Death of a Serpent Read Online Free

the cord. “If it’s clues you’re after, Bella spent time in the new conservatory. Loved it, she did.”
    “Gloomy in there, I’d say. Just poking my head inside was enough to frizz my curls.”
    Rosa smiled. It was the first real smile Serafina had seen on her friend’s face since the killings began.
    Tessa appeared, ran to Rosa, and put her arms around her. She stopped, walked over to Serafina who hugged the child, felt the blades of her shoulders through the fabric of her dress.
    “Grown, my girl, since you last saw her,” Rosa said.
    For an instant the corners of Tessa’s mouth moved upward.
    Five years ago Rosa sent for Serafina: ‘Bleeding, no baby, come at once.’ Serafina slapped the reins. Largo galloped. The trap careened around corners, nearly tipping onto Via Marsala. Too late. The mother died, a messy, sad business, but Serafina saved the infant. Health officials ordered Rosa to bring the baby to the orphanage. She refused. Money changed hands. Tessa remained with Rosa.
    Serafina opened her bag. “I brought you some marzipan candies.” She handed them to Tessa, kissed her on both cheeks. Embracing her friend, she said, “We’ll concentrate on Bella’s life, the last one killed. She’s left more for us to discover. I’d like to spend some time alone in her room.”
    “Tessa will show you the way, won’t you, my girl?”

Bella’s Room
    S erafina smelled stale air and lye. Tessa led her to what looked like a ghostly presence under one of the windows. She removed the muslin draped over the object and saw a machine attached to an oak table.
    “Bella used this to make our dresses,” Tessa said. Her hand stroked the arm of the machine. “’My magic machine,’ she called it. She showed me how to turn the wheel and make stitches.” Tessa opened the table’s middle drawer, pulled out a piece of dark cloth with crude white stitching. “See? Bella was going to teach me how to thread the needle, too, but she died.”
    “My daughter, Giulia, has one of these. She tried to teach me once, but gave up. She said I haven’t the patience. Run along, now, Tessa. Tell Rosa I’ll return soon with the key.”
    Serafina touched the wheel and shut her eyes, trying to feel Bella’s presence through the instrument that in life was her silent companion. Nothing happened. She roused herself: dawdled long enough. She’d head for home soon, but first she’d search the room carefully. She owed that much to her friend. She walked to the hearth swept clean of ashes and began to examine each object in the room, picking up a figurine on a nearby shelf, swiping the dust from a book cover.
    She saw movement in the far corner, swung around, discovered that the deception was caused by her own reflection distorted in a spotted mirror.
    Even though the prostitute had been dead only a day, a film of dust lay over the room, on the mirror’s gilt frame, on the chair below it, on the red silk bedcovers and pillowcases. Little wonder: someone had neglected to close a window. Serafina walked over and secured the shutters that banged against the house. She felt grit on the brocade draperies and on the windowsill, heard it grind underneath her boots.
    She looked down at the edge of land. Foam and wind seemed to stir up the beasts of the deep. Bracing herself against the sill she let the elements blow full-throated against her face. For a while she stood like this, listening to the incessant work of the sea. Why was a woman with such talent a prostitute? Doubtless money was a factor. Prostitutes, at least at Rosa’s, earned far more than seamstresses. Did she have enemies? Where did she go two nights ago on the evening of her death? Whom did she meet? Who were her regular customers? Her customers on the night she was killed? No doubt Rosa had a list of who was with whom and for how long, but, at least for now, the madam’s mouth was a sealed tomb.
    Serafina closed the shutters, pulled down the sash, and turned away.
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