Free A Chorus of Detectives by Barbara Paul Page A

shopping for your present, Toto.”
    â€œOh, do let’s change the subject.” Gerry sighed. “Toto, have you had your dinner?”
    Finally he caught on. “ Cara mia! ” he cried, and swept her up in a bear hug. “I think such terrible things! Can you forgive me? I am desolate! Forgive, forgive! No, I do not have dinner yet. You invite me?”
    Laughing, Gerry disengaged herself from his embrace. “I think I may invite us all to go out to dine.” She summoned the maid. “Will you ask the cook if she could possibly feed one more? I don’t suppose she can.”
    â€œOh, there’s plenty of food,” the maid answered easily—and then blushed. “I made a mistake. I told her Mr. Caruso was coming tonight.”
    Gerry laughed again and asked her to set another place. The four singers sat down and actually managed to forget the troubles at the Metropolitan Opera for a while—until Rosa started talking about what the chorus had done to her that afternoon. Only this time she told it wonderingly instead of angrily, as if amazed at the depth of the mean-spiritedness the chorus had shown her.
    â€œThey are changed,” Amato said, shaking his head. “They are not really a chorus anymore. They are many angry people who happen to be on the stage singing at same time.”
    â€œAnarchists,” Scotti muttered.
    â€œOh, now the choristers are anarchists?” Gerry asked, amused. “But Pasquale is right. The chorus has changed.”
    â€œThe Metropolitan itself is changed,” Scotti added sadly. “And Emmy—perhaps Emmy most of all. She is not simpatica as before.”
    â€œTry spending a war virtually locked up in your own house with armed Austrians watching every move you make and see how simpatico you are when it’s over,” Gerry said. “No wonder she’s changed—” She broke off suddenly, catching sight of Rosa drinking it all in, hoping for some gossip. “Besides,” Gerry finished, “can you name something in the world that has not changed?”
    The evening was well advanced by the time they’d finished dining, but no one seemed inclined to leave. Rosa tried to turn the talk back to Emmy Destinn. “I know she’s had an unhappy love affair and she had a hard time during the war—”
    â€œDo you think it snows before morning?” Amato pointedly asked Scotti.
    â€œ Sì , I think so,” he answered, wishing he’d never brought up Emmy’s name. She was still a friend. He walked over to a window. “Eh—it starts already! It snows now.”
    The maid came into the room. “Miss Farrar, telephone. It’s Mr. Gatti.” As Gerry passed her she whispered, “He sounds upset.”
    Dear God, not another ‘accident ’. Gerry hurried away to the phone.
    â€œWhy won’t you people talk about Emmy Destinn when I’m in the room?” Rosa complained crossly to the two men. “Is there some big dark secret about her?”
    â€œNo, no secret, little one,” Scotti said kindly. “But Emmy, she does not have easy life during the war, and she does not wish to talk about it.”
    â€œBut she’s not here, is she? Why won’t you talk about it?”
    Amato spoke up. “Because Emmy is lady we know for longer than you are alive, young Rosa.”
    Rosa made a self-mocking face. “None of my business, hm?”
    The two baritones smiled at her. Scotti glanced up to see Gerry standing frozen in the doorway. “ Cielo! Do you see ghost, cara mia? ”
    White-faced, Gerry stammered, “That, that was Gatti. Elisir … in Brooklyn—oh, it’s Rico! He started hemorrhaging. He was coughing up blood on the stage. It got so bad they had to stop the performance.”

4
    Of all of Caruso’s friends, it was Scotti who was most visibly shaken by what had happened in Brooklyn. The others were stunned