Death of a Serpent (30 page)

“Not the guards, the driver, the gardeners,” Carmela said.

Serafina shook her head. “They don’t have trusted relationships with the other prostitutes or freedom of access inside the house.”

Carmela agreed. “One of the prostitutes. Absolutely.”

“I believe the quickest way to find this killer is to work through this accomplice.” Serafina swipes the corners of her mouth. “From what you know about Rosa’s women, who could be assisting the killer?”

“Could be a few. Eugenia for instance. She was at Rosa’s when I was, kicked out before the killings, but she could have supplied the killer with information.”

Serafina looked at the moisture forming on the front windows.

“But Gusti told me about Eugenia’s death. This killer could have had a few helpers,” Carmela said.

“Good point. Well, then, let me re-phrase: who do you think is his current accomplice?”

“What about Scarpo?” Carmela asked.

She shrugged. “At first he topped my list of suspects, but after I talked to him, my intuition tells me, no. Too devoted to Rosa. And his son is a work of art. Has a sophistication unusual in one his age. Saved my life through wit and courage. No, it has to be another prostitute.”

Carmela told Serafina what she knew from Gusti’s letters and from Carlo’s visit yesterday afternoon. Serafina wrote as Carmela described at length the personalities—Rosa’s favorites, the different cliques, the names of all the women who frequented the Madonna’s Chapel. “Understand, I missed all of the murders. Long gone before they happened, but there was one in particular who, at times, became crazed with her desire for salvation. ‘The serpent save me,’ she’d implore. Oh, and one time she said, ‘But for the serpent we are damned, damned I tell you,’ screaming this like a jumped-up
strega
. She could be the murderer’s thrall.”

“Bella, I know was interested in—”

“Not Bella,” Carmela said and ran fingers through her curls.

“No, of course, not Bella. She was interested in the embroidery of vestments, costume, design.”

Carmela nodded.

“And speaking of the longing for salvation, Bella’s was a gift, a grace from on high, not a frenzied desire. Hers was purposeful, an understandable wish to be saved.” Serafina saw raindrops sliding down the panes. “But there was one who struck me as too young to be in Rosa’s house.”

Carmela nodded.

“And yet,” Serafina said, looking at something beyond the wall, “she seemed so innocent, so young when I met her, not at all interested in salvation and told me so.”

“Looks can be deceiving, as can words. And mark me, she was a good actress.” Carmela straightened on the chair. “In a way, I don’t blame her—no father, unstable mother who pushed her out the door, the whole family hungry. Struck me as unbalanced, easily led.”

Serafina said, “Her need for a true friend, one she could trust, who would never desert her, never be finished with her—it had no bottom.”

Carmela said, “You’ve just described all of us.”

Serafina could hear the spatter of rain on the window.

“Must be handsomely rewarded by the killer.”

“Or perhaps she believes in the monk and the brazen serpent, and passes him information or obtains recruits and isn’t compensated: a blind follower. Like you say, a thrall. We just don’t know. He may use her until he no longer needs her, which, maybe is what happened to Eugenia,” Serafina said, “or she learned too much, like Gusti.”

“Poor Gusti. Can’t believe she’s dead,” Carmela said.

“Which reminds me: we found two of your letters in Gusti’s room, last one dated March 1866.What did you mean by, ‘We know her to be like the weather, fair one moment, foul the next’? Was she referring to the accomplice?”

Carmela nodded.

Serafina stared at the wall, tangled in her thoughts. “Beginning to get a clear picture of this killer.” She pulled at a loose thread on her robe. “But I need to be sure. It’s time to think.”

“What if there are two accomplices?” Carmela asked.

Serafina shook her head. “Don’t think so. This killer works with one confidante at a time. But I need to step back. So do you. In our recent past, we’ve not agreed on much, but now we must.”

“And if we disagree on the accomplice?” Carmela asked.

Serafina said, “We’ve got to convince each other.”

“Until we are of one mind?”

Serafina nodded. “Rest. You were up early. Then we’ll talk.”

• • •

As Serafina ascended the stairs to her mother’s room, she smelled the scent of orange peel and lavender. When she opened the door, she saw Maddalena sitting in her favorite chair, her skin luminous, gowned in her velvet dress, but no longer carrying her midwife’s satchel. Instead, she peered into Serafina’s eyes. “Took you long enough.”

