The Lost Girl of Astor Street(27)

In the reflection of the window, I catch Walter scowling as he returns to cleaning. “Haven’t you been plenty helpful already? I mean, how long was that walk yesterday? An hour?”

The air is heavy with the threat of rain, and his words make me want to start my own storm right here on the front porch. Plenty helpful? What does that even mean? But I know from experience that digging in my heels only makes Walter dig his in deeper, and I need him.

“Ignoring your gross exaggeration, what better use of my time could there possibly be but to provide information that might help us recover Lydia safely?”

Walter methodically wipes the window dry. He hangs the towel over the edge of the bucket of vinegar water, and then comes to stand near me, where the front porch meets the walkway. His knickers are grubby from a morning of working in the yard and his cheeks are smudged with dirt. But he doesn’t talk, just looks at me.

“Please come with me. Nick is at the library, and I don’t want to go alone.”

Walter rests against the porch rail. “It scares me, you poking around in this business with Lydia.”

“Mariano wouldn’t have asked me to do it if he thought it was dangerous.”

“Mariano?”

“Detective Cassano.”

Walter huffs an exhale. “You and the detective are on a first-name basis?”

Embarrassment flares within me. “I’m just trying to do what I can to get Lydia home, and it’s not going to hurt things to be friendly with one of the detectives working on her case. That’s all this is.”

“I still don’t like the idea of him sending you on errands,” Walter mutters as he kicks at the ground with the toe of his work boot. “You can save your eyelash batting for the detective, though. Give me a few minutes to get cleaned up, and I’ll walk you over there.”

I bite my lip but can’t hold in my annoyance. “I didn’t bat my eyelashes.”

Walter’s mouth flickers with a smile as he slips past me.

“I didn’t!” I call after him.

Oh well. He can think whatever he wants so long as he accompanies me to the Barrows’ house. Perhaps he would even venture over to the LeVines’ with me . . . I’ve had a terrible kicked-in-the-gut feeling since yesterday, when Mariano cautioned me against going over there. Is it because they hid Lydia’s seizures? Is that some sort of sign of bigger secrets?

I think of how Dr. LeVine behaved after the first seizure of Lydia’s that I witnessed, his deep frown as he studied her. He had asked Mrs. LeVine scads of questions and jotted her answers in a slender black notebook. He was a loving, concerned father.

Wasn’t he?

“I cannot stress to you enough how important it is that you keep this secret.” Mrs. LeVine’s eyes had been sharp, probing. “Dr. LeVine’s livelihood depends upon it.”

And how far would he go to protect his livelihood? Far enough to shield the illness from his own daughter. Far enough to pull her out of school just shy of graduation and secret her away to the Mayo Clinic. But far enough to cover up something more sinister?

And where, exactly, might he keep that notebook?

Father’s gleaming Chrysler coupe pulls up to our house, and out spills Jane, laughing as if she hasn’t a care in the world. Her raven bob shines in the midmorning sun beneath a close-fitting cloche hat. Her tennis whites infuriate me. Perhaps it’s unfair to feel lives should go on hold because Lydia is missing, but it seems outright selfish that they should go play a game of tennis at the club at a time like this.

“Hello.”

My ice-cold greeting causes Jane’s laugh to die in the air. “Oh, hello, dear.”

“Piper.” Father frowns as he comes around the car. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Waiting for Walter.”

“I would prefer you wait inside.” Father gestures to the door, and I obey. Maybe that will keep him from asking too many questions about where Walter and I plan to go.

Jane’s eyes hold sympathy as she walks beside me up the stairs. “How are you doing, Piper? You must be terrified.”

I force my chin high. “I’m choosing to hope.”

As we walk through the door my father opens for us, Jane rests her hand on my arm. The cluster of diamonds on her left ring finger wink in the afternoon sunlight. I’m actually disappointed by how swell her engagement ring is. I would prefer something ostentatious that I could make fun of. “I’m just sure someone knows something, especially in this neighborhood, where everyone watches out for each other.”

“Well, if that’s true, they’re keeping quiet.”

Jane hangs her handbag on the rack. “The LeVines should offer money for information, in my opinion. The right amount of money can get anyone to talk.”

Of course that’s what Jane would think, because that’s the type of person she is. Here it’s not even lunchtime, and she’s bejeweled and made up as if heading to a nightclub.

“It’s also a great motivator for people to lie.” Father leafs through the mail on the entry table.

“Well, at least the police seem to be doing a thorough investigation. That’s what Lydia’s mother told me when I called on her. One never knows these days, with everything the police have on their laps.” Jane notes something displeasing on her thumbnail. She frowns and scrubs at it. “Though Edna says one of the detectives is extremely young.”