Death of a Serpent (17 page)

He continued hugging himself with his hands, rocking back and forth, an actor, playing to the cheap seats.

After a few moments of maintaining the pose, he spoke. “I keep the current month’s calendar and bills of sale in a drawer in my desk. Would you like to see them?”

She shook her head.

“At the end of the month, I transfer this information to a ledger, and keep the ledgers of past months locked in cabinets in the attic. Now, if you’ve finished, I’ve no more time left for you.”

“No, I’m not finished. I’m sure you’ll be ready with October’s books and any bills of sale you may have for the sixth of that month by, shall we say, sixteen hundred hours tomorrow? I’ll send someone who can attest to having seen them.”

He called out, “Nittù, your guests are ready to leave.” Keeping his eyes on Serafina’s face, Falco spat into his napkin.

Eager for Home

S
erafina heard blasts of steam each time the train slowed. She moved with the grind of wheels. They lurched her forward. They crashed her into the back of her seat.

She wished she could have spoken with the contessa, one of the last people who saw Bella alive. But the black swan was still in Paris, according to her secretary, not expected to return until after
Li Morti
. Serafina made an appointment to see her on November 4, the earliest possible date she could. She needed to find out more about Bella’s monk. Did the prostitute discover him in Palermo or Oltramari? Forget asking Rosa who either missed knowing the most important facts about the running of her house, or deliberately masked the truth. Absent the contessa, she must ask some of Rosa’s prostitutes. They might know about Bella’s monk—Gioconda or Gusti, for instance, whose information she trusted. Serafina chewed her cheek. It was an important missing piece.

Tessa slept, rocking sideways when the train gathered speed and banked inward, her head pillowed by Rosa’s shawl. To Serafina’s right, hills cast long shadows over fields and citrus groves. A pair of oxen plowed the earth. On her left fishermen mended their nets, the spars of their boats bobbing in the setting sun.

She tried to sleep, but saw scarlet through closed eyelids. Rearranging herself, she glanced into the aisle and caught Rosa and Renata standing near the door of their compartment in animated conversation. She closed her eyes again.

“Is your mind stuck?” Rosa asked, shaking her. “Halfway home. We need to talk.”

Serafina stared out the window until Rosa, now seated next to her, kicked her foot.

“I’m awake, just thinking.”

They discussed what they’d learned about Bella’s desire for salvation.

“Significant new information,” Serafina said.

Rosa agreed.

Serafina yawned, paged through her notebook. “A few of the women mentioned salvation when I talked to them yesterday. According to Rosalia, Gemma told her, ‘I can no longer be your friend because you are not saved.’”

“That explains the fight they had shortly before I found Gemma’s body. Slamming doors, crying, the two of them not speaking.”

“Quite hurt, Rosalia,” Serafina said.

Rosa’s eyes were like transparent marbles as she considered.

The two women were silent while they swayed with the train.

Serafina said, “I wonder if it was this ‘permanent salvation’ that Bella’s father talked about. Did Gemma find the same monk? Is he the killer?” She turned a few pages, then quoted Baldassare talking about his daughter, ‘She thought of everything, that one, everything. She even had a scheme for salvation. So clever, my daughter.’

“And don’t forget the rosary in her reticule,” Serafina said. “That reminds me, now that we’ve found Carmela, I’d like to borrow two of your guards. I want them to search the shore with me. There might be other clues.”

“Colonna said they searched. Found nothing.”

Serafina sent Rosa a withering look. “They found nothing, but not because they searched.” She glanced out the window, not at anything in particular. Anyway, the scenery was a blur by this time. “Doubtless it’s this monk who convinced them they must pay for a unique type of salvation. And Nelli paid for something, too.”

“Nelli?” Rosa asked.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember Formusa’s account of Nelli’s secret—how she kept her coins with the cook until she needed them? Scooped them up the night she disappeared?”

“Of course I remember. You’re the one who almost forgot to tell me Formusa’s tale. I told you, these murders are all about lucre.”

“We don’t know about Gemma’s wish for salvation, only that she was going someplace with someone whom she called her uncle,” Serafina said.

“Arcangelo’s wintry-clothed man.”

“Yes. The monk,” they said in unison.

“That monster. Duping the weak out of their hard-earned coins,” Serafina said.

“What about me? My coins?” Rosa asked.

