Sophie scoffed, but for the first time looked at Serafina.
“The first time I met you, you spoke of your oldest son, Beniamino.”
Sophie looked away.
There was silence. It filled the room, the corners, the crevices in the worn floorboards and stretched beyond the prison’s gates to the world outside where all street noise for the moment seemed to stop. Serafina’s heart thudded against the walls of her chest. She must not fail, she must find the truth, and she believed this woman was the key.
“Do you know where Beniamino is? Last time we spoke of him, you mentioned the south of France.”
Sophie worked her mouth back and forth, but made no reply.
“Why did you encourage Elena to feign her death?”
Sophie straightened. She opened her mouth, but closed it again, moved her jaw from side to side. She said nothing.
Again Serafina remained still, aware of the how the sun oozed from behind the window shade and made pools of light on the walls and floor. She stared at Sophie, letting silence do its work.
“She was my niece and she needed help, asked for it. We gave it.”
“We?”
Sophie said nothing.
“We’ve had a cool spring, at least compared to Oltramari.”
Sophie’s laugh was a bark. “Sweltered most days in Oltramari. I was a girl and had servants to fan me then. Here, you see, the temperature is milder, but wait until the winter. You’ll freeze.”
“The nuns take good care of you.”
She nodded.
“You were the brains behind it, weren’t you? I see your brilliance upon this whole affair.”
Silence. Serafina looked at her watch. She was allotted twenty minutes and had used five and was nowhere near the core of what Sophie knew.
“Why?”
“Because Beniamino has no inkling, not the faintest idea of how to run a business or how to grasp what he does not have.”
“None of your business,” Sophie said.
“When you were a girl in Oltramari, did you ever dream you’d land in Paris with a husband and three sons?”
“Are you here to chat?”
“Chatting, passing the time—that’s what you’re doing with me. You played them all for fools, but you can’t fool me. And finding the brains behind the disappearance of Elena Loffredo is my business,” Serafina said. “Anything concerning Elena is my business. She’s caused me endless trouble. She’s been a thorn in my side for over thirty years. So now I want to understand how you decided to help her fake her death.”
Serafina watched Sophie’s hands grasp each other and twist.
“When she came to you, distraught and with child, she wanted Beniamino’s address in the south of France, didn’t she? She wanted to get away from Paris, from the voices that haunted her, but you gave her something more. Your mind went to work.”
Sophie raised her head, said nothing, but she was listening, Serafina could feel the iron of the old woman’s mind galvanizing to attention.
“You were the one who suggested she disappear, that she fake her death, weren’t you?”
Again Sophie was silent, but for an instant, Serafina thought she saw the gleam of a smile.
“You found Beniamino in the south of France, hauled him home, told him how much in debt you were and unless he helped, he’d be doomed to a life of poverty. You pulled him, prodded him until he told you about a friend he had, a guard at the very prison we sit in who could help. Your brains, Sophie, and Beniamino’s friend. And if that wouldn’t work, you had other ideas, other places, perhaps more dangerous, to procure a fallen woman, a dupe.”
“I’m the one with ideas. The stupid cow hadn’t an inkling of what to do. My sons sit there, hopeless, waiting for me to think. Ricci, a coward, refused to help; David, a fearful sod, huddled away from the light begged me not to involve him. Only Beniamino had the courage.”
“When you’d thought it through, you sent for Elena, presented your plan, gave her your terms.”
She nodded, a crooked smile on her face, her eyes without light. “I told her she needed to disappear. Paris was too great a distraction. Slovenly trollop. I had to get her out of Paris—she was giving our family a bad name, don’t you see? ‘The sun will cure you,’ I told her, ‘you need to paint, create your legacy for the world.’”
“And she listened.”
“Oh, she listened, of course she did. I flattered her, just like you tried to do with me because you think I’m a fool. But I’m the one with the brains. I know how to achieve. The three Busacca stores will crumble without me. I give them a year. Yes, I presented my plan to her. She thought it was wonderful.” Sophie rubbed her hands. “I’d found the perfect dupe. My plan was a superb feat.”
“You had it all thought out, didn’t you? Including a fee up front, a quick burial before I or anyone who’d recognize the truth had the chance to see the dead woman’s body. You had her change her beneficiaries with a few strokes of the pen.”
“What kind of harm did we cause? The woman who took her place was a harlot, diseased. She was going to die anyway. And Elena was no better. Levi should have seen, but he’s blind. He threw money at her and went back to Sicily where he didn’t have to face what his daughter had become.” Sophie flicked her hand back and forth as if by doing so she could get rid of whatever was in her way. “But I needed the money, our money, the family’s money, and I had to live in Paris where the gossips are frightful. I took back what was rightfully ours and got rid of the tarnish to our name, that’s all.”
