She stood, trying to take in his words.
“But when? Rodolfo attended his brother’s funeral today. I saw him and his wife walking behind the coffin.”
He shook his head. “Nope. The domestic and her husband stood in for them.”
“But I was sure I saw Graziella. Wore a veil of mourning over a big hat?” She gestured haloes around her head to indicate a wide brim.
He lowered his voice and spoke to her as if she had a distemper. “The shoemaker asked me to take them to the station this morning. Cart was creaking with the load. All their belongings. Gave me nice coins for my trouble, I can tell you. Threw in the mule and trap. Asked me to guard the house and stables.”
“How long?”
The man closed his eyes. “No returns, dear lady, no returns. Told me not to tell anyone, but like I say, no harm in telling you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
She ranged around the piazza, oblivious to everything around her, mentally ordering all that she knew into neat piles before heading for the Municipal Building.
Without knocking, she stuck her head in Colonna’s office. He was busy dunking a biscuit in and out of his coffee.
“First it was only a burr on the edge of my understanding, but now, finally, I’m convinced that Rodolfo planned Ugo’s murder and hired Abatti to do the deed.”
He flapped his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. “Again?”
“Hear me out!” Rodolfo and his family had fled. There was a chance she could still catch them if she hurried, and here she sat, trying to convince this oaf of an inspector. Why? Even the commissioner told Serafina not to bother with Colonna, but just this one, final time, she must try.
To her surprise, Colonna sat up, folded his hands, and seemed attentive. “All right, let’s hear it.”
“No interruptions?”
“You know me.”
She rubbed her temples. “Several years ago, the shoemaker purchased arsenic trioxide from the apothecary shop. I found a tin of it in his backroom.”
“And that proves?”
“That Rodolfo had the means to poison his brother.”
“But I’ve purchased rat poison from Giorgio. Does that make me a murderer?”
She bit her tongue. “And now the shoemaker’s taken flight-damning evidence of his guilt.”
“Means nothing. Look around and you’ll see whole families disappear in the middle of the night. Rodolfo’s business turns sour; he thinks he sees verdant pastures; he leaves. His ‘flight,’ as you call it, has nothing to do with his brother’s murder.”
She blew a stray curl off her forehead.
“I must admit, your arguments are persuasive.” Colonna leaned back in his chair and folded his fingers over his stomach. “But tell me, why are you so sure Rodolfo knew the Abatti?”
“Boffo told me that he’d seen Rodolfo with a faded soldier.”
Colonna shook his head. “How many faded soldiers did you pass in the piazza today?”
With that, Serafina realized she would never convince him. She rose from her chair.
Stopped. Felt the missing piece click into place. “Of course! How could I have forgotten?”
“Forgotten what?” a voice asked behind her.
She turned and saw the commissioner leaning against the doorjamb.
“Go on, don’t mind me.”
So much for Colonna’s rapt attention.
She faced the inspector. “Thank you.”
Colonna’s smile was broad. “Anytime, my dear.”
“No. Truly, I mean it. Thank you. Your questions dislodged a memory-something I’d forgotten-the image of Abatti pounding down the shoemaker’s steps, brushing my shoulder as I prepared to enter the shoemaker’s shop on the day I found Ugo’s body. He had the Marsala Medal in his hand.”
There was a momentary silence.
Colonna sighed. “Long gone, that medal, I’m afraid.”
“Splendid work, Dona Fina. Both of you,” the commissioner said. “We’d be fools to press charges just yet, but there’s enough circumstantial evidence to take the shoemaker in for questioning.” He looked at Colonna. “Do we have men to assist her?”
He shook his head. “Most are on loan to the city of Catania. Only three here and I need them by my side.”
The commissioner shook his head. “You can spare Badali. Send for him.”
“Tell Badali to meet me at home.” Serafina looked back at the commissioner as she rushed down the hall and waved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The sun was at its zenith as Serafina crossed the piazza on her way to Rosa’s. She quickened her pace.
Tart experience taught her that the only way to handle Rosa was to start talking immediately and to use the most important word first. Serafina knew she’d have at most three short sentences in which to galvanize the madam into action before she lost Rosa’s attention.
She rehearsed while opening the gate. When her head was clear and her breathing softer, she ran up the steps and into Rosa’s front office where the madam sat behind her desk, whispering to stacks of coins and writing numbers into her precious ledger.
Rosa looked up and opened her mouth.
But before she could speak, Serafina began. “Lucre was behind the shoemaker’s plan to kill his brother. This morning he and his family fled. We must stop them.”
Rosa pulled the cord. When a maid appeared, she said, “Tell the driver to ready the coach and meet me in front. Be quick!” She pulled Serafina with her.
“Where are we going?”
“To visit my friend, the admiral.”
Of course. It fell into place, the shoemaker’s trips to Bagheria, perhaps to Palermo. He booked passage on a ship. How else would a family flee with their belongings?
“His office is onboard a ship docked at the cala.” Rosa’s eyes sparked. “Tell me the details on the way.”
Serafina opened the door. “Wait for me in front. Must tell my family I’ll be late for supper.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Rosa’s waiting outside. Sorry, I must leave for-”
“Where have you been?” Carlo stood at the table holding an empty wine glass and pulling on the napkin wedged into his collar. He slammed the linen onto the table, just missing a platter with the remains of dinner-risotto, pork, and peas-the juices now congealing.
As she stood taking in his words, Serafina scooped up a spoonful of lemon custard poured over cassata which sat melting in a bowl on the sideboard. Vicenzu sat at his desk, oblivious to everything but his abacus and ledger.
“Our dinner was cold because we waited too long for you. I’m sure Giulia and Maria were late for school. Carmela is doing whatever it is she does to Rosa’s gardens. Her baby’s been yowling most of the day until I finally changed its…pantaloons. And your youngest has been crying for you. His nose is stuffed; he’s sick to his stomach; his head is flaming. Gloria departed for Prizzi this morning. All my friends are enjoying a holiday in Taormina. And here I sit in a cold house acting as the only mother Totò knows. Once again, you leave me with your work.”
Lying on the sofa in the sitting room, Totò stuck out his lower lip, turned away from Serafina, and buried his mop of golden curls in his blanket. When she tried to hug him, he squirmed away.
The domestic, who sat rocking in her corner, motioned with her eyes to Serafina. When she bent to listen, Assunta said, “The male twin talks too much. I changed Carmela’s baby and rocked him to sleep. Totò has a chill, nothing much.”
Serafina smiled, patted Assunta’s arm, and whispered her thanks.
She strode back to the sofa and sat next to Totò. “Let me hold you. You’ll feel better.” She heard the ticking of the clock’s pendulum.
After more coaxing, he climbed into Serafina’s lap and she kissed his forehead. As she soothed her son, she felt a heaviness in her limbs. Soon she’d have to explain to Rosa why she couldn’t go. She’d learned a lesson: there were limits to the amount of truth anyone could discover. Besides, the commissioner was satisfied with her work.