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

Serafina said.
    Renata blushed and looked away. “He hired me to be Prince Zazzu’s pastry chef for the winter festivities, so I spent two months in Bagheria but never made it up here. How magnificent the view—Greek ruins against the backdrop of a wild sea.” She turned back to him. “Today I pay a visit to Lord Notobene’s cook.”

Arrival
    A fter descending a steep hill, they continued on the road near the sea, passing scores of Bagheria’s villas, marveling at the masonry, the grillwork, the size of the homes on both sides of the road. Finally the carriage stopped by an ornamental gate of heavy iron and stone. Della Trabia, who had ridden ahead of them, spoke with the guards, then disappeared. Slowly the gate swung open, and the vehicle’s wheels crunched fine gravel, and they began a slow approach up the long drive leading to Villa Caterina.
    It was as if they’d entered another world where nothing was out of order. Palm trees lined the long drive, and Serafina could see small gardens dotting a lawn of deep viridian. Exotic birds flew; water sprayed. In the distance, peasants worked in citrus groves, and from time to time, she glimpsed the sea. Men in blue aprons and straw hats were everywhere, pushing wheelbarrows or pruning fronds or tilling the soil.
    Two footmen greeted their carriage, one holding onto the reins of the lead horse.
    The madam straightened her skirts and descended, looking out and up at the mansion in front of her. She was followed by Serafina and Renata, who smiled and handed her box of pastries to a footman with instructions to take it to the cook.
    Serafina gazed up at a baroque façade of soft limestone, topped with a blue copper dome rivaling the great churches of Palermo and Rome. Carved lintels dripped with stone putti, vines, and roses. She estimated that the main wing had about thirty rooms.
    “Too fancy by half,” Rosa whispered.
    “I could live here,” Renata said, brushing her cape. “And I’ve heard the kitchen is a magnificence and that the cook …”
    “What about the cook?” Rosa asked.
    “And that the cook doesn’t deserve it.” Renata bit her lip.
    “Then you’d better make the desserts.”
    Serafina continued taking in the splendor of the villa and its grounds. Flanking the main building stood tall cypress trees, their languorous branches drooping, and in the front, close to the carriage circle, a stone fountain gurgled. They lifted their skirts, Rosa hanging onto her hat with one hand, and swished up the curved staircase, where a man in formal daytime attire waited to greet them, his back to a grilled double door. Tall, with an aquiline nose and black curls plastered to his head, he stood expressionless until they reached the top, when, like the sun appearing from behind a cloud, he smiled and said, “Follow me, dear ladies.” He regarded Rosa for more time than was necessary, Serafina thought, as he took the madam’s arm, ready to escort them inside.
    In the atrium, Serafina said, “My friend and I are here to see the baron. My daughter is here to visit the cook, but before she does, I’d like to help her settle into her room.”
    Renata blushed and looked at Rosa.
    “Just so.” The butler snapped gloved fingers to a maid standing next to a potted palm. Gesturing to indicate the three women, he said, “Take our guests to their rooms.”
    They were met on the second floor landing by three chambermaids, who escorted Serafina, Rosa, and Renata to their accommodations on the third floor. As they climbed the massive staircase, Serafina looked up at the vaulted dome, admiring the mosaics forming what she supposed was the Notobene family crest.
    Before she went into her bedroom, Renata reminded Serafina that she’d be spending most of her time with the cook, “so you’ll know where to reach me.”
    “Of course, dear.” Serafina kissed Renata, feeling a sudden stab of something for this daughter so devoted to her family, watching her disappear into her