Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (19 page)

G
rappling

H
e pulled her to him.

“I’ve missed you … so … very …”

She felt the strength of him and squeezed with all her might lest the tears prickling her eyes spill down her cheeks.

“How did—” But her words were swallowed by Loffredo’s lips, and she melted into the ocean of her desire, powerless to prevent its sweep.

Presently, she murmured, “The baron will wonder where we’ve gone.”

“To heaven.” He would not stop, but kissed her with a hunger and force she’d longed for ever since she could remember.

“He’ll send his little men after us,” she said, unable to stop. If anything, her hunger surpassed his.

“I know, but we have a weapon. I met Rosa on the stairs,” he murmured, burying his face between her breasts.

“And?” She slid her hand inside his shirt, down, down.

“Oh God. She told me where you were. She promised to entertain the baron.”

“It lifts … the burden … she’s felt since …”

Afterward, she pointed to the harbor. The dusk was deepening, lit by hundreds of torches as the work of loading cargo continued. As Loffredo stood behind her, his arms around her, their bodies tight together, she told him about the strange-looking crates. “I have a feeling it has something to do with the baroness’s death. I asked the baron what they contained, but he seemed not to know what I was talking about.”

“Of course not.” He kissed the top of her head. “He sees nothing.”

“But I’ve got Arcangelo snooping around.” She saw the alarm in his face. “Not to worry, he’s very smart, fast, and cautious.”

On their way downstairs, she told him about what she’d found and lost, the important players. Glossing over her fear, she recounted her brush with an assailant, her conclusions concerning the stolen journals.

“Have you given your final report to the baron?”

“Not yet. I plan to do so now. The time? My watch pin was ruined in the fracas on the roof.”

“We have five minutes,” he said. “But what you say to him won’t matter. He hears only what he wants to hear, and make no mistake, his conclusions will be his own, and most assuredly faulty. In the end, isn’t that the real reason the baroness died?”

She marveled at his insight into the man and the reason for the baroness’s death; by admission, he hardly knew the family, yet his summary, on its deepest level, if bereft of detail, was flawless. “He’s the real danger in this house,” she said softly.

“I shouldn’t have let you come here alone, and I won’t leave without you.”

“That lets you off the hook: we depart tomorrow. It took you long enough to get here.” For a second she stood and breathed in and out, feeling the last of her fear escape.

They walked together down the stairs and toward the baron’s study, so close that their thighs brushed, and Serafina felt the heat sear up her face.

In the atrium, they stopped, and she pulled his sleeve and asked, “And how did you contrive your visit?”

“When I realized Prizzi would not please you,” he said, smiling and touching her cheek, “I paid a visit to Noce myself and asked him about Baroness Caterina’s illness. I told him that the daughter believed she was poisoned, that this resulted in an investigation, and that we needed to hear his summary of the case—Lady Caterina’s illness and cause of death—as soon as possible. He took a long time to reply. The doctor is a spent force, Fina. He reproached himself for his handling of the baroness’s illness. His inability to persuade the baron to consult the opinion of others haunts him to this day, he told me, but he begged helplessness in the face of the man’s obstinate denial of his wife’s misery and her history, he claimed, of dyspepsia. In the end, he admitted to the strong possibility that Lady Caterina’s symptoms, especially at the outset, may well have been caused by the ingestion of a toxic substance.”

“Then why doesn’t he come here in person and tell the baron himself?”

“Begging an overload of work due to an outbreak of typhoid in the area, he refused to accompany me.”

“Coward.”

“He’s written a summary report instead.”

“But I thought you couldn’t get away for another week.”

“One day without you seemed a year, and I rearranged my schedule.”

Her heart leapt at his words, but her happiness was soon followed by a cold dose of reality. “And what will happen when Elena returns?”

He made no reply, his face bleak as he opened the door to the baron’s study.

Tea with the Baron

T
h
e hall clock chimed as they entered the baron’s study, Serafina on Loffredo’s arm. Rosa smiled from a chair next to the tea service and close to the baron’s desk where she had been holding court. One manservant was turning up the gas jets on the far wall while another stoked the fire, its warmth ridding the room of its early evening chill.

Frowning, the baron s
tepped away from the window where he had been surveying the loading of his ship, faced Serafina, legs apart, body stiff. He drew out his watch. “On time for tea, although I’ve spent half my afternoon waiting for you. I cannot understand why you disregarded my summons.” He folded his arms and straightened his shoulders, his face red.

