No More Brothers (A Serafina Florio Mystery) Read Free Page A

His father nearly disowned him when he’d learned that his son wanted to pursue a degree in medicine. “A profession is not for nobles,” he’d said. “Closes doors on access to our kind.”
    Waving Ugo’s book in one hand and a silver chalice in the other, Serafina entered the living room. “Look what I found!”
    No answer.
    “Carlo? Colonna?”
    Still no reply. She saw the two of them leaning over the table, staring into a metal box.
    The inspector stuck his fat fingers deep inside and picked up a few coins. He tested one with his teeth, grinned at the ca-chink when he dropped them back into the chest, pushed them about. “
Lire
and
ducati
,
grani
, even
zecchini
,” he whispered. “Over a million I’d say, right inside this little box. Try to lift it, eh, Carlo?”
    “Colonna, Carlo, listen to me, I found—”
    “In a minute, Fina.” Colonna flapped a hand in her direction.
    But the inspector and her son and the room soon became lost to her vision as she sat on the sofa and read Ugo’s ledger.
    They walked back to the Municipal Building, Serafina and Colonna leading the way. In front of his office she said, “This is the brutal murder of a military hero, Pirricù. The people will want answers soon and we must be ready with facts.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
The Plan
    O n the way home, Carlo said, “So it’s ‘Fina’ and ‘Pirricù,’ now, is it?”
    She ignored his remark. “Tomorrow we’re off at first light. I’ll ask Renata to pack us something for the journey. Make sure Largo is fed and watered—we’ll use the cart. Bring a good length of rope and blanket. Do you still have that small leather club Papa gave you? Bring it. We’ve got work to do. Might be dangerous. Shhh, not a word to anyone.”
    “Dangerous? Are you kidding? Why don’t you get Colonna and one or two of his men to carry out your scheme?”
    “When I told Colonna we were going to search for the scene of the crime, he seemed content to stay in his office and count Ugo’s coins.”
    “You mean, you want all the glory of the capture.”
    She opened her mouth.
    “No, don’t answer; I don’t want to hear another fantasy. But I’ll tell you one thing: tonight I’m going to Gloria’s and I don’t care what you have planned for this evening or any other evening, for that matter. Count me out. I’ll meet you tomorrow with the cart and the rope and the club.” He kicked a stone and it skipped on the cobbles, echoed off the high walls of buildings. “And what’s more, I don’t want to hear any of your remarks.”
    They crossed the piazza without speaking, passing old soldiers snoring on benches or sitting straight, some with the vagueness of wounded souls, others arguing with one another. The crone she had seen earlier had vanished. Serafina’s skirts crackled in the wind. Her palms were moist.
    “So where are we going?” he asked.
    “I recognized the flora stuck to Ugo’s shirt. We’re going to a copse of beech near the foot of Monte San Calogero. Your father and I used to picnic there before we were married, and I’d come home full of those same burrs and leaves.”
    He turned his face to hers. “And what are we looking for?”
    “Ugo’s missing boot and…” Her voice trailed off.
    “And?”
    “…and a killer who may return to the scene of the crime.”
    “How do you know Ugo’s murder is not the work of Don Tigro?”
    “I don’t, not for sure. But I know this much. First, by the looks of the goods in his house, Ugo had a thriving business. He’d been at it a long time, built up customers, kept a ledger. Ugo wouldn’t have lasted as long as he did unless he paid up regularly. Men like Don Tigro get rid of their enemies quickly.”
    Carlo shrugged. “Is there a ‘second’?” he asked.
    She nodded. “Don Tigro’s thugs would have picked Ugo’s house clean of the gold and silver.”
    Carlo thought a moment and nodded, more to himself than to her. “And how do you know the killer will return to the