Carmela threw up her hands. “Mama schemes and doesn’t bother to tell us.”
“Not quite.” Rosa glared at Serafina. “She connives, then forgets to remind herself.”
But Serafina wasn’t listening. While the others took their places at the table, she grabbed her cape and satchel. Following Rosa and her staff out the door, she said over her shoulder, “Eat. Don’t wait for me.”
CHAPTER NINE
The waiting room was empty so she let herself into Loffredo’s office.
“You’ve finished dinner, I take it. Caffè?” He rang the bell.
Looking askance at Serafina, the maid cleared the porcelain from his desk and bustled out.
Loffredo came around to kiss Serafina’s hand. So gentle, his touch and understanding of women. “Nothing for me. I haven’t much time.”
She remembered their university days together-heady times, when class differences did not matter and bedroom walls echoed with daring talk of revolution. He was studying medicine and she, midwifery. They both knew their affair couldn’t last. From the impoverished nobility, Loffredo would need to wed within his class or find a woman from a wealthy family. A few months after Serafina and Giorgio were betrothed, Loffredo married the daughter of a fashionable Palermitan milliner.
“You investigate Ugo’s death?”
“With police help, I hope.” She felt the heat of desire. Unbidden, not unwelcome, but for now she must suppress it, so she forced herself to image Giorgio in his coffin.
“Don’t count on Colonna’s help. He told me most of his men have been sent to Catania to quell a riot.” Loffredo touched her hand. “You’re flushed. A fever?”
Oh, Madonna, help me. “When is Ugo’s autopsy?”
“Scheduled for-let me see-next week some time. By then the body ought to be ripe.”
“Not sooner?”
“Corpses fill the morgue waiting for me.”
She reached into her bag, pulled out the glasses and linen. “These were on his kitchen table when we searched his house.”
He held the glasses up to the light and looked at the napkin. “Stained. And there’s a residue in the bottom of one of the glasses. “I’ll take a quick look. Can you return in an hour?”
She felt the press of his hand on hers as she headed across the piazza.
CHAPTER TEN
Hoping to catch the shoemaker before he closed his shop for siesta, Serafina ran past the Duomo, stopped to breathe a little in front of the fountain. She barely noticed the soldiers sleeping on stone benches or two thuggish creatures grizzling at one another in the shadows. No sign of the crone.
She was in luck. His store was still open.
As she lifted her skirts to climb the stoop, a few customers exited, jangling the front door’s silver bell. One man doffed his silk hat to her. Another, a ragged soul, pushed and nearly knocked the first man down. He mumbled an apology, one sleeve flapping as he swabbed his brow. In the other hand, he clutched a ribboned medal. A woman with arms full of parcels wedged her way between the men, brushing Serafina’s sleeve as she descended.
Inside, she spotted the shoemaker coming out of his workroom, rubbing his hands on his apron. He’d regained his composure.
His smile was brief, tight, and in keeping with the armband he wore. “Thanks for your trouble, this morning, and I must apologize for my-”
“Nonsense.”
“So unexpected.”
“Of course. Graziella’s doing well, I take it? Have you named the baby yet?”
The shoemaker blinked. “Yes, to both.”
She waited.
“Many thanks to you. I was just about to close the shop, but please, have a seat. My time is yours. Only that-”
“Graziella expects you?”
He shrugged. “Busy today and Ugo’s death was…a shock for her. Another shock. Hasn’t been well.”
Serafina had difficulty sensing his mood. Perhaps he was still in shock, which she knew took many forms. Fatigue did not help: after all, he’d been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours-up most of the night for the birth of his youngest son, then recently hearing about the stabbing death of his brother.
“I’m investigating Ugo’s death and I have a few questions.”
He nodded.
She decided she’d keep her mouth shut to see what came out of his, so she folded her hands and waited.
They both sat, Serafina keeping as still as she could. He fidgeted with the band on his sleeve, bent to straighten his shoelaces, combed his brows with a finger.
Finally he spoke. “You told me Ugo died by the knife. He became involved with ne’er-do-wells and they paid him back, it seems.” He paused, looked at his hands. “I hope you find them so that justice may be done. And now I have a funeral to plan. Do you know when the body will be released?”
She shook her head. “I know there will be an autopsy. Sometime by the end of next week you’ll be able to bury him, I would imagine. If the officials drag on longer than that, you’d best consult your lawyer.” That’s all she wanted to tell him, nothing about the search of Ugo’s home or finding the silver or the box of gold.
The shoemaker paced, distracted. “I’ll feel better when I’m able to bury him. Hard, very hard, not knowing.”
She said nothing for a moment, then asked, “What work did Ugo do?”
“This and that.”
“Selling goods for the nobility?”
Rodolfo sat, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, bit his fingernails.
Another long silence.
Rodolfo squirmed. “Not interested in the family business. Disappointed my father. ‘In with a bad lot, Ugo. Come to no good, mark me,’ he told me once. He tried, Papa did. Patient with him. I can see them in the workroom-Ugo fidgety, Papa showing him the tools. Tried to show him simple repairs, but Ugo was clumsy, never could get it, didn’t want to. One time my father took him to Florence, shopping for hides. Wouldn’t you know, Ugo disappeared, just vanished. Couldn’t find him, had to come home without him. Never did hear where he’d gone. Young, too, about Teo’s age, maybe a year older. Returned a few months later, unkempt, begging forgiveness. Oh, he took him back. Mama saw to that. But that was the end of Ugo for my father. Never spoke of him again.”
“Disowned him?”
“No. But no more talk of Ugo taking over the shop.”
“You’re the oldest?”
He shook his head.
The door opened and Teo clomped over to them.
“My son, Teo.”
“We’ve met.”
Teo had the same round face as his father and uncle. She shook hands with him and smelled fields in the sun. Reaching into her satchel, Serafina pulled out some sweets that she kept at the ready. “Marzipan?”
He eyed them and ran a tongue around his lips. “No, thanks. Dinner soon.” He looked at her and smiled. “And I just had some next door.”
The sparkle returned to Rodolfo’s eyes for a moment. “Supposed to be teaching next door, not eating.”
“What do you teach at the sweet shop-how to eat marzipan?” Serafina asked.
Teo grinned.
“Not teaching, really, but Teo and the girl next door study together,” Rodolfo said. “Helps with her…reading and from time to time, she gives us sweets.”
“Reading what?” Serafina asked.
“A Tale of Two Cities.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d be interested in that book. You’re just twelve or thirteen-one of those.”
“Twelve. I picked it out for her. She’s older and I thought she’d like it. About the French Revolution. Long, too. Me? Oliver Twist is my favorite.”
“You should meet my Giulia. Older than you, but she knows her English, too. Wants to sail away to England or America.”