“Thank you, Tim. That’s very kind of you.”
Tim’s smile says I know you, sister. “Howie no longer cries like he used to. Most of his teeth are in now. And”—he drops his volume even lower—“Gretchen has really relaxed. We had tried so long to have a baby, that . . . Well, I know her enthusiasm for motherhood grated on you.”
As did her excessive enthusiasm for being a wife. And before that, for being a bride. And before that . . .
I glance at Jane and Gretchen, bonding over ballroom sizes and flowers. Things I can’t imagine caring about. Despite Gretchen’s obnoxious enthusiasm for all things feminine, she is kind. And thoughtful. I can’t imagine her marrying a man solely for money.
Or is Jane? I touch my locket and think of Father crediting her with the idea to put Lydia’s photograph in Mother’s present. I push the thought away.
“Once they’re back from their honeymoon, I imagine I’ll be ready to get away for a few days.” I wink at him. “Or years.”
“Oh, Pippy. You’ll be married and establishing your own house before too long, I imagine.”
I snort and take a large bite of buttery mashed potatoes.
“You can’t fool me. Do you think I’m unaware that you’ve been receiving attention from a certain detective?”
I’m glad I took such a large bite and can’t be expected to immediately respond.
“You realize, don’t you, that if Father wasn’t otherwise occupied”—Tim nods to Jane—“you probably wouldn’t be getting away with staying out until midnight with a man.”
I roll my eyes even as my heart pounds in my chest. “What, are you spying on the place?”
Tim grins. “I have my sources.”
“Nick should really keep his mouth shut.”
Tim laughs as he forks a bite of pot roast. “So, has Father talked to you at all about Mariano, or is he counting on Joyce to rein you in?”
“Rein me in? Like I’m some wayward adolescent.”
“Not wayward.” Tim’s smile is kind. “Just an adolescent. With her first boyfriend.”
My stomach knots at the word. “If Father and I aren’t arguing from time to time, then clearly I’m doing this whole thing incorrectly. Our generation is so vastly different than our parents’, more so than any generation before, that some clash is inevitable.”
Tim’s eyebrows arch.
“I read that in a column,” I admit with a laugh. “It was advice on wild young people, or something.”
“On one hand, it sounded far too adult for my kid sister. On the other . . .” Tim takes me in with a serious gaze. “You’ve grown up a lot this last month, Pippy. You’ve been forced to.”
A lump rises in my throat as Lydia’s ghost settles between us.
Joyce bustles into the room and whispers something in my father’s ear. His gaze travels across the table to me. “Piper, it seems there’s a young man at the door for you.”
I glance at the grandfather clock. But they weren’t supposed to be here for another . . . Oh, wait. If the movie starts at seven, then of course they would need to pick me up now.
I lay my napkin beside my plate. “Jeremiah and Emma Crane have invited me to see a movie tonight. I didn’t mean to surprise you with it, but I didn’t think you would be upset.”
Jane’s lips pout, like Howie’s when he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, I had so looked forward to enjoying a family dinner.”
“And so we have, Jane, dear. We just won’t have a family dessert.” Father waves me away with a smile. “Run along, Piper. Have a wonderful evening.”
Jeremiah stands in the entryway looking like his normal, well-groomed self. He sweeps his trilby from his head and nods to me. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner.”
“Not your fault. Where are Emma and Robbie?”
“In the car.” He grins down at me as he settles his hat back on his head. His blue eyes have a unique sparkle to them, one that I can’t quite read. “You look beautiful, Piper.” While he doesn’t make my stomach swirl like Mariano, there’s something undeniably fetching about him.
“Thank you. You . . . look very nice too.” What an awkward thing to say. I reach for my handbag on the coatrack only to find it isn’t there. “I must have left my bag in my room. This will only take a second.”
“Take your time,” Jeremiah says as I clatter up the stairs.
Yep, there it is, on my bed. I had loaded it earlier in preparation for my night out, including my notebook, Nick’s pocket knife, and several other unorthodox items to take on a double date.
