The Lost Girl of Astor Street

by Stephanie Morrill

  The dog’s head cocks to the right, and his tail flaps back and forth.

  Mariano laughs. “Piper, I think you’ve got a fan.”

  “I don’t want a fan. I don’t like dogs.” I tuck myself behind Mariano as the dog sniffs me. “Especially big dogs.”

  “Well, this one sure likes you.” Mariano holds out his hand, but the dog flinches away, drawing his tail up between his legs as he cowers. “He’s harmless, poor thing.”

  Mariano crouches, leaving me exposed, and holds out his hand. The dog sniffs it and whimpers. “My mother had a cocker spaniel.” He’s looking at the dog, but speaking to me. “And after she died, the dog was never quite the same. She took to sleeping in the closet, on Mama’s house slippers. Piper, just hold your hand out. He won’t hurt you.”

  “No, thanks. He attacked me no more than an hour ago.”

  I feel Mariano’s chuckle through his suit coat. “He hardly attacked you. He’s hungry.” Mariano takes my hand in his and tugs me down beside him.

  He’s holding my hand. Detective Mariano Cassano—handsome and under the impression that I’m mushy inside—is holding my hand.

  “He’s a good one, Piper. He must have belonged to someone not too long ago. He still has a collar on. No tags, though.”

  The collar is loose around his scruffy fur. Our attention has set him trembling, and he stares up at us with woeful brown eyes.

  “What happened to your mother’s dog? Do you still have her?”

  “She died a few years ago.” Mariano’s voice droops under the weight of sadness. “Father cried. Which he hadn’t done since she passed. But it was like losing another piece of her, you know?”

  “It’s funny how it can hit you like that, missing someone all over again. Even years later.” I stand, knees popping. “About a year ago, I was over at the LeVines’. Sarah, one of Lydia’s little sisters, broke a lamp when she was playing. Mrs. LeVine was so furious, going on and on about how much it cost.” Tears clog my throat. “My mother never cared a whit about anything like that. It’s my father who loves the grandeur. The right address, the right furniture, the right parties.”

  Mariano stands too. “I imagine you’re a lot like your mother.”

  “I hope so.”

  He’s still holding my hand. “We should get you back to school.”

  I like him. Not because of his handsome face, but his heart. The kind way he’s looking at me now. His soft Italian accent when he says mama. His concern over Lydia. The freedom I feel around him to be myself.

  Something wet grazes my knee, and I jump away when I see it’s the dog, sniffing me.

  Mariano laughs. He holds out his hand once more to the dog, but it flinches away. “I don’t know which of you is more nervous.”

  For the first time, I look at a dog and feel something besides nerves flare to life within me. He seems to desperately want our attention, and yet is too fearful to accept any affection. “Poor boy. Someone must have been cruel to him.” I chew on my lower lip. “We can’t just leave him . . . can we?”

  Mariano shrugs. “I can’t have a dog in my apartment. Nor will he let us touch him.”

  “True.” I offer my trembling hand, but Mariano’s right that I don’t need to be nervous. The dog only sniffs it before ducking his head. “I guess we’ll have to leave him.”

  Mariano presses his hand against my back and urges me down the sidewalk. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to school. I need to call into the office, but I think there’s a public telephone by the train station.”

  As we put space between us and Johnny’s Lunchroom, my heart sags. “I really thought we might find her.”

  Mariano sighs. “I know you did. And maybe we got closer than we realize today. Sometimes little things that seem inconsequential add up.” His voice darkens as he adds, “I can’t believe you actually left your phone number for that despicable Johnny Walker.”

  I shiver as I think of how Johnny winked at me when I scribbled my telephone number on the back of my receipt. “What else should I have done? He may have some shady deals going, but if he can help get Lydia back, it’s worth it.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how he viewed it. I think he sees it as an excuse to call up a pretty girl.”

  My cheeks flush at the compliment, regardless of the gruff manner with which it was delivered. Nails click along the sidewalk behind us. I glance over my shoulder and find the dog trotting several feet back. “We have a shadow.”

