Death Of A Sad Face (A Serafina Florio Mystery) Read online

  As she expressed her gratitude, the baroness showed Serafina to her boudoir, an airy room with a view of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and asked a maid to bring them refreshments. Serafina asked Lucia to lie down on a velvet chaise and took her pulse.

  The baroness closed her eyes. “Five boys. Let’s hope this one’s a girl.”

  After the examination, Serafina said, “The baby’s dropped, I can see that, and since it’s your sixth, when she decides to arrive, she will be quick. As soon as your water breaks or if you feel any discomfort, send one of the servants for me, no matter the hour.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  “Where are your other children?”

  “Away at school. Ignazio’s idea, not mine.” She frowned. “But I’m glad they weren’t here last night.”

  “Of course! And too much excitement for you.” Serafina undid her satchel and brought out a bottle. “A special potion, my mother’s recipe for creating calm during the final days of confinement. Take three spoonfuls twice a day, one in the morning, two at night.”

  A maid appeared, carrying a silver tea service and pastries. While she poured, Serafina helped Lucia take a spoonful of the tonic.

  The baroness washed it down with a sip of tea. “Horrible, seeing Cecco lying there.”

  “Cecco?”

  “The butler. Whatever shall I do without him? Such a kind man, so very loving and considerate.” She dabbed at her eyes with a linen. “An orphan, did you know?”

  Serafina shook her head.

  “Yes. Sent to us from Guardian Angel. We hired him as a footman, but when old Donato died, Cecco took his place. He was the best servant anyone could want. Smart, quiet, never shirked.” The baroness began sobbing, and Serafina gave her a moment before asking, “Did he get along with the other servants?”

  She nodded. “With the good ones. Demanding with the others and such a comfort to me. He helped me in the running of the house. The baron leaves me alone so much of time—at his hunting club more often than not—so Cecco and I had many quiet moments together.” She stared at nothing. “And Ignazio hated him from the beginning. Men can be so cruel.”

  “Hush now, and finish your tea.” How strange, Serafina thought, the woman seemed more distressed at losing her butler than concerned with the health of her fetus after such a piercing disturbance. She must talk to Rosa. “Is the baron here? I’d like to meet with him, just to reassure him.”

  “At his club or out hunting, who knows. Most days, I barely see him.” The baroness blew her nose again.

  Serafina took a bite of pastry. “Surely he was here last night when the butler was killed?”

  “No, but he arrived in time to speak with Colonna.”

  Serafina waited for her to continue.

  Lucia pushed away her cup. “Cecco and I had just finished with our evening talk; you know—a butler’s responsible for everything in a big house like this. We’d begun planning for the gala we give each year at our villa in Bagheria.”

  “You don’t have a housekeeper who helps you with such things?”

  “We used to, but Cecco’s such an organizer and so lovely to be with that I dispensed with her.” She flapped her hand. “A witch of a woman! Always making up to Ignazio. You know how haughty some servants can be.”

  Serafina frowned. “Go on.”

  “But I’ll remember Cecco forever,” she said, a vacant look in her eyes. “The moon had just risen high in the sky. I remember because Cecco said something about the moon and how it glowed and wasn’t it romantic, and suddenly I heard noises coming from the front hall—a turning of the key in the lock, the creaking of the front door. I thought it must be Ignazio coming home, so Cecco went downstairs to attend to him. My husband had dismissed his valet a while ago, and he often needs assistance when he arrives—unsteady, you know.”

  “Your husband drinks?”

  She nodded. “Then I heard low voices …” She trailed off, staring into space. “A scuffle, brief silence then the voices grew louder, and then—oh, it was too awful—a shot!”

  “The time?”

  She shook her head. “How should I know? I remember running down the stairs and, and there he was in the vestibule, my Cecco, twisted, lying next to a potted palm, eyes open. I knew, I knew! I looked outside.”

  “Through the window?”

  She shook her head. “The front door was open.”

  “And you saw?”

