Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (3 page)

Chapter
5: Preparations

The maid led Serafina into
Rosa’s office and took her cape. Not yet dressed for the day, the madam sat at
her desk in a black lace affair counting coins. Serafina kissed her friend on
both cheeks and went over to the hearth to warm her feet. She held her hands to
the fire.

“It’s April. Why are you so
cold?”

“Why do you have a fire in the
grate?” She shivered. “Don’t bother answering. More important matters, two men
followed me here from the commissioner’s office. They’re lurking outside as we
speak, probably relieving themselves in your shrubbery.”

“Your imagination runs on and
on. But as to the fire, it’s for show and to brighten the room in the early
morning.”

Serafina said nothing.

“It’s just after first light.
Why are you up so early? More to the point, you look like you’ve been playing
with the slop boy while Loffredo’s away.”

Serafina closed her eyes and
shook her head slowly.

“What’s happened and please make
it interesting. Tessa gives me no trouble, getting straight A’s and regaling
the teachers with her paintings; she sticks her head in a book at night, paints
on the weekends. I’m so bored. Look at me, up at dawn with nothing to do but
count money. So wearying. Tell me there’s trouble, other than men following you
in our own piazza. How dull. Tell me we’re going to the Far East, some place
exotic, Moscow or Peking, one of those. Tell me twelve sultans armed to the
teeth stalk us behind a market tent, have their minions boiling oil to roast
us. Give me excitement. I need a change.”

“How does Paris sound? Don’t
answer, I don’t have time to listen. We leave tonight.” She filled Rosa in on
her meeting with the commissioner and Busacca, and the reason for their trip.
“I need your help. Will you come with me?”

“Do you need to ask?” Rosa rang
the bell and gazed into space for a moment before shaking herself. “Elena’s
dead, I can’t believe it. What time do we leave? Tonight you say?”

“At eight. We take the
Niger
bound for Marseille.”

“Plenty of time and don’t bore
me with particulars, but we’d better have first class rooms.”

“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.”

* * *

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.