If he waited for her apology, it was in vain. She regarded him with studied calculation, making no reply.

“Well, what have you to say for yourself? Don’t stand there like a stupid cow.”

Loffredo straightened.

Serafina motioned to him, made no reply.

“You work for this family, you know, not the other way round. But I must admit, in your absence, I’ve been entertained by Count Loffredo, glad for the opportunity to be reacquainted, what say you to that, old fellow?”

Loffredo nodded.

“He tells me his wife vacations in France, has done for quite some time, so his knowledge of the country is first rate, first rate, and I’ve been more than compensated for your crass disregard of my summons.”

She wondered what he and Loffredo spoke about, secure in their male camaraderie, with their port and tobacco. Oh, right, she could almost smell the maleness in the room while she labored on this case, drenched to the bone on the baron’s precious roof, almost strangled and thrown over the side as if she, spent and flattened by the ordeal with a wild creature, was worth nothing more than food for blow flies. She looked at Rosa, who signaled circumspection, the gesture as delicate and slight as she’d ever seen emanating from the fingers of the madam; saw Loffredo’s brow furrow. She tasted bile, felt the pain of throbbing temples, saw, on the edge of her vision, increasingly desperate signals from Rosa counseling calm.

The obscenity of her attacker’s eyes shot across her inner vision but instead of tacking against the wind, she blazed over to where the baron stood, her nostrils flared and her body arched. “I had work to do for you so that I could deliver a detailed, thorough report to you today. And what I have to say to you now, together with the doctor’s report which Dr. Loffredo has given you, is damning, both to your inability to come to terms with the evil strutting about before your very nose and to the house you think is run so well.”

The baron’s face purpled. “Get out!”

“Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.” Her waving finger was close to his nose.

He strode to the desk and rang the bell. “Damn you!”

“Sir, I beg you—” Loffredo took a step toward them.

The baron cut him off. “Then I’ll have you escorted to your room. I’d like you gone within the hour, the three of you.”

“No, wait!” Rosa said.

Loffredo cut in. “You hired Serafina to do a job, perhaps to prove your daughter wrong, but nonetheless you owe it to the memory of your sainted wife to listen to what she has to say. She’s the best sleuth in Sicily, be in no doubt of that, and you will treat her with the warmth and courtesy you are famous for extending to all your guests.”

To Serafina’s surprise, the baron looked up at the portrait of his wife and back at Loffredo. He grunted and looked at his shoes.

Grateful for Loffredo’s remarks and Rosa’s abiding support, Serafina let the silence in the room stretch outside to the hallway where a pendulum kept time. Somewhere on the grounds, a horse neighed, and in the distance, workers shouted to one another.

After a long moment, the baron spoke, his tone subdued, his voice barely audible. “Go on.”

Serafina continued. “I have no doubt that your wife, who left the world scores of her journals, was murdered here, her memory defaced by the long arm of her killers who have stolen her journals from my room—not once, but twice. You have failed in your attempt to find these diaries as you promised me you would, and yet you accuse me of not doing your bidding.”

He furrowed his brows and rubbed his forehead.

She glanced at Rosa, whose body resembled that of a bull stopped in mid-charge, at Loffredo, who stood straight and commanding, bathed in his admiration of her. She went on, this time in a more subdued voice. “I am very close to knowing who is behind your wife’s death, but I need more evidence in order to be certain beyond any doubt.”

In the vacuum that followed, Rosa’s voice rang out. “We’re all forgetting something. Might I make a suggestion?”

The baron, who seemed relieved at her interruption, smiled at the madam. “Of course, my dear. Please do.”

Loffredo looked at Serafina, smiling and wiping his brow with a linen.

“Let’s have the tea before it freezes and the cassata loses its flavor.”

“Excellent idea,” he said, rubbing his palms together and moving with the affability of a practiced host, his anger forgotten. He invited them to sit in the love seat and chairs grouped around the hearth. Loffredo moved the tray in front of Rosa, who poured and cut the cassata, then sat next to Serafina after he passed around the cups.

The tea was hot and strong. Biting into the cassata, Serafina realized how hungry she was, especially for Renata’s cuisine. For a long while, the group enjoyed their tea, the baron declaring that the cassata was one of the best he’d eaten, and Rosa added her praise.

Serafina drank the last of her tea, declined another cup. “If I might, there are a few more things I’d like to say.

The baron urged her to continue. “And please accept my apology for my earlier remarks.”

