Authors: Susan Russo Anderson

Death of a Serpent (35 page)

BOOK: Death of a Serpent

4.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

“And he doubles your stipend? Bah. Nothing times two is still nothing. Had you been a man, he would have awarded you the Civilian Medal of
Risorgimento
.”

Colonna played with his mustache.

“A pittance. She deserves much more.” Following the line of words with painted nails, Rosa moved her lips while she read. When finished, she looked at Colonna. “I’ll go at once to Palermo and tell the prefect myself. Perhaps you’ll go with me, Pirricù?” She poured him a grappa. “But why does he refer to the ‘Ambrosi murderer,’ not that I’d want him to mention my house.”

Serafina said, “No doubt an editor at
Giornale di Sicilia
crafted the epithet.”

Colonna drank. He said, “Me, I don’t understand its meaning, but the phrase has been taken up by the people.”

Serafina told them what she knew about the Ambrosian rite practiced in Milan and their use of serpent-like imagery. “In her disturbed way, Lola was fascinated with everything that the brazen serpent represents—the concepts of grace and power, of death and new life, of expiation and redemption. She took them and the trappings of the rite and bent them to suit her mad ends, dwelling too much on the sting of the serpent and not enough on forgiveness and redemption.”

Rosa said, “Dwelling too much on my coins, you mean. But tell me one thing, oh wizard. You weren’t surprised when her disguise slipped away and Lola stood unmasked before us?”

Serafina shook her head. “Either Falco or Lola. Since yesterday, I was convinced the monk was someone in your house. Had to be Lola.”

“How did you know?” Rosa asked.

Serafina said, “She had the means. She had the motive. She had the opportunity.”

Colonna was having trouble following the conversation and Rosa looked bored.

“Stop sounding like a tax collector,” Rosa said. “Just tell us, but don’t use too many words.”

Serafina said, “First the means. You told me last month she carved your sign.”

Rosa nodded.

“So Lola knew how to handle a knife and we knew that the ragpicker sharpened knives in the rough neighborhood. Scarpo told us, remember?”

Rosa nodded. “But how did your mind jump from Lola to the ragpicker?”

Serafina said, “This ragpicker, he gnawed at my head. Ran into him everywhere. Kept seeing him in the piazza. I saw him in an altercation with the rope seller and again in a collision with the mattress maker. Other times I saw him in and around the piazza, staring at the Duomo; even on the road between Oltramari and the Madonie when we returned Sunday afternoon from Elisabetta’s home. He was the one who shot Vicenzu.”

“An altercation with the rope seller, you say?” Rosa asked.

“He has a shop on the piazza across from the shoemaker. You know the one I mean.”

“Why would I?”

Serafina continued. “No matter. The rope seller dealt the picker a handy blow or two, drew blood from his nose, and that was the end. Hadn’t a clue how to fight, the ragpicker. What man doesn’t know how to fight, I asked myself.”

Rosa chuckled. “They learn how in the womb.” She poured Colonna another grappa. “But how did you know that the ragpicker was Lola?”

“I didn’t at first. But my mind leapt.”

“We know, like a gazelle,” Rosa said.

Serafina rubbed her forehead. “Well, Lola was fascinated by artifice.”

“Wily, that one.”

“And a shapeshifter, inventing, reinventing,” Serafina said. “Poor, lost Lola.”

“Better get to the motive part before we put Colonna to sleep.” Rosa poured the inspector another grappa.

He quaffed. He smiled.

“Motive. That’s a bit tricky. Mad, Lola.”

“Tricky? Stole my coins, the
strega
. What’s so tricky about that?”

The two women were silent. Colonna’s eyelids were heavy.

“Never went to church as far as I knew. Well, except disguised as a monk. She’ll always be a mystery to me. Too happy, too sad, our Lola, and all at once.”

“She should have been put away, not imprisoned,” Serafina said.

Rosa asked, “This ‘opportunity.’ What do you mean?”

“We’ve touched on it.”

“Well, touch on it again.” Rosa said.

Serafina drank the last of her caffè. “Ave Maria’s wagon made it all fall into place. The ragpicker’s cart gave her opportunity to be here, to be there, to fetch, to carry, to costume.”

The madam shook her head. “Too much. We’ll be here all morning.”

Colonna appeared dumbfounded. He shifted in his chair. “The people are proud of you, Donna Fina,” he said. “And you too, Rosa. A writer from
Giornale Di Sicilia
called on the mayor the other day asking for your addresses. Doubtless he’ll want to interview you both.”

Serafina asked, “So I take it the case is closed, the killings solved as far as you are concerned, even though there are still unknowns, especially surrounding Lola’s death? No note and you still say it’s a suicide?”

Again the inspector shrugged. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. “No need for you ladies to be present at the hearing. Before she took her life, Lola signed a confession. She admitted killing five women.”

“It was six, that I know of,” Serafina said. “Gemma, Nelli, Bella, Eugenia, Gusti, Rosalia.”

He shrugged again.

“Gross incompetent,” Rosa muttered.

After he left, the madam said, “Why couldn’t I see it? She had moods you know, my Lola, terrible and deep. And yet she was an angel sometimes, so loving, so droll. But she wanted to take over my house. A devil disguised as a monk.”

“What about me? I’m the wizard, remember? You handed me the truth about her in the beginning.” Serafina reached into her reticule, brought out the notebook, flipped to the right page and read, “’My Lola, she can do anything when she wants.’ I should have asked you what you meant by ‘when she wants.’ I should have taken more time questioning the women. I knew they were hiding something from me, probably from themselves. It took me too long to discover.”

“Took me long enough to see. Took you long enough to decide, slow and pokey as usual. But you found the killer in less than three weeks. Your plan was brilliant. Shimmering fantasy. And you have your daughter back. Time to move on.”

“No thanks to you!”

“That threadbare argument again?” Rosa said. “Give it up, Fina.”

Serafina made baroque circles in the air. “This house, the whole thing. Too much for you. We are women of a certain age now.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“And I have a plan,” Serafina said. “You sell the business to Scarpo. Buy the villa next to ours.”

Rosa opened her mouth, but Serafina continued. “Picture it. A sunny day. You sleep till noon, waking to Maria’s Brahms wafting through the window. Renata runs over with a tray of pastries for your breakfast. Vicenzu’s medicinal recipes settle your stomach. In the afternoon, you have a fitting for a new wardrobe created to your specifications by the House of Giulia while your gardens are primped by Carmela. Totò helps Tessa milk your goat. Dr. Carlo fixes your every pain. And the best of all, I promise to invent intrigue upon intrigue for us to solve. See what happens when you give Tessa a proper life?”

Rosa gestured to the door. “Out! Now! But what’s wrong with your eyes? You haven’t seen the carts passing in and out of the gate next to your door? The carpenters? The stone masons? The gardeners?”

Serafina shook her head.

“And you, a wizard? Tessa and I move in tomorrow.”

Table of Contents