Free Death In Bagheria (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson Page A

for the housekeeper or della Trabia, and there’s something between that outdoor rotter and Doucette. I’m no wizard like you, but I can see anger when it snarls about the stage.”
    “You don’t like della Trabia? I thought I caught you making eyes at him earlier?”
    “Don’t be daft. For all you know, he staged that little shootout in the ruins.”
    “You must be joking. He killed a man for show?”
    “Men have been killed for less by the likes of that tin soldier.” Rosa made a face. “He’s besotted with himself, and the poor butler has his hands full. Now the butler, there’s a real man.”
    Outside, Serafina and Rosa followed della Trabia’s lead around one side of the house, obviously uncomfortable with silence, since he insisted on smothering them with talk. Strange, for a gabelloto ; she didn’t think they had so many words, but she listened to see if she could get a sense of the man.
    He pointed to two buildings washed in the same hue as the main house. “The carriage house is one of the oldest outbuildings on the estate, it and the stable.”
    “Beautiful, all the palms and blooms, the ornamental grasses around it. The landscaping is unique.” Serafina stumbled on uneven ground “My daughter would approve.” She thought of how Carmela would arrive, flap her eyes once around the park, and most definitely rearrange everything. Serafina rubbed her forehead, regretting the quarrel they’d had last night, saw Carmela’s face now, and knew her daughter was right to criticize her, even if Serafina was the mother. She wasn’t keeping enough hours at home, what with midwifery and sleuthing, that was true, and she had no right to spend her free time with Loffredo. Even saying his name was difficult without wanting him. She shook her head. She had no right. After all, she had small children, and they needed her, and she needed the coins. Snaking around her mind, she saw her mother’s nose wrinkle, saw the admonition in her eyes, heard her say, “Just get on with it and enjoy,” and felt a pain in her right temple. Fat burden you’ve given me, Mama. Serafina felt a sudden thrust from behind, spun around, saw no one, and bumped into Rosa before righting herself. The madam gave her an appraising look.
    “Who is the landscaper?” Serafina asked della Trabia.
    “Baroness did most of it. The baron doesn’t want us to touch her design, and the gardener and his men do the upkeep.”
    “And the gardener follows the baron’s direction?”
    “He’d better.”
    His gestures were expansive. “But no complaints. He knows what he’s doing, and the coachman does a decent job. Runs his world with an iron fist, the coachman. Groom shakes when he sees him coming. I knew the driver during the war, told the baron about him, and that’s why he’s here—given overmuch to the races, but a hard worker, all the same.”
    They waited while della Trabia hitched up a dilapidated creature to an odd-looking trap sitting high off the ground with no top. Rosa insisted on boosting herself up without della Trabia’s aid, and she shot up, like a ball from a cannon, twirling and sitting like a ballerina half her bulk while Serafina tried to follow suit, missing the footplate on her first attempt and squeezing the trap’s iron rail so hard that she bruised her palm, finally making it to her seat with Rosa’s help. Not fair, really, the litheness commanded by the madam was surprising for one so squat while Serafina, willowy by comparison with Rosa, had no agility at all, none.
    With a jolt, the mule sallied forth, picking up speed around the house. Serafina half-listened to della Trabia’s banter and watched his wide gestures while he smiled expansively and pointed to various buildings on the grounds as if he were showing them his own estate until she realized, in a sense, he was. He was the gabelloto , after all, leasing the baron’s lands, promising him management and protection in exchange for a percentage of the