Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery)

by Susan Russo Anderson

  In the Place du Palais Royal below, he saw a new machine, one he’d never seen at home. Carmela called it a bicycle. Now several men about his age stood on the edge of the square holding the wheeled contraption between them and jostled for a turn to work the pedals. They snorted, full of life, happy, hopeful, like most of the people in this city.

  Teo felt a stone lodge in his throat. What chance would he have against all the gentlemen Maria would meet when she began playing in Paris or Berlin or New York? He was an orphan with a moon face from a rusted-out part of the world. He had nothing to his name except a set of knucklebones carved long ago by his father.

  Rubbing his hands on his breeches, Teo peered out the window taking one last look at the men and women walking in the square below, dressed in finery so different from his own plain clothes. The bicycle and the young men were gone, but he saw someone he recognized talking to a driver wearing a top hat. Teo watched as the driver helped the woman into a carriage. It was Donna Fina. He hurried down the steps and outside.

  * * *

  After she said goodnight to the others, Serafina found herself restless, unable to ready herself for sleep. She had to get out and walk. They’d be seeing Valois the next day and she must be prepared with as much information as possible. She couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to leave investigating Elena’s apartment until tomorrow—they’d have to rise at four, in less than three hours. What better time to explore than tonight? So she ran outside, hailed a cab, and gave the driver Elena’s address.

  The horses clattered over the cobbles, noisy like her stomach. Despite the late hour Parisians were still out enjoying the evening, some with their dogs, but most of them with their lovers walking along the quai, stopping for a heated embrace. At one point the driver halted for congestion, an altercation ahead, perhaps. From the corner of her eye she saw an aging woman of the night trussed up in street garb, frilly red lace, her face artfully painted and pointed toward the stars as she leaned against a lamppost, blowing smoke. When the carriage passed, Serafina watched the woman’s hips swaying suggestively as she moved away, head held high. A moment later, she disappeared. Serafina swore all the women in Paris, even the poorest, had exciting taste, wore the latest style, or made the most of what they had. Except for her. The night was young and so alive. She missed Loffredo.

  The carriage stopped in front of a large building on the Rue de Passy facing a quaint square. She paid the fare and asked the driver to wait, but he declined, saying she’d have no trouble hiring another cab and pointing to a line of fiacres on the other side of the Place de Passy. Waving a dismissive hand and holding her skirts, she made her way up the staircase. She knocked and a liveried servant answered the door and showed her inside.

  The building’s concierge sat behind his desk reading an ancient copy of Le Figaro. Handing her card to him, she suddenly felt tongue-tied and began to stammer.

  “May I help you, Madame?”

  “I am here to visit Elena Loffredo.”

  Smelling of cheap wine and wearing a threadbare frock coat, the concierge ran a pink hand down a large ledger, shaking his head. In a few moments he looked up at her with fat lips, reminding her of Oltramari’s embalmer.

  “A pity, you have just missed her. You see my note here.” He swung the ledger around to show her an illegible scrap near Elena’s name.

  Serafina played her card. “But we’d arranged to meet. She expects me now as a matter of fact.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, I see, I’m a few minutes early. Would you mind terribly if I ...” she looked around ... “too drafty for me in the lobby. In a large building like this there must be many visitors. I’d hate to catch a cold. Evening air, you see. Might I wait for her upstairs in her apartment? We’re old friends. I’m from the same town as she is in Sicily.”

  “Unfortunately, Madame, I hate to—”

  Serafina slipped some bills underneath the ledger.

  The concierge smiled. “Right this way. The countess occupies the two top floors.”

  The building had a lift with a grill instead of a door and she was able to see out as they passed the floors. She and the concierge squeezed in together. She listened as they creaked their way up to Elena’s apartment on the top two floors. As they passed one of the lower floors, she looked out and saw the figure of a woman clad in black, doubled over as if in pain, but quickly passing from view. When they reached the top floor, the concierge unlocked Elena’s door and turned on a few of the gas lamps in the hall and parlor.

