The Lost Girl of Astor Street

by Stephanie Morrill

  I hold out a cube of cheese to Sidekick and feel the comforting tickle of his muzzle. “There is something uncouth about eating in the living room, isn’t there?” I pop a caviar canapé into my mouth. “But it isn’t the worst thing we’ve done in this room.”

  Walter smirks. “It certainly wasn’t my idea to play a game of baseball in here.”

  My mouth twitches with a smile. “I hated that vase anyway.”

  “Mother thought for sure she was going to get fired for her son being a bad influence.”

  “She had no idea that I was the bad influence.” A memory comes—swift and painful—of Lydia being yelled at when I talked her into climbing the tree in her front yard. That Sail girl is a bad influence on you, Mrs. LeVine had snapped to Lydia.

  “And then it turned out your father was so happy to see you acting like yourself again, he didn’t mind at all.”

  I scratch under Sidekick’s chin, and he groans his contentment. The aria fades to a close, and, for a moment, the room is silent. “I can’t believe I didn’t really understand about Father.”

  Walter stops chewing.

  “I mean, I knew. But I didn’t know. Not really.” Frustration surges through me. “No wonder I can’t figure out who killed Lydia. I’m too stupid to even notice what’s happening under my own roof.” I don’t realize I’ve grown loud until Sidekick noses at my knee, trying to bury himself under my legs. “Sorry, boy. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Piper, you can’t blame yourself for not being able to figure out what happened to Lydia. Even the police don’t know, and they’re professionals.”

  “But she was my best friend. And she was here right before it happened—I should be able to see the answer, and I just can’t.” The tears come with such a rush, it’s as if a faucet has been cranked on. “Everything has been such a mess since I lost her. And it’s like when she died, anything soft and kind in me died too.”

  Walter presses his clean handkerchief into my hands. “Pippy, that’s not true at all. You’re all heart. Just look at this dog who can’t get enough of you.”

  “That’s because I feed him.”

  “No, it’s because you care for him. That’s how you are. When you love someone, you’re fiercely loyal. That’s why you’ll get through this thing with your father. You love him.”

  “But how do love and loyalty factor in when I think he’s just plain wrong? I mean, he doesn’t just work with them. He works for them. They were at his wedding, for heaven’s sake!”

  Sidekick whimpers as he trembles against me.

  “I don’t know,” Walter says. “But I know you’ll figure out a way. With your father and Mariano.”

  I scratch behind Sidekick’s ear. I don’t want to think about Mariano. “When does your train leave?”

  “Tomorrow. Early.”

  “You’ll be glad to go.” The words make me feel achingly alone. Father off with his bride. Walter going back to California, to Audrey. And I’ll stay here. Stuck.

  “I won’t be glad to leave you and Mother. I’m never happy about that.” Walter regards me for a long moment. “What will you do about Mariano?”

  I break a cracker in half. Then into quarters. “Nick said he’s a crooked cop.”

  “What did Mariano say?”

  “What else would he say? Of course he denied it.” I shove away the memory of Mariano’s hurt face.

  “If he really were crooked, don’t you think your father would have stopped you from seeing him?”

  “Then why would Nick have said it?”

  Walter snorts. “Because Nick is unhappy. And when Nick is unhappy, he tries to drag everyone else down in the muck. Especially you. He did the same thing when your mother died.”

  Sidekick licks the cracker from my hand. “Mariano had a chance to tell me about his family, and he didn’t.”

  “Then I would ask him about it.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “He said he was embarrassed.”

  “And do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know.” I think about saying more, releasing the jumble of words clogging up my brain. Instead, I just say again, “I don’t know.”

  But I think I do believe Mariano. Does that make me stupid and naïve?

  The thing is, if I’m being honest, I probably would have lied too in Mariano’s situation. I think what really has me bothered is how this doesn’t coincide with who I’d built Mariano up to be—a “what you see is what you get” kind of guy. I didn’t want Mariano to come with baggage of his own, like an ex-fiancé or undesirable family.

  An ex-fiancé, I can ignore.

  This new facet of him, however, is too big to ignore. But is it too big for me to accept?

  Nick stumbles through the front door, startling me awake. His laughter has a cruel edge to it. “Well, there she is. The star of the show.”

  I stretch my aching muscles. How long have I been sleeping in Father’s chair? “And how was your evening, Nick?”

  He responds with a glare.

  “Did you and Alana have a nice time out?”

  More glaring.

  I fumble for my bookmark and close This Side of Paradise. “My evening wasn’t great either, if it makes you feel any better.”

  Nick chucks his hat toward the coat rack and seems unaware that it falls to the floor. “It helps, yes.”

  I should’ve taken my book up to my room to read. When he’s been drinking, Nick is downright intolerable. “I’m sensing you’re mad at me.”

  He barks a laugh. “Because of your terrible behavior at the wedding, I had to hear about you all night.” He pitches his voice high and mocking. “Do you think Piper’s okay? Should we go home? Do you think she’d want to talk to me about it?”

  I frown. “Who was saying this?”

  “Alana.” He fumbles in his coat pockets. “I swear, sometimes it’s like she’s two different people. Here I’m trying to get somewhere with her, and she wouldn’t stop talking about you. She’s obsessed.”