“We all long for salvation, but it’s given to us at birth or baptism or…confession, one of those,” Serafina said.

Tessa stirred in her sleep, her head now in Renata’s lap.

Serafina said, “I think Scarpo, Arcangelo, Tessa, all saw the killer. Similar to the begging monk I saw, but perhaps he was a real one. Hard to tell.”

“Stop the blabbering. Too many words.”

They stopped talking. Serafina might have closed her eyes. She rolled with the motion of the clacking wheels. Then she said, “And I think that the three women were lured by a man disguised as a monk, duped into following him by his promise of salvation.”

“Wonder how much they paid him?” Rosa asked.

They let the train rock them back and forth.

“What about Falco?” the madam asked.

Serafina looked down at her hands. She felt her face redden. “Falco, I don’t trust. Asked him where he was on the night Bella was killed. Claims he doesn’t remember.”

“Sorry I am that I did not see,” the madam said, in a rare moment of insight.

“See what?” Serafina asked.

“Falco. He had special privilege, you know. Came and went as he pleased. A charmer. No more charmers in my house,” the madam said.

Serafina patted her knee. “We all see what we want to see. But I’ll need to send Arcangelo and Beppe tomorrow for evidence of where Falco was, if he can produce it.”

“Should give him enough time to concoct something,” Rosa said.

Serafina shifted in her seat. “We must keep half an eye on him. He gains the most by Bella’s death.”

Rosa sat up. “Don’t forget he gained from Gemma’s and Nelli’s, too. I tell you, at the root is lucre.”

“How so?”

“Perhaps he schemes to take the house from me.”

Serafina stared out the window.

Rosa got up and stretched. Tessa and Renata slept.

The train plowed through the late dusk. Serafina examined her watch pin. “We arrive in Oltramari soon.”

Renata rubbed her eyes and sat up. “
Caru Signura
,” she began.

Rosa’s eyes narrowed.

Renata persisted. “Please let Tessa stay with us tonight. We’ll drive her back tomorrow afternoon—”

“Out of the question. Never!” the madam interrupted. “Tessa stays with me.”

Hearing her name, Tessa sat up.

“But I want to show her how I make
calamaru
, one of my specialties. A cook must take great care in its preparation, and I’ll show Tessa all of my tricks. After supper, she can play with Maria and Totò.”

Rosa shook her head. But Serafina, knowing the madam, sensed a slower shake of her black curls.

“Please!” Tessa, Serafina, and Renata said in unison.

Rosa wagged her finger. “You’ve rehearsed this play, the three of you, behind my back.”

“No,” Tessa said.

It was the first time Serafina heard Tessa say ‘no’ to Rosa. “But this is your busy evening. Tessa will be left alone.”

“If you think you can wiggle Tessa out from under my nose—”

“Of course not. Your daughter needs you. But she also needs to be with children.”

“Clever of you to know what Tessa needs, when you don’t know how to keep your own daughter at—”

“Enough!” Serafina said, and looked away. Like a dog and bone, the madam.

They were silent, until Tessa saw her home town approaching. “Our piazza!” she shouted. Jumping up and down, she looked from one woman to the other.

Rosa bent to whisper in her ear. Tessa smiled. “This once Tessa stays with you. Bring her home tomorrow afternoon.”

• • •

In the west, the sky was lapis lazuli, the clouds, rimmed in gold. The women and Tessa walked through the gardens in front of the station and made their way to a stand, hoping to find a cab to take them home. Here and there gas lamps glowed in the gathering dusk. Their smell mingled with the richness of cooling soil.

Traffic was brisk this evening on the roads circling the station. Carts, carriages and traps moved in all directions, the din of their wheels on the cobblestones like the rumble of thunder. Carabinieri stood on platforms blowing ineffective whistles at the snarl. Peasants rode bareback. Large baskets hung on either side of their beasts. One mule sat in the middle of the road and refused to budge. Hat in hand, the driver pleaded with the animal.

Serafina had to walk fast to keep up with Rosa. Renata and Tessa followed behind.

“Oh, the air, how sweet, almost like spring. I can smell the pungent scent of loam,” Serafina said, her eyes sweeping the traffic to find an empty cab.

“Not loam. Sand and rocks, our soil,” Rosa said.

