Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (29 page)

“Does she go with Rosa?”

“I don’t know yet. And now I
have to leave.”

* * *

Rosa had heard about the fire.
“Let’s go back to Paris,” she said. “Perfect for Tessa. It doesn’t have to be
forever. The caretakers and guards can watch the houses.”

“Besides Tessa, who else?”

“Formusa and Gesuzza. I must have
them both.”

“I asked Assunta. We’ll meet
tonight after supper.”

Is leaving really leaving if it’s not
forever? If I bring all that I love? Would I go without Rosa, without my
children?

Serafina opened Loffredo’s door.
The waiting room was crowded—women with pale faces, men with bandaged
limbs or swollen ankles, an old soldier with a growth on his face. She sat. He
wasn’t back fifteen minutes and already had patients. Would he want to leave
his practice? Of course not, but would he?

Loffredo was about to call the
next in line when he saw her. He waved her inside. “My wife,” he said,
shrugging to the room. “You know how it is.” He smiled.

“The drugstore burned to the
ground. Carmela knew and didn’t tell me.”

“We must leave,” he said.

She nodded, staunching her tears
with a linen. No time to cry. “I’ve told Rosa. She’s coming for supper tonight.
But first I need to find out who’s behind this.”

“How could you not know? He
calls himself your brother.”

Serafina had to sit. “He told
you that?”

He nodded.

“You knew all this time?”

He held up his palms.

“And you never said.”

“Why would I? I’m not sure I
believe him, but what difference does it make?” He scratched his chin, peering
at her. “Although I have to admit, there’s a physical resemblance.” He touched
her curls and smiled. “Told me you share the same mother.”

She shivered. “Why?”

“Who knows?” Loffredo shrugged.
“He’s cunning, you must admit. I think he’s trying to spoil your happiness.
What we did to his men in Paris, he won’t let go of that.”

“He’ll crush us if we have to
keep paying protection. When did he tell you about my mother?”

“A few years ago. I remember it
was in the spring. He was standing in front of the music store. I was passing
and he stopped me. Weird sort of thug, he was listening to the Brahms coming
from Lorenzo’s shop. He mentioned Maria’s name, said it was her piano. He said
she was his niece. Brahms is an odd thing for a thug to like. You’re pale.”

Delivered in a deathbed coup,
Maddalena told her tale to Serafina, a story about bearing a son out of
wedlock. Don Tigro had ginger curls like hers, gestures and a saunter like her
mother’s.
You’ve given
me a burden, Mama
.
But after all, the woman was delirious when she told the tale, perhaps a chimera.
Poor Mama, she must have been so lonely. No one else knew except Don Tigro, and
come to find out, Loffredo. Could the don have told others? Her children must
never learn of it.
A
real burden, Mama
.

She had to calm herself.

“Fina!” He held her and she
wanted him right then and there so she kissed him hard.

“We can’t, you have patients.”

Seven minutes later she left
Loffredo’s office, blowing him a kiss and re-pinning her hair.

But he caught her before she
opened the door, kissed the shoulder where she’d been shot.

“Have you read Busacca’s
letter?”

She shook her head. “We’ll talk
after supper. All of us.”

“Perhaps Paris?” he asked.

She had to think. So she hurried
to the public gardens, the gardens that used to be lush, a place where birds
gathered. Today a few flowers wilted in the dusty light and no birds sang. She
sat on the same stone bench where she and Giorgio had courted. One night they
faced Betta and Tigro, the four of them talking as two young couples will do on
the edge of new life, Betta’s stomach distended with twins. Now that world with
Giorgio was gone.

She steeled herself and walked
around to the other side of the piazza and sat, staring at the burnt wood and
ashes, the remnants of Giorgio’s apothecary shop. She choked, glad she hadn’t
seen the flames and felt tears crowding her eyes, a throbbing in her head.
Remembering Giorgio in his white shirt and black vest as he stood in back of
the counter—his counter, his father’s, their store for generations—she
smiled. He was young then, young and certain, eating his morning snack, honey
dripping from the corner of his mouth. She pictured him pouring the wine while
they were gathered around the table, his laughter tumbling over them, the
children grabbing, the house rich with the smell of roasted pork. They were
prosperous then. She longed for five more minutes of that time. But that could
never be: Oltramari had changed, and she’d been holding onto the dream for too
long.

