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

take not more than an hour in Rosa’s coach and four.
    All at once they heard shots, and the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
    “Where are we?” Renata asked.
    Serafina opened her door and stood on the footplate, straining to see. “Solunto, the ruins.” Sitting back down and closing the door, she moistened her lips and said, “Looks like there’s someone several meters ahead. He peeks out at us from behind a tall column. A bandana covers part of his face, but the rest of him is wild looking.” She shivered, wiped her forehead with a linen, and tried to calm her breathing.
    The driver banged on the carriage roof. “Bandits. Get down.”
    “On the floor!” Serafina pulled the madam’s voluminous skirt, and ever so slowly, Rosa slid off the seat and onto the floor. Renata followed.
    Lifting one arm, Serafina drew the curtains on the windows. She saw her friend’s face blanch, felt her own skin prickle. Both women huddled together, and Renata hugged her basket.
    “What do you want?” they heard the driver ask.
    “Get down, pig,” came a gravelly voice. “Open the door, or I’ll blow your head off.”
    This last command must have been directed at the three of them inside. She heard shots fired in the distance, a loud grunt, a thud.
    Silence.
    Serafina smelled the acrid stench of gunpowder. “Giorgio told me, ‘Never go with them, better to die by a bullet.’ Help me hold the handle. At least we die with courage, and not cowering in the corner!” Serafina felt the strain in her back and down her neck, but along with Renata and Rosa, she continued squeezing the door handle, holding it shut until her face was red.
    Rosa uttered an oath.
    Renata cried out, “Go away, you swine!”
    But the brute’s strength was too great, and with a jerk, they released the handle. The door shot open, then slammed shut.
    Renata stuffed a hand into her mouth, waiting for the intruder to appear.
    “Sorry for my tongue at times, it prattles so,” Rosa said. “You’ve been a best friend to me all my life.”
    “Not over yet. Ready to fight?” Serafina clamped her jaw and stared at Rosa and Renata.
    Both nodded.
    The door flew open.
    Beforethem stood a tall man wearing smart leather chaps and a matching vest. Serafina smelled fine hides, saw clean hands and kept nails. His face was magnificent, like a Roman god’s, she thought, and she noticed Renata staring at him. When he pushed his fedora back on his head, a few wet curls draped over his forehead. His shirt was open at the neck, and his eyes, like the sea, were flecked with turquoise and purple. In his belt were two revolvers and a shepherd’s knife.
    “Luca della Trabia, Lord Notobene’s gabelloto . The baron sent me to watch for your arrival because he worried for your safety, especially in Solunto, where bandits hide in the ruins waiting for unsuspecting travelers.” He circled the surrounding hills with a hand. “And with such a fine coach, you’re an easy target. They’d have taken your jewels, your money, and whatever else you had to offer. Would have been a pity to lose such fine steeds.”
    The sun, higher in the sky, sent shards of light shooting off the sea, so Serafina visored her eyes, squinting up at the man. “Oh, Madonna,” she muttered.
    Arcangelo appeared, pistol in hand. “This man saved our lives. Bandits!”
    “Don’t worry, they’ve gone, except for this poor sod,” he said, nudging the body on the ground with his toe. “They won’t return.” He and Arcangelo pulled the dead man to the side of the road.
    Serafina expressed her thanks, introducing him to her companions.
    Della Trabia smiled at Rosa and turned to Renata, removing his hat and bowing slightly. “I think I might have seen you in town one day last month with a man.”
    Renata looked at him, puzzled.
    “Short, fat, waxed mustache, wearing a long white apron and chef’s hat?” His smile matched the dazzle of the sun.
    “If he waddled like a duck, it was the monzù ,”