  “I’m on duty for the next thirty minutes, so please ring for me if there’s anything else I may do for you. Otherwise, should you tire before the contessa returns, extinguish the lights and shut the door.”

  The rooms in Elena’s apartment were cold, drafty, the grates unused, although there seemed to be ... yes ... she found a radiator. Like their hotel rooms, the apartments here were heated. She looked at the ceiling, the walls, the furniture. A preponderance of plaster and gilt. Paintings hung in all the rooms, but she didn’t have time or enough light to admire them. Everything seemed expensive and well maintained, although there was a film of dust on the furniture and love seats, grit on the carpets and floor.

  The silence was eerie. She walked to the windows that looked out onto the Château de la Muette and beyond it, to the Bois de Boulogne. She could understand how Elena would choose to live here, but did not fathom how the concierge could have seen Elena this evening, unless he had been paid to tell visitors that they’d just missed her.

  She felt her heart pounding as she entered a smaller room, a ladies’ parlor no doubt. Waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light, she saw a series of prints on the wall, reproductions of works by a French painter Serafina was familiar with, Jacques-Louis David. She was admiring them when she thought she heard something move. An animal? She waited, listening. Nothing but her imagination. She found gas jets on the walls and after some fumbling, turned on a few jets and saw a desk with a lamp in the corner of the room. On top of it was an appointment book. She turned a few of the pages, but it was unused. After she opened the middle drawer she stopped. There was a definite scratching sound coming from somewhere in back of her. An animal. Concentrating on breathing slowly, she took one step, then another and another. The drapes had not been drawn, and the glow from the street lamps lent the rooms a ghostly light. She made her way through to the dining room and had just entered the kitchen when she heard the scratching noise again.

  Hearing the blood thrumming in her ears and hoping she hadn’t heard mice, she looked down and stood still. A sweet looking kitten was lying on the floor next to something else, a bowl. She bent down and stroked its fur and heard the animal purr, almost as loud as her heart was pounding. She lifted bowl and peered inside. It must have contained water. “Poor little thing, mice must be scarce here and you’ve had no water in a while.”

  Elena was many things, but she would never starve a kitten. She filled the bowl with water from the slate sink and the thirsty feline slurped and drank.

  “Well, we’ll have to do something about you, won’t we? She felt the animal’s bones through its fur, but remembered that she had a job to do before she could care for it.

  She walked back to the ladies’ parlor and began riffling through the desk drawer where she found an address book, some envelopes, scraps of paper, and a note pad with writing. She held up the address book and found the same scrawl on every page, addresses written everywhere, scribbled into all the margins and filling all the lines. On the last page was a small calendar. She held the book closer to the lamp, but it was hard to read Elena’s script, so she slipped the book, the envelopes, the wad of paper and notepad into her pocket and began walking through the rest of the rooms, wondering where she’d find the set of stairs leading to the second floor. Hearing a soft tapping she felt a presence, and the kitten pranced into the room, stopping to rub itself against every piece of furniture. Pawing her skirt, the animal looked up with such pleading eyes before he wound himself i
n between her legs and scratched at her petticoat. Unless Elena suddenly appeared, Serafina would have to find a way to take the mouser with her. She couldn’t leave it to starve to death here. Gesuzza would take care of it until she found a home for the sweet creature. She picked up the kitten and walked into the rear of the house when she heard a loud banging on the door.

  Her heart slammed into her throat. The kitten jumped from her arms and took off.

  More pounding on the door.

  “Help!”

  Serafina ran to the front and opened the door.

  A maid in black uniform and white apron and cap was doubled over and holding her stomach. Definitely with child. And about to deliver, too, judging by the pool of wet by the woman’s feet. The young woman braced herself on the wall. “Oh ... my. Help me, please ... I saw you pass by in the lift. I thought you must be Elena. You can’t tell Madame. She mustn’t know.” The maid cried out.