  Mariano glances over his shoulder. “Well, how about that.”

  When we stop walking, the dog stops too. His long tail makes a tentative brushing sound against the sidewalk. Shh, shh, shh.

  “Would they let him on the train, do you think?”

  “Sure. If we had a length of rope or something to—” He watches as I dig in my bag. “Don’t tell me.”

  The dog’s tail wags faster when he sees me reaching into the sack.

  I pull the rope out triumphantly. “You ask, and I deliver.”

  “Do I even want to know why you thought you might need that?”

  “Probably not.”

  I crouch on the ground, and the dog sniffs at the rope and gives it a lick. “Does it taste like a chicken sandwich?” My fingers tremble as I slip the rope through the dog’s collar and tie a quick knot. With the way he cowers, it’s easy to not be debilitated by nerves.

  “If Johnny Walker calls, tell me you won’t go meet him without me. Promise me that.”

  I squint up at Mariano, who’s silhouetted by the midday sun. “I’m not stupid, Mariano.”

  “No, you’re not. Not at all. But you are desperate. I don’t care what he says on the phone when he calls, wait for me before you go anywhere with him. Okay?”

  “I won’t go anywhere without my bodyguard.” The teasing tone in my voice draws a smile—albeit a brief one—out of Mariano.

  I expect the dog to resist the rope, but instead he trots several feet away from us as we continue along the sidewalk.

  Pedestrians thicken as we draw closer to the train station, and the dog must decide I’m the lesser of two evils—in the end, he trots close enough that he actually brushes my leg. I try not to cringe away from him.

  Once we arrive, Mariano gestures to the office. “I’m going to borrow their phone. Can you and your furry sidekick wait out here for me?”

  Sidekick. Not a bad name for a dog. I point to the women’s restroom. “I’ll get changed and meet you here.”

  As I change back into my Presley’s skirt and blouse, I mull over how to explain my new “sidekick” to my family. Perhaps, because the weather was mild today, I ate my lunch outside and the dog found me?

  And how exactly am I going to conceal this guy at school? There will still be several hours left before dismissal. Perhaps I could stow him in the groundskeeper’s gardening shed? Lawrence has always been kind to me. In exchange for keeping quiet, I could promise him a bottle of Father’s good stuff—a swell upgrade from the bathtub gin Lawrence normally drinks.

  I finish changing before Mariano finishes his phone call, and I stand in the busy station with the dog. He’s so riddled with anxiety, he huddles against me. I should pat his head or something, but I can’t talk myself into it.

  Could I tell Walter the truth about today? It’s not like I ventured up here alone, so he can’t get too mad, right? Though he might be hurt that I didn’t tell him my plan this morning when he brought me to school . . .

  “What sounds better,” I ask Mariano when he emerges from the office. “That I ate lunch outside and found the dog there, or that—” Mariano’s gaze is serious, his mouth downturned. “What’s wrong? Was there bad news?”

  Is it Lydia? The question forms in my throat, but I can’t force it out.

  Mariano doesn’t even dig up a smile for me. “In my line of work, there’s always bad news.”

  He looks so defeated, I can’t seem to help myself. I put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Maria
no covers my hand with his own. Squeezes. “Let’s get you home, Piper.”

  And other than a few polite niceties, those are the last words he says before delivering me back to school.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Sidekick’s tail thumps on the grass when he sees me approaching.

  “Real gem of a dog ya got here,” Lawrence drawls in his Texas accent. “Needs a good cleanin’, though. And a good meal.”

  “Thanks for hiding him for me, Lawrence.” Sidekick flinches away from my hand, but he must catch a whiff of the roll I snitched from the school cafeteria for him, because he pushes his nose against my coat pocket. I tear off a bite and place it on my palm for him to lick off. “Good boy, Sidekick.”

  “It’s my weddin’ anniversary next week, and my wife’ll sure appreciate that bottle of wine.” Lawrence gestures toward the west side of campus. “Headmistress usually comes out this here door, so I’d suggest you take him over to the east and wait for your ride there.”

  “Thanks, Lawrence. I’ll deliver your payment tomorrow.”

