to lose my son.”
“Why didn’t you just tell your mother the truth?” Frank asked reasonably.
Joe gaped at him, horrified. “I committed adultery, got another woman with child, and tricked my brother into marrying her. She would kill me!”
Frank didn’t know whether he was exaggerating or not.
Knowing Patrizia Ruocco, anything was possible, though.
“So you killed Nainsi to save yourself.”
“No! I didn’t kill her! I told you that before. I was with Antonio and Ugo that night!”
“But Nainsi was still alive when you and Antonio came home.”
“How do you know that?” Joe asked in surprise.
“Because you made too much noise when you came in, and she shouted at you to be quiet.”
Joe frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
“Oh, I think you do, Joe. I think that reminded you she was lying in the room across the hall, and you went over there, and you put a pillow over her face, and you held it there while she struggled and fought, and you kept holding it there until she stopped fighting and stopped breathing and she was dead.”
Joe just stared at him, completely baffled. “But I didn’t even go upstairs that night.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t go upstairs that night?”
“I was drunk. Antonio was drunk. I got him as far as the second floor parlor sofa, and I left him there. He didn’t want to sleep in the bed with Nainsi, and I didn’t want to go upstairs where she was either, so I went into Lorenzo’s room and got in bed with him.”
“You didn’t go upstairs to the third floor at all that night?” Frank asked with a frown.
“No, Lorenzo will tell you. He pushed me out of bed and made me sleep on the floor. He said I stunk of whisky.”
Frank clearly remembered Maria’s account. She’d said Nainsi was still alive when Joe got home, because she’d called out when he woke her up by making noise. She’d said Joe had slept beside her the rest of the night. Frank thought she’d been giving Joe an alibi.
But Joe didn’t need one.
*
*
*
Sarah had finished her explanations and answered all of Maria’s questions. As eager as she was to escape the Ruocco house, she hated leaving Maria alone. The poor woman seemed as fragile as glass.
“You have to promise to take care of yourself, Maria,”
Sarah said.
“I will,” Maria replied, but the promise held no conviction.
“I mean it. Remember what I said about you getting sick. You have to eat three good meals a day and sleep as much as you can.”
“I will be fine. The baby will be fine,” Maria said, although her words sounded more like a plea than an assurance.
Sarah sighed in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, she began to close up her medical bag. Malloy should know what she’d learned about Lorenzo not going to the dance houses and about his true feelings for Maria. She wasn’t sure of the significance, but she knew he needed all the information about the family that he could get. If he’d decided Lorenzo wasn’t the killer—and he must have if he’d let Lorenzo go—then who else was left?
“The baby should sleep for a while,” Sarah said when she was ready to leave, “because of the paregoric.”
“But I’ll wake him if he sleeps too long, like you said,”
she promised earnestly.
Sarah patted her shoulder. “I know you’ll take good care of him, Maria. Have you decided on a name for him yet?”
she asked in an effort to be more positive.
Maria smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Yes,” she said. “I am going to name him Joseph.”
“Joseph,” Sarah echoed uncertainly. “After . . . after Jesus’ father,” she tried.
“The Virgin Mother’s husband,” Maria corrected her.
“No, that is not why.”
Maria was still smiling, her face twisted into a expression that made Sarah’s skin crawl. She’d seen that smile on her face before, but when? Then she remembered. It was the last time they’d been talking about a name for the baby. What had she said then? Sarah couldn’t remember.
“After your husband then?” Sarah guessed.
“Yes, but not Giuseppe. The baby is American. He needs an American name.”
Sarah thought Maria was asking for trouble. “Will Mrs.
Ruocco let you name the baby after Joe?”
“She has nothing to say about it. He is my baby.”
Sarah was sure Mrs. Ruocco would have plenty to say about it, but she decided not to mention that to Maria. In fact, she decided not to say anything else of importance to Maria at all. She looked so odd, and her eyes suddenly seemed over-bright. Just like they had before, the last time she’d been asking about the baby’s name. What had Maria said then?
Something about the baby’s father.
That she should name the baby after his father!
Sarah’s blood seemed to stop in her veins. But Joe couldn’t be the baby’s father, could he?
“Mrs. Brandt, why are you looking at me like that?”
Maria asked, although she didn’t seem too concerned.
If Joe was the baby’s father, how would Maria know?
Maybe Nainsi had told her, or maybe Joe had confessed. It didn’t really matter, but that’s why she was going to name the baby after him, as some sort of revenge. “I just . . . I should be going now. I’ve probably over-stayed my welcome.” She needed to tell Malloy about Joe right away.
“I’m going to have the priest baptize him,” Maria was saying.
“I’m sure that will be very nice,” Sarah said inanely, moving toward the doorway. If Joe was the baby’s father, he had an excellent reason for wanting Nainsi dead. “I really should be going. You know what to do for the baby. Just follow my instructions.”
“Do you think Joe should be his godfather?” Maria asked, following her.
Out in the hallway, Sarah tried to decide which route to take. If she went down the inside stairs, she might meet the other Ruoccos. The outside stairs would be quicker, and she could escape unnoticed.
“I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I think,” Sarah said, forcing a polite smile. “That’s something the family will have to decide.”
“No, I am the one to decide, Mrs. Brandt,” Maria said in a tone Sarah had never heard her use before. “No one will tell me what to do with my baby.”
Sarah looked at her in surprise. Her dark eyes fairly glittered, and Sarah realized she’d been right to be worried about her. She looked as if the bonds holding her tethered to reality were quickly fraying. “Of course not,” Sarah assured her quickly. “You were very generous to insist on keeping him, and you have every right to make these decisions.”
“No one will tell me what to do with my baby,” Maria repeated meaningfully. “Not even you.”
Now Sarah began to feel alarm. If Maria decided to ignore her instructions . . . “I’m only trying to help you, Maria, but if you don’t trust my advice, please consult another nurse or a doctor. I won’t be offended.”
“I won’t give him to another woman,” she said. “I’m his mother now.”
For a moment, Sarah didn’t know what she was talking about, and then she recalled Maria’s objection to finding a wet nurse. “I never meant you should give him to another woman,” Sarah assured her. “I was just—” She caught herself. Maria wasn’t thinking rationally, so reasoning with her was a waste of time. “I know you’ll do what’s best for him,”