“Long enough? But Carmela wasn’t speaking to me.”

“Typical, you misunderstand my meaning. It took you far too long to let her into your heart. If it weren’t for Concetta, Carmela would still be foundering.”

“Gave her a roof over her head and a job.”

“Much more. Showed her the way to remorse and love. But now that she’s here, you dally again. Get a move on. Time lopes away.”

“If you’re immortal, just tell me what you know.”

“Why should I tell you what you can discern for yourself?” Maddalena asked.

“But I need all the facts. There are unknowns—”

“Trust your instincts: you know the killer.”

“I know his accomplice.”

Maddalena laughed. “The time is ripe to strike, but demands your highest concentration. What you do in the next two days determines the fate of your oldest friend, Rosa, her house, and your family. A misstep will cause tragedy that will tumble down the generations, so tread with care but step decisively.”

“Too dramatic as usual.”

Maddalena screwed up her face. “Above all, don’t ruin it by thinking you know everything, because you don’t. Life is a mystery, even for immortals like me. Savor it. Agonize over it. But know you are in the thickest part of the puzzle, a web woven by the mad—wild with evil, sick from the sickness of others, crazed with the lust for coins and revenge. Arcangelo is quick and cunning, a good choice to guard Carmela, but he is still a child. This time don’t let her out of your sight. And ask Mother Concetta for help.”

“You talk in riddles. How can that old nun—”

“Throw away your attitudes, girl. They make your mind so muzzy!”

“I don’t understand you at times, Mama. Why would I ask for Mother Concetta’s help? And Carmela’s home, back at last. We’re mother and daughter once more.”

Maddalena wrinkled her nose and disappeared in a burst of light.

Serafina lingered in the chair her mother vacated, deep into her thoughts.

• • •

Carmela sat at the table, scrunched down in the chair, fanning herself with the newspaper.

Serafina said, “Rosalia.”

Carmela nodded. “The accomplice.”

“But somehow—”

“Nonsense. Changeable. An actress.”

They were silent. Serafina frowned. Her feet were cold. “We know that Bella had an appointment to meet a monk in front of the Madonna’s Chapel the evening before she died.”

“How?”

“Her contessa friend.”

“In business, together.”

“I believe this was the assignation with her killer. I have a plan to catch him, using Rosalia to arrange a meeting for me with the monk. It’s rough. You and I must refine it. But, basically, we say that I long for salvation, I need the monk. Meet him at the Madonna’s Chapel. You, Rosa, her guards, Scarpo lurk about—behind the chapel, in the piazza, somewhere close by. We may be able to get help from Colonna. The monk will probably take me to his cave. You follow and we capture him.”

“A meeting with Rosalia for you? Never. Won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because they know who you are. Falco does. And Rosa’s women do, too. They don’t trust you.”

“Even Gusti?”

“Even Gusti.”

Carlo opened the door, stomped into the room. “Still here?”

“Leave your sister alone, Mr. Smarts. Better yet, tell me about the autopsy. Loffredo found?”

“Nothing more of interest. Gusti was not abused. Not with child. Asphyxiated,” Carlo said, batting the newspaper Carmela held in front of her. He sat. “More breakfast, Assunta.”

“The glorious son returns and all the world runs to do his bidding,” Carmela said, shaking her paper.

A plate appeared:
biancumanciari
, pork, eggs just the way he liked them, bread, caffè. He began to eat, shoving
biancumanciari
into his mouth. He gulped caffè.

Carmela peered around the side of her paper and grabbed a piece of bread from his plate.

“So we know as much today as we did yesterday. But enough, you don’t want to miss the train. Good luck with your exam tomorrow, my handsome boy. A thousand thanks for your help.”

“Should stay until this business with Rosa is over, but—” He grabbed the paper from Carmela as she bit into the bread. The twins shouted at each other and laughed. The chase around the table began.

Assunta entered with Totò and Tessa.

Commotion, howls, laughter.

The children shed their outer garments, joined in the chase, both of them running after what, laughing for what, they did not know. The domestic shambled away, untouched by the riot, her pace inexorable, like the slow drip of time.

“Watch the oven for me, Assunta,” Renata said, untying her apron and running after her siblings. Soon the laughter grew louder.