  He tips his hat and smiles his gap-toothed grin. “Have a good evenin’, Miz Sail.”

  Sidekick and I sneak to the corner of Lake Shore and Irving, where Walter will make his turn toward Presley’s. We’ve only been waiting about a minute when Walter pulls up along the curb.

  I open the back door for Sidekick, who isn’t convinced that he should enter until I toss in a chunk of bread.

  I grin at Walter. “I’m bringing home a friend.”

  “Life is never dull with you. I thought you hated dogs.”

  “This one is kind of growing on me.” I slide into the passenger seat as Sidekick sets about pacing the backseat. “Will Joyce be mad?”

  Walter shrugs. “Dunno.” He grins when Sidekick’s head appears between us, his long, pink tongue hanging out one side of his mouth. “So was it give-away-stray-dogs day at Presley’s?”

  The story that I spent all afternoon cooking up sits heavy on my tongue. The lie would ruin everything between us, wouldn’t it?

  Walter’s smile flickers. “Your silence is scaring me.”

  I try to arrange my features in a reassuring, confident kind of way. “Do you remember the article I showed you? The one with the girl from Detroit who escaped from a brothel?”

  A slow blink. “Yes.”

  “Well, the newspaper said she made her phone call from this place called Johnny’s Lunchroom up on Clark Street—”

  Walter’s eyes slide closed. “Piper, you didn’t.”

  I take a deep breath. “I looked at a map and saw it wasn’t so far from school. So after you dropped me off this morning, I—”

  His eyes snap open. “How could you do that, Piper? How could you take a risk like that? If Lydia got taken on Astor Street, can’t you see how much more dangerous it is for you to be alone in a neighborhood where—”

  “But I didn’t go by myself. Mariano came with me.”

  “Mariano.” Walter repeats the name in a flat way.

  “I called him this morning just so someone would know where I was, and then he said—”

  Walter’s mouth twists into a snarl. “It was probably his idea, wasn’t it? That you should come with him. As if he’s so concerned about Lydia.”

  “He is concerned about Lydia! It’s his job, Walter.”

  “And flirting with you? Is that part of his job too? Is that how he finds missing girls?”

  Sidekick whimpers and cowers farther behind my seat. “You’re scaring Sidekick.”

  Walter’s mouth sets in a firm line. “I wish I were scaring you. You can’t take risks like that, Piper. You just . . . can’t.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you this morning. I knew you’d tell me no. I knew you’d stop me.”

  “Because it’s dangerous! Because I don’t want you ending up like Lydia. Why does that make me the bad guy?”

  I inhale slowly through my nose, trying to calm myself before words come out that I’ll regret. I reach to the backseat and pat Sidekick’s head stiffly. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  “I want to keep you safe.” Walter’s words are quiet.

  “I know you do. But I can’t sit around being sad and scared. Not when it feels like there’s a ticking clock. If she has another seizure . . .” Tears threaten to overtake my words, and I clamp down on my bottom lip.

  We sit there for a bit, the muffled sounds of traffic and pedestrians around us. Finally, Walter rakes in a breath and turns the ignition. “Let’s go home.”

  Walter is silent as I feed Joyce my story about eating lunch outside and Sidekick finding me. I spend my afternoon bathing and brushing and cutting out mats from his fur. It’s easier to touch him like this, when it’s about accomplishing a task rather than offering affection. Sidekick makes no protest, just leans on me occasionally. When Joyce—who’d been reluctant to the idea of a big, possibly flea-ridden dog entering her clean house—sees him again, she warms to the idea of a pet. His fur isn’t brown, but rather the color of fresh cream, and there isn’t a flea in sight.

  Joyce shelves the cans of dog food that Walter and I bought at the store on our way home. “Once these patches grow back in, you’ll be a real beauty.”

  Sidekick only cowers at the praise.

  When I leave the kitchen, he slinks alongside me, gaze darting about as if danger might be anywhere. “Settle in, Sidekick. It’s your new home.”

