The Lost Girl of Astor Street(50)

The silence is thick, like the weight of air just before it rains.

Nick leans back in his chair. “Do you have other plans?”

I shrug. “What’s it to you?”

Sidekick pushes his way through the kitchen door and into the dining room. He stretches out on a plot of carpet beside me in a satisfied, full-belly way. He always eats his breakfast in about three bites, as if otherwise the food will vanish.

“I’d rather not watch you waste your life away.” Nick’s gaze holds a challenge. “Is that reason enough, sister? That I care about you?”

I could say the same thing to him, it seems. Perhaps he’s wasting away his life in a more vibrant kind of way—speakeasies and race tracks and house parties—but it’s wasteful all the same.

“I’m fine.” I keep my voice level. “I’m grieving, but I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.” Nick’s tone is flat.

“Kids,” Father says. “This time is difficult enough without bickering.”

“We’re letting her languish too much. She should be improving by now.”

“Why, because you are?” I snap. “She was my best friend, Nick. And she was . . .”

The typewritten notes of the coroner’s report swim before my eyes. Fibers were found in the oral cavity of the victim, so it’s likely the victim was gagged.

I blink away the words, try to push out what I want to say. “And she was . . .”

The lungs were filled with not only water but emesis, leaving me to conclude that the victim aspirated before being bound and discarded in the river. Given the victim’s history with seizures, it’s my belief that—

“Taken.” The word—so beautifully vague—finally comes out. “She was taken. Am I not supposed to grieve?”

“Grieve? Yes. Give up? No. You barely said good-bye to Walter when he left. You won’t answer telephone calls. You won’t come out with me and my friends.”

Sidekick wedges himself between my legs. The tension in the air has set him trembling.

“I know losing Lydia hurts. It hurts me too, Piper.” Nick’s jaw quivers for a moment. “But there are still people who care about you. And I’m not just talking about that Cassano kid who keeps sniffing around.”

There’s a tinge of anger in that last sentence. Is this related to his hangover, or is he actually mad about the two visits Mariano has paid me since Lydia’s funeral?

“Detective Cassano is the same age as you, Nicholas Sail.”

“I think you know what I mean.”

That I shouldn’t be receiving attention from an Italian? Or a Catholic? Has studying the law turned my brother against immigrants?

“Nick.” Father’s tone holds a warning. “I think you’re being unfair.”

Nick turns to Father. “You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea for Piper to see him.”

I slather preserves onto my biscuit with such force, it crumbles against my hand. “I’m sorry, but I thought this conversation began with you wanting me to live my life more.”

“I do. I just don’t think he should be a part of it.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, son.” Father stands. “If Piper is interested in dating Mariano, she has my blessing. And I would encourage you to leave her alone about it. I’m afraid I have to leave now.” He drops a kiss on my head. “Jane and I are meeting with the hotel manager to finalize arrangements, and I have a few things to take care of before I go.”

Nick waits all of ten seconds after Father departs the dining room to press me further on Mariano. “Father doesn’t want to be the bad guy, but this is a terrible idea, Piper. I don’t trust him.”

“If you would actually talk to Mariano, then maybe you would know he’s not the bad fellow you make him out to be. This is all just stupid prejudice on your part.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into. Has he even told you about Zola?”

My heart thumps faster at the mention of another girl. Who is she? And how does Nick know about her when I don’t? But I refuse to let on like I’m ignorant. “How do you know about her?”

“I make it my business to know such things.”

I snatch my plate and coffee cup from the table. “Maybe you should pay less attention to my life and my friends and a little more to the choices you’re making.”

“Piper, come back.” Nick’s half-hearted plea reaches me at the door as I stalk away. Sidekick scurries alongside me. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

My coffee sloshes in the cup as I close the front door with my foot. Thank goodness the reporters have stopped loitering on our streets, or I might find photographs of me in my kimono and bare feet splashed across the society pages.

Sidekick barks as he romps after a squirrel. I’m grateful when the squirrel scampers to safety up the tree, because he’s surprisingly good at nabbing them. Sidekick stands beneath the oak, staring up like the rodent could fall at any moment.

Behind me, the door opens.

“I’m sorry, but he’s insufferable this morning.” I set my coffee cup on the step. “I couldn’t take it for one more second.”

Father settles beside me, folding his long, thick body into the small space. “He’s worried about you.”