Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) Read online

  “And the fire—a terrible time,” Charlotte said. “They never discovered who caused it, but a student studying by candlelight was suspected. She was reprimanded and left in disgrace.”

  Serafina started in her seat. “I remember. But she didn’t cause the fire.”

  Should she say something now? What good would it do, so long after the event? She shut her eyes and recalled the flames in the middle of the night, the screams, running feet, the choking, the retching, the pushing as girls and teachers rushed to safety. The stench of smoldering wet wood was all that remained of the wing in the morning. Contained in an unused part of the building, the fire was extinguished before there were any deaths, but it was an event Serafina never forgot. She took a few deep breaths. At the time she suspected one of the custodians. She could see him behind her closed lids—horrid how his pig eyes haunted her still—the wine-colored flush of his bloated face, the rotten smell of his breath as he stood leering before her on the edge of memory. She’d gone to Madame Charrier’s office to tell her what she suspected. About to knock, she hesitated. She lost her nerve.

  The realization still shamed her. That night she wrote to her parents begging them to let her leave. And they had, but the horror of the fire remained, the sudden twist of fate, an unexpected, uncontrollable force rushing in and lashing out, leaving only destruction in its wake. And worse, her weakness in not speaking her mind, in letting an innocent be reprimanded. It was a sin against the truth that remained to torture her. She would never be silent again.

  When she re-focused, Charlotte Clémence-Callé was paging through a leather-bound book, no doubt skimming Dr. Tarnier’s appointments.

  “She saw him at the end of March, again on April 9, and most recently on April 16.”

  Serafina and Rosa exchanged glances. “The time of the appointment on April 16?”

  “Two in the afternoon.”

  “You’re certain of the date?”

  “Of course.”

  “And would Dr. Tarnier be willing to share this information with representatives of the Sûreté?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  She hugged Madame Clémence-Callé and told her what a help she’d been. “And the custodian, a round man with dark, stringy hair, a wine-colored face and rotten teeth, he’s the one I suspected of starting the fire.”

  Charlotte Clémence-Callé widened her eyes. “Our suspect, too. I cannot forget him. He insisted he was fast asleep when the blaze broke out. We couldn’t prove otherwise.”

  Serafina shook her head. “I saw him standing in the garden, watching the fire, his eyes lit by the lantern he held in his hand, and the look on his face, I’ll never forget it.”

  The teacher nodded slowly, then gave Serafina a Gallic shrug. “Too late now. One day soon after the Siege, the custodian disappeared. We heard he’d joined the Communards and was executed after the city was freed.”

  “Proves nothing,” Rosa said on the way back to the hotel.

  “Elena had an appointment with Tarnier on April 9 and April 16 in the afternoon, hours after she died and it proves nothing?”

  Rosa smiled. “Very well, it proves you were right. I need a sweet.”

  “After the meal you had at the brasserie?”

  Chapter 21: Véfour

  The maître d’hôtel met them in the lobby, a sparkling room with gilded walls, découpage panels, and rock crystal chandeliers suspended from a high ceiling. Serafina heard the ring of crystal glasses, the muffled sounds of china on linen, the hiss of candles, and the distant clop of horses’ hooves on the narrow Rue de Beaujolais.

  They were dressed in their finest garments. Serafina wore a gown recently reworked by Giulia to accommodate Serafina’s shoulder. Her fingers grazed the long strand of her mother’s pearls worn only on special occasions. Not used to such attire, she found her movements constricted, or maybe it was that Gesuzza had pulled her corset a little too tightly.

  Madame Valois, a beautiful woman, wore her blonde locks in an elaborate coiffure. She chose an ultramarine gown for the occasion cut in the latest fashion with a scooped neck. When Françoise removed her cape, Serafina could see that the dress was daringly low-cut in the back. Like Serafina, she wore pearls, but in a collier.

  The young people were huddled around Carmela, who had begun a conversation with them about the buildings of Paris and Haussmann’s renovations.

  After introductions were made, they were taken to their cabinet with a magnificent view of the Jardin du Palais Royal.

