Susan Anderson: Murder On The Rue Cassette

“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 Lome. 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 Hotel 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.”