No More Brothers (A Serafina Florio Mystery) by Susan Russo Anderson Read Free Book Online

him. So I decide to take my chance. But instead of walking in—’cause I know Ugo, he don’t like me—I snuck, quiet like, until I’m about up to the guard shack. Just as I’m about to pass it, I see him turn his back, hunker down on his knees. He’s got his pistol in his hand and what does he do? He turns his face away from his body, contorted like, a bandana between his teeth—to stop his own screams, the lousy bugger. He looks away and shoots himself in the foot. BAM! I see him writhing on the ground, his eyes, wild and he’s whimpering like a woman.”
    Abatti wiped his mouth and adjusted himself. “Now there’s no guard. Makes it easy for me to walk inside as if it were noon. But guess what, I’m not the only one waiting to sneak in. Those cockroach spies of King Bumma must have slipped in, too.” He shook his head. “Went right past him.”
    “So instead of surprising the Bourbons,” Carlo said, “eight-hundred Redshirts died the next day. The Battle of Milazzo was a slaughter. Oh, yes, Garibaldi won, but at a great price.”
    “You know about the battle?”
    “Who doesn’t?”
    “My two brothers died because of that cur. And Palermo pinned on him the Marsala? Should die eight hundred deaths.”
    Abatti stopped. His shoulders sagged.
    Serafina motioned for Carlo to wait.
    The soldier looked around, as if seeing his surroundings in a new light. “Deep shadows now. I’ll take you to your cart.”
    Serafina and Carlo kept a few paces behind the soldier. She glanced at the stiletto gleaming from the side of his belt. Somewhere in a far tree, a bird called to its mate. She listened to it as their guide crushed leaves and branches ahead. “If Abatti didn’t kill Ugo, he knows who did,” she whispered. “We must take him in for questioning. He won’t come willingly, but I’ve got a plan. Make no move until I tell you.”
    “Are you crazy? He’s armed. If he’s killed before, he’ll kill us in a second, quicker than you can blink.”
    “Nonsense. You misjudge Abatti.”
    “I forgot. You know him from someplace.”
    “Trust your mother just this once.”
    Carlo threw up his hands.
    When their cart came into view, Abatti lifted his arm in farewell. His rings caught the late afternoon light.
    Suddenly Serafina doubled over, holding her stomach. “Oh
Madonna
, the pain. Help!”
    The soldier ran to her side and bent to help.
    Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she began a wobbly rise.
    Blurred, fast movement.
    Her knee shot up, planted a hard jab to his groin.
    Hunching over, he screamed.
    “Hit him with your club.”
    One blow to the back of the head and Abatti slumped to the ground.
    While Carlo tied his feet and hands with the rope, Serafina slipped the stiletto out of his belt and picked up his rifle. Together they lifted him into the cart and covered him with the blanket.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Return
    “Y ou drive. I’ll watch Abatti,” Carlo said. “If he stirs, I’ll knock him out again. We’ve got to get him to the Municipal Building. I want to find out the poisoner’s identity.”
    “He’ll never tell.” Serafina snapped the reins and Largo moved. She heard the crunch of tall grass beneath the cart’s wheels, saw dust motes in streams of dying light. “What about Gloria?”
    “Who?”
    “Poor girl, forgotten already.”
    The cart’s wheels dug into the earth. Slowly they climbed onto the gravel of the main road.
    “Is Abatti left-handed?”
    “Not sure, but this afternoon he used his left hand to wave goodbye. His stiletto was wedged into the right side of his belt, I suppose, for a quick cross draw.”
    “He’s left-handed. And last night when you met him in the piazza?”
    Hiding her surprise, she rubbed her forehead. “Carlo, I—”
    “I saw you with someone at the fountain when I was coming home from Gloria’s. Didn’t know it was Abatti. No need to explain.”
    “But I want to. I’d had…a disturbing afternoon. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk,