The Lost Girl of Astor Street(16)

What could they possibly . . . ? “Of course. About what?”

As if their heads are connected, both detectives look to Jeremiah.

“I don’t mind if he hears.” I straighten my shoulders, remind myself of the truth. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Of course not, Miss,” says Detective Cassano. “We’re here in service of the LeVine family.”

My surroundings dim with two exceptions—the grave expression on the detective’s face, and the way my heart seems intent to fly right out of my chest. “The LeVine family?”

“Dr. Charles LeVine?”

“Yes, I know. I’m best friends with their daughter.”

“That’s why we’re here. We hoped you could provide insight to her whereabouts.”

Oh, Lydia. What have you done?

“H-her whereabouts?” I swallow to steady my voice. “How do you mean?”

My stomach turns to ice as both detectives sweep their hats off their heads.

“I apologize to have to tell you, Miss Sail. We thought you would know by now.” Detective Cassano’s words are measured, as if being selected carefully. “Lydia LeVine has been reported missing.”





CHAPTER


FOUR


Jeremiah’s hands grasp my shoulders, hold me steady, and that’s when I realize I swayed.

“I’m sorry we’re the bearers of troubling news, Miss Sail.” Detective Cassano glances to his older counterpart before training his eyes back on me. “I’m sure it’s alarming to learn about your friend in this manner. We’re hoping you can help us locate her.”

“Of course.” My words are so high and breathy, I barely recognize them as my own. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Detective O’Malley fits his homburg back on his round head. “Cassano, I’ll head in to have a word with the headmistress.” He nods to me. “My apologies, Miss Sail.” While his words are brusque, his gaze is sincere.

“Thank you, detective.”

They sound like lines from a school play rather than my real life. Reported missing. Thank you, detective.

At the most, Lydia was supposed to be going on a date. Just a date.

From his inside pocket, the detective pulls a small notepad and a stub of a pencil. “I know it’s hard, Miss Sail, but I need to ask you a few questions about Lydia. When was the last time you saw her?”

Around us, Presley’s girls clatter down the stone steps, passing us curious looks as they bend their bobbed heads together and whisper. I almost sway on my feet again, but I stop myself in time.

“Yesterday, around five o’clock. She was only over for about fifteen minutes, and then she left.”

“What was Lydia like during that time? Anything unusual about her behavior?”

Everything.

In fact, it was hard to remember anything that hadn’t been unusual. From Lydia’s anger, to her talk about her health, to her determination to finally tell Matthew how she felt. If he asked me to marry him today, I’d have no hesitation saying yes. The words reverberate in my ears.

Surely not. Even as brave and reckless as she seemed yesterday afternoon, surely she wouldn’t have gone so far as to actually run away with Matthew.

Or would she?

Jeremiah’s hand presses into my waist. “Piper, I think you should sit down.”

I had swayed again.

“Miss Sail, while I understand you being alarmed over your friend, I assure you that this sort of thing is not unusual.” Detective Cassano gazes at me from under the brim of his hat. Despite the firm line of his jaw and his sharp eyes, there’s a softness about his manner. “The majority of the time, we find the young lady with a friend or boyfriend. So while we’re taking this seriously, of course, you should know that the results usually are not as distressing as they initially seem.”

“Thank you, that’s comforting.” I take a swallow of dry air. “You asked about Lydia’s behavior. She came over because she’d been fighting with her parents. When she arrived at my house, she was upset.”

“What had they been fighting about?”

“Dr. and Mrs. LeVine wanted Lydia to go to Minnesota for a few months, and she didn’t want to go. She . . .” I press my eyes closed, the betrayal bitter on the tip of my tongue. Lydia will understand, right? He’s a detective. I can’t lie. “She believed herself in love with someone, and she didn’t want to be gone so long.”

Detective Cassano’s eyebrows rise. “Who was it?”

“The family’s chauffeur. Matthew. I’m sorry, I don’t know his last name.”

“What’s going on here?” Walter’s voice booms into the conversation, and I turn to find him mounting Presley’s limestone steps two at a time to reach us. I’ve never thought of Walter being frightening, but with his broad shoulders and the scowl on his face, I’m not surprised the girls in his path skitter out of the way.

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up.” Walter’s tone says this ought to be obvious to me. He puts a protective arm around me, bumping Jeremiah.

Jeremiah yanks his hand away and nearly knocks into his sister as she joins us.

“This is Detective Cassano,” I say to Walter. “Apparently Lydia—”