The Lost Girl of Astor Street

by Stephanie Morrill

  I hadn’t known what to say. Even now, sitting on my porch with hours of hindsight, the right answer eludes me. How do you explain to a five-year-old that a sweet girl who did nothing wrong was taken from this very street? That she was bound and gagged and killed for no clear reason. That she won’t be coming home.

  I flip through my notebook, to where I had described Mr. Barrow for Mariano’s benefit. I don’t like the man, but I find myself asking the same question Mariano posed last night. Even aside from the fact that Mariano has verified his alibi, what did he have to gain by kidnapping and killing Lydia?

  But really, who had anything to gain from it?

  “Hello, Piper.”

  I look up from my notes and find Emma Crane at the fence, smiling in that soft way of hers. Sidekick romps for the front gate and puts his paws up on the bars.

  “Sidekick—down.”

  “What a sweet dog.” Emma reaches to pat his head with a gloved hand, and he scurries out of reach. Some guard dog. “Could I join you for a bit?”

  I put on a smile and set aside my notebook. “Of course.”

  Emma undoes the hinge and squeezes through so as not to let Sidekick out of the yard. Emma’s face has more of a glow than normal. Perhaps it’s the feminine pale pink of her drop-waist dress, or the effect of summer days spent on the lake.

  “Would you care to go inside?”

  “No, this is fine.” Emma settles beside me on the step. “How are you doing, Piper? And please don’t feel the need to be overly polite with me.”

  “I’m . . . okay, I suppose. It’s a day-to-day thing.”

  “You’ve been on my mind a lot these last weeks. I won’t pretend to understand what it feels like to lose your best friend in such a way, but I imagine it’s too terrible for words.”

  My throat is tight as I hold back tears, and I have to wait a moment before I can squeeze out a watery, “Thank you, Emma.”

  “I know we’ve never been close, but I’ve always admired you and Lydia from a distance.” Emma’s smile is shy. “Especially you.”

  Her words remind me that she’s a full year behind me in school. “I don’t deserve admiration, Emma, but thank you.”

  “I disagree.” Emma’s eyes spark. “And my brother would too. He’s quite taken with you, as I’m sure you realize. Since Jeremiah is about as subtle as a freight train.”

  A nervous laugh sticks in my chest. How would Lydia respond to something like this? A demure laugh, perhaps. Then she would redirect the conversation to Emma somehow.

  But Emma doesn’t seem to require my response. “You know, it was all over school that you’ve been investigating what happened to Lydia. That you even ditched school one day to help that detective.”

  I feel my jaw fall open. “How would anybody know that?”

  “Just rumors. You know how it is. People have to talk about something.” Emma shrugs her narrow shoulders. “So I came by today because I wondered how much you would charge somebody if they wanted you to look into something for them.”

  Emma’s eyes, lake blue like Jeremiah’s, have an unfamiliar gleam in them.

  “How do you mean, ‘look into something’?”

  “I mean, if they had something they wanted you to investigate.”

  This is quiet Emma Crane, right? Emma, who’s so reserved, I sometimes don’t notice when she’s joined a conversation? How can she be asking what I think she is? “Emma . . . ?”

  She holds her gaze to mine, seeming to have no interest in answering my unasked question.

  “What are you asking me to investigate for you?”

  “I’ve been dating this guy, Robbie, since the spring. I was at the Daily Chicagoan offices, waiting for Jeremiah. Robbie was waiting for someone too, and we started talking, and . . . well, we really hit it off. We’ve had quite a few dates, and he’s even come to family dinners a few times.”

  “But?”

  Emma’s wistful smile slips. “There’s something he’s keeping from me. He says he can’t talk about his work, that it’s a violation of his oath or something. Robbie tells me that ‘in time,’ it’ll all come out. But meanwhile . . . I think I might love him. And I don’t want to let myself get in any deeper if . . . Well, you know.”

  “It might not be something bad.” But even I hear the doubt in my voice. “He might just work for the government or something.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do your parents think?”