  Serafina saw Rosa whispering to the maître d’hôtel. The madam stopped when she saw Serafina staring at her. No matter, her friend was up to some trick or other, probably ordering elaborate desserts.

  She was mesmerized by the style of the restaurant and the waiters passing with high-domed dishes.

  “I won’t forget this evening,” Valois said. “It’s my first experience dining here, and I thank you for inviting us.”

  “You won’t thank us when you hear what we have to say,” Serafina said. Led by Rosa, they laughed. She was glad to see Valois in this setting with his wife, Françoise, and their son, shy at first until Arcangelo and Teo asked him to sit next to them.

  Clothed in a deep rose gown and wearing matching evening shoes, Tessa pointed to the pool and gardens filled with people strolling even at the late hour. They were theater goers enjoying intermission or perhaps a lover’s tryst, Rosa told her.

  They took their places at two tables, both set with fine china, silver place settings, and crystal goblets. In the center of each table was an elaborate silver epergne filled with flowers flanked on either side by candelabra. The four younger people sat at one table, Serafina, Rosa, Carmela, Inspector and Madame Valois at the other. After they settled, the waiters brought out three bottles of champagne on ice, poured the bubbling liquid into flutes and disappeared, closing the double doors to their room. Valois stood and proposed a toast to the Palais Royal, its gardens and fountain, the restaurant, the evening, and to their continued collaboration.

  “There’s been a mistake,” Serafina said. “We are nine and there are ten places, an empty one next to me, unless you mean for me to eat for two people.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Rosa said. She got up and walked out of the room. Valois looked at his wife and down at his plate and Arcangelo, Teo, and Charlus took the opportunity to excuse themselves and stand at the window. They pressed their hands to the glass and pointed out buildings and statues. Charlus’s arm shot out, gesturing to an unseen spot beyond the formal gardens. “My school’s across the river beyond the Invalides,” he said. “Louis Le Grand.”

  “You’re lucky,” Teo said, and Arcangelo pulled at his sleeves.

  “Don’t worry,” Tessa said to him, “you know more about donkeys and horses than anyone else.” Arcangelo’s face flooded with color.

  Rosa returned a few minutes later, escorted by a man wearing a dinner jacket. As they approached the table, the young men returned to their seats. When they drew closer, Serafina started in her seat, but she bit her lip, trying to show as little emotion as possible. Her heart flew to her throat and she felt light-headed, but she sipped mineral water and steadied herself. Loffredo walked with Rosa to the table. Loffredo, looking gaunt but smiling. He was free and Serafina struggled not to run to him.

  “Thanks to you, our countryman is free,” Rosa said and clapped, inclining her head to Valois.

  “An evening of surprises,” Valois said, straightening his table napkin while Loffredo seated himself next to Serafina and smiled at her. Underneath the table, his hand found her knee.

  They drank, and Serafina, blinking and trying to control her voice and her mind, announced their discovery at La Maternité this afternoon.

  There was silence.

  Valois touched the satin lapels of his dinner jacket, surprised at Elena’s appointment with Dr. Tarnier on the afternoon of April 16. “Since the coroner claimed that she died almost twelve hours earlier, either the counte
ss has extraordinary powers of rejuvenation or could not have been the woman in the Rue Cassette, and we have another mystery on our hands.” He opened his notebook and wrote something.

  “And a different murder,” Serafina said. “And different suspects,” she added looking at Valois.

  “Unless Dr. Tarnier’s assistant was mixed up with the dates,” Rosa said, adding that they didn’t speak to Tarnier directly because he was out of town, but to the chef de la Maternité who obtained his appointment book.

  Squeezing Loffredo’s hand, Serafina, whose cheeks were burning, looked at Rosa who gave nothing away. But Serafina’s ardor, like a passing breeze, quickly died when she saw Françoise staring at them. After all, at the table sat an inspector of La Sûreté Nationale and his wife, the latter more discerning when it came to matters of the heart, Serafina knew. Carmela seemed to sense the danger, too. She frowned, her eyes darting from her mother to Valois. Serafina took a large swallow of mineral water and pressed the linen to her lips, her cheeks beginning to cool.

