Death of a Serpent (12 page)

“Just so.”

Another blast of wind almost extinguished Serafina’s flame. They walked back to the kitchen.

Stooping, Serafina kissed Formusa on both cheeks. She held her close. Her first piece of news relating directly to the murders. More tears, more ‘poor Donna Maddalena, poor husband.’

Gusti

“M
y name is Gusti, short for Julia Augusta. Named myself after an ancient Roman queen, or goddess—one of those.”

Underneath that stained robe of hers, she had breasts like mountain peaks. Must be wearing all the jewelry she owned, ropes of pearl and gold, jingly bracelets, a silver rosary, rings on all her fingers.

Serafina began by asking the usual questions.

The remnants of sweetened figs whiskered her lips. Gusti swept them off with the back of her hand, settled in the chair. “I didn’t know any of the dead women, poor dears, not well, at least. I don’t know what I can tell you. Don’t know who’d want to kill them. Of course, I was busy on the days they died, I’m always busy.”

“When was the last time you saw Bella?”

“Oh my, they’ve all been dead for such a long time. But when was it that I last saw Bella?” She looked up at the ceiling, drummed her fingers on one knee. “I remember now—it was in the station here in Oltramari. Yes, that was it.” She slapped her knee. “I was going to Palermo, she was returning, it must have been, oh, two or three months ago, in the spring. She was getting off the train and I was waiting on the next platform. All of a sudden Bella came out of the car, packages and all in her hand. No suitcase. I yelled and waved, ‘Bella!’ We waved
addiu
and she disappeared into the crowd. That’s the last time I saw her alive. I love to ride the train, don’t you? The clack of the wheels, the rhythm of the car, it lulls me to sleep. The conductors, so nice to me they are, and the passengers you meet, oh, la, some of the men, gorgeous. I love the ride, I tell you.”

Serafina laughed. “And that was the last time?”

“Alive? Oh, you mean, you mean, oh yes, I went to Bella’s wake and all. Sad. She was the one I felt closest to. I mean, of the ones who died. Not like a sister, mind you, like Carmela and I, we were almost like sisters, but close enough, Bella and I. Even though we both kept to ourselves and all.”

The air was heavy with cheap perfume. Serafina felt queasy. “And what about Gemma and Nelli? Do you remember the last time you saw either of them?”

Gusti shook her head. “We lead our own lives. We come and go here at Rosa’s. Rosa wants us to be more like a family, ‘my girls’ and all, you know how she talks.” The prostitute adjusted herself in the chair. “You and Rosa are friends, yes?”

Serafina nodded.

“But we are none of us friends here, not like you and Rosa. Oh wait, maybe a few girls were friends with the dead ones, but not me, I wasn’t one of them. I avoid most of the girls. Hard to trust. Well, except for Carmela.”

“They told me you were friends with…her.”

“And you’re her mother. They told me. Hair the same. Skin, maybe the same. Eyes, definitely. Younger than me. Little bit of a thing, Carmela. Short. Bouncy. Fun to be with, Carmela. Loved flowers and the sea and walking. Could walk the legs off a sailor, that one.”

Serafina rubbed her forehead. “When did she leave?”

The prostitute considered. “Left with a soldier, I don’t know, about two, three years ago. Said she knew him. From before and all.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

Gusti held her lower lip. “My friend, Carmela. Told me she didn’t want anyone to…no family to know where she was. Not Rosa. Said Rosa knew her mother. Sad and all, but she’s my friend. Not in danger. Happy.”

Serafina felt tears prickle. “We haven’t heard anything from her. At least now I know she’s alive. When you write to her again, would you tell her that we need to talk to her? We have some family news for her. Not good. She must know.”

Gusti nodded.

Serafina blew her nose. She was silent for a moment, blinking. She thought of what her children would say when they heard that Carmela was alive and happy. First bit of good news since their father died. They’d be thrilled, of course, all of them except Totò who didn’t remember Carmela, and Maria: who could guess what her response would be to anything? She must write to Carlo.

