Free Death of a Serpent by Susan Russo Anderson Page A

met her the other day.”
    “But I want to hear what you have to say about her. And this time, I don’t want a fantasy. The more I learn about the dead women and those who kept their company, the more pieces of the puzzle I can fit together, the greater our chance of finding—”
    “Enough! Lola appeared in the doorway one day, did our Lola, homeless and in rags, with whip marks on her back. My blessed day. From the moment she started, one of my best. She has style, has Lola. Oh, our Lola can do anything with her hands when she wants to. And droll? She is ever so gay. Trusses up our hair, doesn’t she, carved the sign hanging on the gates, even draws pictures. Makes us laugh, an actress, our little Lola.” She chuckled, and her corset creaked. “Where was I with Nelli?”
    Serafina read from her notes. “’So clever Lola became a sister to her.’”
    Rosa nodded. “Under Lola’s care, Nelli changed. Got repeats. Became popular with the priests. Now I’ve lost her.”
    Rosa’s voice grew wispy. “Last month it was…but you know all about Bella.”
    Serafina said, “Tell me about her, what she did, her friends, her customers.”
    “You know not to ask about customers. Respectable, my customers.”
    Serafina pictured Falco surrounded by a group of Rosa’s prostitutes at Bella’s wake, his arms around one while he flirted with another, but decided to save him for later. She didn’t know if what the madam told her would help. She invents a fantasy, our Rosa. Ever so droll.
    Rosa continued. “Bella could embroider the bodice of a dress with her eyes closed. Beads and tassels, oh, all over and where they belong, too. Dreams our Bella had. Saving to buy her own dress shop.”
    Rosa paused, cocking her head to the side. “Close to thirty and getting sour, Bella, but customers, they asked for her, and she couldn’t refuse. Now she lies stiff in her grave. Oh my sweet, sweet girls, how they suffered.”
    Rosa dabbed her eyes. She waited until Serafina’s pencil finished scratching. “Don Tigro’s men are useless. They lurk in the shadows with their filthy clothes and flat eyes. I won’t let them near my house.”
    “Describe finding Gemma’s body.”
    “Came down here, didn’t I, to count the money. Early, about midday. The angelus had just rung.” The madam flapped her fingers to illustrate the campanile bell.
    “What day?”
    “Been through this before.”
    “Day of the week, I meant.”
    Rosa canted her eyes. “Let’s see, too warm outside it was, bad for business. A Tuesday, I know because Bella asked me if I had anything to mend, and Tuesday was the day she did the mending. Monday was her night off, and I had something for her, my crinoline with the iron hoops.”
    “Go on.”
    “I came in here to count the money and got a feeling.”
    “Feeling?”
    “Like a spider crawling up my neck. I looked around. Nothing. I opened the door to the back, and there lay Gemma with her face all stiff, wearing the mask of death, my dear beautiful girl, the insects already buzzing above her open mouth.”
    “What did you do?”
    “Sent for the inspector,” Rosa said.
    “And Nelli?”
    Rosa’s jeweled fingers caught the candlelight. She pounded her chest and said, “I found her body. In the same place as Bella’s, it was, by the door leading to the sea.”
    The two women were silent.
    Serafina heard the rasp of the wind. “Do your women go out at night after work?”
    Rosa shrugged. “I’ve told you. I don’t ask them questions. I trust them. They take pride in their work. Every morning I give them their share of the take. If they receive tips, they share them with me, unless they’re trinkets—those they keep. They want to know who earned the most. The best girls clamor for a spot here, or at least they did. Now, who knows what will happen, although I still have a steady stream of knocks at the door. Unrivaled, my house.”
    “No doubt. The grounds, beautiful.”
    “And the girls are free to