  She realized the delicate position she was in. Valois must not know of her affair with Loffredo. She glanced at the inspector and decided there was no threat from him, but his wife was another matter. Françoise Valois’s eyes flicked around the room, taking in more than the décor. She seemed to inhale the relationships of people with one another. Now her eyes moved from Loffredo to Serafina and a slight smile played about her face.

  Beyond Serafina’s present situation was another problem. What was she feeling? It wasn’t passion for the man seated next to her—well, not an overwhelming force, at any rate. She stole another look at him. He was grayer, more chiseled, but impeccably attired and groomed. His recent suffering was apparent and fired her compassion. She knew he was incapable of murder, had been wrongly accused because of the mistakes and deception of others. She felt sorry for the man who had lost all claims to inheriting his wife’s fortune. Had their affair run its course, or had the fear of discovery dampened her ardor for the moment? If her eyes swam, so did her soul. Best to stuff her confusion for the evening. Now it was time for her to solve the mysterious disappearance of Elena.

  She had other questions. If they found Elena alive and well, would Loffredo still be implicated in a murder? She was unsure and must ask Valois, but she didn’t see how. After all, where was his motive?

  Françoise Valois put down her glass. “Dr. Tarnier would not allow a discrepancy in his appointment book. It is unthinkable. I know the man and the hospital. He is an esteemed and exacting physician, a very popular chief of surgery at La Maternité.”

  “Nonetheless, we must check the dates with him when he returns to his office next week,” Valois said. His voice was stony.

  “His assistant returns Monday,” Serafina said.

  Valois shrugged. “Of course we’ll speak to him, but before we approach Madame de Masson, I think we must hear it from Tarnier’s lips.”

  Valois turned to Loffredo. “You’ve told us that you and your wife were estranged, that you had little contact with each other except as her escort to certain functions whenever she requested your presence. She’d write to you and you’d travel to Paris to be at her side, not staying with her, but were a frequent guest at a small hotel on the Rue Jacob.”

  Loffredo nodded.

  “Do you know anything about her condition or her physicians? The other men in her life? Her current suitor? To your knowledge, was she with child?”

  Loffredo removed his hand from Serafina’s and stole a glance at her before replying. “When I arrived in Paris, Elena told me that she was with child. I was surprised. She didn’t tell me who the father was or who her physician was. And I’m afraid I didn’t ask.”

  “Why would she choose the chief of surgery at La Maternité to be her physician?” Rosa asked. “And why would she choose a physician at all? Wouldn’t she want a midwife?”

  Rosa had a point.

  “Unless she felt there might be complications. She is a primigravida with close to forty years,” Françoise said.

  “And there could indeed be other complications,” Serafina said, “considering Elena’s nature. She’s had many lovers.” Rosa looked at Serafina. They’d known each other for so long, and Serafina was sure Rosa was thinking the same thing, the possibility of disease. They were Italian and the Valois were French. What would they think of people who spoke so unreservedly about their own? Worse, Serafina hinted at a subject best left untouched in polite society under any circumstances, but decidedly not mentioned at table. And yet she knew that this was a murder investigation and they were pressed for time. Secrets and innuendoes only hindered progress.

  During the rest of the conversation concerning Elena’s condition, Loffredo kept his eyes fixed on the menu.

  Madame Valois, who seemed well-versed in the particulars of La Maternité, asked if Elena was a wealthy woman, able to make a large bequest.

  Serafina felt Rosa straighten in her chair.

  Carmela spoke for the first time. “Yes, and she is the type of woman who prefers the company of men, so it’s not surprising she sought out a physician instead of hiring a midwife.”

  They stopped talking when a waiter came into the room and refilled their champagne flutes. Another arrived and passed out menus while the sommelier gave the list of wines to Rosa who handed it to Valois and said, “I thought we’d be all night ordering, so the restaurant has prepared a special menu for us.”

