Susan Anderson: Murder On The Rue Cassette

But the thought of travel to Paris and at this time of the year, of leaving her youngest children in the hands of the domestic until she solved the mystery of Elena’s death caused knots to form in her stomach. She felt acid dripping in her throat.

Of course she could find the answers. She was the best, the only one for the job. She breathed in, out. Perhaps she’d take Carmela with her-and Rosa, for sure, she’d need her. Thank goodness Giulia was already in Paris designing dresses at the house of that haughty contessa; she’d be such a help with her wardrobe. For the last few years Serafina looked worn and out of date. Best of all, she would rendezvous with Loffredo. Busacca must be mistaken. She had no doubt Loffredo was still in Paris, a visit undertaken at the bidding of his now dead wife. Poor, lost Loffredo. He must be devastated, certainly bewildered, his feelings a jumble, as were hers for him at this moment.

She hadn’t been to Paris in over twenty years, and then, only for school, a forced trip, her mother’s idea, a banishing after an unfortunate slip, a foolish affair which put her certificate in jeopardy. Worried, her parents had delivered her to La Maternite where she’d spent six months observing Parisian midwifery, developed a passable grasp of the French language, doing little else for six months other than studying and freezing in a garret overlooking the school’s courtyard. And that first visit had ended so tragically. Her anger at Busacca was replaced by a sudden memory, long forgotten, of a horrid night in Paris. They wouldn’t have listened to her anyway, she was a child, what could she have done? Serafina’s stomach churned. She must stop her mind from ranging over the years like this and focus on Elena’s tragedy.

“Mr. Busacca is waiting for your reply,” the commissioner said.

“Of course, I accept. For the sake of your daughter’s memory and our family’s friendship which courses the generations.”

“You’ll leave tonight.”

Serafina’s jaw dropped. “But I couldn’t possibly leave tonight, not on such short notice. I must see to my children’s needs before I go. And I must secure tickets and pack. Surely you understand! I’ll need to bring six others with me-to assist in my investigation.” She waited for him to flinch. When he did not, she continued. “After all, you expect my investigation to be thorough and swift. Paris is vast and Elena had many contacts.”

He shook his head. “You must depart this evening, I insist. I’ve had a devil of a time securing your passage. As we speak a steamer returns to Marseille from South America. As a special favor granted to me by one of the owners, the ship will make a special stop in Palermo to pick you up. It leaves at eight tonight.” He consulted his watch. “That gives you twelve hours to make arrangements. I understand your reluctance to leave on such short notice, but you understand, it’s the best I can do, the only boat to Marseille for a week.”

The commissioner shrugged.

Serafina said nothing.

Busacca handed her a large envelope. “Your tickets. First class accommodation on the Niger bound for Marseille. With the best of weather, the trip will take two days. In Marseille, my agent will meet you. He’ll ensure your safety for the remainder of your trip on the train and see to your needs while you’re in Paris. Once you arrive, you’ll be staying at the Hotel du Louvre. I’ve booked a wing on the eighth floor for your party. Will you need a translator?”

Serafina rubbed her forehead. “I’ve been to Paris. The language ought to return, and I have a daughter there who designs for the House of Grinaldi.”

“I know La Grinaldi and her house,” Busacca said, scowling. “A newcomer, but popular. Success has come too easily to her. We’ll see how long it lasts.”

Serafina was silent.

He continued. “The retainer should cover your expenses for at least a month. My card is enclosed with an invitation to be fitted at my store on the Rue de la Paix for suitable hats. We have the best designers in the city. You will pardon my effrontery, I notice you seldom wear one, but you’ll need a head covering in Paris, not only to ward off the chill of their spring, but for respectability. Contact my sister for whatever other attire or monies you need. Her address is in the letter.”

Serafina’s cheeks burned at his condescension. She couldn’t bring herself to thank him. She never wore hats. Didn’t need them; didn’t suit her, a luxury she couldn’t afford. She doubted she’d do as he suggested. “Does your sister know of my arrival?”

“Of course. She looks forward to it. She’s not fond of my daughter. She told me Elena was keeping wild company-in with a new breed of painters rejected by the Salon and creating their own exhibit. Sophie was not surprised at the news of her death. My sister’s a sour old thing now, but you might like her. Flits from one of our stores to the other doing little work but attracting customers. Considered to be quite a character and well-liked in her circle. She keeps up with society. Invited to most of the salons, Mallarme’s, for one. You’ve heard of him, no doubt?”

“Who hasn’t?” she asked, pretending to know what he was talking about.

“Sophie lives in the fourth arrondissement. Owns a decrepit-looking building and fits in quite well in that quarter. But don’t judge her from the facade of her building or her demeanor, she can open doors for you. She’s lived in Paris most of her adult life. Had an arranged marriage with a French Jew, thanks to my father who was anxious to plant a branch of the family in Paris. She knows everyone. Keep on her good side, and she’ll assist you with whatever you may need. And I expect that aristocratic husband of Elena will resurface and be only too willing to lend you a hand.”

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?”