No More Brothers (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson Page A
Authors: Susan Russo Anderson
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mess.”
“Autopsy’s not been performed and it wouldn’t do for me to speak out of turn. I
can
tell you that it wasn’t pleasant.”
His eyes widened.
“But his killer said he was in here with Ugo the night before he murdered him.”
“Ugo? In here?”
“Was he a customer?”
“One of my regulars. Most nights, Ugo was here. Known him for years. Need more like him. Pays his bills, I tell you. Hardly keeps a tab. Generous type. Buys for the house when he’s feeling flush. Known him since forever, him and the brother, although, come to hear it told, the two aren’t on good terms.”
Boffo sucked on his gums and continued. “Good bloke, I don’t care what they say about him.”
“What do they say about him?”
He puffed on his cheeks. “Don’t like to speak ill of the dead—I’ll have the specters flying wild at me. But…some said he’d wind up no good.” He leaned closer to her and his voice took on a heavy rasp. “Didn’t wet the don’s beak. Not surprising that he left this world, quick-like.” He tapped a finger on the side of his nose. “Like I say, Ugo was a good customer. If I had more like him, I wouldn’t be in trouble with the bank. Bar’s been in my family for generations. Now I’m hanging by my nails, you might say. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Father kept it good. His father before him. Prospered. Now I’m the one what’s losing it.”
She sympathized with his troubles. “When was the last time you saw Ugo in here?”
“Can’t recall the date. Mind getting fuzzy. Late last week, might have been. Don’t know for sure. Gets crowded at night and one day runs into the other, you might say. Always here Saturdays.”
“We found his body Monday morning. Did you see him Sunday evening?”
He shook his head. “Not Sunday, that I know for sure.”
“How so?”
“Closed on Sundays.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Commissioner
“S tand aside,” she said to the guards blocking the commissioner’s door. Serafina felt her cheeks flush.
In acknowledgement, the guards clicked their heels, halberds at the ready. They didn’t move away from the door. She gazed up at the frescoed angels banding the ceiling, looked down at a pile of dust sitting in the near corner.
The commissioner’s secretary waddled up. “You can’t go in there, not without an appointment. Have a seat in the waiting room and I’ll tell him you—”
The door opened and the commissioner stood before her. “That’ll do, Tacelli. Next time she comes here to see me, usher Donna Fina in right away.”
“But if you’re in a meeting?”
“Use your head, man!” He brushed the sleeves of his frock coat as he led Serafina into his office.
After she praised the view of the piazza from his windows, Serafina began. “Commissioner, I—”
“Took you a day to capture Ugo’s killer. Congratulations on a fine piece of work.”
“Was it? I’m not so sure.”
He straightened his sash and said nothing.
“I believe Abatti may have been hired to kill Ugo. I believe he was hired by Ugo’s brother, the shoemaker.” She shared the details of her interview with Rodolfo, her impressions of his financial straits, and his abstraction. She told him about the gold found in Ugo’s home. “Abatti said he acted alone, that he met Ugo in Boffo’s and poisoned his wine. That would have been this past Sunday. I’ve just checked with Boffo: he is closed on Sundays.”
The commissioner furrowed his brows. “You took Abatti’s confession?”
“No, Colonna did after I left the building last night.”
“I see.” The commissioner gave her a lopsided smile. “But you’ve read it for yourself?”
“Yes,” she lied and continued, hoping he wouldn’t notice the burning crimson of her cheeks. “I believe the shoemaker himself poisoned Ugo’s wine to soften his brother for the kill.” She told him about finding a glass and napkin in Ugo’s kitchen, both tainted with arsenic.
He scribbled something on a
“Autopsy’s not been performed and it wouldn’t do for me to speak out of turn. I
can
tell you that it wasn’t pleasant.”
His eyes widened.
“But his killer said he was in here with Ugo the night before he murdered him.”
“Ugo? In here?”
“Was he a customer?”
“One of my regulars. Most nights, Ugo was here. Known him for years. Need more like him. Pays his bills, I tell you. Hardly keeps a tab. Generous type. Buys for the house when he’s feeling flush. Known him since forever, him and the brother, although, come to hear it told, the two aren’t on good terms.”
Boffo sucked on his gums and continued. “Good bloke, I don’t care what they say about him.”
“What do they say about him?”
He puffed on his cheeks. “Don’t like to speak ill of the dead—I’ll have the specters flying wild at me. But…some said he’d wind up no good.” He leaned closer to her and his voice took on a heavy rasp. “Didn’t wet the don’s beak. Not surprising that he left this world, quick-like.” He tapped a finger on the side of his nose. “Like I say, Ugo was a good customer. If I had more like him, I wouldn’t be in trouble with the bank. Bar’s been in my family for generations. Now I’m hanging by my nails, you might say. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Father kept it good. His father before him. Prospered. Now I’m the one what’s losing it.”
She sympathized with his troubles. “When was the last time you saw Ugo in here?”
“Can’t recall the date. Mind getting fuzzy. Late last week, might have been. Don’t know for sure. Gets crowded at night and one day runs into the other, you might say. Always here Saturdays.”
“We found his body Monday morning. Did you see him Sunday evening?”
He shook his head. “Not Sunday, that I know for sure.”
“How so?”
“Closed on Sundays.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Commissioner
“S tand aside,” she said to the guards blocking the commissioner’s door. Serafina felt her cheeks flush.
In acknowledgement, the guards clicked their heels, halberds at the ready. They didn’t move away from the door. She gazed up at the frescoed angels banding the ceiling, looked down at a pile of dust sitting in the near corner.
The commissioner’s secretary waddled up. “You can’t go in there, not without an appointment. Have a seat in the waiting room and I’ll tell him you—”
The door opened and the commissioner stood before her. “That’ll do, Tacelli. Next time she comes here to see me, usher Donna Fina in right away.”
“But if you’re in a meeting?”
“Use your head, man!” He brushed the sleeves of his frock coat as he led Serafina into his office.
After she praised the view of the piazza from his windows, Serafina began. “Commissioner, I—”
“Took you a day to capture Ugo’s killer. Congratulations on a fine piece of work.”
“Was it? I’m not so sure.”
He straightened his sash and said nothing.
“I believe Abatti may have been hired to kill Ugo. I believe he was hired by Ugo’s brother, the shoemaker.” She shared the details of her interview with Rodolfo, her impressions of his financial straits, and his abstraction. She told him about the gold found in Ugo’s home. “Abatti said he acted alone, that he met Ugo in Boffo’s and poisoned his wine. That would have been this past Sunday. I’ve just checked with Boffo: he is closed on Sundays.”
The commissioner furrowed his brows. “You took Abatti’s confession?”
“No, Colonna did after I left the building last night.”
“I see.” The commissioner gave her a lopsided smile. “But you’ve read it for yourself?”
“Yes,” she lied and continued, hoping he wouldn’t notice the burning crimson of her cheeks. “I believe the shoemaker himself poisoned Ugo’s wine to soften his brother for the kill.” She told him about finding a glass and napkin in Ugo’s kitchen, both tainted with arsenic.
He scribbled something on a
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