On a fake double date.
I snatch the bag, pivot toward the door, and pause.
My nightstand drawer is open.
Just an inch or so, but my most important belongings are in there. I never leave it open.
I slide the drawer open all the way and survey the contents. Everything seems to be here—several photographs of and cards from Lydia and Mother, Mother’s Bible, and Matthew’s letter are still in their places. Yet I can’t shake away the unease.
I close the drawer and look around. There were movers in my room this afternoon, stacking Jane’s boxes in the corner. Perhaps they bumped my nightstand? Or it could have been Joyce when she changed sheets. Maybe her skirt or the sheet snagged on the knob and pulled the drawer out?
Regardless of how it happened, nothing’s missing. No harm done.
Right?
Downstairs, Jeremiah offers me his arm with a confident smile, and we leave the house.
When I’ve pulled the door shut behind us, Jeremiah bends his head close to mine. “I was relieved to hear you’d be joining us tonight. Robbie is a nice enough guy, but that’s my sister he’s getting cozy with, you know?”
I scrunch my nose, thinking of times that I’ve heard Jane gush about romantic gestures from my father. “I do.”
Parked outside my house is Robbie’s automobile, an older model with no top. My hair will be a wreck by the time we reach the theater. The driver—Robbie, I presume—has his hat pulled low, and Emma waves and smiles from the passenger seat.
Oh. I’ll be riding in the back with Jeremiah. For some reason, I had imagined the boys riding up front. But this is part of the work I’m doing for Emma. It’s fine. Mariano knows what’s going on.
And how should I bring up Mariano to Jeremiah? Should I just say it? You should know that I’m seeing someone. And that he carries a gun. Or should I be more subtle? Have you ever tried Pompei’s? I had it for the first time last night with Detective Cassano.
“My sister informs me that I have some competition.” Jeremiah’s words are low and almost playful as he holds open the front gate for me.
I pause and look up at him.
He grins, clearly pleased to have caught me off guard. “Did you not intend for me to know?”
“It’s not that. I wasn’t sure about the proper way to bring it up.”
“Well, Emma did your dirty work for you.”
He seems unaffected. Have I been wrong about his interest in me? This will certainly be much easier if I was.
At the car, Jeremiah holds the handle of the backseat door, but doesn’t open it right away. “In my line of work, where competition is inevitable, you learn quickly that you have a choice about how to deal with it. You can wilt, you can grow paranoid, or you can use it as motivation to work hard and let the best man win.” His gaze skims my face, lingering on my mouth before meeting my eyes again. “I choose the third.”
I don’t know how to answer, but that doesn’t seem to bother Jeremiah. He opens the door and gestures for me to climb inside.
“Why, hello girls.”
I look up from washing my hands and find Mrs. Barrow smiling at me and Emma in the bathroom mirror. “Oh, hello.”
“It makes me feel very young and hip to be at the same place you are on a Saturday night.” Mrs. Barrow offers a showy sigh. “Though, David and I caught the earlier movie and are on our way home. The boys just don’t sleep well if I’m not there.�
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“How nice it must feel to get out, though.” Emma offers her lipstick to me, and I shake my head no.
“I don’t want to give your brother the wrong impression.”
Mrs. Barrow grins. “I wondered what girl was lucky enough to be here with Jeremiah Crane. You put that lipstick on, honey. He’s a catch.”
Emma snaps the lid back on her makeup. “She’s already caught him. But Piper has a cute boyfriend. Detective Cassano, who helped with Lydia LeVine’s case. That young one?”
Mrs. Barrow pulls out her own compact, clearly intending to prolong the girl talk. “He’s cute all right, but a detective? You won’t have two nickels to rub together, doll.”
Better to be poor and married to someone honorable than wed to a rich devil in disguise like David Barrow. I wonder . . .
“Mrs. Barrow, maybe you could help us out with something. We’re hoping to go out after the show. Someplace where we could dance and get a gin fizz or two. Surely you know of a good place.”