  “Don’t worry. Don’t talk,” Serafina said. We’ve got to get you inside.” The maid had trouble walking but she leaned on Serafina and together they made it to one of the bedrooms.

  “Where’s Elena?” the woman asked.

  Serafina said nothing. She tore the spread off and lowered the bedding, undid the woman’s outer garments, and helped her out of her undergarments. After covering her with a blanket, she positioned her on one knee and told her to lean on the side of the bed. Serafina put an ear to the girl’s stomach and took a look.

  “It won’t be long. This isn’t your first, is it?”

  The girl shook her head. “Only once, that’s all it was. Just once. With Honoré, and where is he now?” She wailed, hung her head.

  Serafina wiped the young woman’s forehead. “I’m a midwife, but I don’t have my satchel with me. Not to worry, we’ll manage just fine.”

  She ran to the kitchen and boiled some water. She filled a bowl with the steaming liquid. The woman was screaming as Serafina carried the water and towels back into the room.

  “Now do as I say, breathe slowly, breathe in, out, pant a little like this.” She wet a towel and wiped the woman’s brow.

  “Where do you work?”

  “Downstairs. For Madame Gruenfeld, she doesn’t know, she must never find out.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “On holiday. Comes back next week. I must keep my job.”

  “You’re the only one?”

  She nodded.

  “What about your family? Do they know?”

  She shook her head, moaned. “My father would kill me.”

  “Do you live with them?”

  She shook her head.

  Serafina took another look. “Your name?”

  “Mimette.”

  “Call me Donna Fina. Everyone does. When the pains come, start pushing.”

  “You are from here?”

  Serafina shook her head. “Breathe, Mimette, like this.” Serafina panted to show her and the maid did as she was told.

  She cried out. “I saw you go up in the lift.” She panted. “I thought you were Elena.”

  Serafina wiped the maid’s brow. “You know Elena?”

  “She’s been helping me, but she’s away. Elena asked to me watch over Papillon while she’s away.”

  With the canniness of animals, the kitten came into the room and jumped up on the bed.

  “Papillon, in my pain, I forgot about you today, please forgive me.” Mimette screamed.

  “When will she return?”

  The maid shook her head. “Don’t know. In the south.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t know!” She cried out.

  “When did you last see her?”

  No time. Baby crowning.

  Serafina looked around. There was a small desk on the other side of the room and she found a scissors and some string.

  “Now we’re all set.”

  “It’s coming. I feel it.”

  Serafina ran to her side. “Breathe.” Serafina looked again. “Now push. Hard. Harder.”

  Mimette gave a low, long grunt.

  “Almost there, almost. Push again. Harder. You can do it!”

  It went on like this.

  “One more time. Here it comes.” Serafina caught the baby who started to wail. “You have a little girl.”

  Exhausted, Mimette lay down on the rug. “Another girl.” Smiling, she took the baby in her arms.

  After Serafina tied two knots in the string, she wrapped it around the umbilical cord, cut it, and bundled the after birth in newspaper. She cleaned the baby and handed her to Mimette.

  “Not your first.”

  But Mimette was sleeping so she lay the baby next to her and shut the door.

  As she was walking toward the ladies’ parlor she heard the front door open and slam shut.

  Serafina froze. “Who is it?” she said aloud, surprised at the tremor in her voice.

  No answer. Instead, footsteps came closer, louder, heavier. More than one person?

  She heard a click. Then she heard a loud bang, saw a flash of light, and was thrown to the ground. She felt a searing pain, nothing more.

  Chapter 16: The Lawyer Visits Loffredo

  A few days after Loffredo was imprisoned, his lawyer paid him a visit. He advised him to plead guilty. He told Loffredo that he’d made inquiries and because of Elena’s reputation in Paris and the fact that she’d been estranged for seven years, he’d be given a light sentence in exchange for a guilty plea. “A crime of passion, nothing more, old chap.” He’d be released in a few months. Loffredo refused, telling the lawyer he was innocent. He asked for paper and wrote to Serafina while his lawyer waited, tapping his fingers on the top of the table.