  “Oh, they adore Robbie. But they think he works with the railroad. He told me ahead of time that he would have to tell them a fake story, but that he cares enough about me and will eventually tell me the truth. Or a part of it, anyway.” Emma clutches her cloche to her head as a gust of wind sweeps down the street.

  My hair breaks free of some of its pins, but I don’t bother to capture it until the gust has passed. “So, eventually, you’ll find out what he actually does.”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “So you could just wait. Could just trust him to tell you when the timing is right.” But I couldn’t do that. If I thought Mariano were lying about who he was, there’s no way I would just sit back and wait for him to tell me in his own time.

  “I thought about that.” Emma’s voice is quiet, but strong too. “And I asked myself what you would do.”

  “What I would do? Emma, I’m no example to follow.”

  She cocks her head at me. “Says who?”

  Anyone and everyone.

  I take a deep breath. “You’re so sweet and kind. You don’t want to be like me.”

  Emma evaluates me for a moment. “How much would you charge?”

  “I’m not a professional. I have no idea.”

  “What would make it worth your time?”

  I sigh. “Seriously, Emma, I wouldn’t know what I was doing. Yes, I did some poking around after Lydia went missing, but it’s not like I figured anything out.”

  “How much would you charge to help me, Piper?” Her jaw has a determined set to it, like Jeremiah’s gets sometimes. “Truly, who else could I ask? No one.”

  That’s valid.

  “If you’d like,” I say in a measured voice, “I’ll see what I can dig up on Robbie. But I’m not going to charge you for it when I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  She’s already opening her small, beaded handbag. “Is five enough to get you started? Or should it be ten? Ten, right?”

  “Emma, I said—”

  She shoves the bill into my hand. “If you need more, let me know.” Her bag snaps shut. “Robbie and I are seeing a movie this evening. You should join us so you can meet him.”

  “Okay.” I slip the money into my pocket. Maybe the night out will provide the mental break I need to figure out how to proceed with David Barrow. “What time?”

  “The movie is at seven.” Emma rests her hand on her cloche as another blast of wind whips down the street. “It’ll be so nice having someone to distract my big brother.”

  I blink at her several times.

  “You don’t mind, do you? If Jeremiah is with us?” She winks, clearly expecting that this is a welcome surprise.

  And is it?

  Emma’s bright expression fades. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you liked my brother.”

  Get it together, Piper. “I do. I mean, he’s very nice.” I take a deep breath. “It’s a little complicated, because I went out with someone last night. Someone who”—I can feel the color in my cheeks rising—“I like a lot.”

  Emma’s eyes flicker with interest. “And would this someone happen to be an extremely handsome detective?”

  My flush deepens. “Yes.”

  Emma’s sigh is regretful. “Poor big brother.”

  “Do I need to tell Mariano about tonight, do you think?” I gnaw at my thumbnail. “We’ve only had one date. I don’t want him to think that I think we’re more serious than we are . . .”

  “This is 1924, Piper.” Emma shrugs, and somehow it seems saucy. “A girl has a
right to explore options. And it’s not like Jeremiah asked you out, right?”

  Before this conversation, I would have described Emma as meek and a bit mousy. But when I wasn’t paying attention, she grew up.

  What else has changed while I wasn’t looking?

  “Cassano speaking.”

  I smile at the crisp sound of his detective voice. “Hi. It’s Piper.”

  “Hi.” His voice warms. “I didn’t think I would hear from you today.”

  “Why not?”

  “Aren’t I supposed to call you?”

  “Are you?”

  Mariano’s chuckle holds amusement. “Never mind. I was going to call after work, though. In case you wondered.”

  My stomach gives a surprised flutter. You wouldn’t have been able to reach me. Because I’ll be on an investigation that turned into a double date.

  I’m not ready to talk about that yet. “I had an opportunity to talk with Cole Barrow this morning. I thought you’d be interested in what he had to say.”

  Glancing at my notes a time or two, I recount Cole’s story for Mariano.

  When I’m done, he mutters an expletive. Then, “Sorry.”