  “Well, maybe she didn’t want you getting anywhere with her. You ever think of that?”

  “Father lets you get away with too much, that’s what I say.” Nick pulls his package of cigarettes from his pocket. “All girls should be like Lydia LeVine. Sweet, timid little things.”

  “You won’t hear any argument from me.”

  Nick’s eyes slide closed. “Lydia.” Hearing the way he speaks her name—wistful and heartbroken—melts away my anger. “It just still seems so unreal that she’s gone.”

  “I know.”

  Nick holds up the package of cigarettes. “Want to keep me company?”

  “Sure.”

  I nudge Sidekick off my lap, wrap the throw around my shoulders, and follow my brother onto the front porch. Astor Street is quiet at this hour, with just the occasional car rumbling by. Nick settles alongside me on the front porch step and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

  I watch Sidekick sniff about the yard in a haphazard way. “If you still care so much about Lydia, why are you even bothering with Alana? She doesn’t live here. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Maybe it’s just nice having someone who’s interested in me.” He flicks his cigarette, and ash dances away in the night. “Lydia sure wasn’t.”

  “Are you so sure that Alana is interested in you? Seems to me, all she cares about is getting a good story.”

  Nick’s shrug is sharp. Dismissive. “I can’t believe you didn’t know who Mariano was. Normally, you’re the smart one in the family.”

  My teeth grind together, but I have nothing to say in my defense. The evidence was all there—who Mariano’s family is, what my father’s client list really looks like—and I just hadn’t let myself think too deeply on it. Hadn’t wanted to question for fear of what the answers might be.

  Nick laughs—the loud and unaware laugh that comes from too much gin. “Didn’t you ever wonder where all our booze came from?”

  “T
he wine cellar, of course.”

  “And who do you think supplies our wine cellar, sister?”

  “I don’t drink any of it, so I guess I hadn’t thought that far.” It seems just as stupid now as it did when I said it to Father, but I tell Nick anyway. “I thought the men Father defended were mostly innocent.” Nick smirks, and I ignore him. “Or that if they were guilty, it was of breaking a law that didn’t really matter. I never thought they might be really bad guys.”

  “That’s part of being a defense attorney, Piper. ‘In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial.’ The sixth amendment isn’t just for good guys.” Nick pauses for another puff. “And if you have to provide a defense for a man who’s guilty, as a way of upholding the founding principles of our country, what’s the shame in making decent money at it?”

  “There’s a difference between decent money and, well, this.” I gesture to our house.

  “You’re still thinking about it wrong. Don’t think of it as ‘my daddy defends the mafia.’ Instead, think of how our father works to protect one of the greatest rights we have as American citizens.”

  Nick will be a very good lawyer.

  “And he’s being paid ridiculously well for the verdicts he gets.”

  “Stop being so hung up on the money.”

  “Would Father still defend them if they were poor?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Nick doesn’t even flinch when he says it. And it’s unsettling to see how it takes him no effort, how it costs him nothing, to lie.

  “What would Mother have said about all this?”

  Nick takes a final inhale of his cigarette before putting it out on the stoop. “I don’t know. But it’s not fair of us to speculate. To put words in the mouth of someone who can’t speak for herself.” Nick clasps a hand on my shoulder as he stands. “’Night, sister. Sleep well.”

  “Good night, Nick.”

  But when I don’t hear the door open, I turn and find him with his hand on the doorknob and his gaze on the quiet street. “You won’t stay outside too long, will you?”

  “No.”

  “It’s just that what happened to Lydia could’ve easily happened to you.”

  Maybe it was even supposed to happen to me. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if my shivering has anything to do with the nighttime chill. “Not if it was Matthew.”

  “We both know it wasn’t.” Nick’s voice has turned dark. “He loved Lydia. Alana says the same thing, that Matthew loved Lydia. She’s working hard to find him. She’s even traveled to places she thinks he might’ve gone.”

  “Why does she want him found so badly, if she thinks he’s not guilty?”

  “How else will we find the man responsible? Really, you should listen to her and work with her. You have the same goal.”

  I think of the predatory way she looked at me when we met, that day when it came out that Matthew had left town. No, I think Alana is all about herself on the issue of Matthew—her fame, her big break.

  “Good night, Nick,” I say again.

  “Promise me you’re coming inside soon. It’s really not safe out here. Not these days. Bosses aren’t content with just taking out the guy they want. They mow down entire families—wives, children.”

  Again, I shudder. But I don’t want to give Nick the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

  “I’m not going to cower inside our home because of who you and Father choose to do business with.” I sound much braver than I feel. “If you don’t like it, that’s not my problem.”

  Nick mutters a terse good night and shuts the door firmly behind him.

  I gaze up into the sky. This deep in the city, the sky is more of an ashen gray, even after midnight, as it reflects the city lights. There are stars up there. I don’t see them—I rarely do unless I’m at Tim’s—but I know they’re there. I sit for a while, trying to spot a single star, but I can’t. If I chose to, it would be easy to deny their existence.

