The Lost Girl of Astor Street(22)

“Detective division.” The female voice is abrupt and nasally.

“Hi. I’d like to leave a message for either Detective Cassano or O’Malley, please.”

“One moment.”

In the silence, I stare at my page, at the black dot where I started to write my brother’s name. It looks like an ordinary blot of ink, but I know better. How could I ever write my own brother’s name in here? What if he saw?

“Cassano.”

I blink at the notebook, at the blot of ink. He’s still at work?

“Hello?”

“Yes, hi, detective. This is Piper Sail. We spoke earlier at Presley’s about my friend Lydia LeVine, who—”

“I know who you are, Miss Sail.”

“Oh, okay.” I look at my notebook, at the list of people and their stories. A list of people whom Lydia loves.

“Is there something you need, Miss Sail?”

“Yes, actually. When we spoke at the school earlier, I wasn’t much help. It was the shock of the news, I suppose.”

“That’s very common.” Detective Cassano’s voice has a gentle quality to it, and it calls to mind the way he held my hand steady at school. “It’s why I carry cards with me, because it’s hard to think logically in the face of news like that.”

I glance at my notes again. Do any of the stories even make sense? Do any of them matter?

“I wondered if you or Detective O’Malley had any time tomorrow to meet me. I spent some time thinking through everyone Lydia interacts with, and I made some notes that may be helpful. I could come to the station if that’s more convenient.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re meeting with Dr. and Mrs. LeVine tomorrow afternoon, and it would be easy to stop by your place as well. Say around three o’clock? Or will you still be at school?”

My eyes slide shut. That’s so far from now. “Three o’ clock is fine. Thank you.”

“I hear hesitancy in your voice, Miss Sail. Has something important come up?”

“No, I just . . . I hate waiting.” Tears reduce my voice to a scratchy whisper. “I’m so afraid for her. She would never take off on her own like this.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to get Miss LeVine back home with you and her family.”

“Detective Cassano . . .” I trace the blotter on Father’s desk. “Please be honest with me. You said these situations are frequently nothing. How often is that true?”

His silence pushes my tears over the rims of my eyes.

“You seem to be a very intelligent young woman, Miss Sail.” His words are husky and low. “And with your father’s profession, I’m sure you’re not ignorant of the crimes that occur in our city.”

He knows what my father does? I bite down on my lip in an effort to stop my chin from trembling.

“But missing girls frequently have just run off with a beau or for effect, so—”

“But Matthew is here, and Lydia never would have run away on her own. She just wouldn’t.”

“Even so, it’s still possible she’s alive and well.”

“If Lydia were able to, she would call. She would know we were worried about her.”

Detective Cassano seems to hesitate. “By ‘alive and well,’ I don’t necessarily mean that she would be free to call home. She could still have been taken and just not be able to call.”

“Oh. If a girl is taken, where are you most likely to find her?”

My question is met with silence. “I’ll be blunt, Miss Sail. I’m uncomfortable talking about this with a young lady.”

I huff out an impatient breath. “You’ll have to get over that, detective, because I care much more about finding my friend than I do your comfort.”

“If I thought there was a benefit to telling you”—there seems to be a smile in his words—“then I would. But you knowing the possibilities of where Lydia might be won’t help get her home. Just know that we’re checking everywhere we can think of.”

Despite how Detective Cassano seems amused by me, I don’t think I’ll be able to convince him these are details I should be privy to. But there are other questions he might answer. “Have you talked to our neighbors? Did anyone see her?”

“We’ve talked to most.”

“Did anyone see her?”

He hesitates. “Miss Sail . . .”

“Why don’t you call me Piper?” I poise my pen above my notepad. “Who have you not talked to? In the morning, I could talk to them, and then when we meet tomorrow afternoon, I could tell you if I’ve learned anything.”

“Miss Sail—”

“Piper.”

Another hesitation. “Piper, I admire your tenacity. And Miss LeVine is a lucky girl to have a friend like you. We don’t know exactly what happened to her, but . . . the evidence suggests she didn’t simply run away from home—”

“Of course not. I told you, Lydia would never do that.”

“Right. So, with that in mind, can you see why I might not want to send you knocking on doors?”

“I can help.” I want my voice to sound strong, but my words bleed with desperation. “I really can. Lydia’s been my best friend since we were toddlers. I know how she thinks and I know who she knows. I can be helpful.”