  “I live in a house full of lawyers. I’m fine.”

  Mariano is silent.

  I stare at the stripes of yellow sunlight on Father’s office floor, and my mind fixes on the purple and blue stripes on Cole’s skin. “He beats Cole to keep him quiet. I hate him.”

  Mariano’s exhale is shaky. “Please don’t let yourself be alone with him, okay?”

  “Cole?”

  “No. David Barrow.”

  My heart hitches. “I thought you said you verified his alibi.”

  “I don’t think he killed Lydia, but he’s certainly a weasel.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Sometimes, I hate this job.” Mariano’s voice has a darkness to it, and I want to be able to hold him. Want to wrap my arms around his waist, squeeze, and say that it’s all going to be okay. Even if we both know it isn’t. “I’ve got a front row seat to all the hurt, all the evil. And I can do nothing.”

  I pull the telephone closer to me. “Not nothing, Mariano. You help people all the time.”

  “We try. But it seems we’re always too late. We’re always working from behind.”

  “You can’t right every wrong.”

  “I really wanted to right the wrong done to you, though.” His voice is quiet, husky.

  My eyes pool. “You did your best.” Several tears roll down my cheeks and plop onto my gray skirt. “I wish we were having this talk face to face.”

  Mariano drags in a breath. “Do I sound too desperate if I ask what your plans are tonight?”

  Oh. There’s my open door. “I would love to see you, but I already agreed to see a movie with Emma Crane and her boyfriend tonight.”

  “Her name is familiar. Is she a neighbor?”

  “Yes. And a Presley’s girl.”

  “Her family owns the Daily Chicagoan, right? Her brother is . . . Jeremy?”

  “Jeremiah.” I wrap the phone cord around my finger. “I would ask you along, but . . . Well, this sounds silly, but Emma asked me to help her out with something. An investigation of sorts.” My swallow is loud in Father’s office. “And after I said I would, Emma told me that Jeremiah would be there too.”

  “Of course he will.” Mariano’s words are dry, but I don’t think he’s angry. Or maybe that’s how he sounds when he’s angry. There hasn’t been time yet to find out. “What kind of investigation is this, Detective Sail?”

  I smirk, but Sidekick is the only one who sees. “You’re not asking me to share classified details, are you?”

  “Of course I am. And now imagine me batting my eyelashes at you.”

  “It’s something about her boyfriend. Emma just wants my opinion, I guess.”

  “And a date to distract her brother?”

  “It’s not like that. I told Emma about you. She knows we’re . . .”

  “We’re what?” Now Mariano sounds amused.

  “That we had a date last night.” I release the cord that I’d wrapped around my finger, watch it unravel just like my control of this conversation seems to be. “That we’re seeing each other.”

  “Well, I hope it goes well tonight. When you get in, will you call me?”

  “Of course.”

  Mariano gives me the number to his apartment, and then we hang up.

  The scent of Joyce’s pot roast sneaks into Father’s office, drawing out a memory of Lydia staying for dinner. “I think this is what pot roast must taste like in heaven, Joyce,” she had said.

  Part of me tries to push away the memory of my friend—her sincere smile, her face lit with the soft glow of the chandelier—and the lonely ache that comes with it. Another part of me wants to lean into the memory, play it again and again, wallow around in the words.

  I unclasp my locket and look at Lydia’s face. “I’m going to figure out what happened to you.” My words are an unintentional whisper, as if Father’s ordinary office has turned into a holy place. A place where Lydia might be able to hear me. “I will figure out what happened, and I will make them pay.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  A toast.” Father raises his glass of red wine high and beams at us all. “To my wonderful children, and to the beautiful woman who in one week will be Mrs. Sail. I’m a lucky man.”

  I turn to half-heartedly clink my glass against Tim’s, and then turn to my right to clink with Alana, who somehow snuck her way into our family dinner. She smiles at me, all teeth.

  I try to smile back.

