Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery)

by Susan Russo Anderson

  “The ship’s making a special trip to Palermo just to pick us up.”

  Rosa’s smile broadened.

  Despite the madam’s earlier objections to hearing details, Serafina explained their travel arrangements at length, dwelling on the luxury of the accommodations.

  “This is getting good,” Rosa said. “I knew Henri would take care of us.”

  “Cryptic as usual.”

  “Henri Dupuy de Lôme. He’s an engineer of some sort, a principal with Messageries Maritimes. A navy man. Tall, dashing, or he was at one time. Haven’t seen him in years. No doubt by now he’s bloated himself. Men usually do. I’ll have the maids do all the packing. Not just the two of us, I hope. We’ll need a fleet of helpers.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but Rosa cut her off. Her friend’s excitement was infectious and for the first time, Serafina looked forward to the trip.

  “And old man Busacca gave you a retainer, I’m sure. Let’s see it.”

  Serafina handed her the envelope. Rosa took her time with the note, going over to the window to look at it in the light, turning it over several times, smelling the paper as if she could tell a counterfeit cheque by its odor, gazing at the numbers until her eyes widened.

  “Someone’s finally paying you what you’re worth. We’d better be staying on the Rue de Rivoli. Haven’t been to Paris in ages, but they say it’s grand now the baron’s had his way with the place. Dug up all the slums, widened the streets, strewn gas lights all around so the city’s lit up like Nero’s Rome.”

  “We’ve got seven rooms on the top floor of the Hôtel du Louvre on the Place du Palais Royal, and we’re to stay for as long as it takes to find Elena’s killer.”

  “That means we can take Tessa. We’ll have to let her teachers know, but she’s so keen on drawing and painting. She’s getting oils all over her smocks, dripping it onto my carpets, no interest in fashion. Paris will be good for her. Perhaps your daughter will give her a lesson, show her frocks. And she can observe in one of those ateliers. Gesuzza can stay with her and chaperone. It’s Paris we’re going to, after all.”

  “This isn’t an outing. Elena’s been murdered.”

  The door opened and a domestic entered.

  “We need coffee and sweets. And tell Arcangelo I want to see him.”

  After the maid left, Rosa shook her head. “I’m running away with myself, forgive me. Why did Elena, with all her money and connections, have to die? And why did she do it so suddenly?”

  “It’s a shock.” Serafina told her friend what little she knew. “‘One bullet to the head, her body discarded on a deserted street in Paris,’ Busacca’s words. She was discovered early yesterday morning. Busacca’s sister identified her.” Serafina stared into the flames. “I can’t quite believe she’s gone. Such a free spirit, a lesson for us all. Although …”

  “Although what?” Serafina asked.

  “I’ve heard rumors.”

  “You would.”

  Rosa’s eyes narrowed and her cheeks took on that conspiratorial look of hers. “I’ve heard she’s scaling the depths and heights of wildness.”

  “She always was wild,” Serafina said.

  “Not like this.”

  “Out with it. What have you heard?”

  “Seen scampering in the seedier parts of Paris. Bedding every ne’er do well in town.”

  Serafina said nothing but stared out the madam’s windows overlooking the public gardens. “You’re not surprised at her murder?”

  Rosa shook her head and was onto another subject. “We’ll be in a foreign land. I for one haven’t been to Paris in ages, barely know two or three words in French, although the last time I was there I had little trouble making myself understood. Parisian men seem to like me.”

  Serafina rolled her eyes.

  “But you’ll find the horror who killed Elena, I know you will,” Rosa said. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help. Where shall we start?”

  “There’s Busacca’s sister,” Serafina said. “And the prefect of police. I’ll need his help, I’m sure. And anyway, I’m anxious to meet him. Interesting man, I saw his picture in the Giornale di Sicilia a few months ago, some story about the usual government snafu. He tendered his resignation, it seems, and they begged him to stay on. You know the French, all that to-ing and fro-ing they do.”

  Rosa looked pensive. “I’d forgotten about Busacca’s sister. Haughty creature. I knew her once. That was long ago and she’d have nothing to do with me. Runs the business in Paris, I hear tell. Tall and ugly, but has a certain esteem. Of course she disregards everyone but herself. Takes after her father.”