The prostitute continued. “And then there was that big girl, came here about the same time as Carmela. Thought I could trust her, but I was wrong. She didn’t last long, I tell you. La Signura got rid of her, presto.” Gusti reached into her pocket for a handkerchief and wiped her forehead. “And what was that big one’s name? It’ll come to me. Her arms, can see them now, arms like a gunner’s. Wait. Yes, Eugenia, that’s her name. Had a laugh like a mule. Anyway, the three of us were friends, I mean, not all together, not like the three musketeers and all, but I was friendly with Carmela and I was friendly with Eugenia. Until, you know, the bad things happened with her. But now they’re both gone. Like the wind, one hour it blows over Oltramari, and by that very afternoon, would you believe, it’s in Enna. Well, after what’s been happening in this house, I keep myself to myself, I do.”

Serafina thought that Gusti’s words flew like bullets but in different directions at once. She asked, “This Eugenia, you say she didn’t last long. Do you know why?”

Gusti shrugged, then thought better of it, pulled her chair closer to Serafina and whispered, “My customers, generous, always giving me pearls, stones, gold bracelets. Rosa lets us keep those. Couple of us had things stolen. I got scared. We talked about it one day in town. When we got back, someone went to Rosa, and boom, Eugenia was gone. After that, well, you can’t be too careful.” She fingered her pearls and waited for Serafina to stop writing.

“Did you ever see Gemma, Nelli, Bella together? Were they friends?”

Gusti paused to consider before she responded. “Well, Bella and Gemma, I used to see them talking together. Not a lot. Maybe Lola with them, too. Lola with Nelli of course. The four of them together? I might have done; I think they used to sit together. Well, no, because Lola was with Rosalia a lot. Poor little thing. Not robust in the head, Rosalia. Hard to figure out, that one. Like that wind I told you about, only, blowing this way one day, that way the next. As I said, I keep to myself.” Gusti shivered. “Once or twice we’d all go to town, a bunch of us, not often, you know, order a caffè at Boffo’s, sit and watch everyone in the piazza and make jokes. And they maybe would sit together, but no, come to think on it, they weren’t together a lot. More like Lola with Nelli until they had a to-do, then Rosalia with Lola.”

“Bella went with you to town?”

“No, Bella was different, more like me and Carmela, only quieter. Not so bouncy. Getting on, Bella. Lots of talent, too. She kept to herself unless she was sewing for someone. Well, of course, you know, Bella made our clothes, the ones for special occasions. Bella was usually sewing for someone. Except for when she wasn’t.”

“Rosalia?”

“Hard to figure, but as I said, dim. Given over a little too much to tales and all. Miracles and the like. But one time when we were in town, all of us, like I said, one of the times Turi drove us, we piled in the carriage, a few of us on the rumble, we went to the sea near the cove. Carmela was still here. She and I, we took a walk on the shore and as we were coming back we saw Rosalia. Beating her fists on the pebbles, she was. In a state, the little minx, like a bleating lamb, her dress a shambles, her blonde hair all messed. Saw Eugenia bending over her, Lola looking out to sea, Prudenza off a ways, waving at us to hurry, the others with their arms crossed or letting the wind blow their skirts, ribbons flying, all of them laughing. Well, Carmela and I, we got there and I took one look at Rosalia and stooped close, don’t you know, and told her to pick herself up and stop the bawling.”

“What did she do?”

“Obeyed. Learned that if you talk to her serious and all, she’d stop her little girl acting.”

Serafina held up her hand. “Wait.” She flicked pages back and forth and her fingers flew as she wrote down the jumble of Gusti’s words.

“Does any of that make sense? Oh, I don’t know, how do you expect me to remember everything? Really, too busy I am, truly busy. Hard work, this. Pays well if you keep up a steady stream. In and out, that’s how I like them. But it’s hard work. Unending. No lolling about. I’ll write to Carmela tonight or tomorrow, if there’s time. And I have the most vigorous customers. Hard to take notice of the other girls when you work as steady as me.” She tightened the belt of her robe.

“Have you seen any strangers hanging about lately, I mean, from the time of their deaths?”

“Strangers? How would I know?” She heaved her chest, looked around the room.

“What about visitors? Any of the women have visitors? Gemma? Nelli? Bella?”

“Visitors? You mean, not customers?”

Serafina nodded.

She shook her head and picked at a fingernail. “Wait, now. Bella, she had a visitor. Not a customer, I can tell you.” Gusti turned around, and for a second or two stared at the blackness outside the window, as if she saw someone. A customer? Another prostitute? “Brrr, too cold tonight to talk.”

“Should I send for some caffè?”

Gusti hugged herself. “Not enough time. We’ll be done soon, won’t we?”

“You were saying, about Bella’s visitor?”