  “It’s starting to feel so real with most of my belongings moved in.” Jane beams at me from the head of the table. “Piper, you’re such a sweetheart to let me store some of my boxes in your bedroom.”

  I don’t recall being given a choice.

  That’s no way to talk to your almost stepmother, Lydia admonishes.

  I smile and spoon myself a helping of mashed potatoes. “It’s no problem.”

  The invasion began this afternoon while I was on the phone with Mariano. I had come out of Father’s office to find thick-armed, sweating men unloading boxes. Of course I knew Jane must have items of her own that she would want at her new residence, and yet it had undone something inside me to find Joyce packing away all of Mother’s china and replacing it with the new pattern Jane had picked out.

  “I’ll be sure to wrap this up nicely so it’s ready for you, my dear,” Joyce had said to me in that soft voice of hers.

  They’re only dishes, I had told myself. Just plates, cups, and bowls. Nothing more.

  Still, I hid myself on the back porch and cried.

  “I’m delighted that everyone was able to be here tonight for a family dinner.” Jane slices her green bean into three equal parts. “This next week will be so busy that I imagine this is our last chance to be together before the big day.”

  I can only hope.

  “It will be so wonderful to have another female in the family,” Gretchen pipes up in her perky voice. I don’t have to look to know she’s wearing her practiced debutante smile. “Piper and I have been rather outnumbered all these years. Haven’t we, Piper?”

  “Piper must have been so glad when you joined the family, Gretchen.” Jane smiles and shifts her gaze between the two of us.

  It’s clear we’re all waiting for me to agree.

  “Extremely.” I put on my sweetest smile. I’ve no intentions of ruffling feathers this evening. Not when I still need to tell my father that I’m going out with Emma this evening.

  My thoughts flit to Jeremiah. What, exactly, does he expect tonight? Does he also think we’re two chums seeing a movie with his sister and her boyfriend? Does he believe this is a date? Did Emma tell him I’m seeing Mariano, or will I need to?

  “Mother thought it was a terrible idea, but Father understands that this is part of the job.” Alana’s voice awakens me to a new conversation that’s hap
pening. “When your father owns the paper, you have to learn it all, whether you’re a female or not.”

  Jane is nodding along with Alana as she continues to meticulously slice her green beans into thirds. “And do you have any siblings?”

  Something inside me gives a twist at the sight of Jane playing the matriarch role. Of knowing that I had better get used to it.

  “No, just me. Which is why I’ll someday take over The Star.”

  “Quite a job for a young woman.”

  Alana’s laugh is a throaty chuckle. “I’ve always been good with a challenge.”

  The last of her words are covered by Gretchen, who exclaims when Howie knocks over his glass of milk onto his food.

  As the spill is being cleaned and Howie is being calmed, Alana’s fingers feather against my arm. “Piper.” Her voice is low in my ear. “I know we got off to a rough start, but now that I’m seeing your brother, I hope we can get along.”

  She’s trying to be kind. I have to remind myself of that so I don’t snatch my arm away from her touch. “Thank you,” I murmur. Without Lydia’s voice whispering to me, I have to tell myself to be politely appreciative. “I would like that too.”

  “I was wondering if you might be willing to talk about—”

  But from my other side, Tim nudges me. He holds out the fresh plate that Joyce brought for Howie. “Could you spoon some mashed potatoes on here for me?”

  “Sure.”

  Tim’s eyes hold their characteristic tenderness. “How are you doing tonight, little sister?”

  I angle toward him, thankful for the rescue from Alana’s pestering. “I don’t know.”

  He flicks his gaze toward Jane. “Same here.”

  I glance around the table. Father and Nick are discussing something baseball related, while Alana listens with either interest or a good imitation of it. Jane and Gretchen are commiserating about the stress of being a bride. Jane watches Howie with a look of obvious longing, and I’m struck with a new fear—will she and Father have children? I can’t imagine Father wanting that, not now that he’s already a grandfather, but Jane is so young . . .

  “You know”—Tim’s voice reaches out for me—“you’re always welcome at our place. Gretchen would love it.”