She dried her eyes and drove a
fist into her thigh, thinking, he’ll pay, one day he’ll pay. In her mind she
slammed a splintered board into the side of his head, crushing it, just as the
Virgin had done to the snake.
Devil,
he’s a devil
.
She imagined one side of Don Tigro’s head missing, like the woman Elena had
killed in the Rue Cassette. She squirmed. No, she wouldn’t sink to that level.
But she owed him a visit or her anger would corrode.

When she arrived, two men
lounged outside his
baglio
on the outskirts of Oltramari
squinting into mid-afternoon light, sweat on their faces, the air around them
sour. She asked to see Don Tigro.

“Not here,” one said, rolling
the straw to the other side of his mouth. He adjusted himself while he stared
at her. A tough, he wore cheap suits and cardboard shoes.

Serafina’s eyes fell to the
bulge underneath his vest, a gun.

“Tell him it’s Serafina.”

Inside his office, Tigro told
her to sit. She declined.

“Where’s the money you owe me?”
he asked, his teeth gleaming, his body unmoving.

She stood there, calm. She said
nothing.

He wore a Savile Row suit, a
diamond stud in his cravat. “I gave you protection while you were on your
little outing—”

“I never asked for it.”

“Too late, I provided it.”

“I owe you nothing. And if I see
your men stalking me again, I’ll knock their heads together like melons.” She
stood before his desk looking down at him and poking her finger into the yellow
space between them while he looked up, amused.

“Get this straight,” she said,
her voice low. “You owe me for the fire you started. Your flames destroyed our
apothecary shop, over two centuries turned to ash in a few hours while the
police looked on and did nothing because you paid them off. And you call that
protection.” She took a breath. “If I ever catch you or your men following me
again, I swear I’ll pluck out your eyes, one at a time. You’ll cry for the
mother you think we share.”

He smiled. “Your tongue will be
the death of you one day. My spies tell me you’re leaving. Don’t worry. For
now, consider it a loan. But you’ll pay up. The new world beckons us both, and
I’ll see you there.”

She spun on her heels and strode
out, blood pounding in her ears, her corset moist from sweat, her head held
high. She felt her curls tear at her scalp. She had no doubt that Don Tigro was
laughing at her, but the burden of her wrath was lightened.

Her stomach began to growl and
she realized she hadn’t eaten since their arrival, except for the olives. But
before the family gathered for supper, she must read Busacca’s letter. She
climbed to her mother’s room on the third floor and sat in the overstuffed
chair gazing at her mother’s bed.

In the envelope was another
banknote, this one for twenty thousand lire, a gift to show his gratitude for a
difficult job, Busacca said in the accompanying letter. Carmela had told him
about the fire in the apothecary shop. Enclosed were twenty one-way tickets to
Paris for Saturday.

I need your family in Paris for Carmela’s happiness as well
as for my business. She tells me your son is an accountant. Remember, Paris doesn’t
have to be forever. During your stay, please use Elena’s apartment. Should you
decide to make your residence permanent, we will negotiate a good price for the
building.

Serafina wiped her forehead with
a sleeve. She thought of most of Oltramari families forced to leave their homes
forever. They’d endure steerage for ten days, their bellies full of dreams and
little else. When they arrived in a strange land, they’d live in airless rooms
where illness thrived. They’d work sixteen hours a day for low wages. Who
waited for them on the pier to fleece them? Don Tigro and his ilk. Without this
commission, that’s what Serafina and her family would have faced. But for
Busacca, they would have lost everything. Now their funds were fat, their
passage assured, and a luxurious apartment waited for them in Paris. Not only
that, she’d married the man she loved, Loffredo, who’d beaten the odds and
survived a serious wound. She wondered when her luck would evaporate.

Chapter
37:
Pasta con le Sarde

“We can’t afford first class,”
Vicenzu said.

“I knew you’d say that. Pack
your abacus, we’re going to Paris Saturday.” She held up the envelope with the
tickets and cheque.

Just then Tessa and Rosa arrived
and she told them about Busacca’s tickets.

“Help your sister with the
supper,” Serafina said to Maria.

“But what if the stove burns my
fingers? I’m a prodigy.”

Loffredo laughed. After they
were seated, he poured the wine.

Maria sat as far away as she
could from the kitchen and Serafina, her arms crossed, her face pinched.

They sat around the table not
saying much, Serafina wondering what was keeping Carlo. She twisted the thick
noodles and sauce onto her fork, savored the delicious flavors of Renata’s
pasta con le sarde
. “Nothing like real food.”

“It’s a small supper,” Renata
blushed.

“How long will we be in Paris?”
Teo wanted to know and looked at Maria.

Serafina shrugged. “Not forever.
The caretakers and Rosa’s guards will manage the property.”