I ignore the confused look Emma gives me.
Mrs. Barrow laughs, and her delight at being perceived as a lady who would know such things is obvious. “You two girls are so fresh and young, I imagine any place I’ve heard of, you’ve heard of.”
“I don’t know anywhere outside of John Barleycorn—”
Mrs. Barrow’s mouth presses into a line—excellent. “Anywhere but there is fine with me. David goes there because the men from work like it, but it’s awfully awkward when he runs into the nanny who used to work for us. Have you heard about this? Here I was, eight months pregnant, and she quit with no warning. As if working in a speakeasy was some lifelong dream of hers.”
“Terrible.” I infuse my voice with sympathy.
“Just awful,” Emma adds.
Mrs. Barrow snaps shut her compact and thrusts it into her handbag. “You think you know a person, and then they just walk right out on you. David knows I hate him going there, but being invited to Friday night pool is a coveted thing. Good for his career, you know. How can I refuse that?”
“You can’t, of course. I’m sorry to have upset you. I just thought you’d be the one to ask advice.”
Mrs. Barrow seems mollified by the compliment. “Green Door Tavern. If David and I meet up with friends, that’s where we go. Your father will have my head if he learns I told you that.”
But she can’t hide how pleased she is by the conversation.
As we leave the restroom, Emma murmurs, “What, exactly, did I just witness?”
I grin. “Nothing at all. Certainly nothing that should be repeated to anybody else.”
Friday night pool. I wonder what Mariano would think about hanging around John Barleycorn next Friday and seeing if David Barrow shows.
Jeremiah and Robbie are waiting in front of the theater with popcorn and Coca-Colas. Robbie is pleasant but ordinary looking—brown hair, brown eyes, and skin that’s neither tan nor noticeably fair. If I were trying to describe him to Mariano—goose bumps raise on my arm—I could just as easily be describing thousands of other American men.
When we settle into our seats, Emma arranges it so that Robbie and I are next to each other. Jeremiah offers me popcorn, but I wave him away. I only have a few minutes before the movie starts to talk to Robbie.
“I hear you’re new to Chicago, Mr. Thomas.”
“Call me Robbie, please. And, yes. I am.”
“Where are you from?”
“Here and there.” He shrugs and flashes an easy smile. “I’ve lived all over.”
“Is work the reason that you move so much?”
“Yes and no. But I hope to settle in Chicago.” He takes Emma’s hand in his and squeezes it. She beams up at him as if he’s wearing a halo.
And with those vague answers? My guess is he does not.
Robbie turns to Emma, and speaks in a voice so quiet that he undoubtedly means for their conversation to be private.
Hmm. What now?
“Why, exactly”—Jeremiah’s whispered words are warm in my ear—“are you casing Emma’s boyfriend?”
I turn to him and put on a smile. “Who, me?”
He chuckles. “It’s nice that you’re looking out for her.”
He again offers me the bag of popcorn, but I would have to lean quite close to him to reach. I shake my head. With a roll of his eyes, he extends his arm farther, and I take a handful.
“How are you doing, Piper? Really?” The thoughtfulness of his tone makes me squash the temptation to lie.
“I don’t know.” I take a deep breath and think of all the ways I could expound on that. How sometimes, as impossible as it seems, I forget what happened to Lydia, and I think about calling her. Only to be crushed when I realize I never will again. Or I could say that I still think about that day and the days following, hunting for clues that I might have missed. Or that most mornings I have to lie to myself just to be able to get out of bed.
But nothing seems quite right, so I just shrug at him and say again, “I don’t know.”
“When I heard the news about Matthew, I couldn’t believe it. Thinking about all the times I saw you girls get in the car with him . . .”
“Well.” I pluck at the hem of my navy skirt, re-draping it over my knees. “Innocent until proven guilty, and all that jazz.”
Jeremiah’s blue gaze holds unnervingly steady on me. “Piper Sail, do you have another suspect in mind?”
