Susan Anderson: Murder On The Rue Cassette

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.

Toto 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 Hotel 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 caffe. “My hair’s a mess, my figure slovenly, and I’ve nothing to wear, nothing! I can’t possibly go. Toto 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 latte 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 Toto. 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.

After the breakfast was served, Renata was out the door and on her way to La Vucciria. She wanted to prepare a feast for Serafina and Carmela before their departure, saying she didn’t know when they’d have another proper meal.

“But we go to Paris, the home of cuisine,” Carmela said.

“Who told you that?” Carlo asked, forking in a mouthful of omelet. “What they know of food and love, they learned from us. But it’s the center of style and color and medicine.” He shoveled some biancomangiare into his mouth. “Are you sure you won’t need more help? Arcangelo and Teo are youngsters, and what does Carmela know of stealthy pursuit?”

“Much more than you. I couldn’t have caught the Ambrosi murderer without her.” Serafina sipped her latte. “Besides, I don’t know how long we’ll be gone and you’ve got school. It was your father’s dying wish that you practice medicine. Don’t you dare disappoint him.”

“Shouldn’t you take me, too?” Maria asked. “The Hotel du Louvre has a pianoforte in the lobby played by Mozart.”

“Does not.” Teo, the orphan who lived with Serafina, came into the room followed by the nurse carrying the two youngest members of the household, Teo’s brother and Carmela’s child. “Mozart played the harpsichord, and the instrument that he played as a child is in the Palace of Versailles.”

Maria looked like she’d been slapped. “Who asked you?” She pushed back her chair, crossing her arms. “You know nothing about anything, you’re not even a part of our family, you’re a silly orphan, now go away.” She turned to Serafina. “And why does he get to go to Paris and not me?”

“First, Teo and his brother are part of our family.” Serafina looked toward Carmela. “Second, this is not a holiday outing. He and Arcangelo have work to do in this investigation, and I suggest they’d better get started. We need to find out who’s been following me. And third, if you cannot be gracious to Teo, go to your room.”

As soon as she said the words, she’d regretted them. She’d lost control, something she vowed never to do again. Worse, she’d lost focus. Serafina rubbed her temples. “The success of this investigation depends on all of us, especially on me and my mind. A terrible murder has been committed, a deed against humanity. It’s up to me to find out who killed Elena. If I fail, I’ll never work again, and that will have dire consequences for all of us.”

There was a hush in the room, except for the tick of the clock’s pendulum.

“Who was this Elena, anyway?” Arcangelo asked, coming into the room, followed by Tessa and Rosa.

“Yes, do tell us,” Carlo said, fetching more chairs for the newcomers.

“Enough, all of you.” Serafina shot Rosa a look, defying her to say one word. “Elena was Dr. Loffredo’s wife, the countess of Oltramari. Her body was found yesterday morning on a street in Paris. Her father, Levi Busacca, has asked me to find her killer.” As Serafina answered Arcangelo’s question, Maria, her breakfast uneaten, left the room. Tessa smiled at Teo who scowled back at her and lowered his head into a book.

The ship’s crew was efficient and friendly and as a special treat, Arcangelo, Teo, and Tessa were given a tour of the engine room. There were games on the main deck and plenty of room to stroll. Even Rosa was impressed with the food. They ate their meals in the formal dining room with several other travelers, and met a Parisian couple who offered to take Tessa to the Ecole des Beaux Arts since their son was a student there, attached to the atelier of Gerome.

“Not my taste, Mama,” Tessa told Rosa after the couple had left. “I want to see the new school of painters.”

“We’ll see plenty of those,” Serafina said. “Many of Elena’s friends are painters, the unconventional kind, rejected by the Salon. They’re planning a show this month, I know as much from the last time I saw Loffredo. That’s why Elena wanted him in Paris, my star-crossed lover.”

Tessa’s eyes widened.

Rosa put down her fork. “Just you wait, my girl, I took you to Paris for a reason. You and Gesuzza will have a time going to the shows and the grand department stores, mark me.”

Representatives of Messageries Maritimes met Serafina’s party in Marseille and drove them to the Gare St. Charles where they’d catch the train Busacca called “the PLM,” the “ Companie des chemin de fer de Paris a Lyon et a la Mediterranee.” The station was built on a plateau overlooking the harbor and lower city. It reminded Serafina of a stony general surveying his troops, but it was not without its charm, and in spite of a small incident, the hour layover proved to be a respite. The journey through choppy waters had been tiring and they still had a long train ride ahead. Before they departed, they’d have time to stroll the plaza fronting the building. It would be the last real exercise until they arrived in Paris that evening, so they ambled around the circumference, feeling the warmth of the sun, marveling at the view, and munching on figs, warm croissants, and sardines sold by a street vendor.