Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) (32 page)

“You had to kill for this room,
eh, Serafina?” Valois said, stroking his lapel.

“Not me, but someone had to.”
She introduced Françoise to Carmela and Giulia.

“Giulia is the designer at the
House of Grinaldi.”

“Madame, your dress is stunning,”
Giulia said. “So light and summery,” she said, hugging Tessa who joined the
group and wore a dusky pink of light silk with overskirts of organza. “I don’t
think it’s one of ours, but quite lovely and fits you perfectly.”

“And Mama, have you nothing
better to wear?” Giulia asked.

“But you made it, Giulia. Now
you don’t like your own work?”

“It’s seven years old.”

Serafina shrugged.

Rosa was wearing a new gown of
green linen and made room for Busacca.

“Good to see you, Levi. You’ve been
up to no good, I can see by your eyes.”

“Why is it that La Grinaldi will
not recommend my millinery to her clients?” Busacca asked, a twinkle in his eye
despite his arm band.

“Now she does,” Carmela said and
Giulia nodded. “We took care of that, Levi, and intend to pay our respects to
all the houses of fashion. Time to go back to Palermo. Your wife misses you.”

“I leave a week from yesterday,
now that my business is in the competent hands of your family. Vicenzu and
Ricci work well together and David is learning to spend in order to make.”

“And Sophie?”

He shook his head. “Not a dinner
subject, but she’ll come around. She insists she and her oldest son are
innocent of all wrongdoing.”

Serafina, Rosa, and Françoise
worked together to change the subject.

“And Tessa?”

“The summer of course but she’s
making the conservatory into her studio and hopes to join Académie Julian as
soon as she has a portfolio. My girl is happy; I’m happy. We bask in the gaiety
of Paris.”

Two servants walked around the
room offering hors d’oeuvres while Rosa’s butler, helping out for the evening
along with two of her maids, carried trays of champagne flutes.

“Don’t you dare, Totò,” Serafina
said as he reached for a glass. Charlus looked up at his mother who shook her
head. In a few minutes, he and Totò had become friends.

Loffredo toasted his guests and
Valois toasted the successful end to the Gaston case. Neither Serafina nor
Busacca joined in. “Not quite yet, I’m afraid, Alphonse.” The conversation
paused. Françoise elbowed Valois and Busacca arched a brow.

Serafina introduced Charlus to
Totò.

“We’re already friends,” Totò
said.

“Charlus goes to Louis Le Grand.
Show him the conservatory and the ballroom, and only take one canapé at a time,
please, and no champagne for you. Ah, here are two flutes with mineral water.
Perhaps he can point out his school for you while there’s still light. And take
Teo and Maria with you.” She saw Teo’s face flush and Maria toss her curls.

“The sun doesn’t set until 9:58
tonight.” Charlus uncovered his wrist, showing a gold watch with a large face.
In the middle was a sun turning into the moon and stars. Serafina looked from
Charlus to Totò, who looked from the wrist of his friend to his mother.

“Such a nice watch, Charlus,”
Serafina said.

“A gift for my birthday last
week.”

“And we didn’t know.”

“See?” he asked, showing the
watch to Totò, “we have almost two hours.”

“But how much time, precisely?”
Alphonse asked. He and Loffredo had finished their corner conversation and were
now looking at Charlu’s wrist.

“One hour and fifty-seven
minutes,” Totò said, taking a deviled egg, popping it into his mouth and
helping himself to another. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“My mother says you play the
piano,” Charlus said to Maria as they walked toward the door.

She nodded.

Teo followed.

Arcangelo stood at the window
talking to Giulia, Carmela, and Busacca.

Taking advantage of Busacca’s
absence, Valois walked up to Serafina, Françoise, and Loffredo. “One thing
puzzles me,” Valois said. “Why was Dr. Tarnier treating Elena and not someone
more familiar with her disease?”

“As a courtesy, and because she
was with child,” Loffredo said. “He was asked by a friend of Elena, but he told
me he recommended that she see Dr. Alfred Fournier, a renowned specialist in
the treatment of syphilis. He is professor at the Paris Faculty of Medicine and
practices at the l’Hôpital de Lourcine on the Rue Pascal, but ... Elena had her
own mind.” He shrugged.

“Yes, I know his work.”
Françoise set her champagne glass down on the tray offered to her by the maid.

They were interrupted by the
butler who opened the doors. “Dinner is served,
mesdames et
messieurs
.”

Serafina must admit it, the
dining room looked lovely with the shimmering gas lights of the chandelier, the
flames of the candelabra, and the lilies and lavender from Rosa’s garden as a
centerpiece.

They began with bouillabaisse
served in hand-painted Limoges bowls Renata found in the china hutch. The
butler poured the wine, a rich-tasting Chablis from Burgundy that Loffredo
thought was the perfect temperature, and a maid brought out fresh baguettes and
sticks of salted bread.

“The rouille is delicious, and
the bouillabaisse divine. I must have your recipe.”

“Like ‘
La Divine Sarah
’
?” Carmela asked.

Serafina much preferred the
single conversation produced at a round table, but after a few glasses of
champagne and Chablis, she decided words and phrases had their place, too. She
strained to listen to Carmela talking to Busacca about Sarah Bernhardt.

“And I suppose you saw
Phèdre
and didn’t tell me,” Serafina
said.

“Not as exciting as this
bouillabaisse, my compliments,” said Busacca, lifting his glass.

“Reminds me of a bouillabaisse
we had in Marseille once. Remember, Alphonse?”

“Only this is better,” the
inspector said.

A maid came in offering extra
napkins to those who wanted them. Totò, his face a mass of sauce, raised his
hand for one.”