  “A figure leaping away into the night.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  Lucia shook her head. “I saw his silhouette, that’s all. He was lit from the side by the gaslight on the walk. He seemed to fly. His cape was outstretched.”

  Serafina reached into her bag for a linen and wiped Lucia’s brow. “There were jewels in the butler’s hand?” Why had she asked the question? She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and thought of the slippery nature of truth. “Forgive me, I’d no right to ask.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I feel so much better when I talk about it.” Lucia put a hand on her protruding middle and waited a moment before continuing. “Cecco was lying on the floor. My pearls, the strand given to me on my wedding day, were wound around his fingers. His eyes stared at nothing.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Serafina threw her arms around Lucia.

  “Who knew I’d be so all alone!” she wailed.

  “Except for the other servants. Weren’t they here?”

  Lucia did not seem to hear the question. “Now I have no one!”

  Serafina rummaged in her bag for another linen, handed it to the woman.

  “Would you like to see where it happened?”

  “Of course. Then I must leave. I mustn’t meddle in Inspector Colonna’s case.”

  After telling a maid to remove the tray and fetch Serafina’s cape, Lucia led her down the main staircase. Plush carpeting cushioned their feet. When they reached the bottom, they walked through marble busts and potted plants to the main hall.

  In the center of the floor, Serafina saw a dark stain, small, circular. She pointed to it. “Where you found the butler?”

  Lucia nodded.

  Serafina opened the front door and examined the lock. She saw no evidence of tampering.

  “Was anyone else here when you arrived?”

  “I was the first. Two maids and a footman arrived a moment later. Cook’s night off, and the scullery maid stays below stairs. Our driver and a second footman arrived later with Ignazio.”

  Serafina reminded herself again that she was intruding on the inspector’s business, but she owed the distraught woman some peace of mind, so she might as well find out as much as she could. She noticed interior doors on either side of the entryway. “Behind those doors?”

  “Receiving room’s on one side, Ignazio’s library is on the other.”

  “I’d like to talk with the other servants.”

  “Please do.” Lucia rang the bell. In a moment, a maid appeared, and the baroness asked her to fetch the servants who were with her last night.

  When they arrived, Serafina asked them what they’d seen and heard. They each said they’d run upstairs because they heard a shot and described the scene in detail, matching Lucia’s account. No one noticed the hour.

  Serafina turned to Lucia. “You must rest. I’ll leave you now. I’m sure the inspector has made a thorough search.”

  The baroness shook her head. “That rogue. He kept calling me, ‘my dear little baroness.’ Impossible, I tell you. First thing he did was grab the pearls out of Cecco’s hand and shove them into his pocket. I hadn’t even closed the poor man’s eyes. I should have said something but, what to say, I wasn’t myself. Uniformed men arrived, and a doctor examined Cecco. Then someone from the paper arrived. I was too stunned, I let him inside—and they took the body away. About that time, Ignazio came in, unsteady on his pins. He told me to go upstairs, he’d finish with the inspector. The last thing I remember, he and Colonna walked into Ignazio’s study.”

&nb
sp; “Where do you keep your jewels?”

  “In a strongbox in the study.”

  “Are all your jewels missing?”

  “Not all, an emerald necklace and a few diamonds from India. Ignazio made some arrangements with the inspector. He told me someone would call today and help me make a detailed list of the missing pieces.”

  “And has anyone called?”

  Lucia shook her head.

  Serafina frowned. “Might I see the strongbox?”

  Lucia showed her into the study, lifted a stone in front of the hearth. Serafina peered inside and saw a solid brass box. She examined the lock. No sign of tampering.

  Serafina put her arm through Lucia’s as they walked out of the study. “Might I speak with the scullery maid? She may have seen or heard something last night.”

  A parlor maid escorted Serafina down to the kitchen, a cavernous space below stairs with gleaming pots and pans, double ovens, a slate sink, butcher blocks scattered throughout. The scullery maid, a young girl with curly hair, a winning smile, and raw hands, sat in the corner shining a brass pot. She stood and fumbled with what passed for a curtsey when Serafina entered.