  “She sounds like Elena.” For a moment, Serafina tried to picture Elena. It had been so long. She became lost in the tangle of her thoughts and caught herself staring into the flames. Her reverie was broken by Rosa’s chuckle.

  “What?”

  “Forgetting something? Elena’s death should lighten your step.”

  Serafina shook her head. “I wondered when you’d get to that, but you’re mistaken. Loffredo hasn’t written once and Busacca, as you can imagine, had no kind words to say about him. No, Elena’s death gives me little cause for joy. There’s something sinister in all of this. I wouldn’t put it past Elena for arranging her own demise to spite us.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rosa said. “Busacca’s no fool. After all, he’s used to Elena’s misdeeds. He must know when she’s inventing fantasy. He wouldn’t part with ten thousand lire to retain your services unless he was sure she’s dead.”

  “But I feel a tremble in my bones, an ancient monster swishing its tail. Something’s not right with Loffredo.”

  “You’re being far too dramatic, as usual.”

  Serafina gazed across the room and was silent for a moment. “You’re right. I need to focus on investigating Elena’s death.” Besides, she thought, but did not say it, she was a bit put out with Loffredo. Whenever Elena wrote to him, he dropped everything to be by her side. What was that about? And she hadn’t heard from him in close to two weeks. Perhaps she should be worried. She felt again that slow burn in her stomach. He couldn’t be ... they couldn’t have ... No, impossible, the French would never imprison a member of the nobility. Well, except during their Revolution, but that was long ago. And that other slip, what did they call it? The Commune.

  “Have you made arrangements for Giulia to meet us?”

  “Not yet, but I will. I’ll have her meet us at the hotel with as much of a new wardrobe for Carmela as she can muster in such a short time.”

  “Will her employer part with all that fabric without charging her for the gowns?”

  Serafina nodded. “La Grinaldi is in my debt for letting Giulia go to Paris and work for her in the first place. But right now I’m more concerned with finding Elena’s killer and being done with it. We have our work cut out for us. Elena has friends, lots of them. Painters and poets and the like. Any of them could have killed her.”

  “The motive?” Rosa asked.

  “Don’t be so pedantic.” But Serafina paused to consider Rosa’s question. “I’ve no idea, not yet. Anything could have happened. You know what a horror Elena can be at times. She may have angered someone, or perhaps a poor painter is in her debt. I know nothing of her life in Paris, only what she’s chosen to tell Loffredo, and that’s very little.”

  There was a knock on the door and Arcangelo entered.

  Rosa perked up. “You have ten hours to finish your chores for the day and ready yourself for a long journey. We leave tonight on a pack boat bound for Paris. But before you do, find out who’s been following Donna Fina and take care of them for her.”

  Serafina described them, a tall man wearing a dark cloak, and a shorter companion in black leather jerkin and cap. “Hired by the inspector, no doubt.”

  Rosa’s stable boy bowed. As he turned to leave, the madam pointed to a bulge in his back pocket. “And for heaven’s sake, do a better job of hiding that sling shot.”

&nbs
p; * * *

  When Serafina got home, she found her children gathered around the table waiting for breakfast, so she told them briefly about Elena’s death and her commission from Mr. Busacca to find her killer.

  Totò seemed more interested in shining his knucklebones. Vicenzu rushed out to deposit her retainer, promising to return with enough bank notes to cover her expenses while in Paris.

  “And you can always wire for more,” he said, kissing the note and running out the door.

  Serafina called after him. “Don’t forget to contact Giulia. Tell her we’ll be in Paris in what, today’s Friday, and the trip takes seventy-six hours—tell her she should meet us in the lobby of the Hôtel du Louvre on ... Monday or Tuesday evening. Tell her I’ll wire her when we get to Marseille with a more precise arrival time.” Her stomach began to churn. She wasn’t used to moving so quickly and envied the madam her quick embrace of change.

  Carmela almost spilled her caffè. “My hair’s a mess, my figure slovenly, and I’ve nothing to wear, nothing! I can’t possibly go. Totò get those knucklebones off this table.”