Maria said they absolutely must
take her piano.

Serafina shook her head.
“There’s a grand piano where we’re going and if it pleases you, we’ll bring it
home with us.” A stupid remark, she knew. Part of her had already left, she
realized, and anyway, where was home? They talked of returning, but she doubted
it.

Rosa was unusually quiet. Other
than wondering what they were having for dessert, she spoke little.

Tessa stared at Teo.

“I must have the piano in my
room, and we must see to my lessons as soon as we arrive. Wait until my friends
hear.” She scowled at Teo.

Loffredo’s brows arched. “Not
lessons. We must find you a teacher who will prepare you for admission to the
Paris Conservatory.”

Maria raised her shoulders.
“Will the boat have a piano I can use for practice?”

Loffredo laughed and poured more
wine.

“And once more, we don’t tell
anyone where we’re going,” Serafina said.

“Why?” Totò asked.

“It’s our business, that’s why.
The more we talk, the more gossip we invite.”

“What about school?” he asked.

“How many more days do you
have?”

He counted them on his fingers.
“Three. Until Tuesday.”

“So you’ll miss a few days. I’ll
write a note to your teachers. I’ll think of what to say.”

The door opened and banged shut.
Footsteps stumbled in the hall.

Loffredo got up to see who it
was, and Carlo swaggered in. Serafina hugged him.

He nodded to everyone, shook
hands with Loffredo.

“No dinner. Eaten. Sweet marsala
would be nice.”

She watched him bluster, her
oldest son, Carmela’s twin. Perhaps her daughter had been right: she had
spoiled him. He’d been with friends and smelled of wine and tobacco. He
straddled a chair, resting his arm on the back and tilting it toward the table.
Blowing a thin line of smoke, he announced he wasn’t going to wherever it was they’d
decided to go. A lock of hair fell on his forehead as he dipped the end of his
cigar in the brandy. He wanted to finish his schooling in Palermo, and besides,
he knew how to handle the don even if some people didn’t. He narrowed his gaze
at Serafina.

She waved away his smoke. “And
how should a mafia
capo
be handled?” She felt her cheeks burn.

His speech was labored. “Nothing
I can teach you at this point. Why is it that you’ve got to beat Don Tigro,
just like you had to beat Colonna and every other man who got in your way?
Papa, too if you want to know the truth. Died too young having to deal with
you, but you’ve replaced him, I see. As far as the don goes, why don’t you
capitulate? Everyone else has.” He dropped an ash into his untouched plate of
pasta.

Serafina felt her blood coming
to the boil.

“Enable him, you mean. Is that
what you’ve done, Carlo?” Loffredo asked.

Serafina wanted to slap her son;
she wanted to hug him. Instead she got up and removed his plate and grabbed the
glass of marsala from his hand. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

No one spoke for a moment. Rosa
smiled at Loffredo.

Loffredo asked about Carlo’s
studies.

“What about them?” Carlo asked.

Loffredo said nothing.

Carlo shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

There was a silence.

“Where’s Carmela, sleeping with
a Frenchman?”

Serafina took Loffredo’s hand. A
bolt of fire seared her head. “Best not to goad him when he’s like this.
Probably the pressure of finals,” she said under her breath. She told him about
Carmela’s work with Busacca.

Carlo said nothing. He went
around the table and shook hands with Teo and Arcangelo, kissed Renata, Maria,
and Tessa.

Halfway down the hall, he turned
to them. “Prophet’s not welcome in his own land.” He blew a blurred kiss to
Serafina and left.

For her part, Serafina pretended
Carlo hadn’t happened. “Well, that’s that. Vicenzu, you and Teo fetch the
trunks and luggage from the cellar.”

Renata brought out a cassata
she’d made that afternoon, apologizing that it wasn’t what they were used to in
Paris.

“Nonsense. Paris won’t be the
same five minutes after you’ve arrived,” Rosa said. She and Tessa helped with
the caffè and told Renata about Les Halles and how she’d love it.

Renata listened but she wasn’t
smiling.

Of all the reactions, Totò’s was
the one that puzzled Serafina the most. Carlo, of course mystified her, but he
was just being Carlo. But Totò wasn’t saying much. She thought he’d be full of
questions. But he kept asking Teo when he’d be finished with dinner because he
wanted to play knucklebones.

After dessert, Serafina said
they’d each be responsible for packing.

A groan from Maria.

Renata bit her lip. “I’ve
invited Badali for supper tomorrow.” She put a hand to her chest.

