The Lost Girl of Astor Street(24)

I close my eyes and pray—something I’ve done more in the last day than in the last five years combined—that even a single item I’ve written down might be useful to bringing Lydia home.




Detective Cassano opens the gate at 2:57. He smiles and tips his homburg when he sees me sitting on the front steps. “Good afternoon, Miss Sail.”

“It’s Piper, please.” My hands are clammy against the notebook I clutch. “And good afternoon, detective.”

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and rests his elbow against the rail. I can just make out the lump of his holstered gun. “If you insist on me calling you Piper, then it seems you should call me Mariano.”

Mariano Cassano. It has a musical quality to it, like a familiar but forgotten tune. “I’ve never known a Mariano before.”

His lips curl into a slight smile. “Family name.”

“Mine too. It was my mother’s maiden name. Father wanted to call me Caroline, after his mother, but mine insisted on Piper. So I’m Piper Caroline.”

Detective Cassano’s—Mariano’s—dark gaze stays steady on me as I share more about my name than he likely cares to hear. Is he as young as he looks? He’s handsome, with his olive skin and strong jaw. He might even be strikingly handsome, were I of the mindset to be struck.

“Are you able to take a walk around the block with me, Piper? I thought you could help familiarize me with the neighbors.”

My heart leaps—that sounds like I might actually be useful. “Of course. Just let me tell my family.”

I pull open the door, dash down the hallway toward the kitchen, and practically run into Walter. “Oh, hi. I’m taking a walk with Detective Cassano. I’ll be back in a bit.”

His face folds into a deep frown. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I don’t think your father would like the idea of you walking around the neighborhood alone.”

“I’ll be with the police, I’m fine.” Walter hesitates, and I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not asking permission, you know. This is just a courtesy so that you know where I am.”

“Fine,” Walter says as I retreat. “See you later.”

I rush outside without bothering to grab a hat.

Mariano has his back to the door when I come out, and he turns to smile at me. “This is good of you, Piper. Neighborhoods can be impossible to understand without an insider’s perspective.”

“I’m just happy to feel useful. To be able to do something other than sit by the phone and wait.” I charge through the gate that he holds open for me. “Did you see Dr. and Mrs. LeVine?”

He nods.

“And?”

Mariano glances at me, his brown eyes searching. “They were how you’d expect. Tired. Scared.”

“I was there yesterday after school, and I don’t think Mrs. LeVine ever stopped crying.”

“They said you had come by. I got the impression you were a great comfort to them.”

“I hope so.” Because that’s not the impression I left with. I hug my notebook to my chest. “They’ve never particularly cared for me.”

Mariano’s face creases with his frown. “Why do you say that?”

“Because they don’t.” My laugh holds no humor. “Lydia . . . Well, she’s as close to perfect as they come. Sweet and kind-hearted and well-mannered. We were a strange match, and her parents wouldn’t have minded Lydia spending time with other friends.”

“Are you not sweet, kind-hearted, and well-mannered, Piper?”

“No. I’m not.”

He chuckles at this, though amusing him wasn’t my intention. “And how long have you lived here?”

“As long as I can remember. I was two when we moved in.”

“So you know all the neighbors, then?”

I nod and, feeling bashful, hand him the notebook. “I made this. Just in case . . . You know. In case something happened to her.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and swallow a gulp of air. “I don’t know how helpful this will be, but I tried to think of everyone I could who might have had even a slight grudge against the LeVine family. I listed neighbors in there. With a map.”

I feign interest in Mrs. Jensen’s peonies as Mariano looks through my notebook. I should brace myself for the likely response—that it’d be better for everyone if I stayed out of this. That the professionals are more than capable of handling Lydia’s case. But I can’t stop myself from thinking he might appreciate my efforts. Detective Mariano Cassano seems to be the only person who realizes that what I know could matter.

Mariano taps on an open page. “What’s this one?”

“Oh.” Heat stains my cheeks. “I tried to document every conversation Lydia and I had in the last week. Just in case it was of any importance.”

Mariano’s footsteps slow. “She hoped to marry Matthew?” He looks at me. “Things were that serious?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” I shake my head. “I don’t know, honestly. I think she was just feeling theatrical when she said that. But when you first told me she was missing, I wondered if maybe she’d run off with him.”

Mariano stops walking, and his thoughts are clearly far away. “I talked to Matthew extensively yesterday and today. He insisted that if Lydia had feelings for him, he was unaware.”