Susan Anderson - No More Brothers

• • •

She called for her factotum.

Beppe appeared, panting.

“Remember the body on the beach?”

He nodded.

“I want you and Arcangelo to follow some people for me who may be involved in his death.”

The pointed toes of Beppe’s shoes shuffled back and forth.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve captured the killer.”

“I did, but… I’ll explain later. First take this note to Rosa asking for Arcangelo’s help. Then meet me back here.”

In a few minutes, both boys stood before her.

“Carry these for me, won’t you?” Serafina handed each young man several pairs of worn and scuffed shoes. They need mending, another excuse to visit Rodolfo.

As they walked across the piazza, Serafina explained the shoemaker’s involvement in his brother’s death. “That’s why I want you to follow him, his wife, and his son. You know them?”

They nodded.

“I doubt that Graziella leaves the home. She’s just given birth. But if she does and if she walks with her husband, you both can follow together. If they go their separate ways, you’ll have to split up.”

Arcangelo pulled at his sleeves. “What if the three of them go out separately?”

“I don’t think that will happen, but if it does, follow the shoemaker and his wife. They live above the shop. There’s a back door and an alleyway, but I think they’ll take the side path to the street in front.”

She continued. “This is hard work. Under no circumstances are you to let them see you. Remember exactly where they go, to whom they speak. Use your head. If they enter a building with more than one door, wait for them to exit. But if they don’t come out in an hour or so, report back to me.”

“And if they take the train or a public cart?”

She dug into her reticule and handed each boy some coins. “If they take a cab, follow if you can. But don’t take the train. Come back and tell me.”

When they were a few doors from the store, she took the shoes. “I’ll go in and have them mended. Cross the street and hide behind those-”

“We know how, Donna Fina.” Arcangelo winked. “We stalked the monk, remember? And we know how to cover more than one exit.”

She smiled, recalling the part both had played in helping her catch the Ambrosi murderer. Beppe and Arcangelo disappeared. But as she mounted the shoemaker’s stairs, the ghost of something lurked in her mind.

The shop was nearly empty of shoes, except for a few battered specimens in the corner. Teo greeted her wearing a leather apron that almost scraped the floor. “Papa said I could be in charge of the shop this afternoon.” He wrote up the order and gave her a receipt. “Ready on Monday morning.”

“So soon?”

“For you, Donna Fina.”

She smiled, remembering their last conversation about the gypsy queen.

Cocoa, almonds, orange: Serafina breathed in the smell of the heavens as she entered the sweet shop next door to the shoemaker. Bending over the glass display, she ran a finger back and forth, looking at all the delicacies. Soon she saw a head of black hair rising up from a stool behind the counter.

“You’re Renata’s mother,” the girl said.

“And you must be the owner of this delicious-smelling store.”

She shook her curls. “The daughter. How can I help?”

“I thought I might get something special for supper tonight. Don’t mind me while I look. Renata’s away. She’s the one who cooks, usually does a marzipan for dessert or a scrumptious cassata.”

The girl nodded. “Most of these are her recipes.”

Serafina felt tears collect in the creases around her eyes, but she brushed them away and smiled at the girl. “You remind me of my middle daughter, Giulia. Same curls, same beautiful figure. She’s tall like you-like her father was. But…” Serafina wiped her eyes with a linen. “I hope I’m not taking too much of your time. You’re the only one tending the store?”

“Yes. Papa lets me run the store after school. No brothers, you see, and I’m the only child left at home. The shop will be mine some day. A lot to learn.”

“I see. Well, where was I?” Her eyes skittered across the counter.

“Choosing something for supper. Might I suggest one of these marzipan cakes? I’d like to give you one as a gift-a token for all the help Renata has given us.”

“How lovely of you. Renata will be so pleased when she hears. I’ll write to her straight away. And my other children will be delighted. On behalf of all of us, thank you.”

The girl nodded and began tying up the package.

“So quiet here today,” Serafina said by way of making conversation.

“In more ways than one,” the girl muttered as she tied up the pastry.

“Pardon?”

She hesitated for a bit. “It’s just that, well, lately, there’s been a lot of commotion next door.” She motioned toward the shoemaker’s shop with her head.

“You mean from outside?”

“No, raised voices coming from the back of the shop next door. Don’t know what’s going on, there. Sometimes it frightens me.”

“I know the shoemaker’s brother used to visit and make demands-”

“Not the brother. He’d come in and there’d be rows in the front. No, the raised voices come from the back.”

“Men’s voices?”

She nodded. “And a woman’s, I think. Sometimes the screams are piercing. Customers notice it.”

“Children’s voices?”

She shook her head. “No. Not Teo. He’s a friend. Helps me with my English. Sometimes he comes in and he’s so quiet-ashamed, maybe. Other times, he smiles and tells me stories and doesn’t close his mouth.”

“When was the last time you heard angry voices?”

She shrugged. “Last week, maybe the week before? Not sure.”

As she closed the door behind her, Serafina frowned. Trouble between Graziella and the shoemaker. No wonder the woman’s bright spirits had not returned.

“Have some food. We were just getting to dessert.” Rosa’s cook had outdone herself: an enormous cassata stood in the middle of the table next to the marzipan cake from the sweet shop.

Carlo motioned for them to sit.

“Assunta, cake for these two hungry men.”

Both boys sat and began forking in cake. Carlo filled their glasses with wine.

Serafina pushed away her plate. “What took you so long?”

They looked at each other and grinned.

“Yes. You’ve been gone hours. I was beginning to worry. Hurry up, finish your food, then we’ll talk.”

One by one, Serafina’s children quit the room.

“Tell me what happened,” Serafina said, opening her notebook. “First, you followed?”

Arcangelo began. “First, the mother and son came out the side gate hauling a wagon filled with goods.”

“Goods?”

“Books and some spreads and such, maybe a few pantaloons, such as that,” Beppe said.

Arcangelo nodded.

“And?”

“And we followed,” Beppe said.

“They pulled the wagon to the orphanage. We watched them go inside. In an hour or so, they came out again. The wagon was empty.”

Serafina said nothing.

“They went straight home. We hid in the usual place and waited. Waited some more.”

“No sign of the shoemaker?”

“We’re coming to that,” Arcangelo said. “We heard shouting.”

“From his shop?” Serafina asked.

“I think so,” Arcangelo said. “About four o’clock, the shoemaker slipped down the front steps, moving quick.”

“How did you know the hour?”

“My father gave me a timepiece for my birthday.” Arcangelo held up a silver watch twirling from a chain. It glinted back light from the candelabra.