Chapter 45: From the Conservatory
From their conservatory where they enjoyed an after-dinner café, Serafina gazed out over all of Paris, Loffredo by her side. The street lamps had long ago been lit, and the city before them seemed like a magical kingdom.
“Valois told me that Haussmann had fifteen thousand gas lamps installed on the streets of Paris.”
“Tomorrow let’s go to the Louvre if it rains. We have one more day to celebrate before I start to work,” Loffredo said.
“And if the sun shines?”
“The Medici Pool in the Luxembourg gardens. I have something to give you.”
Serafina smiled. “At the Medici Pool?”
Loffredo kissed the top of her head. “Was Valois surprised when you told him?”
“He tried to hide it, but yes, he was. Not used to Sicilian women.”
“But Sophie is a Frenchwoman now.”
“On paper, yes, and I’ve gotten as close to the truth as I will ever be on this case.”
“You’ve not uncovered the whole truth?”
Serafina shook her head. “There’s no such thing as uncovering the whole truth, unless you’re the Madonna.”
“Does she tell her Son?”
Serafina arched a brow. “Most of the time. But we poor mortals, we dig and dig and dig and never reach the bottom.”
They embraced, and Paris shimmered in their glow.
She heard Vicenzu yelling as he clambered up the stairs. Way too early. Their bedroom door burst open and he limped toward her.
“It’s Carlo,” he said. His eyes were wild as he handed her the wire and he gulped air. “From Busacca.”
“Regret to inform you. Your family home in Oltramari burned to ground. Body of your son Carlo Florio found amid debris.”
The End
Characters
Serafina Florio, midwife and sleuth, a widow with seven children
Loffredo, Oltramari’s medical examiner, Serafina’s lover
Elena, his wife, estranged and living in Paris
Don Tigro, Oltramari’s mafia capo
Carlo, Serafina’s oldest son, a medical student
Carmela, Serafina’s oldest daughter, a single mother, Carlo’s twin
Nunzio, Carmela’s son
Vicenzu, Serafina’s middle son, a pharmacist
Renata, Serafina’s second daughter, a pastry chef
Giulia, Serafina’s third daughter, a de
signer, living in Paris
Maria, Serafina’s youngest daughter, a prodigy
Totò, Serafina’s youngest son, an altar boy
Teo, an orphan living with Serafina
Assunta, Serafina’s domestic
Rosa, Serafina’s best friend, a single mother and erstwhile madam
Gesuzza, her maid
Tessa, Rosa’s adopted daughter, an art student
Arcangelo, Rosa’s stableboy
The Commissioner, Oltramari’s chief of police
Colonna, venal inspector in Oltramari
Levi Busacca, Elena’s father; commissions Serafina to find his daughter’s killer
Léon Renault, Prefect of Police, Paris, 1871-1876
Alphonse Valois, inspector at La Sûreté Nationale assigned to investigate Elena’s death
Françoise Valois, his wife
Charlus Valois, their son
Étienne Gaston, one of Elena’s lovers
Jacques, his butler
Sophie de Masson, Levi Busacca’s sister, Elena’s aunt. Runs millinery shops in Paris
Beniamino de Masson, Sophie’s oldest son
David de Masson, Sophie’s middle son
Ricci de Masson, Sophie’s youngest son
Madame Josephine Joyeuse, designer at Busacca et Fils
Madame Gruenfeld, Elena’s neighbor
Mimette, her pregnant maid
Papillon, Elena’s kitten
Shadows, two men hired to follow Serafina
Cameo appearances by Auguste Renoir, Berthe Morisot, Victorine Meurent, Camille Pissarro, Paul Cézanne, Stéphane Mallarmé, Stéphane Tarnier
Places
Oltramari, Serafina’s home town, a fictional village on the northern coast of Sicily
Busacca et Fils, millinery stores in Palermo and Paris owned by Levi Busacca
House of Grinaldi, fictional couturier in Paris where Giulia is a designer
Café Procope, rue l’Ancienne Comédie
Bofinger, a brasserie in the seventh arrondissement
Véfour, Palais Royale [rewrite]
Maison Dorée, boulevard des Italiens
Les Halles, wholesale flower and vegetable market in Paris, closed in 1971
Copyright © 2013 by Susan Russo Anderson
Cover by Avalon Graphics
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
by any electronic or mechanical means including
photocopying, recording, or information
storage and retrieval without permission
in writing from the author.
Murder On The Rue Cassette is a work of fiction.
Names, places, and incidents are either products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead
is purely coincidental.
Author’s Website
www.susanrussoanderson.com
[email protected]
About the Author
Susan Russo Anderson is a writer, a mother, a grandmother, a widow, a member of Sisters In Crime, a graduate of Marquette University. She has taught language arts and creative writing, worked for a publisher, an airline, an opera company. Like Faulkner’s Dilsey, she’s seen the best and the worst, the first and the last. Through it all, and to understand it somewhat, she writes.
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