“Our house has rich earth. My ancestors brought it with them from the fields to make fertile gardens. The city did the same when they built the station. Giorgio told me.”

“Such fantasy! All I smell is the foulness of the train on me, like a thousand mules passing wind. I feel the grit of the day.” Rosa buried her nose in one of her sleeves and made a face.

Tessa skipped to keep up, holding Renata’s hand.

“Impossible. You can’t agree with me, can you? You haven’t changed. You were the same as a child. Always seeing the bleak, never the poetic. And I don’t make that up—I was there. I remember helping my mother deliver difficult babies, and, afterward, you, you stubborn child, you refused to listen to my joyful words of life and birth. When will you grow up?”

Rosa laughed. “Built up my business, didn’t I, but not by thinking deep thoughts. And I must bathe before our guests arrive. How do the wives of the conductors stand them? The one in our car smelled like stale cod. But the fine weather and the end of the
festa
, good for the trade. I feel a full house coming on tonight.”

Rosa rubbed her hands together. There was a bounce in her step, caprice in her soul. Was this the same woman who could barely move when they got off the train in Palermo?

“Hurry, too slow, you’re like an old woman.” Rosa churned the air with her gestures.

Never stopped to wonder or ask why, that Rosa of hers, with her flinty mind and scorn for fantasy. Her haunches strained the seams of her dress as they flexed forward.

Yes, she had to admire Rosa. When the war came and the apothecary shop was closed along with all the others around the piazza, Rosa’s brains kept Serafina’s family from starving. Did her house close? Not for a blink. Clever Rosa, she prospered with the ebb and flow of history, except for now. She could be ruined by the murders of her women. It was Serafina’s turn to help. She’d crush this killer. She must. Her fingernails bit into her palms.

“Look who’s coming. It’s Beppe and Arcangelo!” Serafina hallooed, waving her arms in the air. “Our luck, Rosa, let it last.” She crossed herself.

Beppe rolled to a stop, jumped down and bowed, almost touching his leggings. “Vicenzu was worried. He asked me to come and wait for you. And Arcangelo rides with me.” Arcangelo tipped his hat, a rifle slung underneath one arm.

The four of them piled into the cab, Rosa grunting as she reached for the step with one short leg, Beppe boosting her up by pushing with one shoulder placed under the madam’s rear. Serafina heard the click of the door, the crack of the whip, and the carriage lurched forward.

“Beppe!” Rosa hung her head out the window, holding onto her hat, now skewed to the side of her head, curls and feathers blowing in the whistling air. “Take me home first. They need me. The week before a holiday, you know.”

Weeping Madonna

Wednesday, October 24, 1866

T
he whole family sat together on the sofa, younger children piled on top of older laps. Horsehair tufted from a hole in one of the cushions.

“You touched me,” Maria said.

“Did not!” Totò held his finger out, almost, but not quite touching Maria’s arm.

“Did so! Get away!”

“Did not!”

“Enough!”

“But he’s rolling his train on my leg!”

“Totò!” Serafina looked up at the crucifix. She heard children’s voices. They grew louder.

“Can I go outside and play?” Totò asked.

“It’s raining,” Giulia said.

“But they’re outside. See?” He pointed to the window. A line of children marched up the walk. “Can I?”

“No.”

“Anyway, they’re orphans.” Maria pushed up her spectacles.

“So?”

“Orphans can do anything they want. They live here,” Maria said. “And tell him not to roll his toy on me ever again.”

“On the rug, Totò,” Renata said.

“And be quiet.” Vicenzu brushed lint from his lapels. “She should be here soon. We’re early, as usual.” He shot a glance at Serafina.

They waited.

Totò made the sound of a steam engine. Water dribbled from his mouth. The steam engine grew louder.

“I could be practicing,” Maria said.

“You’d be in school if you weren’t here,” Vicenzu said. “Count to a thousand.”

“Don’t waste my time.”

“Maria, no more,” Renata said.

The door opened and Carmela entered. She was older, shorter than Serafina remembered, hair the same, skin, iridescent, eyes like the sea, stomach distended. She smelled like neroli oil and powder.

Renata, Vicenzu, Giulia rushed to her. They hugged. They kissed. They laughed, hugged again.

“Where’s Carlo? Papa?”

Serafina’s eyes gazed at her daughter’s waist. “Carlo’s at school. He’ll be home next week for
Li Morti
.”