She smiled. “Well, then, you won’t want to hear this; nonetheless, I must tell you. Rosa and I were caught in the storm, stranded on your roof when the doors to both staircases were locked behind us. Worse, there was a madman loose on your roof today, someone who tried to do me great harm.”

The baron put down his cup and stared at her.

“Had he been stronger and more cunning, he would have tossed me over the rail.”

“Describe him.”

“Short, wiry, clothed in black. He wore a bandana and one large gold earring.”

The baron frowned. “One of della Trabia’s men, I believe. I know I’ve seen him on the grounds, but what the devil was he doing on my roof? His men are not allowed inside!”

“But it was della Trabia who opened the door to the roof and rescued us.”

The baron looked puzzled. “But what was della Trabia doing above the first floor?”

“He said you asked him to look for us.”

The baron paled and stared at the portrait of his wife. “Not true.” He seemed confused. Edging forward on the seat, he rested his chin in his hands and seemed lost in an inner landscape.

Rosa glanced at Serafina, who fished out her notebook and wrote something. “And speaking of security, any of the servants may obtain keys to any of the rooms in this house. A change of locks and strict accounting of the keys would easily fix that.”

He looked up at her, crossed his legs, and ran two fingers down the crease. “I’ll have my butler see to it at once. And may I add something that perhaps goes without saying—I am eternally grateful to you. May I call you Serafina?”

“Only if I may call you Geraldo.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“The woman is nothing if not bold,” Rosa said and beamed at him.

“And we should tell Umbrello about the attack on the roof.”

“In fact, we should have invited him to tea,” Rosa said.

Geraldo straightened his sash. “Not done here, my dear. A servant does not take tea with us.”

“But he is so loyal and very bright, and we need his help.”

Serafina and Loffredo nodded.

“Lost his wife two years ago, poor man,” the baron said, shaking his head.” He hesitated. “Very well.” He got up to ring the bell. “And my son should know as well.”

Serafina frowned. “I don’t think there’s really a need: he wasn’t even here during his mother’s illness. The more details he knows of our investigation, the more he’ll want to become involved, and your business will run the risk of becoming rudderless.”

The baron nodded slowly.

Serafina and Loffredo exchanged glances.

Before the baron could call for Umbrello, there was a soft knock on the door, and he appeared.

“Gentleman from the police to see you, my lord.”

The baron frowned up at him. “What does he want?”

“Wouldn’t say. He’d rather speak to you, I’m afraid.”

“Tell him I’m busy, damn it all.”

“He says it’s urgent. I’ve seated him in the receiving room.”

After the baron closed the door, Umbrello whispered something in Rosa’s ear.

Her face flushed, Rosa took Umbrello’s arm and looked up at him. “Of course. Another time, when this is over.”

“What is it?” Serafina asked.

“They’ve found Reggio’s body,” he said in a low voice.

Loffredo looked at Serafina. Instinctively she reached for his hand and held it until the door was flung open, and the baron returned, taking his seat, a little unsteadily, it seemed to Serafina, as if he were being led to the gallows. Crossing his legs, he said, “Poor chap. One of our footmen was found gutted in a ditch.”

There was silence. Serafina looked at Loffredo.

“
He was given notice yesterday—left without references, my lord.”

“Doucette told me,” the baron said. “Fellow didn’t hold up his end, I understand.”

“Rosa and I think he stole your wife’s journals from my room.” And half to herself she added, “The long arm of the killer.” She and Rosa exchanged glances.

Serafina stopped for a moment. Her heart began to race, and she had to think.

“Don’t mind her, she gets this way—leaves us all from time to time, but she’ll come back to us any moment now,” she heard Rosa say.

“She was the same at university,” Loffredo said, smiling. “Best to let her be.”

Presently, Serafina said, “We are, all of us in danger.” She turned to Umbrello. “Is there a locksmith on the grounds?”

The baron frowned at Umbrello.

Umbrello shook his head. “Reports to della Trabia.”

“Out of the question,” Serafina said. “He needs to be someone we can trust, and he’ll need to work fast. At the very least, he must change the locks in Adriana’s bedroom and our guest rooms.”

“Adriana?” Loffredo asked.

“My daughter,” the baron said. “You must meet her, a surprise and simply a delight. You are staying the night, of course.”

Loffredo looked at Serafina. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll call the housekeeper and—”

“No,” Serafina interrupted.

“But where will the man sleep?”

