The Lost Girl of Astor Street

by Stephanie Morrill

  Walter’s hold on me tightens as he turns to the detective. “Is it really necessary to question her?”

  Walter knows? But of course; the news is probably all over the neighborhood.

  Detective Cassano spares a glance for Walter. “Seeing as she’s Miss LeVine’s best friend, I assumed Miss Sail wouldn’t mind providing information.”

  “And you couldn’t do it in the privacy of her own home?” Walter’s words come through clenched teeth.

  Walter is making such a scene that most Presley’s girls have given up covertly observing and now openly stare. That stupid Mae Husboldt giggles behind her hand.

  I tug at Walter’s sleeve. “Calm down. I’m happy to answer his questions.”

  Detective Cassano angles his body away from Walter. “Miss Sail, back to what you were saying about Matthew. Were the two of them romantically involved?”

  I can feel Walter gaping at me. “Not exactly. Lydia liked him, but I think I was the only one who knew. Except last night . . .” My hands tremble, and I clasp them together. “When she left my house, she said she was going to tell Matthew how she felt. I think she was hoping for a date. She said she would call me to tell me how it went, but she never did.”

  The detective glances at me, his eyes perceptive like a bird of prey, but also somehow compassionate. “Had you noticed, or had she mentioned, anyone suspicious hanging around?”

  “No.”

  “What about strange behavior from people she knew? Her mother? Father? Sisters?”

  “No. Everyone had been very normal.”

  He seems to hesitate a moment. “Even Matthew?”

  “Matthew seemed fine. He was quiet, but Matthew is always quiet.”

  Without looking up from the notes he’s taking, he asks, “Even with Lydia?”

  I attempt a calming breath, but the air shakes as it comes in and out. “Whenever I was around them, yes.”

  Detective Cassano holds my gaze as he reaches into his breast pocket. He hands me a thick, cream-colored card. “Here’s the number at the station. If you think of anything else we should know, please call and have them put you through to Detective O’Malley or myself.”

  It isn’t until I reach for the card that I realize my hand still trembles. Detective Cassano presses the card into my palm, and then grasps my hand, steadying it. “We’re going to do everything we can to get your friend back, Miss Sail. I know it’s hard, but try not to worry. We take every case seriously, but as I said, many turn into nothing.”

  The world around him—my classmates, the flowering trees, the bright blue sky—is framed in black. I remind myself to take a breath. “Thank you, detective.”

  He tips his hat at me and jogs up the stairs to the front door.

  Walter’s fingertips press into my shoulders. “C’mon, Piper. Let’s get you home.”

  My brain buzzes with an incoherent mess of thoughts—Lydia’s smile as she waved farewell to me yesterday, the dreamy look on her face as she considered purchasing cufflinks for Matthew, the way she asked to have my support.

  If he asked me to marry him today, I’d have no hesitation saying yes. Her words keep echoing in my head.

  Walter tucks me inside Father’s Chrysler. I gaze up the emerald lawn of Presley’s, across which Jeremiah guides Emma to his car. He must see me looking, because he offers a small wave. I wave back.

  “I hate that I was late.” Walter yanks his door closed. “Mrs. Lincoln caught me as I was walking out to the car, and she wanted to talk all about Lydia. You know how she is.” He turns to face me. “How are you? Did that detective scare you?”

  I take a deep breath. Detective Cassano’s card is still grasped in my hand, and I stare at it. “I’m alarmed, of course. But he can’t help that.”

  “He shouldn’t have talked to you at school. He should have waited until you were home.”

  “I think he just happened to see me there. They were there for the headmistress, not me.”

  “Still.” Walter faces forward and jabs the shifter into gear. “It’s inconsiderate.”

  “Have they spoken to Matthew yet? Is he home?”

  “I don’t know.” Walter gives me a sidelong glance as he edges the car into traffic. “So Lydia and Matthew?”

  “Kind of. I mean, that’s what she wanted, and I never could talk her out of it. She wouldn’t listen to me. And now this.”

  Whatever this is.