  The first course included escargots in a light sauce, a goose foie gras, and an asparagus in a light vinaigrette. For the main course they had a choice of several varieties of duck, a shoulder of lamb, or a fish fillet, either cod or sole, and an assortment of potatoes and legumes. The wine list included a Margaux, a Medoc, a Bordeaux and several different Sauternes and liqueurs for the desserts.

  Loffredo looked at his menu and smiled. “Different from what I ate last night.” He ordered the escargots to start with and the house specialty for his entrée, a stuffed duckling with potatoes.

  “When you saw your wife, did she seem different?” Valois asked.

  He shook his head. “She was ... her usual self, slightly denigrating, a breezy woman, full of energy and well-dressed. She talked of the upcoming exhibit on the Boulevard des Capucines. Now that I’m able to go, I’d like to see it.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Carmela asked, slicing a piece of her lamb and spearing a sampling of creamy potatoes with her fork.

  Loffredo smiled, breathing the steam from his plate. He cut into the crispy skin of his stuffed duckling before replying. “I believe it was April 9. She told me she had just had her suspicions confirmed. She was with child.” He took a swallow of his Margaux.

  According to Tarnier’s records, that was the date of Elena’s first appointment with him, Rosa pointed out.

  “We’ll check with his assistant Monday,” Valois said, “to confirm these dates. Depending on the strength of his reply, we’ll either wait for Tarnier’s return to ask him directly, or talk to Madame de Masson and prepare her for the possibility of exhumation.”

  “And then what?” Rosa asked.

  Valois stared at his half-eaten meal. No wonder the man was so thin. “I’m not good at speculation. Let’s take one step at a time.” He looked to his wife whose eyes were a sharp blue, even in candlelight.

  “Anything yet from the men captured today?”

  “We are not finished questioning them, but they insist that their task is protection of Madame Florio and the members of her group, nothing more. So far, they haven’t revealed the name of their employer, but say it is someone interested in maintaining the welfare of all Sicilians in Paris.”

  Rosa shook her head.

  “Did they confess to stealing the photos from your desk?”

  “They’ve confessed to nothing.”

  Serafina didn’t think they were the thieves. Why would foreigners have access to a locked office in the prefecture?

  “What will you do with them? Ca
n you deport them?” Carmela asked.

  Françoise sipped her wine. “I won’t speak for my husband, but as a student of French history, I know the relationship between our two countries is close at present.” She held up two tight fingers. “I’m sure our government wants to keep it that way, not that deporting two unknown Italian citizens would put the trust of our two countries in jeopardy. But I don’t think Magenta would risk even a small rift, not without a stronger reason.”

  “Who?” Rosa asked.

  “She means Patrice de Mac-Mahon, our head of state,” Valois said. “His help was significant in defeating the Austrians at Magenta. Hence the nickname.”

  Serafina nodded her understanding.

  “Nonetheless, we’ll keep a watch on the men who follow you while you are in Paris,” Valois promised.

  Rosa expressed her gratitude.

  Serafina, who had been toying with her food, a succulent shoulder of lamb, arched her brows and said nothing. But she didn’t like this news from Valois. He was nothing if not political, she realized, thanks to his wife who made it her business to smell the wind. Which is why the French wouldn’t use a more persuasive form of interrogation.

  She listened to the clink of glasses from the next table as Teo proposed a toast to Paris. “And to Louis Le Grand,” Charlus added. Tessa looked at Teo, and Arcangelo looked down at his plate, but the two young men lifted their glasses and drank. Rosa went over to talk to them. She smiled and removed the wine bottles from easy reach.

  There was a lull in the conversation as they concentrated on the food, and Serafina watched Rosa place the wine bottles in the center of their table. Gazing at the other table, she overheard Teo talking about The Hunchback of Notre Dame and wondered if the dust from Quasimodo’s and Esmerelda’s bones still swirled about the stones of the massive church.

  Swallowing the last bite of her entrée, a stuffed duckling, Rosa wiped the corners of her mouth and reached for the Medoc. She turned to Serafina. “Mark me, these men are on Don Tigro’s payroll,” Rosa said, pouring herself another glass. “He’s still interested in you, and I can’t understand why. He pays you too much attention. Has done for too long and where’s his gain?”