They were quiet. Serafina held her breath, trying in vain not to blush.

Umbrello, sensitive to undercurrents, said, “There’s an empty room across the hall from our guests. I’ll send a chambermaid to make it up.”

Exhaling, Serafina said, “As for the housekeeper, we’ll need to search her room before she leaves. I trust by now she’s packed.”

Geraldo pushed forward on his chair. “That’s preposterous! She couldn’t have anything to do with this. She’d never have poisoned Caterina. Devoted to her. Stayed by my wife’s side for the whole of her illness. Slept in a chair by her bedside. After she died, the woman was grief stricken.”

“Not one of the killers, of course not. She would never have poisoned your wife—but I think she found out who did or at least discovered one of killers.” Serafina told the baron of Doucette’s plans to take two accommodations in France.

“Blackmail?” The baron gasped.

Serafina nodded, thinking that if the baron was innocent of the ways of the human heart, he was not so with finances and the power of coins: he had grasped the housekeeper’s role in a flash.

“But why didn’t she tell me? We could have stopped it!”

Into the silence following his question, Rosa said, “She discovered it when it was too late, I’m sure.”

“So the question is, where did she get the money—from the salary she’s paid as a lady’s maid and housekeeper?” Serafina asked.

“As a lady’s maid, she was rewarded handsomely,” the baron said. “Her salary doubled as housekeeper, but she must have another source of income to buy or even to let apartments in Paris. Knowing French landlords as I do, they want proof of capital, and Paris is becoming more and more expensive. However, the family may have wealth. I think her brother owns a business of some sort, possibly having to do with finances. Perhaps he may be the one investing for her.” For a moment, he cast his eyes about the room.

“Doucette knew about the journals and where they might be kept, advising me to search in the baroness’s hatboxes where I found a great deal of the earlier journals. I think your wife suspected what was going on in the house and how your business was … expanding—”

“Leave my business out of this! Caterina hated my involvement in trade, everyone knows that.”

Serafina bit her lip. She considered persuading the baron of the smuggling going on under his nose, but quickly discarded the idea: she lacked the luxury of time. “That may be so. But she saw an increase in your involvement. How often have you hunted in Prizzi since you expanded into shipping? Taken a weekend to be alone with your wife?”

He glared at her, opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself, seemed to weigh her words, then shrugged.

“The killer was afraid of your wife’s influence over you, or at least fearful that she might cause a distraction or a delay. Time, I would imagine, is of the essence in the shipping business. In his mind, Lady Caterina had become a liability to achieving his ends.”

“Not quite, but you’re close,” the baron said. “Caterina didn’t like some of my associates and tried to persuade me to give them up. Names not necessary now.”

“Oh, but they are,” Serafina said, “and you must give them to me.”

Rosa intervened. “After dinner. Time is short.”

Umbrello looked at his watch and nodded.

“Go on,” Loffredo said, touching Serafina’s arm.

“I believe your wife suspected that she was being poisoned, and some of her later entries may detail her suspicions. That’s a guess, but a reasonable one to make.”

The baron’s eyes darted from side to side.

“If I’m right, the housekeeper kept these journals as her proof and no doubt has them hidden somewhere in her room.”

“You mean Doucette may have taken my wife’s journals?” One of his hands rubbed an arm of his chair.

Serafina nodded. “Specifically, some of the journals Lady Caterina wrote during the two years before her death.”

There was silence for a time as the awful truth of the baroness’s suffering and death seemed to overwhelm him once again. Like most grief, Serafina thought, it came in thick waves, often when least expected, and the baron, she could see, struggled with the horror of her death, the deliberate act on the part of someone to rob his wife of her life.

And what about Loffredo, Umbrello, Rosa? They, too, were touched by the hand of evil. Ghastly, the realization that someone they’d met on this estate had willfully and with careful planning taken another’s life, or worse, that more than one person had colluded in her murder.

Rosa was the first to break the silence. She went to the baron’s side and stroked his shoulder. “Send for the housekeeper. Invite her to dinner—it’s her last evening with you, and you’d like to thank her for ten years of devotion to the baroness. During hors d’oeuvres, you and Loffredo will entertain her while Serafina, Umbrello, and I will search the room.”

“Brilliant,” Serafina said.

The baron wiped his brow. “Is all of this necessary? Doucette … loved my wife as a sister. Splendid, your idea of inviting her to dine; I should have thought of it—her last evening here with us—how stupid of me! But to search her belongings? I forbid it.”