  “Matthew is a good man. He wouldn’t have run off with her.” Then a moment later, “I don’t think so, anyway.”

  But an even worse thought percolates within me. If she didn’t run off with Matthew . . . where is she?

  I shake the dark thought away. There’s no reason to think along those lines. Not yet. “Let’s stop at the LeVines’. I want to see how I can help.”

  I want to look in her armoire and see that clothes are missing. That Persuasion is no longer on her bedside table. And I want to see that she’s left my coat—which she would never be careless enough to take with her—folded neatly on her bed with a note tucked in the pocket. Next time I see you, I’ll be Matthew’s wife! it might read.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Piper. The police were there a lot of the day, the street has been crawling with reporters, and the LeVines are likely exhausted. Why don’t you telephone them instead?”

  “I don’t want to telephone them.” The pitch of my voice climbs higher with each word. “I want to go there and figure out what’s going on.”

  “It will all be okay, Pippy.” Walter reaches for my hand and crushes it in his. “It really will.”

  I avert my gaze out the window, to the high rises of Lake Shore Drive that Matthew drove me by just the day before. I try to believe Walter, but fear clogs my throat. I’m not going to cry. Not when there are dozens of possibilities as to where Lydia could be right now.

  I wipe away an insistent tear.

  Okay, so I might cry a little, but I’m not going to fall apart. I clamp my teeth over my trembling lower lip. It’s going to be okay. That’s what Walter said, anyway.

  But I find I can’t even allow myself to trust Walter.

  Joyce opens the front door as I dash up the patio steps. She folds her arms around me, and I stand stiff in her embrace, unable to lean in. The rough fabric of her work dress rubs against my cheek, and I soak in the lavender and lye scents that cling to her.

  “I know, honey,” she says in my ear.

  Father, Jane, and Nick sit in the living room wearing somber faces. Nick’s eyes are red and puffy.

  “Oh, Piper, you poor darling.” Jane rushes to me, arms outstretched. The scalloped tiers of her velvet afternoon dress sway, and her floral scent clouds my head as she cups my face in her hands. “How are you, dear?”

  Her hazel eyes stare into mine with a pity that pokes to life a fire in my belly.

  “I’m fine.” The words are louder, sharper than I anticipate. “We don’t know anything yet, so there’s no reason to not be fine.”

  Jane’s fingers stiffen against my skin, but if she’s hurt, she covers it with a smile. “Yes, that’s right. It’s frightening, of course, but it’s premature to be too alarmed.”

  Father fits his arm around my shoulders, causing Jane’s hands to fall away. Her fussy scent is replaced by that of pipe smoke. “The police will want to talk to you, dear—”

  “They already have.” Walter’s gruff voice breaks into the conversation. “I got there late, and one of the detectives was grilling her.”

  “He was only asking questions.” I look up to Father. “Have you spoken to the LeVines?”

  He nods. “I left a message with their housekeeper, conveying our sympathies and our willingness to help however we can.”

  “I’d like to go over there—”

  “Absolutely not, Piper. We’re not going to intrude on them during this difficult time.”

  “Your father is right.” Jane loops her bejeweled arm through Father’s. “We want you right here, where we
can be sure you’re safe.”

  “I’ll bring Walter with me. It’s three houses away.”

  “It doesn’t even take that much sometimes.” Nick’s raw voice enters the conversation. “I read this case in class last week where—”

  “Son.” Father shakes his head. “Not now.”

  Nick paces to the couch and perches on the edge. Then he stands, mutters something that involves the word “smoke,” and heads out back.

  Father squeezes my shoulders. “Your heart is in the right place, Piper, and there’ll be a time to pay a visit. I just don’t think it’s today.”

  “Excuse me.” Joyce’s low voice cuts into the conversation. “But the LeVines telephoned earlier, asking that Piper please come over when she returned from school.”

  I feel everyone’s gaze on me as I look up at Father. He works his lower lip back and forth and his blue eyes are unfocused, two clear signs that he’s thinking this over. His mind is so creative in its logic, that even now when I have a clear request from the LeVines, I find myself bracing for Father to come at this from an angle I can’t anticipate, to still find a way to keep me home.