“Who’s asking? Jeremiah, my friend and neighbor? Or Jeremiah, the newspaper man?”
“To whom will you tell the honest answer?”
I laugh and stretch my hand out for the popcorn. “Neither of you.”
Jeremiah pulls the bag closer to his chest, and grasps my reaching hand. “We’d be good together, Piper. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
The smile drains from my face as I look at him. Had things gone differently, Jeremiah could’ve been the highlight of my summer. Handsome, smart, and not afraid to meet me quip for quip, he would’ve been everything I could have hoped for in a boyfriend. We should’ve had many dates like this, only with my thoughts full of him rather than Mariano.
Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve.
Losing Lydia, it seems, has left nothing untouched.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Piper, honey, you really need to get your dress on,” Jane says from the doorway of Father’s office. “The seamstress is going to be here in fifteen minutes.”
I keep my gaze on the phone as she speaks. “My dress fits perfectly.”
“That can change from week to week. Even for a girl of your age. Now be a good girl, and come up to get your dress on.”
“I will when I’m finished here.”
“How much longer will this . . . this thing you’re doing take?” Jane’s voice grows ever sweeter, a sure sign that her patience with me is waning.
“It depends.” I lift my eyes and beam a bright smile Jane’s way. “How much longer do you intend to delay me?”
Her shiny red mouth purses. “Fine. Come up as soon as you’re done. And, Piper . . . I’m not your mother—”
Well, this oughta be good. I raise my eyebrows at her—a silent challenge.
Jane presses her mouth shut as her gaze skims the kimono I’ve wrapped over my nightgown. “Walter will be here soon, you know.”
The implications are as loud and clear as if she spoke them—You’re dressed indecently. Go put clothes on.
I keep my anger shoved down in my chest and make my voice sunny. “Thank you. Now, may I finish making my phone call, or would you like to belabor this conversation?”
I don’t wait for a response, just start dialing Mariano’s number once more.
“I’ll see you upstairs, Piper.” Jane’s words are stiff, and her footsteps loud in the hallway.
I’ve nearly finished dialing when Joyce pads into the room, coffeepot in hand. “You’ll have to learn to get along with her, you know.”
I hang up the phon
e. Yet again. “I’m hoping to prove you wrong on this one.”
She fills my cup with steaming black coffee. “She’s doing a hard thing, marrying into a family with three grown children—”
“Well, nobody asked her to do that.”
“Actually, Piper, your father did.” Joyce lets this sit a beat. “You don’t really want him rattling around this big house all alone, do you?”
I look away from her accusing eyes and draw Father’s telephone close to me. “I’m trying to make a phone call.”
Joyce’s disapproval stings, like it always does. It’s not that I want Father to be alone forever. Not if he’s unhappy about it. What I want is for him to want to be alone. I want to know that he misses Mother more than he loves Jane.
What an unfair thing to ask of someone.
I shake the thoughts away as the operator transfers me to Mariano. “Hi, it’s me.”
“Let me guess. You want something.”
His words cause hesitation. Denying the truth would be pointless, wouldn’t it? “How do you know?”
“Your words are always a bit clipped when you call wanting something. What is it?”
“Well . . .” I feel inexplicably cross over him calling me out. “We don’t have to talk about it immediately. You can tell me how your day is going or something.”
Mariano chuckles. “My day is fine. What are you wanting?”
I sip at my coffee, wincing when it burns my tongue. “What are your plans tonight? What do you think of going to John Barleycorn?”
Mariano snorts a laugh. “You’re aware I’m an officer of the law, right? That being seen in a gin joint might not be great for my career.”
“If you’re working, it would be fine, right?”
Now he sighs. “I know David Barrow is at the top of your list, but his alibi—”
“How’d you know?”
“Know what? That you’re going after your favorite neighbor?”
“Yeah.”
“Because Friday nights are his pool nights, and why else would you be going there?”
“Friday night pool is a real thing? I figured it was just a story he told his wife.”
The Lost Girl of Astor Street Page 20