Free Murder On The Rue Cassette (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson

up. Something simple, I’ll wager,
like your forgetting he told you he’d be out of town, traveling in the south or
some such explanation, so simple it slipped your mind.”
    Serafina gave her a look and was
silent, their carriage stopping for more congestion. She looked at her watch
pin. “I hope the time on this thing is wrong. We have twenty minutes before our
meeting with the commissioner or whatever it is they call him.” She felt her
stomach doing somersaults and borrowed Rosa’s fan to wick away the moisture on
her face. “How do I look?”
    “Like a fairy princess. And they
call him prefect. He’s a handsome one, and popular. Stern, but we’ll get around
that. They say his salary is fifty-thousand francs.”
    They were silent as they passed
the gutted hulk of Hôtel de Ville, a reminder of the disaster that was the
Commune. In her mind Serafina heard the shouts, smelled the blood, the powder
and the fury, reminding her of uprisings at home. But as their carriage turned
into the quai and crossed the Pont Notre-Dame, she was entranced by the scenery
and the dash of midmorning Paris, the clop of horses hooves, the city workers
in their striking blue overalls and jackets, the sun glinting off the windows
of their carriage. Presently they stopped in front of the prefecture of police
and the driver helped them out of the carriage. He pulled out his watch and
rubbed a dirty thumb over the crystal. “Plenty of time. Up those stairs and
through that door. Tell the secretary you’re to meet with the prefect in ten
minutes. My Belle Hélène and I will be waiting over there.”
    “Belle Hélène?”
    “The horse,” Rosa said.
    He gestured to a spot underneath
a row of chestnuts. “Can’t miss us. Just look for the most beautiful woman in
all of Paris, that’s my Hélène.”
    Inside, they climbed the marble
staircase, following an agent of police who led them up to the first floor of
an ornate building, the new home of the prefecture of police. The honorable
Léon Renault himself stood at the top of the stairs to greet them, accompanied
by his assistant.
    Serafina found herself staring
at the man, struck by his bearing, the clarity of his voice, a certain humor
about the eyes, and the transparency of his demeanor. Although he appeared to
be in his mid-thirties, his mutton chops were already flecked with gray. He wore
striped pants, a gray waistcoat and starched shirt, silk cravat, and a frock
coat. They fitted his large frame to perfection. She’d read of his bravery
during the Franco-Prussian War culminating in the Siege of Paris and afterward
his role in quelling the Paris Commune.
    “Your mayor, Notabartolo,
telegraphed our office, Madame. Welcome. You have many admirers in your
country.”
    “And this is my friend, Madame
Rosa Spicuzza, my assistant.”
    Renault took Rosa’s hand and kissed
it. The madam responded with a regal smile.
    “You investigate the death of
Elena Loffredo, countess of Oltramari. What may we do for you in that regard?”
he asked. “And this is the inspector assigned to the case, Alphonse Valois.”
    A slight man in frock coat and
cravat, Valois inclined his head.
    “First, on behalf of my country
and the family of Elena Loffredo, thank you for your warm reception and for
your handling of the case thus far,” Serafina began.
    “You have my full cooperation.
When it comes to the particulars, Inspector Valois is better able to assist.”
    The inspector smiled.
    Renault turned to him. “We have
someone in custody you told me? But not charged as yet?”
    Valois cleared his throat. “Not
a French citizen, your honor. We were afraid he’d flee.”
    Serafina found it difficult to
breathe. “Excuse me? His name?”
    Valois said nothing.
    Renault frowned. “Madame Florio
and her assistant are to be given every courtesy, as if she were one of our own
detectives.” He looked at Serafina. “If you need anything, please call on me.”
    She nodded slowly, her heart
racing, convinced