  But all he says is, “Take Walter with you.”

  With its limestone bricks, tall bay windows, and the fleurs-de-lis carved in the arch over the door, the LeVines’ house creates a grander impression than ours. It’s the type of place where even the details are maintained—bushes pruned into shape, toys tucked away, books dusted and spines aligned on shelves.

  Tabitha answers my knock with downcast eyes and no smile.

  “I’ll wait out here for you,” Walter says, and I don’t bother to argue.

  Tabitha takes my hat and handbag. “They’re in the living room.”

  The air is too warm and absent of the lemony, clean smell I associate with the LeVines. I never knew that fear had a feel, but I know now that Tabitha has closed the door. Fear is sticky. Suffocating.

  Dr. and Mrs. LeVine are in their respective chairs, though they’ve been dragged from the front window to the phone table, which sits between them. Dr. LeVine has a collection of papers in his lap, and Mrs. LeVine clutches a hankie, which she twists this way and that. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen her come to sitting idle.

  When Mrs. LeVine sees me, she rises to her feet, wraps her arms around me in a tight hug, and weeps. Mrs. LeVine, who rarely shows emotion during Lydia’s seizures. Who thinks I’m a bad influence on her daughters. Who sometimes winces—albeit discreetly—when she comes home and finds I’m at the house.

  I pat her back with several stiff flicks of my wrist. “I came as soon as I could. Thank you for phoning.”

  “We’re so glad to see you, Piper.” Dr. LeVine’s voice is weary.

  Mrs. LeVine releases me and presses her handkerchief to her eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve soaked your shoulder.”

  Dear. “There’s no reason to apologize. It’s just a uniform.”

  “I couldn’t help thinking that at this time of day, Lydia would be coming home in her Presley’s uniform . . .” Her chin trembles as her sentence fades away.

  Blast my insensitivity. Why didn’t I think to change before rushing over here? Lydia certainly would have, had things been reversed.

  Tears prick my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “Have the police spoken to you yet?” Dr. LeVine’s words are brusque as he reaches for his pipe.

  “Yes.” I settle onto the edge of the couch and fold my hands in my lap. “Two detectives were at school to speak with Headmistress Robinson. One of them recognized me somehow. I don’t think I was very much help.”

  Mrs. LeVine dabs at her eyes as she takes her seat again. “So Lydia hadn’t spoken to you about leaving?”

  “No, ma’am. Well, except for Minnesota.”

  “But she didn’t say she wanted to run away or anything?”

  Saying she would accept a marriage proposal isn’t the same thing, right?

  I shake my head.

  Dr. LeVine packs tobacco into his pipe. “It’s not like our Lydia to do something rash like run away, all because Edna and I made a decision she didn’t like. But I find myself hoping all the same. The alternatives . . .”

  A sob bursts from Mrs. LeVine. “I’ll go ask Tabitha to put on some coffee.” She bustles from the room with the handkerchief pressed to her mouth, muffling the noise.

  When I catch Dr. LeVine subtly wiping away a tear, my own eyes pool.

  He leans to hand me a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and then settles into his wingback chair to smoke. “We were confining her to the house until our appointment at the Mayo Clinic.” His voice is graveled. “She was angry, as I’m sure you already know, Piper. She wanted to tell you and to let the Barrow family know she could no longer watch Cole for them. Considering what she’s gone through these last six months, it seemed only fair. And so harmless . . .”

  I’ve wadded my uniform skirt into my fists. I release it. Smooth it. “You can’t blame yourself, Dr. LeVine.”

  “When we spoke to the Barrows, they said Lydia never arrived.” Emotion catches in Dr. LeVine’s voice. He covers his mouth with one of his large, life-saving hands. “I can’t bear to think she might have been taken.” The vulnerability of him, of the stoic doctor who served in the Great War, takes away my breath. “But I also can’t think of why my Lydia might trick us.”

  “Her room has been searched, I assume? Which clothes are missing? Did she leave a letter?”

