• • •
“More food?”
“Full.”
Serafina gave Carmela more background on Falco. “He gained from Bella’s death. He was a regular at Rosa’s, apparently had his choice. You knew him? Tall, light brown curls. Slippery. An actor.”
Carmela shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“I think, especially after yesterday, that someone acts the part of a monk, someone familiar with Rosa’s. Who, better than Falco?”
But Serafina stressed her conviction that the killer must have an accomplice within Rosa’s walls, someone on whom he relied for his information, someone without whom the killings could not have happened. One of the prostitutes.
“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.”