  They’re there, I tell myself. Even if your eyes can’t perceive them.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  I stare into my leather shopping bag—containing my notebook, several pens, Nick’s pocket knife, a length of rope, and my F. Scott Fitzgerald novel for while I wait. I’ve never staked out a man’s apartment. I’m not sure what all I need.

  With all leads in Lydia’s case pointing to the Finnegans, I’m at a bit of a dead end. I can’t exactly go after them on my own, and even though I’ve thought of little else but Mariano and how to reconcile that he lied to me with my Father’s belief that Mariano isn’t mixed up in the family business, I still don’t really know how involved with him I want to be.

  So if I can’t go after the Finnegans, I can at least help Emma solve the mystery of the very nice, but very vague Robbie Thomas. A consolation prize of sorts while I figure out my next move with Lydia.

  There’s a knock at my door.

  I fold over the top of my shopping bag. “Come in.”

  I hold in a groan when Alana pokes her head in the door. “Hi, Piper.”

  “Hi.”

  She steps into my room, all grown-up glamour in a geometric-print dress and heels that make her even taller. “Your room is lovely.”

  Under her scrutiny, I feel even more aware of how it looks like a little girl’s bedroom. “Thank you.”

  Sidekick sniffs at Alana, and she moves to pet him. He jumps back.

  “He’s very skittish around new people.”

  She crouches lower and holds out her hand. “I’m hardly new, right, Sidekick? You know me.”

  Sidekick seems unsure. He sits and stares at her.

  “Did you need something, Alana? I’m actually getting ready to leave.”

  She stands to her full height and aims a bright smile at me. “Are you doing anything fun?”

  “Just running an errand with a friend.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  Why, exactly, does she care?

  I don’t voice the question, but it must be obvious all the same, because Alana rushes on. “I know you’ve been feeling rather blue since the wedding. Nick and I thought it would be swell for the three of us to go have dinner together.” Her smile rises impossibly high. “Someplace nice. My treat.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be with Emma, though. I’m sorry, but I need to go or I’ll be late.”

  “Then tomorrow?” Alana asks as she follows me out of my bedroom.

  I’m not trying to be rude, but I just can’t think about a dinner with her and Nick right now, when my nerves are so tightly wound about venturing north with Emma. “I don’t know. I think I told Mrs. Barrow that I would watch her kids for her.”

  “So Thursday, then? You can’t possibly be busy every night this week.” Alana laughs loudly as she patters down the stairs behind me.

  Nick stands in the entryway, flipping through the day’s mail. “What’s so funny?”

  “Your sister has quite the social calendar. I told her about our idea of going out to dinner, but it seems like it’ll be impossible with how busy Piper is.”

  Nick narrows his eyes at me. “Surely one day this week can work for you.” He holds my gaze a moment before turning back to the letters in his hands.

  I can’t get out of this without being outright rude, can I? And perhaps what Nick said a couple nights ago is right, that Alana’s search for Matthew could maybe even help me. And if it turns out to be mutually beneficial, and she does get a great story out of the deal, what is that to me?

  I tell myself to smile. “Now that I’ve thought about it, I bet I can make tomorrow night work after all.”

  Alana beams. “Marvelous. We can discuss the place later.”

  “And . . .” I’m at a dead end with Lydia anyway. What’s the harm in offering this? “Maybe you should bring your notebook, and we could talk about Matthew like yo
u’ve been wanting to. I don’t know how much help I could be, but—” I shrug. “Some help is better than no help, right?”

  Alana seems shocked by my change of heart. “Yes, that would be swell. Has he telephoned you?”

  “No, nothing like that. And you should know that I believe Matthew is innocent. I don’t want to get mixed up in a story where you make it sound like I think he’s guilty.”

  “Of course not. But if not Matthew, who do you think killed her?”

  “I don’t know.” The Finnegan name echoes in my head, but I can’t vocalize that, now can I? Especially not to someone who would actually print it. If I hadn’t been the true target to begin with, certainly that would seal the deal. “I need to go, or I’ll be late. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Mariano rang for you, by the way,” Nick calls after me. “I told him you were unavailable.”

  I pause at the door, but don’t turn around. “Thank you. I’m taking the Ford.”

  My heart thunders in my chest as I close the door behind me and clatter down the steps to where the Ford is parked along the curb. I just won’t think about him yet. I won’t think about how he called Sunday, yesterday, and now today. Or how I think if I see him, I won’t be able to hold so tightly to my doubts.

  And I certainly won’t think about how deeply it scares me that if he is lying, I might be too hung up on him to perceive it.

  “This is so exciting.” Emma is almost bouncing in the passenger seat. We’ve been parked here about ten minutes, and this is the fifth time she’s expressed her enthusiasm. “I’ve never been in the car with a lady driver. My mother says it’s uncivilized for women to drive. She seems to think it’s a gateway to rebellion. I doubt I’ll ever have my own car.”

  “Sure you will. Just not while you live at home.”

  “Jeremiah let me practice once on his coupe.” Emma beams at the memory. “I was terrible.”

  “I was too. Walter taught me because my brothers were too busy.” I shift my hips to find a position that’s comfortable, which is tricky with Nick’s pocket knife digging into my side.