  When Dr. LeVine shakes his head, it feels as if another brick crumbles from my certainty that this is nothing to panic about. “Everything is exactly in its place.”

  “And . . . and no one else is missing?” There’s a wobble in my voice.

  Dr. LeVine’s gaze sharpens to a point. “Who else would you expect to be missing?”

  I swallow hard. “I only wondered if she went with a friend. If one of the other ladies of Lydia’s acquaintance is gone too.”

  “No. You . . .” He hesitates. “You’re Lydia’s closest friend. We can’t imagine her running off with anyone else.”

  “Had the staff observed anything different about Lydia?” My heart beats so loud in my chest, I wonder if Dr. LeVine can hear. “I assume you’ve talked to Matthew, asked if he overheard anything she might have said in the car?”

  “We did. Matthew said there was no indication that she was planning to run away.”

  I can’t seem to take a deep breath. Lydia is gone. But Matthew is not.

  “Matthew is taking this very hard, actually. He feels responsible, like he should have driven her around the block. And while, of course, I wish we had asked Matthew to drive her . . .” Dr. LeVine’s eyes go misty again. He straightens and taps the ash from his pipe.

  “There has to be someone who saw her.” The words seem to tumble out of me. “Have we walked the neighborhood? Interviewed neighbors to see who saw what? I could talk to—”

  “Piper.” Dr. LeVine’s stern tone matches his gaze. “The police are handling this.”

  “I’m sure they are. But I know Lydia and the police don’t, so I might see things that they wouldn’t—”

  “No. It’s a bad idea for you to get yourself tangled up in this. Especially when we don’t know . . .” His voice breaks. “When we don’t know what happened to her.”

  Tears clog my throat. I swallow them and do my best to keep my voice level. “I understand your concern, Dr. LeVine, and I appreciate it. But time is critical, and don’t you think we need everyone possible looking for her—”

  “I don’t think little girls need to be out there poking around, no. I know you’ve been raised in a different kind of family, Piper, but this is a job for men. You would only get in the way. We don’t need detectives out there looking for you as well.” He stands. “If you’ll excuse us, we have matters to attend to.”

  My knees tremble as I stand. “Please tell Mrs. LeVine I said farewell.”

  His nod is curt. I collect my belongings in the entrywa
y and walk out the front door into the peony-scented afternoon. Only then, when I can breathe easier, do I realize how life-sucking the fear within their home had been.

  “I’m walking around back to have a word with Matthew. You don’t have to come.”

  Walter glowers beneath the brim of his flat cap. “You really think I’m going to let you go anywhere alone?”

  I study Walter. He’s already puffed himself up to his full height and breadth. He morphs into big brother mode faster than the two who are my brothers by blood. “But I don’t know how keen he’ll be on talking if you’re with me.”

  Walter crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to find out, because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Fine.” I thunder down the stairs. The LeVines’ house is too close to the neighbors’ to get to the alley—we’ll have to go around the corner.

  “Look, Piper.” Walter takes hold of my arm as we walk. “I’ll take you to see Matthew, but after this, you need to just stay out of the way and let the detectives handle things.”

  My jaw tightens.

  “Piper.” Walter’s tone is somber. “I want to know you’re safe.”

  “And I want to know Lydia is safe.”

  Matthew is where I hoped we’d find him, in the company of only the Deusenberg and a bucket of soapy water. He pauses his work as we approach, but he doesn’t look wary or embarrassed or anything useful. He looks like stoic Matthew. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up on his tanned forearms, and he squints in the afternoon sunlight.

  “What can I do for you, Miss Sail?”

  The questions that have spun in my mind since Detective Cassano told me Lydia had been reported missing—is she with Matthew? Did she run off with him?—tangle in my mouth. As I look at him, his round face, his even gaze, the slight creases fanning from the corners of his eyes, new questions form. How old is Matthew? And where is he from? Besides being quiet and polite, what do we really know about him?

  “You’ve come to ask me about Miss LeVine.” His words are matter-of-fact.

  “Yes.” I force myself to say it louder. “Yes.”