Death of a Serpent Read Online Free Page B

room.’
    Serafina thought she’d just enough muscle to flip the mattress, but try as she might, it wouldn’t budge. Stuffed with the feathers of a thousand geese, oh Madonna. She prayed for more strength, stopped to catch her breath, felt sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. With an upward thrust, she lifted the mattress, steadied it while it teetered on end for a moment before thudding against her body. The heft of it almost knocked her down. She waited, took ragged breaths, felt drops of water running down the sides of her body and losing themselves in a mass of moistening corset. Again she flexed her arms. With one large grunt, she pushed it. When it fell over, it shook the mirror on the wall, dislodging more dust.
    She mopped her face, sat down, and stared. Then she felt every centimeter of its surface until her fingers found a neat square of stitching. After fishing around in the sewing basket for a scissors, she cut the thread and pulled out one feathery book. It looked like an account ledger. She shoved it into her pocket, picked up the Godey’s with the snaky designs, closed the door.
    All that work for such a meager result. Perhaps reading the letters would reveal more information, something about the woman and her dreams, her friends, her enemies.

Dates
    “W hat did you find?”
    “Not much. Any water?” she asked, wiping her face. Serafina dumped the letters, the Godey’s , and the account book on Rosa’s desk.
    The madam stuffed the book down her front, reached for the bottle of mineral water, and poured a fresh glass. “You look worse than Scylla on a bad day. What have you been doing, luring young sailors to your lair?”
    Serafina gulped the water, choked, and said, “That’s better. Dust in the mouth from Bella’s room.”
    “That clown, Colonna, didn’t bother to search her room, and look what you discover in a few minutes. And the most important discovery of all,” she said, patting her chest. “This book belongs to Nittù.” Rosa winked.
    The madam was in a jovial mood. Time to strike. “I need the names of the customers who visited Bella on Saturday. One of them might know something, might even be the killer. Anyone come to mind?” She watched Rosa’s face, now a wintry sunset.
    “Bella had the evening off.”
    “On a Saturday? Your busiest evening?”
    “An exception to all the house rules, Bella. She asked for the weekend, left on Thursday. Probably went to Palermo to see the contessa. They were going to open a business of some sort.”
    Serafina raised her brows.
    “Not that kind of business. Venturing into the dressmaking trade, the two of them.”
    Serafina opened the Godey’s and showed Rosa the plates of the writhing serpent, the strange vestments.
    Rosa looked at them a moment and shrugged.
    Serafina untied the bundles of letters and fanned them out. Sunlight and shadows from the sea undulated on the envelopes. They crinkled at her touch. “From her father,” Serafina said, indicating one. “But this address?” She tapped on the return address written in flowery script.
    “From the contessa,” Rosa said.
    “Don’t have time to read them now. I’d like to take these with me. They may tell us something we don’t already know, but I doubt it. And the Godey’s , I’ll take that, too.”
    The madam sat there grinning, her fingers bent like hooks, not caring a jot about letters or magazines or serpents, only that she, Serafina, was being raked into the search for the killer.
    And truth to tell, she felt herself drawn into the mystery, powerless to stop the pull of her own curiosity. Little wonder: the need for truth and justice was great. Sicily bled. Officials did nothing, and the dead women couldn’t speak for themselves. They needed her voice. Well, she would continue searching for clues until she found enough evidence to reveal the villain, dump it all into the lap of Colonna, and compel him to act. Simple.
    • • •
    She was half-way to the door when she