Elizabeth Street - Laurie Fabiano [137]
Giovanna said nothing. She waited for her nephew to speak.
“I followed him.”
“I told you not to do that.”
“You told me many things, Zia. I listened to most.”
Giovanna sighed. Zia. Only Aunt. There was no one to call her “Mamma.” Even her stepchildren called her Zia. She looked at Domenico with the loss that she felt and said, “You could have been killed.”
“Zia, that man was too scared to wipe his ass, let alone kill someone! Where did you learn to talk like that? I was frightened listening to you!”
Giovanna smiled but turned serious again. “Where did he go, Domenico?”
“I’m a failure as a detective.” Domenico’s voice cracked. “I was so close to him leading me right to her. Then I lost him. I lost him, Zia.”
“They are experienced in knowing how not to be followed. You can’t blame yourself.”
Although his aunt’s words were kind, Domenico heard the disappointment in her voice. “Zia, I only know that he went to Brooklyn. Where in Brooklyn, I don’t know, because that’s where I lost him.”
“That’s more than we knew yesterday.”
Domenico’s head was bowed dejectedly. He looked like a little boy.
“Did he see you?” asked Giovanna gently.
“No, I don’t think so. And I don’t think he knew someone was following him, which makes my losing him all the worse.”
“No, Domenico, we did good today. Angelina is safer tonight, I think.”
After a few moments of silence, Giovanna asked, “Domenico, how did the schifoso get into the vestry? Did he jimmy the lock?”
“No, it was open.”
“Open? Who was the last usher out? Describe him.”
“Thick, shiny black hair. The fish seller.”
“Molfetti?”
“I think that’s his name.”
THIRTY-NINE
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1909
Triumphantly, Giovanna noticed that there were no drawings of dripping knives or misshapen guns on the letter.
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1909
How do I know my daughter is alive? Ask her what she did on her birthday and give me the answer. If you give me this word, I will give you more money.
Giovanna took out the poison tincture and with an eyedropper carefully edged the paper and the envelope with little drops. Hours later when it was dry, she put on her gloves and, wrapping herself in her shawls, headed toward Saint Anthony’s church.
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30, 1909
Molfetti’s fish store was crowded. Jostling her way to the front, Giovanna’s eyes fixed on Molfetti’s hands filleting a flounder. They looked red.
“Signora, what are you doing down here?” asked a woman next to her.
Giovanna had delivered the woman’s baby but couldn’t remember her name. It amazed her that if you went an extra few blocks in the neighborhood to buy something, people noticed.
“It’s my stepson’s birthday. I wanted to get a nice piece of fish.”
“He does have good fish,” agreed the woman, sounding privileged that this was her local fish store.
As if to explain the redness, Molfetti thrust his hands into a tub of ice water and, on closer inspection, Giovanna could see there was no rash.
“Good luck to you, signora,” said the woman upon leaving.
“Good luck?” replied Giovanna, preoccupied.
“Sì, with the baby!” nodded the woman, smiling at her stomach.
“Signore Molfetti,” greeted Giovanna at the counter.
“I’m sorry, signora, I seem to have forgotten your name,” replied Molfetti.
“Oh, you probably don’t know it,” said Giovanna cheerily. “I’ll have that piece of flounder,” she indicated, pointing.
As Molfetti wrapped the fish, she continued, “It’s just that I recognize you from church; you’re an usher, yes?”
“Yes, of course, that’s where I’ve seen you,” commented Molfetti, handing her change.
“Signore, you should make a point of locking the vestry door,” whispered Giovanna emphatically as she turned and left.
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1909
“Can I dress up tonight?” asked Mary.
Giovanna was making the morning espresso. “We’ll see.”
“Sometimes they give you a penny instead of a treat.”
“Then I suppose your father would consider it work.” The priest’s sermon came to mind. “And God will forgive us.”
Mary had wanted to be an Indian during the Hudson-Fulton