone contacted you. I’d like you to tell me everything.”

Lisa (glancing sideways at Andrea): “Sure, come in. But I’ve already told you what I know… the phone call, the hospital.”

The marshal nodded, entering the living room with a determined step. He sat down on a wooden chair, casting a quick glance at the fireplace, the scattered books, and the framed parchment. He had a sharp face, etched with fine lines, and a manner that betrayed a certain urgency.

Marshal Francesco Colleoni was a man forged by experience and discipline. Born and raised in Bergamo, he had always nurtured a deep respect for justice, a value passed on to him by his father, who was also part of the Carabinieri.

From a young age, Francesco showed a keen sense of observation and an innate sense of duty, qualities that led him to pursue a military career. After attending the Non-Commissioned Officers’ Academy, he was assigned to various stations across Lombardy, where he honed his investigative intuition and determination to solve the most complex cases.

Over the years, Colleoni distinguished himself by his dedication and ability to handle high-tension situations. His experience led him to serve in specialized units combating organized crime and the illegal trafficking of cultural heritage, a field in which he developed an in-depth knowledge of Italian history and art. This interest made him an expert in spotting forgeries and uncovering links between academia and the black market.

After years of assignments in major cities, he accepted a transfer to a small station on the shores of Lake Como, just a few kilometers from Corenno Plinio. Apparently a quiet posting, but in reality it proved quite different. The village, with its millennial history and ancient legends, concealed secrets that would test his investigative acumen.

Colleoni was a reserved man, known for his piercing gaze and firm voice—traits that made him both respected and feared. He loved his work, but was not devoid of doubts and inner turmoil. His long career had made him skeptical, always attentive to detail and reluctant to trust without concrete proof. Yet behind that rigid armor lay a profoundly human man, with a steadfast will to protect citizens and uncover the truth, whatever it might be.

His arrival in the case involving Lisa and Andrea was no coincidence.

The mysterious death on the pier, the fragment of a map, and the whispers of ancient documents lost over the centuries immediately drew his attention. He was aware that something bigger was lurking behind appearances, beyond a mere assault or a trivial theft. And he knew time was not on his side. With his notebook always at hand and his mind constantly at work, Marshal Colleoni was ready to follow every lead, determined to solve the mystery that hung over Corenno Plinio.

Lisa and Andrea concisely reported what Enrico had told them at the hospital: the map, the missing fragment, the warning about an enemy. The marshal listened, jotting notes in a leather notebook. Then he eyed them with a look oscillating between skepticism and concern.

Marshal Colleoni: “The victim hasn’t been identified yet, but there are signs he was an independent researcher, one of those hunters of ancient documents. No indication of robbery or common assault. It’s as if someone wanted to prevent him from revealing something…”

Right then, a noise came from the garden behind the house: a rustling among the bushes, perhaps the sound of light footsteps. The marshal reacted immediately, getting up and heading to the French window leading outside. Andrea followed him, while Lisa remained with bated breath. But outside, there was no one. Just an overturned vase, with scattered geraniums on the ground.

Andrea (lowering his voice): “It could be a cat or a wild animal… But what if it’s someone spying on us?”

The marshal looked around, his face impassive: “Whoever it was, it’s gone. Keep your eyes open. Meanwhile, if Enrico reappears, call the station immediately. And you, Mrs. Lisa, don’t make any rash moves. It seems someone needs your research, but it could put you in danger.”

After Colleoni left, Lisa felt compelled to get to the bottom of things once and for all. She sensed the presence of forces greater than she had ever imagined. It was no longer just about academic curiosity; it was about finding justice for the murdered man and, above all, preserving the peace of Corenno Plinio.

Lisa (with a resolute look): “We absolutely have to track Enrico down. Maybe we can learn more about the map from him before anyone else does.”

Andrea (worried): “The marshal warned us. If Enrico is right, we might be under observation.”

Lisa: “I know, but waiting here isn’t an option. I have contacts among local art historians and archivists. Perhaps someone remembers a young man searching for ancient maps. We might figure out who K.L. was, the alias of the dead man.”

They were no strangers to bold decisions. Even when they had moved by the lake, they had faced challenges and uncertainties. This time, however, the stakes were far higher than typical everyday difficulties.

That evening arrived cloaked in hues of purple and gold, reflected on the calm water. Driven by an unstoppable restlessness, Lisa and Andrea decided to head out again, walking along the path bordering the lake. At that hour, fishermen’s boats rested quietly, and only a few stray figures wandered among the dimly lit docks. Further back, the stone stairways climbed and descended through the dark houses, as though hiding ancient secrets.

At the edge of the shore, they noticed a young woman, Rosalinda, whom they barely knew: she usually helped her grandfather unload fish in the early morning hours. Curious about her presence at such an unusual time, they approached her.

Andrea (amiably): “Hello Rosalinda, everything all right? We see you here all alone…”

Rosalinda (shivering a bit, looking down): “I couldn’t stay indoors, too many thoughts. I heard that poor man was found dead right here. The lake is the same, but it feels like a different place now.”

Lisa sensed the girl’s fear. She realized she wasn’t the only one troubled by these events. After a brief exchange of words, Rosalinda took her leave, hurrying away. Once she disappeared among the alleys, Lisa heard the water move—perhaps from a single oar or a small motor in the distance. But no boat was visible at that hour. She glanced over her shoulder, sure she had glimpsed a shadow, and just barely noticed a flicker of movement behind a wall.

Lisa (quietly, moving closer to Andrea): “We’re being followed, I’m sure of it.”

Andrea (gripping her arm): “Let’s go home. We’re safer there, at least for tonight.”

Back home, they found a note slipped under the door. It was a crumpled sheet, a few words scrawled in pen: “Trust no one. Whoever was looking for that map left traces outside the village too. Enrico has come back. Save him before the enemy finds him.”

Lisa read it aloud, exchanging anxious looks with Andrea. Who had delivered that message? And what did it mean that Enrico was “back”? He had no fixed residence in Corenno Plinio, wasn’t registered there. And yet, he might have been hiding in some remote corner of the village, hunted by someone far more dangerous.

Andrea (clenching his jaw): “If he’s really here, we need to find him. And figure out what secrets the victim held about Corenno Plinio.”

Lisa (studying the note with trembling hands): “The handwriting isn’t unfamiliar, but I can’t pin it on anyone specific. Clearly, someone’s helping us from the shadows.”

Night stretched out, heavy with tension. Their little love nest, once a sanctuary of serenity and shared plans, had turned into a place of unanswered questions and mounting fears.

Before turning in, Lisa tidied up the documents as best she could and ran a hand over the old parchment affixed to the fireplace. She recalled the first day she had seen it displayed at a market in Menaggio, and how she had bought it thinking it would add a historical touch to their home. Who would have guessed that history itself, with its hidden truths, would become the center of such a real danger?

Andrea (picking the note up from the floor): “Tomorrow at dawn I’ll contact my colleagues in Bellano. I want to know if Enrico turned up at the hospital again or if someone else spotted him.”

Lisa (nodding, her gaze on the window overlooking the dark lake): “And I’ll try to get in touch with some archivists I’ve worked with. I want to find out if this sixteenth-century map really exists or if it’s just a myth.”

They retreated to their bedroom, fully aware that their rest would be short and troubled. Outside, the lake lay silent, still as a black mirror. In each other’s arms, they silently told themselves that the only way to protect their lives was to confront the truth hidden among the stones of Corenno Plinio.

In a village they had chosen for its magic and peaceful charm, a shadow now loomed, poised to destroy its tranquility. The mystery of the map, the scattered clues about secrets buried over centuries, the danger closing in on Enrico and on the two protagonists were pieces of an unfinished puzzle. Lisa and Andrea, more united than ever, prepared to face any revelation that might come to light in the following hours and days.

With the realization that nothing would ever be the same, night fell on Corenno Plinio, shrouding it in an otherworldly silence, like the hush before an imminent storm. And in Lisa and Andrea’s hearts, a mixture of fear and resolve beat like the flutter of wings, waiting for the next event that would shake their existence to its very core…

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