Susan Anderson - Death of a Serpent

• • •

The wick in her oil lamp began to sputter. Serafina went in search of the madam.

“What’s this I hear about Falco and the women? And this time, don’t deny it.”

Rosa bit her lip. “Harmless he is.”

“Harmless? He’s a viper and he’s been here in your house. A customer who helps himself according to Gioconda.” As she talked, Serafina wrote so quickly in her book that she nearly tore the page. “We will never find this killer if you keep the truth inside your head.”

Rosa hung her head. “Circle him on the list if you must. Inside the house, Falco, but a charmer. You will see how innocent he is.”

Serafina rubbed her forehead. “Judging from what Scarpo and the women told me, things changed here a few months before the murders began.”

“What things?” Rosa twisted her handkerchief.

“The comings, the goings. The friendships stopped. Confidences dried up. Gemma and Nelli became secretive. There is a pattern that emerges before each death, a pattern so subtle, so, so-”

Rosa slammed the desk. “There you go again with all that talk, like a government official you sound!”

“Faint, that’s the word, so faint that only a person with the gift of divination may discern it. Oh Madonna, help me to see. Now, right now. We must peer into the darkness, unravel the threads. Let’s put our heads together. But before we do-”

“Out with it!”

“Tell me about Eugenia.”

Eyes wide, a backward glance, a bitten lip, and the madam managed one word. “Who?”

“You heard me.”

Rosa swiped her cheeks. “Eugenia. Not important.”

“A woman, a large one, comes to this house and, like a fox in a chicken coop, steals from the others, causes pain and a mistrust that, like the sound of the sea, never goes away. She could be your killer, or a link to him, and all you can say is, ‘Not important?’ If you want to get yourself another wizard, just keep up with your secrecy, your grand fantasy that everything is sweet and loving around here. Because it’s not. There’s an evil stench within these walls, La Signura Rosa, and I need your help.”

For once, Rosa had no words. She patted the blotter on her desk and looked at Serafina as if she, Rosa, were a virginal saint, innocence lit by a thousand votive candles.

After a thick silence, Rosa began. “She knocked on the door, all sparkles, and with muscles like a sinewy mule. Looking at her, at her high cheekbones, her long limbs, those powerful eyes, that head of hair with locks longer than the mane on Garibaldi’s horse, and shimmering, too, in the sun, I could see her at work: one effortless, glorious toss after another, barely coming up for air, five, six, seven times an hour. I could hear the ca-chink of my coffers. So I, unknowing and innocent, beguiled but with the best of intentions, opened the door to her. Came from Palermo she said, and named a fancy house. Time passed. We prospered. One day Gusti came to me, complained of pearls missing, the ones the cardinal gave her. Your Carmela, too, missing a bag, she said, and some slippers. I didn’t want to hear their words. I admit it-I made a mistake.” Rosa wiped her eyes. “But when Lola told me about some missing clothes, a flashy petticoat she used to wear on special occasions, I became suspicious. I sent for Eugenia, and told her to get out. Out! I said. And my word shook the house. The thieving stopped.”

“And you didn’t tell Colonna?”

Rosa rubbed her palms back and forth. “We take care of these things ourselves. I went to see La Signura Livia Secunda . You don’t know her. Runs a house in Palermo. Respectable, a little too frilly. And what a snake’s mouth she has, and with a vicious bite too. But she has friends all over.” Rosa winked and made twirls in the air to indicate ‘all over.’ “Secunda made sure La Colossa Eugenia never worked again.” As if to wipe yesterday’s stain off her hands, Rosa ran them up and down her boned bodice, picked up her glass and downed her Marsala.

• • •

The beech log crackled. High notes, low notes, all were eaten alive by a clean flame. Serafina felt its heat on her face. Her bones relaxed. She felt how good it was to sit across from Rosa, her oldest, dearest friend on a cold evening by a warm fire. She asked, “Where is she now?”

“Scarpo knows. Remind me to ask him.”

She told Rosa about Arcangelo’s ride to the stables with Gemma on the evening she disappeared, his description of the hooded figure.

“Circle him in that precious book of yours, cross the limping one out. Add Eugenia below Falco if you must, but Arcangelo saw the killer, and the spider crawls up my spine again.” She crossed herself.

“One of the last prostitutes I interviewed, Gusti, the one with the swollen chest? She knows where Carmela is. Wouldn’t tell me.”

“The strega !” Rosa started for the door.

“Sit. I don’t blame her. Carmela made her promise not to tell her family. And Gusti is her friend. She cannot break that promise. But it gave me hope. Carmela must be close. Gusti said she was happy.”

“I’ll get it out of her. Have my ways, don’t I?”

“Don’t. Not yet. We’ll give the guards another week,” Serafina said. “Gusti also mentioned seeing Bella at the train station. Said she had a female visitor.”

“A what? Oh, a real visitor, you mean. The contessa. Francesca Grinaldi. We see her in Palermo tomorrow. I’ll dispatch one of the guards with a note.”

“Gusti described her as ‘all bends and bumps and angles.’ Called her ‘an old woman.’”

Rosa smiled. “To my girls, anyone over thirty is old.”

“Don’t forget, the early train. Leaves at seven, more or less. I’ll meet you at the station, fifteen before the hour.”

“Barbaric, but as you wish.”

A knock and the door opened. A maid said, “The baron.”

“Time to go.” Turning to the domestic, Rosa said, “Get Turi and Scarpo.” And to Serafina, “They can take you home in the carriage.”

“I came with Beppe in the trap. The fresh air will clear my head.”

“Then fetch Arcangelo,” Rosa said to the maid.

The domestic nodded, closed the door.

“After dark, you need two. Arcangelo can ride behind, keep his eyes on you, return at first light.”

They kissed each other on both cheeks.

“Oh, and I almost forgot.” Serafina turned back.

“You are impossible, standing there, tapping your chin like a potentate! Always late, always three times as much time as I take, you take. Always make three times as many words as you need. They cling to you, your words, like maggots on the dead.”

“Ask Scarpo to go to the blacksmith’s tomorrow. Tell him Donna Fina wants to know if anyone rented a stall between mid-July and August 6th. I want names and dates. All the names, all the dates. And swear the smith to secrecy: he is to tell no one.”

Rosa nodded.

Serafina told her what Formusa said about Nelli’s coins.

“The most important detail of all, and you almost forget to tell me.”

“Because if I told you about coins in the beginning, you wouldn’t hear anything else.”

Rosa said, “Mark my words, think on it well: money is at the root of these crimes. I know it, I know it.” She twisted her fingers. “The killer promises them something for a big fee. He takes their coins and kills them. At the heart is lucre.”

“That may be a part of it. Falco, for instance, gains by Bella’s death.”

“Will you leave him alone? Like a cur chewing on a bone, you are.”

“But that’s not all, not the most important part. There’s a systematic ghoulishness about these murders, a wildness about the killer that lust for money will never explain. He has the cunning of the wild, intent on one thing only-eliminating you and all your prostitutes and the business you think I know so little about.”