Her daughter’s words at times
were barely audible. Serafina had to think for a moment. Oh, yes. “Badali, of
course. But you must.” She leaned to Loffredo. “You remember the friend of
Renata, don’t you
—
a
carabiniere
?”

He looked puzzled.

“You’ll recognize him, I’m sure
you will. You see him all the time in the piazza. The captain. Too bad we can’t
pack him up and take him with us.”

Renata looked at her plate. Her
hand trembled. Like a flower, this daughter. Each of her children was so
different. She wished she could add Renata and Carmela together and divide by
two. Instead she walked over and kissed Renata’s head.

“After the fire,” Renata
blurted. It was the first mention of it and Vicenzu seemed to hunch into
himself as if he was the one responsible, but he didn’t say anything and Renata
continued. “After the fire, I knew something dire would happen.”

“Since when is going to Paris
‘dire’?” Rosa asked. “The center of cuisine.” She told Serafina that Gesuzza
was going with them, and of course Arcangelo, but not Formusa. “Formusa’s wants
to spend the rest of her days sitting in the sun. I told her to tell me where
she wants to live and I’ll arrange it.” She shook her head. “How I’ll miss her
kitchen. And Assunta?”

“Going,” Serafina said.

“No reason why we can’t travel
back and forth, especially for Christmas and Easter,” Rosa said, looking at
Renata who was folding and unfolding her linen.

“Of course not, only six months
away,” Serafina forced herself to say. Her toes were cold.

Late that night after the
lovemaking, she asked Loffredo what he’d do with his villa.

He shrugged. “The caretaker will
watch it. We’ll keep it for vacations. Don’t forget, it’s got hot water in the
upstairs bath and after six months of living in Elena’s apartment, you’ll be
used to having it.”

“I miss it already.” She paused.
“Elena’s apartment? You mean our apartment.”

“We’ll be back. We’re not going
forever, but we can’t make a living in Oltramari ever again. The don’s
oppression is too great. He’ll sap every ounce of strength and suck all monies
from you,” he said. “And there are more just like him. They’re like weeds
taking over the garden.”

“So you don’t think Carlo is
right?”

“I think Carlo drinks too much,
keeps company with the wrong crowd, and somehow we need to get him back on the
right path. At least we must try,” he said. “I don’t know how yet.”

“He’ll be around tomorrow
apologizing, you’ll see,” Serafina said. “My toes.”

“Again? Yes, they’re frozen.
You’re worried about your children, that’s why.” He rubbed her feet.

She wondered how to bring up the
subject of money. They hadn’t spoken of it. She wanted to assure him they’d
have enough, at least for the near term. “Are you ... don’t you worry about ...
I know, right now we’re all right, but I have no idea what our expenses will be
like in Paris.”

“We’ll never want, Fina. You
wouldn’t have to work unless of course something happens to the Swiss banks.
For over twenty years I’ve barely touched the allowance from Elena, and I’ve
invested it well, with help of course from a trusted advisor. Perhaps after
we’re settled and Carlo comes around, he and I will go into practice together.
I need to talk to him. I got the sense that ...”

She relaxed. “He’s like that,”
Serafina said. “Seems uninterested in his profession, and yet he maintains good
grades. And he cares, he really does. You told me his professor, what was his
name?”

“Libertate, but that was a few
years ago—when you were working on Rosa’s case, remember? He helped me
with the autopsy.”

They were silent for a time.

“But since then he’s changed.
Does he have a large allowance?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t
know. Vicenzu handles the finances. I’ve never asked. But knowing Vicenzu ...”
She rolled her eyes. “Vicenzu doesn’t draw a fire unless it’s winter. Says we
can’t waste the logs.”

“The frock coat Carlo wore
tonight looked expensive and new,” Loffredo said. “And he was smoking a Cuban
cigar.”

“Only the best for Carlo,” she
said and yawned. “Two prima donnas in the family.”

He smiled. “Worries for another
day.”

Serafina rose and went to the
window. After opening the shutters, she breathed in, trying not to think of
Carlo or Maria or leaving. In the east she saw a thin line of light edging the
mountain tops. Her eyes swept over the front garden to their chestnut tree
planted hundreds of years ago, past the tops of buildings surrounding
Oltramari’s harbor, and gazed out to a calm sea. Mist crept in, blanketing the
horizon. She’d leave her home, but not forever. They’d be back.

“There’s a ship far out, you can
barely see it. The fog almost swallows it. I wonder if it’s the one we take
Saturday.”

No answer. He’d fallen asleep.