Serafina heard their shrieks, their galloping overhead, their footfalls down the stairs. The line sped through the kitchen. “No, Carlo, don’t worry about me,” Serafina said to his blurred form as he stretched for the paper in her hand. “Watch it, you two, Carmela’s delicate—”

“Nothing delicate about her,” he said. “She stole my paper. I had it first, give it over, need something to read on the train.”

“His paper, Carmela, big train!” Totò yelled, running. Tessa, laughing, ran after him.

The line snaked out of the room, up the stairs, Carmela in the lead, flapping the newsprint, Carlo in pursuit.

“I have all the help I need. Just pass your test, or no more Gloria,” Serafina said to the empty kitchen.
About time laughter returned to this house.

• • •

“Back to our plan, my precious. Dangerous it is. Depends on secrecy and timing.” She blew her nose.

“Should be me, not you,” Carmela said.

“Cannot be. Rosa’s women know you, too.”

“But they trust me, know I’ve been absent, fallen on bad times.”

“If something were to happen to you, I’d walk into the sea. Your brothers and sisters would be orphans.”

“It won’t work. They call you ‘the snoop.’ Gusti told me. Her letters kept me informed.”

Serafina shook her head. “If I were to dress as someone else—”

“A terrible idea. Even
Nanna
said you weren’t an actress. Told me she knew each time when you lied to her. No, it’s got to be me. I’ll take Papa’s stiletto if it will make you feel better.”

Serafina rolled her eyes. “You’ve never used one.”

“Achille taught me.”

She swallowed. Considered. Made sense, Carmela.

Serafina paced around the room, popped a few olives into her mouth. “All right. But you must keep me informed. I’ll go mad.”

Serafina and her daughter filled in the details of their plan. “Arcangelo must shadow you at all times. You’ll need to return to the orphanage for a few days, Arcangelo too. He must be armed, remain within calling distance, but shadow you all the time. Tell Mother Concetta that you’ll need rooms.”

“She’ll be two steps ahead of us,” Carmela said.

Serafina shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll find plenty of work for both of you to do while you’re there.”

Carmela rubbed her palms together. “Can hardly wait. I’ll rip him apart.”

“Too much like me,” Serafina said.

Carmela smiled.

Serafina continued. “I fear the killer has his spies in the
Centru
as well as within Rosa’s walls.” She told Carmela about the shooting on the way home Saturday, the incident with Tessa and the monk in the park. “If he discovers that we work together, he’ll be forewarned. We’ll be in mortal danger.”

“Mortal danger? Please, Mama, don’t exaggerate. This is a child’s game.”

“Listen to me. Dr. Loffredo told me that the killer is an expert with a knife. Each woman was killed by one fling of the blade to the heart. He doesn’t miss. And after he killed his victims, he carved the sign of the brazen serpent into their flesh. Appeared on each forehead.”

Carmela blew curls from her forehead and listened as Serafina spelled out the rest—how Carmela would go to Rosa’s and ask for a meeting with the monk who promises salvation.

“The timing depends on you. Send me word as soon as you’ve made contact with her.”

“Mother C. can help me look tattered,” Carmela said. “And, believe me, I know how to act the part. I’ll have her send costumes for all of you, too. She’s a wonder with them. You’ll need to be disguised.”

“Except for Arcangelo. I want him in his own clothes. Nothing must hamper his movements. But Concetta?—she’s a nun.”

“So sharp, so theatrical. She and
Nanna
worked together at a theater in Palermo. That’s how they met, didn’t you know?”

“My mother? Acting? She’d never stoop so low,” Serafina said. “Would she?”

“Believe it. And when Concetta needs money from the archbishop, she dresses some of the orphans in torn clothes saved for such occasions, puts a little makeup on their faces to make them look forlorn, and takes them with her.”

“I’ll write to her this morning—”

“No need. I’ll ask when I see her today.” Carmela rose from her chair. “Better get ready. Haven’t much time.”

“Sit. There’s more,” Serafina said. “I’ve no idea if our plan to draw out the monk will be successful and, if so, where you’ll meet him. If what we know is accurate and if his pattern holds, it will be the Madonna’s Chapel, but wherever the meeting is, we’ll be as close to you as possible. Arcangelo will get word to us of any changes. It bothers me that you will be—”