  “Not to worry, my sweet. Wire Giulia your measurements. She’ll fix up something for you. And don’t forget the grand department stores. You’ve never seen anything like them. Ready to wear dresses that are sumptuous. We’ll buy a whole new wardrobe for you, in addition to what Giulia conjures up for us.”

  Carlo rolled his eyes.

  Their buoyant spirits added to the house’s usual pandemonium. Everyone was talking, arms flying, children ranging about the kitchen table, Carmela in a state examining herself in the glass, Carlo stealing bread from her plate. They were excited. No, relieved, that was it. The commission meant they could live comfortably for several years if they were careful.

  Renata, Serafina’s older daughter and family chef, busied herself at the stove rolling eggs into omelets and shoveling biancomangiare topped with orange sauce into bowls while the domestic shuffled back and forth carrying food and steaming cups of latté to the table. Maria clomped in from the parlor, a score in one hand, pushing up her spectacles with the other, and asking for peace, please, while she practiced.

  Thank the Madonna, Carlo was home for another few weeks after the Easter holidays and he could help manage Maria and Totò. Serafina wondered what had happened to Gloria; he never spoke of her, and truth to tell, he seemed more interested in reading the paper and visiting his friends who were also in town. Come to think of it, she never saw him study. But she didn’t have time to worry about him now.

  After the breakfast was served, Renata was out the door and on her way to La Vucciria. She wanted to prepare a feast for Serafina and Carmela before their departure, saying she didn’t know when they’d have another proper meal.

  “But we go to Paris, the home of cuisine,” Carmela said.

  “Who told you that?” Carlo asked, forking in a mouthful of omelet. “What they know of food and love, they learned from us. But it’s the center of style and color and medicine.” He shoveled some biancomangiare into his mouth. “Are you sure you won’t need more help? Arcangelo and Teo are youngsters, and what does Carmela know of stealthy pursuit?”

  “Much more than you. I couldn’t have caught the Ambrosi murderer without her.” Serafina sipped her latté. “Besides, I don’t know how long we’ll be gone and you’ve got school. It was your father’s dying wish that you practice medicine. Don’t you dare disappoint him.”

  “Shouldn’t you take me, too?” Maria asked. “The Hôtel du Louvre has a pianoforte in the lobby played by Mozart.”

  “Does not.” Teo, the orphan who lived with Serafina, came into the room followed by the nurse carrying the two youngest members of the household, Teo’s brother and Carmela’s child. “Mozart played the harpsichord, and the instrument that he played as a child is in the Palace of Versailles.”

  Maria looked like she’d been slapped. “Who asked you?” She pushed back her chair, crossing her arms. “You know nothing about anything, you’re not even a part of our family, you’re a silly orphan, now go away.” She turned to Serafina. “And why does he get to go to Paris and not me?”

  “First, Teo and his brother are part of our family.” Serafina looked toward Carmela. “Second, this is not a holiday outing. He and Arcangelo have work to do in this investigation, and I suggest they’d better get started. We need to find out who’s been following me. And third, if you cannot be gracious to Teo, go to your room.”

  As soon as she said the words, she’d regretted them. She’d lost control, something she vowed never to do again. Worse, she’d lost focus. Serafina rubbed her temples. “The success of this investigation depends on all of us, especially on me and my mind. A terrible murder has been committed, a deed against humanity. It’s up to me to find out who killed Elena. If I fail, I’ll never work again, and that will have dire consequences for all of us.”

  There was a hush in the room, except for the tick of the clock’s pendulum.

  “Who was this Elena, anyway?” Arcangelo asked, coming into the room, followed by Tessa and Rosa.

  “Yes, do tell us,” Carlo said, fetching more chairs for the newcomers.

  “Enough, all of you.” Serafina shot Rosa a look, defying her to say one word. “Elena was Dr. Loffredo’s wife, the countess of Oltramari. Her body was found yesterday morning on a street in Paris. Her father, Levi Busacca, has asked me to find her killer.” As Serafina answered Arcangelo’s question, Maria, her breakfast uneaten, left the room. Tessa smiled at Teo who scowled back at her and lowered his head into a book.

  Chapter 6: The Journey to Paris

  The ship’s crew was efficient and friendly and as a special treat, Arcangelo, Teo, and Tessa were given a tour of the engine room. There were games on the main deck and plenty of room to stroll. Even Rosa was impressed with the food. They ate their meals in the formal dining room with several other travelers, and met a Parisian couple who offered to take Tessa to the École des Beaux Arts since their son was a student there, attached to the atelier of Gérôme.

  “Not my taste, Mama,” Tessa told Rosa after the couple had left. “I want to see the new school of painters.”

  “We’ll see plenty of those,” Serafina said. “Many of Elena’s friends are painters, the unconventional kind, rejected by the Salon. They’re planning a show this month, I know as much from the last time I saw Loffredo. That’s why Elena wanted him in Paris, my star-crossed lover.”

  Tessa’s eyes widened.

  Rosa put down her fork. “Just you wait, my girl, I took you to Paris for a reason. You and Gesuzza will have a time going to the shows and the grand department stores, mark me.”

  * * *

  Representatives of Messageries Maritimes met Serafina’s party in Marseille and drove them to the Gare St. Charles where they’d catch the train Busacca called “the PLM,” the “Companie des chemin de fer de Paris à Lyon et à la Méditerranée.” The station was built on a plateau overlooking the harbor and lower city. It reminded Serafina of a stony general surveying his troops, but it was not without its charm, and in spite of a small incident, the hour layover proved to be a respite. The journey through choppy waters had been tiring and they still had a long train ride ahead. Before they departed, they’d have time to stroll the plaza fronting the building. It would be the last real exercise until they arrived in Paris that evening, so they ambled around the circumference, feeling the warmth of the sun, marveling at the view, and munching on figs, warm croissants, and sardines sold by a street vendor.

  Carmela, who’d taken charge of Arcangelo and Teo with the intent of forming a skilled surveillance team, tapped Serafina on the shoulder. “Don’t turn around, but someone’s following us, I’m sure of it. No need to tell Rosa.”

  “No need to tell Rosa what,” the madam demanded. “If you refer to those two louts following us, I’ve been watching them ever since they hailed a hansom at the harbor. They’ve been trailing us at a safe distance. And this is the first you’ve noticed them?
Arcangelo failed to find the men who were following Fina in Oltramari; the three of you will have to do better in Paris.”

  Arms folded, one foot tapping the dusty ground, Carmela opened her mouth to speak, but looked down and kept her mouth shut for a moment before she managed to say, “You’re right, of course.”

  Serafina frowned. Rosa had a point, but what had she expected? Her assistants consisted of her children and a stableboy, not exactly experts in the art of detection. And there hadn’t been enough time to teach them more than what they knew naturally of stealth.

  “We’ll do better, I promise,” Carmela said.

  Serafina smiled at her daughter. “Are there two men, average in height, the taller of the two wearing a dark cloak, and the other, a leather jerkin and cap?”

  Carmela nodded.

  “The same two who followed you in Oltramari?” Rosa asked.

  Serafina shrugged. “As you pointed out, Teo and Arcangelo didn’t have luck finding them.” She swallowed and tried to keep her voice from trembling. She considered for a moment, her head pounding. Who would want her followed? “Let’s slow down,” she said, “and think this through. We’ve been rushing ever since Friday morning.”

  “In Oltramari, the shadows could have been anywhere in town, but we didn’t have time for a proper search,” Carmela said. “On the ship we spent every waking moment trying to find them. Unless they were squirreled in by the crew, they weren’t onboard, I’m sure of it. We scoured every hold.”

  “Then how did they get here?” Rosa asked.

  “There could be two different sets of men, two different people paying them,” Carmela said.

  Serafina looked at the sky and told herself to remain calm. “We need to confront them. You know what to do.”

  Carmela nodded and snapped her fingers. In seconds Arcangelo and Teo appeared. “How much time do we have?”

  Serafina looked at her watch. “Twenty-five minutes, and I’ll want to talk with the men, at the very least, listen to their speech and find out what sort of thugs we’re dealing with.”