  But in my room, he only stands in the corner and watches as I unload my shopping bag. I put my dress in the laundry hamper and then stare at the photograph of Lydia. The demure smile, the curled hair. All so very Lydia.

  “I’m trying to bring you home,” I whisper.

  I sink onto my bed. Something beneath me crinkles.

  I stand and find a long white envelope with my name scratched on in painstaking capital letters. No stamp or address. Clearly, it didn’t come by post. Fear prickles up the back of my neck as my gaze slides to my third-story window.

  Closed, but not locked.

  I rip it open and flip over the pages to find the signature.

  Matthew.

  My breath whooshes out of my lungs, and I sink to my bed to devour his words.

  Miss Sail,

  You should know straight away that I lied to you that day in the alley, when you asked me about Lydia, if I knew how she felt about me. Yes, I knew. And I want you to know before I tell you any of this that I loved her too. As much as a man like me is capable of loving, anyway.

  I lied because I was sure that if the police knew my past, they’d have me in a cell in no time, and I wanted to be here when we got Lydia back. I don’t have much hope of that anymore.

  Before coming to Chicago, I lived in Kansas City, where I worked for a man named Jim Burk. He was a small-time criminal who imagined himself more important than he was. His cousins are Patrick and Colin Finnegan, and I think Jim thought of himself as a branch of their operation. Anyway, I didn’t much care how Jim painted himself. All I cared about was that I made good money, which I did.

  If I wasn’t working, I was out in the town having a good time. (My mama raised me not to talk to ladies about this sort of thing, and I’m sorry to do so, but I want you to know the whole truth.) I usually went out with a buddy named Tommy. Tommy lived next door to me and seemed like a good guy. What I didn’t know—and how could I have, considering he drank more than me?—was that he was a Prohibition agent. And he was using me to trap Jim Burk.

  Well, I was dumb enough to fall for it. And one night, when we were picking up a delivery at the river, Tommy was there with a team. The Burks aren’t the type to go quietly, and I was one of the few left when the shooting was done.

  But I was as good as dead, because one of the men killed was Alan, Jim’s oldest son. Alan was a good guy too. Drank too much, maybe, but laughed a lot. He was married, had a kid on the way. Jim had a temper on him, and I knew that if I didn’t get out of town, I’d be six feet under.

  So th
at’s what I did. Blew out of town. Changed my name and everything.

  Anyway. Lydia and me. I’ve always liked women, but there was something special about her. She wasn’t just another pretty, rich girl. I know you know what I mean. The day she went missing, Lydia had come out to the garage and told me she was going to Minnesota for a while to see a doctor. She was all nervous, and I couldn’t figure out why until she said she loved me.

  We talked for a while, maybe twenty minutes or so. She wanted to sneak out that night. Go somewhere, just the two of us, before she had to leave for Minnesota. But she had to go see the Barrows, she said. Had to tell them she couldn’t watch their kid any longer. You know Lydia. Couldn’t help but be responsible. Except for when it came to me, I suppose.

  The thing is, Miss Sail, I felt like we were being watched while we talked. At the time, I told myself I was just nervous about getting caught. But now I wonder if we were actually being watched. I can’t shake the feeling that Lydia getting taken was somehow my fault. And that was even before yesterday.

  I was running errands for the family, and I think I saw Maeve, Alan’s widow. She was talking to a man I recognized from the papers as one of the Finnegan brothers, Jim Burk’s cousin. I knew then that I had to get away from here before they came after me, and I hadn’t even been home yet. At home, I found my cat dead. I’ll spare you the details, but he looked like he’d been dragged through hell. My neighbor said he’d once had a dog look like that after it died, and they’d found later that it had inhaled poison from a fumigation.

  When I was packing up to get out of town, I found my cat had dragged a tuna sandwich out of my coat pocket. Tabitha had left it out for me the day before, but I don’t like tuna, so I’d just taken it and planned to throw it out later. I don’t have any proof it was Maeve and the Burk family, of course, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.

  When things settle down, I’ll call you. I only wish I’d left before they got to Lydia. I’m sorry, Miss Sail. She deserved better. She deserved everything.

  Matthew