  “No, dear lady, I heard nothing last night. Poor Cecco!” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “You liked him?”

  “We all did.”

  Serafina thanked her. On the landing, she turned to the maid and said, “Tell me about the housekeeper.”

  The woman stiffened.

  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that I want to ferret out the truth of Cecco’s death.”

  The maid ran a hand over her brow. “Please don’t tell anyone—they’d have my job—but I’m worried about the housekeeper.”

  “How so?”

  “She departed suddenly and without references.”

  Serafina digested the words. “Your secret is safe with me. And the valet, the one who was dismissed?”

  “Roberto? Tall, handsome, a little flighty but graceful enough. Considered himself better than the rest of us. He spoke only with Cecco. That’s all I know. He wasn’t here long.”

  “Thank you. I wonder why he left?”

  She shrugged. “There were words, I can tell you that. And shouting.”

  “Do you know where he may have gone?”

  She shook her head.

  Serafina thanked her for her information and returned to the main floor.

  The footman appeared with Serafina’s cape. As she swung it round her shoulders and fastened her gloves, something on the floor caught her eye. It whirled like dust in the wind. What was it, a piece of material or her imagination? She bent to examine it—a long silky thread, the color of a ballerina’s gown.

  “Is this yours?” she asked Lucia, holding up the thick filament.

  The baroness shook her head. “Pink’s not my color.”

  Serafina laid the strand between two pages of her notebook. It curled in on itself, guarding its own secret.

  Under A Gibbous Moon

  Late Wednesday evening October 28, 1868

  Teo’s eyes had trouble adjusting to the dark so he looked back at Donna Fina’s door, and that was a mistake because his heart squeezed when he realized he was really leaving. He took a few steps forward trying and steady himself.

  Suddenly out of the sky, a flying creature appeared, disguised as a man. It had huge black wings and wore a mask and slammed him to the ground and took the wind right out of his mouth. With one mighty claw, he lifted Teo and shook him and set him on his feet, not asking him if he was hurt or anything. The beast breathed heavy and sweat beaded onto his bushy brows, but he didn’t fool Teo, not one bit. He knew him, all right—it was the specter.

  “Forget what you saw, boy.”

  Teo didn’t know what to say, but he nodded.

  “You saw nothing, remember?”

  Teo nodded harder, faster. “Sure, mister.”

  “What did you see?” the specter asked, removing his mask and sticking his ugly face close to Teo’s.

  “You?”

  The creature slapped him. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing?”

  “That’s right. Now, remember that.”

  He lifted Teo by the neck and dragged Teo with him. “Do I know you?” the specter asked.

  Teo remembered the shoes the specter wore from long ago when he mended them at his father’s shop. They were strange shoes for a man or for a creature, all soft and made of fine leather and a girly color, too, his father had said.

  But Teo shook his head and whispered, “No, you don’t know me, I never seen you. I don’t see you now, and I didn’t see nothing,” and Teo looked straight ahead when he said it so the specter wouldn’t see the lie on his face.

  “You’re the shoemaker’s son.” And the monster shook Teo and twisted his collar, gagging him. The specter wore strange clothes, too, and he walked too fast and dragged Teo along with him.

  “Let go of me, beast!”

  The specter didn’t answer, but pressed Teo’s neck harder, and Teo couldn’t speak, and he neither looked right nor left, but after a while he got the shakes, so he knew for sure it was the specter put a spell on him.

  He tried to remember what Falco had told him about getting rid of specter curses: squeeze your eyes shut and spit twice over your left shoulder, cross your wrists and point the first and last fingers of both hands toward the ground and pump them fast, up and down, until the spell melts into the earth. Teo worked his hands and fingers just so, but the beast wouldn’t let go. He had Teo in his fiery clutch, and they flew low over the ground, so Teo screwed himself up and said, “Where are we going?”

