Excerpt from Death In Bagheria, publishing soon
Saturday, March 26, 1870
The image of her mother invaded Serafina’s thoughts, and she wondered why the ghost of Maddalena chose such an inappropriate moment to appear. She was contrary, Serafina’s mother, and not at all helpful—not in life, not in death—not giving Serafina so much as a hint during this case. That old ghost could have told her the name of the mastermind, could have stopped the conspirators in their tracks. But no, she was having none of it, probably lolling about on some fat cloud, wrinkling her nose and agreeing with the madam. After all, it was Carmela they were talking about, Carmela the first-born granddaughter, perfect in the eyes of Maddalena. Lost in the past, Serafina pictured her mother doting on Carmela, singing her perfection, Carmela with skin as soft as spring blossoms and as clear as goat’s milk. Serafina blinked hard. She never could do anything right as far as her mother was concerned. True, tonight she’d failed to see Carmela’s disappointment—her brains and charm and youth—but she didn’t have time for all this right now, she must concentrate on capturing the killers.
Photo: Hotel San Domenico, Taormina. Credit: gnuckx (Flickr), Creative Commons