  Once a day they led him to a small courtyard where he exercised. After a week of this with no word from anyone, he boxed with the earth, forming his hands into fists and pounding the ground beneath his feet and then on the stone walls, but a whistle blew and guards cuffed him and took him back to his cell. After the incident with the stones, his shoelaces and razor were removed. Small creatures grew in his beard. When he tried to imagine his library in Oltramari, the picture faded. Freedom in the mind be damned.

  One morning a new guard brought him bread and café. The café was strong, the bread warm and fresh. The guard smiled and called him “my lord.” That afternoon he heard the key turning the tumblers. The friendly guard opened the door. He carried shaving utensils. Loffredo was told to ready himself for a visitor. Another guard appeared who restrained him with ankle and wrist cuffs and the two guards led him to the visitors’ room. The clanking of the chains on the floor reverberated on his teeth. Rosa stood when he entered. Her eyes teared when she saw him.

  Chapter 17: L’Hôpital del la Charité

  Pinned down by clutching hands, Serafina says something to Giulia or is it to Giorgio, they look so much alike. Giorgio’s dead but he stands by her side. She came to Paris to search for something and found him instead.

  A new dress for you, Mama, you’ve ruined your old one. A robe, too, and slippers from Le Bon Marché. He told us he was dead and all along he’s been here. I found him hiding in the Elena’s apartment. Rosa, too, she’s here but slips down. Her face falls off the wall, fading into white. Everything in white, I must be dead.

  Someone says, “Breathe into the mask,” but the mask holds her down, gives her visions. If only Giorgio would stay. A force pins her down.

  “When she wakes, we’ll send for you.”

  What is it you found in the apartment that fills you with so much dread? Let me be, let me shed my life. Painting makes me see so much. She feels something pierce her, but it is a child’s finger pressing into her shoulder, a baby’s cry, a kitten’s paw, the voice gruff.

  Footsteps, a shot. There it is, I found it, the ghost of a plan, flee this world and what I’ve become. Fight, she tells herself but the breath in the mask mesmerizes. It is magic.

  Faces crowd into one another, disappear. She’s flown too close to the sun. She floa
ts above her body, captured by the blinding light, peering down at herself on a table while men and women move around her.

  “My pocket, in my pocket, the calendar and the kitten.”

  “She’s dreaming. Let her sleep.”

  * * *

  Serafina opened her eyes. She was in a strange bed. The room smelled of ether, blood and urine, the place rivaling the stench of the embalmer’s basement in Oltramari. Smiling men in black robes, their hands folded, stood by her bedside. Rosa and Carmela held each other. Two peeked into the room from the doorway, Arcangelo and Teo. Tessa, too. Catching Serafina’s eye, they straightened and smiled.

  “You’ve had a nasty few hours, but you’ll be fine, no thanks to your judgment,” Rosa said, her voice gravelly.

  “It was the dessert at the Maison Dorée,” Serafina said.

  “If you ever go off on your own again ...” Carmela paused, seemed at a loss for the right words, and choked. “What made you go out alone? If it weren’t for Teo and Arcangelo, we never would have found you, and you would have bled to death in Elena’s apartment. What you did wasn’t courageous or cunning, it was idiotic. And now you’ll miss your appointment with the French inspector.”

  She tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. “Where am I?”

  “She doesn’t understand yet. Give her a few hours,” the religious brother said.

  “I’m going to be sick.” She closed her eyes, but the room and the people kept spinning.

  “Where am I?”

  “L’Hôpital del la Charité, left bank, and I’m Frère Michel. I run the hospital. You took a bullet in the shoulder. You were very lucky, it lodged in the muscle, but played havoc with your clavicle. Bits chipped off. Fractured, I’m afraid. Lucky for you, we had our best surgeon on duty. He had a job cleaning it up, found some shards here and there which he had to remove, and a bullet which we’ve given to the police. But the shoulder is intact. No permanent damage. I don’t know when you’ll be able to use your arm, certainly not in the next few months.”