  “No questions.”

  Then Teo thought that since he was doomed anyway, he might as well try to wrestle free from the specter’s mighty hold. So when the beast least suspected it, Teo called him a bad word and wrenched himself upward and spit into his face.

  The phantom clutched his eyes and Teo tore himself free and did his feint and dodge and ran fast, jumping into a ditch and hiding behind a prickly pear.

  His ears burned and his head pounded, but he didn’t move. Only when he saw the grizzly thing coming after him, he ran to the hills, but the creature scooped him up and shook him out like he was a wet dog.

  And then the specter thrust something hard and hot at his head and Teo’s nose filled with a sour smell, and his heart stopped when he felt the metal pressing into him. It was a gun, the cold nose of a gun.

  Villa Rosa

  Thursday morning, October 29, 1868

  Outside, Serafina found a bench, and struggling against the wind, wrote down everything she’d learned about the butler’s death and the Lanza household. Then she walked down the street, nodded to the guard who opened the gate to Rosa’s villa.

  A maid took her cape and ushered her into a room with a high ceiling in which frescoed angels flew. Three walls were lined with books, and the fourth had large windows facing the piazza’s gardens. Beech logs blazed in the hearth, and Serafina stood in front of it, warming her toes and glancing admiringly at the view.

  Not yet dressed for the day, Rosa sat, short and round, behind an elaborately carved mahogany desk blending in nicely with the rest of the gilt furnishings.

  Serafina knew enough not to interrupt her friend while she counted her coins. “At your ledger, I see. Must be hard work, biting into all those gold pieces.” A few years ago, Rosa repented of her sins, sold her business—a high-class house overlooking the sea—and moved into the vacant villa next to Serafina’s. But the erstwhile madam continued to play a role managing the brothel’s financial affairs for a handsome fee—when she wasn’t too busy helping Serafina solve mysteries.

  “Your timing is perfect. I’ve finished this minute.” Rosa swept the pile of money aside. “Sit. Why are you here, to tell me about the dead butler?” She rang the bell.

  A moment of pure friendship, Serafina thought, fishing in her pocket for a linen. They met as children and had been through so mu
ch together.

  As Serafina blotted her face, she told her friend about her visit with Baroness Lucia. “Not my case, and I won’t become involved.”

  “Nonsense, you’ve already sunk your teeth in deep.”

  The maid appeared.

  “My friend needs to grow her brain,” Rosa said. “Dolci for her. Perhaps I could manage a crumb. Tell cook to surprise us.”

  After the maid departed, Serafina said, “I’ve been her midwife for ten years. Can I help it if she confides in me? But I did remind her that this is Colonna’s case.”

  “That miserable inspector.”

  “So of course, I’ll let him handle it.” Serafina told Rosa what she’d learned at Villa Lanza. “What I can’t understand is Lucia’s reliance on the butler. Several months ago, she let the housekeeper go without references, and the butler became her sole advisor.”

  “‘Advisor’? Is that what they call it? Sometimes I think you were born yesterday.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just what every schoolgirl in Sicily knows.” She leaned closer. “They say Cecco’s the father of her latest, and the housekeeper was having an affair with the baron when she suddenly departed, her belly distended.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “I didn’t run a brothel for nothing. Oh, yes, I made a good living. Tessa’s secure—what am I saying—Tessa’s great-grandchildren will have untold wealth. But more important, I know everything about everyone. How do you think I survive?”

  The maid returned with a silver tray piled with cups, saucers, and a large cake. “From cook: orange cassata with ricotta filling.” She began serving.

  Serafina’s corset pinched just thinking about more food. “A tiny wedge for me, but cream in the latté.”

  “Saving your appetites for tonight?”

  Loffredo was visiting relatives in the south, and Serafina must admit, she missed him terribly. “He’s away. But I know something you don’t.”

  “Such as?”

  “The Lanza butler was an orphan.”