The Lost Girl of Astor Street(41)

Those blasted tears burn my eyes again. I can’t remember a single person referring to me as sweet. Ever. “I’m really not.”

“You’re a force, for sure. A hurricane, really. But there’s a part of you that’s surprisingly tender.” He winks. “Mushy, even.”

My stomach folds in on itself in a pleasant, unfamiliar way as I turn my attention back to my lunch. What does it mean that Mariano sees something inside me that no one else—not even me—ever has?




The dog sits outside the lunchroom door, and my fingers sink into Mariano’s arms when he trots near.

“Shoo.” I make a waving motion. “Shoo, dog. I don’t have more food.”

The dog’s head cocks to the right, and his tail flaps back and forth.

Mariano laughs. “Piper, I think you’ve got a fan.”

“I don’t want a fan. I don’t like dogs.” I tuck myself behind Mariano as the dog sniffs me. “Especially big dogs.”

“Well, this one sure likes you.” Mariano holds out his hand, but the dog flinches away, drawing his tail up between his legs as he cowers. “He’s harmless, poor thing.”

Mariano crouches, leaving me exposed, and holds out his hand. The dog sniffs it and whimpers. “My mother had a cocker spaniel.” He’s looking at the dog, but speaking to me. “And after she died, the dog was never quite the same. She took to sleeping in the closet, on Mama’s house slippers. Piper, just hold your hand out. He won’t hurt you.”

“No, thanks. He attacked me no more than an hour ago.”

I feel Mariano’s chuckle through his suit coat. “He hardly attacked you. He’s hungry.” Mariano takes my hand in his and tugs me down beside him.

He’s holding my hand. Detective Mariano Cassano—handsome and under the impression that I’m mushy inside—is holding my hand.

“He’s a good one, Piper. He must have belonged to someone not too long ago. He still has a collar on. No tags, though.”

The collar is loose around his scruffy fur. Our attention has set him trembling, and he stares up at us with woeful brown eyes.

“What happened to your mother’s dog? Do you still have her?”

“She died a few years ago.” Mariano’s voice droops under the weight of sadness. “Father cried. Which he hadn’t done since she passed. But it was like losing another piece of her, you know?”

“It’s funny how it can hit you like that, missing someone all over again. Even years later.” I stand, knees popping. “About a year ago, I was over at the LeVines’. Sarah, one of Lydia’s little sisters, broke a lamp when she was playing. Mrs. LeVine was so furious, going on and on about how much it cost.” Tears clog my throat. “My mother never cared a whit about anything like that. It’s my father who loves the grandeur. The right address, the right furniture, the right parties.”

Mariano stands too. “I imagine you’re a lot like your mother.”

“I hope so.”

He’s still holding my hand. “We should get you back to school.”

I like him. Not because of his handsome face, but his heart. The kind way he’s looking at me now. His soft Italian accent when he says mama. His concern over Lydia. The freedom I feel around him to be myself.

Something wet grazes my knee, and I jump away when I see it’s the dog, sniffing me.

Mariano laughs. He holds out his hand once more to the dog, but it flinches away. “I don’t know which of you is more nervous.”

For the first time, I look at a dog and feel something besides nerves flare to life within me. He seems to desperately want our attention, and yet is too fearful to accept any affection. “Poor boy. Someone must have been cruel to him.” I chew on my lower lip. “We can’t just leave him . . . can we?”

Mariano shrugs. “I can’t have a dog in my apartment. Nor will he let us touch him.”

“True.” I offer my trembling hand, but Mariano’s right that I don’t need to be nervous. The dog only sniffs it before ducking his head. “I guess we’ll have to leave him.”

Mariano presses his hand against my back and urges me down the sidewalk. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to school. I need to call into the office, but I think there’s a public telephone by the train station.”

As we put space between us and Johnny’s Lunchroom, my heart sags. “I really thought we might find her.”

Mariano sighs. “I know you did. And maybe we got closer than we realize today. Sometimes little things that seem inconsequential add up.” His voice darkens as he adds, “I can’t believe you actually left your phone number for that despicable Johnny Walker.”

I shiver as I think of how Johnny winked at me when I scribbled my telephone number on the back of my receipt. “What else should I have done? He may have some shady deals going, but if he can help get Lydia back, it’s worth it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s how he viewed it. I think he sees it as an excuse to call up a pretty girl.”

My cheeks flush at the compliment, regardless of the gruff manner with which it was delivered. Nails click along the sidewalk behind us. I glance over my shoulder and find the dog trotting several feet back. “We have a shadow.”