“I met a chef in Marseille when
we were waiting for our train,” Renata began.

“You never told me,” Serafina said.

Renata ignored her. “I tripped
on the stairs going up to the station and he helped me. He was on his way to
Paris to cook for the chief of state and we started talking about food. I told
him I’d read about bouillabaisse and wanted to try it some day. The following
week we met at
Les Halles
and he showed me which vendors
he knew and gave me his recipe.”

“How did I miss this?” Serafina
asked.

Renata blushed. “I’m not sure.”

“I am,” Rosa said. “So is this a
romance de cuisine
?”

“Don’t be silly. For all she
knows, the man is married,” Serafina said.

“We agreed to write and exchange
recipes, that’s all.”

Totò was busy slurping up sauce
from his bowl with a piece of baguette and stuffing it into his mouth, leaning
a little too far into his bowl as far as Serafina was concerned.

“I have a lobster in a net at
the bottom of my soup,” Totò said, holding his empty bowl up for Charlus to
see.

Serafina shot him a look. She
could see she’d made a mistake not seating Valois closer to Loffredo and asked
him if he’d had the chance to visit with Ricci and retrieve the photographs and
plates.

“Yes, a rather complicated and
mean twist to this unfortunate affair. A story for another time,” he said,
nodding toward Busacca.

“Later perhaps.” She told him of
Busacca’s plans to leave after the meal. “He’s an old man now who tires
easily.”

“Yes, we saw her last month, or
was it two months ago,” Carmela said.

“Who, dear?”

“Sarah Bernhardt, of course.
Quite bizarre, her acting, but mesmerizing,” Carmela said.

“If you’re not used to the
French stage, you can find it quite an experience the first time, outré,
perhaps,” Françoise said. “The actors declaim. They tell me it is an acquired
taste, but I’ve seen it all my life.”

“We must go,” Rosa said. “Have
you seen Bernhardt?” she asked Françoise.

“No. We meant to go, but
Alphonse has been so busy, especially with the Elena case and of course crime
does not wait until one case has been resolved.”

Valois nodded, but his heart
wasn’t in the conversation.

While two maids cleared the soup
bowls, Renata herself brought out the chicken, three
Poulets
de Bresse
fried in
olive oil and butter, glazed with crème fraiche and placed on a bed of
vegetables. A maid followed with potatoes in a cream sauce and shallots.

Françoise turned to Serafina. “I
think Alphonse means to ask you if you’d be interested in doing some work for
him.”

“And I meant to tell you, a
woman on the third floor needs you to find her daughter,” Rosa said, watching
them serve the meal. “Where is Jacques with the wine?” she asked, but just then
he appeared, poured some liquid into Loffredo’s glass and when he nodded,
served everyone else.

“A Châteauneuf du Pape,” I
believe, Valois said.

“Bravo, you know your wines.”

He smiled. “I saw the label.”

As the meal continued, the
conversation became more animated, especially at the other end of the table
with Carmela and Giulia arguing the acting ability of Sarah Bernhardt.

“Are we still on her?” Serafina
asked.

“She is quite something, you
should see her,” Françoise said. “Her morals, well, we all know about them, but
what can you expect from an actress? You must visit the studio of Nadar, a
photographer who is taken with her. He exhibits some of his portraits of her
that are truly beautiful. We saw them at the Palais de L’Industrie—when
was it, Alphonse?”

He shrugged.

“She has a certain charm. She’s
taken our hearts, you know.”

“I’m still not convinced,”
Serafina said, watching them clear the plates.

“You remind me of her,”
Françoise said.

Giulia and Carmela began to
clap. “You do, Mama! Same nose, same hair, same gestures, especially when
you’re in a mood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Serafina
felt hot color swim up from her neck to her cheeks.

“Loffredo, tell them.”

There was silence while he
focused on the question. “I never thought to make the comparison.” Serafina saw
him narrowing his gaze. “No, I cannot agree. Fina is a unique star and for me
no one compares.”

“Two things that do not lie,”
Busacca said. “The blanch and the blush.”

“Coffee and dessert will be
served upstairs in a few minutes,” Serafina said, dabbing her mouth with a
linen and laughing with Françoise.

Valois made his way to Loffredo
and Busacca asked the butler for his hat and cane. “Forgive an old man,” he
said to Serafina. “This is the last I’ll see of you in Paris for a while.
Despite what you must think, I am happy with your work. My daughter was a deep
disappointment, and I cry every night for her. My wife is inconsolable, I know,
but for me, Elena died a long time ago.”

Serafina looked at Rosa. Both
were at loss for words. Serafina kissed him on both cheeks and asked him what
he did about paying money for his store’s protection.

“Busacca Millinery is a rare
exception. We’ve complied with odious laws, hidden, been clever, created
unrivaled goods and survived since 1282. Next to the Inquisition, what is the
mafia? They wouldn’t dare mess with us. But don’t second guess your decision to
leave. It was the right one for you. Your son stayed behind?”

“School.”

The expression on his face was
inscrutable. “I’ll keep you informed.”

After she helped him with his
cape, she walked with him to the street where his carriage waited. “I cannot
thank you enough for your help,” she said. He cocked his head but made no reply
and stood there a moment, a stooped soul, wrapped in his grief.

* * *

After Serafina returned to the
apartment, she walked over to Loffredo and Valois and asked him again about the
photographs.

“You were right. The
photographer was the link,” Valois said.

They stood in the foyer and
continued their conversation, reluctant to climb the stairs and join the
others.

“It’s a complicated story, mean
and somewhat daring, but our police photographer—the one who took the
photos of the dead woman shortly after we discovered the body—was a
friend of Beniamino de Masson long before they colluded in the Elena affair.”