“An old woman called on Bella. Used to come once or twice a week. Funny creature, that’s how I remember her—not her mother.”

“How do you know?”

“Didn’t look at all like Bella. And from a different class. Carried herself like a snooty duchess or something. All bends and bumps and angles, that one. Hair tied up in an old rag, but her clothes were gorgeous and oh, la, the jewelry. Really. Usually had bundles of clothes with her, perhaps for Bella to mend? And one time I saw her all fitted out, almost didn’t recognize her. Dressed herself up she did. Had a gorgeous frock on, all fringes and beads and feathers. Flowing. And, oh, the furs. Quite the figure she had, too, for an old cow. All made up with rouge and white powder and all.”

“Strange company Bella kept,” Serafina said.

Gusti hunched forward. “Maybe Bella was her seamstress. Helped all of us with our sewing and, as I say, made a gown for Gemma. Made lots of frocks for Rosa, for Tessa, too. Rosa paid her well, but Rosa, you know, can afford it. Don’t mistake me, I love Rosa. Knows how to treat us. Leaves us alone. Knows how to put some of the bossy ones in place, I can tell you. But she favored some of the girls, too. I’m not one of them. Rosa wants us all to be close, like a family, and we’re not like that, no.” The prostitute looked down, whisked a bit of dust off her shoulder. “And I’ve got an honest mouth. If I don’t trust someone, I say so, and to her face. But talk like that, well, Rosa doesn’t want to hear.”

Gioconda

“I
have a few more questions if you don’t mind. In particular there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. At Bella’s wake I saw you with a gentleman.”

Gioconda laughed. She was dressed in indigo damask, full skirts, gold stars embroidered on the bodice. A matching scarf draped her shoulders. “Which one?”

“Tall, light brown hair. Curly. Wore black of course, frock coat, cravat, armband.”

The redhead drew a blank.

“Struts a bit,” Serafina said.

“Falco?”

Serafina nodded. “How do you know him?”

“Same way everyone does.” Gioconda winked. “Bella’s uncle, at least that’s what Bella called him. Met him through her.”

“How?”

“In the parlor of course. I think he was with her father.”

“And you’ve known him for how long?”

“Oh, la, couple of years, I’d guess.”

“Your customer?”

“I’m not the only one. Helps himself.”

“Does he know all the women?”

“Just a few of us. The select, you might say. On his last visit, he was with a couple of the girls in the parlor, chatting and such, having a gay old time. Likes to be surrounded by what he calls ‘the choicest meats.’”

Serafina’s brows furrowed. Rosa didn’t bother to tell her about Eugenia. Now Falco.
Rosa keeps secrets from herself.

Not Much Time

A
fter Gioconda left, Serafina sat alone in Rosa’s office. Laughter drifted in from the parlor, faint squeals from the floors above. No doubt Rosa would shoo her away, but until she did, Serafina had time to ponder what she’d learned. She pictured Carmela, wondered what she looked like. She must have changed in four years. But she forced Carmela out of her mind.

She’d gotten more information about the most important suspect—the monk, she called him—first, from Scarpo, strengthened by Arcangelo who saw someone with Gemma on the day she disappeared, similar to Scarpo’s description of the monk-like creature. Could he be the same monk she’d seen begging in the piazza? She reminded herself that Sicily was full of monks.

Another suspect had emerged: Eugenia, who, Gusti told her, took personal belongings from the other women. Nelli’s fear of being robbed made sense in light of the buxom prostitute’s revelation. Just like the madam not to tell her about trouble in her house.

Three strands wove in and out of her mind. The first was a sense of foreboding. Everyone in the house carried the burden of fear, Rosa, Scarpo and his men, the prostitutes, Formusa, even that actress, Lola, poor woman. The whole lot of them squirmed in their seats, cast a backward glance, as if death lurked around the next corner, ready to surprise. The second thread: a sense of upheaval and change. What was once a house of laughter and friendship had become a hospice of silence and mistrust. And third, Serafina’s certainty that some or all of the prostitutes, and of course Rosa, that
grande dame
of secrecy, hid information from her, whether wittingly or not.

She needed to find this killer before he struck again. There were moments this evening when she felt sure she glimpsed his presence—in the glint of Scarpo’s eyes, in the wisps of Rosalia’s hair, in the shadows on Lola’s face. But now she saw these as illusory. She felt the distance she must travel.