Read Online 5 - Her Deadly Mischief by Beverle Graves Myers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beverle Graves Myers
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cloak with braided frogging made a lumpy pyramid in the middle of the space. I bent to retrieve it. Shaking out its heavy folds, I saw it was fashioned for a man of prodigious size. Had this garment swaddled the unconscious dwarf? If so, it was a miracle Pamarino hadn’t suffocated.
I hung the cloak on an empty hook and stepped back. Cocking my head, I tried to imagine the murderous figure I’d observed hoisting Pamarino’s dead weight onto the hook and tucking the thick fabric around his slack body. Then I put myself in the dwarf’s place. How frightening to be manhandled like a rag doll, to awaken in darkness, helpless, barely able to catch a breath of air.
I was deep in contemplation when a hand on my shoulder made me jerk around with a gasp.
“ Scusi , Signor Amato,” said a workman clasping a push broom, a lanky old fellow with untidy white hair that flopped over shaggy eyebrows. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, grazie . I merely wanted to see where Messer Grande’s men found that poor little man.”
The workman folded his hands and balanced his chin on the broom handle. “That ugly little imp? He was hanging right there. A pitiful sight as I ever did see.” The man indicated a hook on the back wall.
“You were here? I thought Messer Grande had sent the theater staff home.”
“Not me.” He made a fist and thumped his chest. “First to arrive, last to leave, that’s me. I clean my way out the door after everyone else has left their dirty footprints.”
Of course. How easy it was to forget the people that worked in obscurity to make our daily lives go more smoothly.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
After a flicker of surprise, he said, “I’m called Biagio. Biagio Zipoli.”
“Well, Biagio, can you tell me how the constables happened to find the dwarf?”
He stood a little taller. “I led them to him. I was sweeping the corridor when I heard a noise coming from in here. I almost passed right by. Thought it might be a footman amusing himself with someone’s maid. You can’t imagine what people get up to around here.”
Given the backstage antics I’d witnessed, I could well imagine, but I merely nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“At first, it was just knocking and thumping, but when I heard screams, I pushed the door open. Saw something thrashing under that cloak there. Nearly pissed my breeches when I uncovered the little demon. He begged me to help him down, but I didn’t dare touch him.”
“Why not? He’s only a small man. His name is Pamarino.”
Biagio shook his head solemnly. “The good Lord made men, but he never made anything like that. That imp is Old Scratch’s work.” To reinforce his point, Biagio made the sign of the cross, then kissed his fingers.
It was no use trying to change Biagio’s mind. I couldn’t explain why Pamarino was made as he was, but I was certain Satan had no more to do with him than the runt in a litter of puppies. I gestured toward the brass hooks. “How was he hung up?”
Biagio let the broom handle fall against his shoulder. He pressed his wrists together, then shot his arms above his head. “He was tied like so. Dangling, hollering with all his might, beating his boot heels against the wall. You can still see the marks.”
Indeed, black half moons dotted the pale plaster. “You called for the law?”
“ Si , Signore. They cut him down.”
“What was he restrained with?”
My informant scratched his head and poked his broom at the detritus that had collected in the corners of the cloakroom. A wicker hamper had overturned to spill its contents of muffs and scarves. “Some sort of cords. Not too heavy. But I don’t see them here. I think the constables took them away.”
Good for them, I thought. Another sign that this new Messer Grande had a head for investigation.
Biagio was still wielding his broom. “Hello, what’s this?” He bent to retrieve two pieces of polished wood that had been stacked against
I hung the cloak on an empty hook and stepped back. Cocking my head, I tried to imagine the murderous figure I’d observed hoisting Pamarino’s dead weight onto the hook and tucking the thick fabric around his slack body. Then I put myself in the dwarf’s place. How frightening to be manhandled like a rag doll, to awaken in darkness, helpless, barely able to catch a breath of air.
I was deep in contemplation when a hand on my shoulder made me jerk around with a gasp.
“ Scusi , Signor Amato,” said a workman clasping a push broom, a lanky old fellow with untidy white hair that flopped over shaggy eyebrows. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, grazie . I merely wanted to see where Messer Grande’s men found that poor little man.”
The workman folded his hands and balanced his chin on the broom handle. “That ugly little imp? He was hanging right there. A pitiful sight as I ever did see.” The man indicated a hook on the back wall.
“You were here? I thought Messer Grande had sent the theater staff home.”
“Not me.” He made a fist and thumped his chest. “First to arrive, last to leave, that’s me. I clean my way out the door after everyone else has left their dirty footprints.”
Of course. How easy it was to forget the people that worked in obscurity to make our daily lives go more smoothly.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
After a flicker of surprise, he said, “I’m called Biagio. Biagio Zipoli.”
“Well, Biagio, can you tell me how the constables happened to find the dwarf?”
He stood a little taller. “I led them to him. I was sweeping the corridor when I heard a noise coming from in here. I almost passed right by. Thought it might be a footman amusing himself with someone’s maid. You can’t imagine what people get up to around here.”
Given the backstage antics I’d witnessed, I could well imagine, but I merely nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“At first, it was just knocking and thumping, but when I heard screams, I pushed the door open. Saw something thrashing under that cloak there. Nearly pissed my breeches when I uncovered the little demon. He begged me to help him down, but I didn’t dare touch him.”
“Why not? He’s only a small man. His name is Pamarino.”
Biagio shook his head solemnly. “The good Lord made men, but he never made anything like that. That imp is Old Scratch’s work.” To reinforce his point, Biagio made the sign of the cross, then kissed his fingers.
It was no use trying to change Biagio’s mind. I couldn’t explain why Pamarino was made as he was, but I was certain Satan had no more to do with him than the runt in a litter of puppies. I gestured toward the brass hooks. “How was he hung up?”
Biagio let the broom handle fall against his shoulder. He pressed his wrists together, then shot his arms above his head. “He was tied like so. Dangling, hollering with all his might, beating his boot heels against the wall. You can still see the marks.”
Indeed, black half moons dotted the pale plaster. “You called for the law?”
“ Si , Signore. They cut him down.”
“What was he restrained with?”
My informant scratched his head and poked his broom at the detritus that had collected in the corners of the cloakroom. A wicker hamper had overturned to spill its contents of muffs and scarves. “Some sort of cords. Not too heavy. But I don’t see them here. I think the constables took them away.”
Good for them, I thought. Another sign that this new Messer Grande had a head for investigation.
Biagio was still wielding his broom. “Hello, what’s this?” He bent to retrieve two pieces of polished wood that had been stacked against
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