She let her mind roam and they walked on. All at once, she pictured Rodolfo on the night of his son’s birth. When she opened the door to announce the newborn’s arrival, thunderous clapping. She scanned a sea of faces, but not finding the shoemaker’s, she asked after him. “Taking a walk!” someone yelled. Laughter. How long had he been gone? Was it enough time to drink with his brother? A few minutes later, he had rushed in, face flushed and looking confused, before placing coins in her palm.
Why had she forgotten his absence? In the wind, she heard the rustle of silk and her mother’s voice whispering, “To survive, we forget.”
And if Rodolfo confessed to hiring the killer of his brother, what then? He’d be guilty of murder and she would be to blame for the family’s misfortune. How would Graziella and her children survive without him? She fought the temptation to turn around and go home.
Darkness enveloped them like a cloak. She felt a frisson of fear like a creature crawling up the nape of her neck. They entered the alleyway behind the shoemaker’s stable.
She stopped. Cupping her hand around it, she held the candle steady while Vicenzu scratched the match against a cobble, waited for the flame to grow. The light it gave was weak but enough to show them the way. Somewhere a cat meowed.
Serafina’s fingers trembled as she felt for the gate. She tried the handle. “Locked!”
Vicenzu reached into his pocket, drew out a small knife, and knelt. In a moment, the latch snapped open. Swiftly she made her way up the path, Vicenzu limping softly behind.
They reached the shrubbery surrounding the back of the shoemaker’s store and peered inside. Pitch black. She hugged her sides.
Vicenzu took his time working the hasp. Finally the lock sprung and the door opened. They tiptoed inside.
“It’s got to be someplace in the back of the store.”
She held up the candle. A lone shoe stood on its side against the baseboards. On one wall hung cobbler’s tools and beneath them, a high bench that ran the width of the room. The top held cans of polish, candles, brushes, everything organized, like with like, into neat rows. Alongside was a folded leather apron. Teo’s apron. She touched it. Teo’s world. She blinked.
A cupboard took up most of the opposite wall. Serafina opened it and peered inside. A few hides hung from a pole near the top. The smell of leather was pungent. Above it was a small shelf, higher than Serafina’s head. As she rooted about for a stool to stand on, she heard a sound in the hall. Stopped. Held her breath.
What was it? The outside door scraped the floor!
She felt the rush of cool air as the latch clicked shut and, after a momentary hesitation, footsteps thudded toward them.
She sped over to Vicenzu who struggled with a jammed drawer and grabbed his sleeve. “Someone’s coming!”
He stopped. Beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks.
Footfalls grew louder.
She swallowed hard, feeling her head pound.
Vicenzu pulled her inside the cupboard and closed it just as the workroom door creaked open.
The shoemaker!
She felt a thickening in her throat, heard steps near the cupboard, the brush of wool.
She slowed her breathing, as if she were delivering and clung to Vicenzu.
But he gently pushed her aside. In one motion, he threw open the cupboard, rushed the intruder, and knocked him down.
He stooped, scooped up the figure by his lapels, and shook him. “You!”
“Came to help.” Carlo tried to wrench free. “I worried that you’d be caught. Put me down!”
“Did not. Scared us on purpose!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Boys! Put him down, Vicenzu.”
Carlo brushed the front of his coat. “Good thing I came, too. If the shoemaker and his wife had returned, they’d have caught you for sure.”
Carlo counted their foibles on his fingers as if he were a lawyer summing his case. “One, you left the gate unlatched. Two, from the alleyway, I saw candlelight flitting about inside. And three, passing the shrubbery, I heard frantic whispering from within. Ratty thieves, both of you. Next time, jump over the fence, wait until your eyes adjust to the dark, and keep your mouths shut. Found anything?”
They shook their heads.
“Then let’s search again.”
They rummaged through the room a second time, found nothing. About to leave, Carlo pointed to a tin box wedged between wall and workstation. He pried the lid. Inside was another small tin. He unscrewed it. “Doesn’t smell like-”
Vicenzu elbowed him. “Give it here. Anyway, arsenic trioxide has no smell, you clod. Breathe it and you die. Hope you got a big whiff.”
Carlo shoved him.
“Enough!” Serafina hissed.
“It seems like the stuff we sell.” Vicenzu replaced the lid. “About the right amount, too.”
Serafina’s heart sank. “Hand it over and let’s leave.”
On the way home, she thought of Graziella and her meager options. “What’s her specialness, I wonder. Does she sew? Launder? Cook?”
Vicenzu dragged his foot behind. “What are you whittering on about?”
“I’m wondering how Graziella will manage after Rodolfo’s locked up.”
“Skipping ahead, aren’t we?” Carlo asked.
“Be quiet and let me think.”
“Don’t like the sound of that, not at all.” Carlo grinned and slammed a fist into Vicenzu’s shoulder. Vicenzu picked him up by the back of his neck. “And what’s your ‘specialness’?” He spat the word.
Carlo swung his feet and arms about. “Walking on air!”
They laughed, scuffled some more.
“I’m serious!”
“Can’t let yourself win, can you?” Vicenzu tugged at his vest. “Think a moment. Poor, suffering Graziella? She has Teo. He’s a goldmine.”
She nodded.
“Even Papa said he was special. Knew Teo. Liked him.”
Near their home, she stopped.
“What now?”
“Nothing, only that-”
“I hate it when you do that!” Carlo said.
But she held her tongue and walked on, realizing that Loffredo hadn’t told her which arsenical compound he’d found around Ugo’s lips, in the wine glass, and on the napkin. She must find out.
For the past week, she tried not to think of Loffredo and his unfortunate desire for her, but she had no choice. She simply must visit him at this late hour-she was running out of time. Why hadn’t he given her complete information about the arsenic? Perhaps he thought the information was too much for a woman to handle. Her nipples bristled. Thank the Madonna she hadn’t gone to him last week. Such behavior was understandable in young men, but at his age? What right had he to ask her to compromise herself? Oh, it was all too much of a muddle, but before she had time to conclude her deliberations, they were at their front gate.
“I need to see Loffredo.”
“At this hour?” Carlo asked.
“Wipe that smile from your face. You, too, Vicenzu. This is business and cannot wait until tomorrow. I need to ask the medical examiner what compound he found around Ugo’s mouth. He neglected to tell me.”
Vicenzu winked at Carlo. “Probably too busy-”
She turned and walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Her cheeks burned by the time she arrived at Loffredo’s office. The windows were dark, the door locked and bolted, so she rounded the piazza and doubled back through empty side streets to his villa.
Seated in the parlor waiting for him, her eyes canted this way and that while she ran a hand through her hair and straightened her cape. Like a lovesick animal in spring, she told herself. Her stomach was in knots.
Gas jets hissed in wall sconces and a thick oriental carpet muffled her tread. The room was crowded with overstuffed furniture. Elena’s taste, of course. On the far wall, a fire burned in the hearth and in front of it, was a comfortable-looking love seat and two chairs. Off to one side stood a grand piano. Maria would adore it.