The Lost Girl of Astor Street(54)

“But . . .” But what about the way Nick used to look at Lydia? What about the way his face would fall if she didn’t come home from school with me? “With whom?”

“He didn’t share many details.” Her forearm flexes as she resumes mashing. “She’s a journalist. I guess they met because she’s doing a story on Lydia and Matthew.”

My teeth grind together. How long is this stupid reporter staying in town? And how can Nick go out with that pestering woman? Yes, she’s beautiful, but is he really so shallow? Tears well in my eyes as I sink to a seat at the counter.

Joyce rests the potato masher against the edge of the pot. “I know.” Her words are steady, comforting. “The two of you have always handled your grief in very different ways. This doesn’t mean that Nick is over what happened. But, Piper, life has to be gotten on with.”

Sidekick strains at the end of his leash, and I untie him.

Joyce picks up the potato masher. “Jane is coming for dinner—”

I groan.

“—so maybe it would be a good idea for you to call a friend and go out yourself. Or call Tim and see if you can spend some time with Gretchen and Howie.”

I’d rather eat my own toenails than listen to my sister-in-law ramble about floral arrangements and how to knit the perfect booties. If I can’t be with Lydia, then the only person I really care to see is—

I brush away the idea, but embarrassment still heats my cheeks. I’m not going to call Mariano, on a Friday no less, and ask about his evening plans.

Piper Caroline Sail, I can hear Lydia scolding. Good heavens, who are you? Zelda Fitzgerald? Only a woman of loose morals would even think of something so brash as outright asking a man for a date.

I mutter excuses to Joyce and leave the kitchen.

It’s been several days since Mariano and I last talked. The department is a flurry of activity due to yet another missing adolescent. This one also ended in tragedy, and has caught the eye of the nation now that it’s come out the boy was murdered for sport.

I shudder.

After the grueling days Mariano has had, the idea of going out probably doesn’t even appeal to him. It doesn’t interest me, certainly. I’m happy to stay home and listen to the radio at a volume high enough that I can’t hear Jane and Father discuss a never-ending parade of meaningless wedding details.

And how would I even go about asking Mariano? I don’t know how to do that sort of thing. If Mariano wanted to have dinner with me, I’m sure he would ask. He doesn’t need me calling him up and pestering him about what he’s doing tonight, or how work is going, or if he ever plans to give back my notebook . . .

My notebook. Mariano still has my notebook.

I don’t particularly need my notebook. But it’s mine, and I’d like to have it.

I close myself into Father’s office, draw the telephone close, and dial from memory.

“It’s me, Piper,” I say when he answers. “Do you still have my notebook? The one I gave you when Lydia first went missing?”

“Hello, Piper.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I do.”

“Will you still be there fifteen minutes from now? I’d like to pick it up, if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

I catch sight of the lackluster dress I’m wearing, feel my uncurled hair. “What about forty-five minutes? Will you be there in forty-five?”

“I’ll tell you what, Piper. I’m just about to wrap up for the day. How about I swing by your place on my way home?” His words are warm in my ear, and for the first time in a while, something besides anger, sadness, and fear quivers to life within me.




I’m just putting the finishing touches on my hair when Joyce calls up the stairs to me. “Piper? Detective Cassano is here to see you!”

He’s here already? I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, cataloging my paste-colored face, the circles under my eyes. My efforts to make myself look fresh and attractive have been wasted. And now I’ve manipulated him into traveling all this way just to return a notebook I don’t even need.

Piper, this isn’t like you at all, Lydia admonishes. Put down the kohl pencil and go say hello to that nice young man.

I take a deep breath. It’s just Mariano. He’s seen me at my worst—he can certainly endure this.

But I don’t want him to endure me. I want him to like me.

I peek down the staircase. He stands in the entryway, one hand in his pocket, jingling loose change, and the other gripping my notebook, which I had once given him with such na?ve hope.

“Hello,” I say when I’m halfway down the stairs.

His head snaps up. “Wow. You’re very quiet.”

“It’s a gift.”

Mariano grins at me as I reach the last step. “Here.” He stretches out my notebook. “Sorry I hung on to it so long.”

“It’s okay.” I hug it to my chest. It smells like disappointment and the cigarette smoke that clouds Mariano’s office. “Thanks for trying.”

Mariano’s eyes shine with regret. “I wanted to bring her home, Piper. I wanted to so badly.”

“I know you did.”

His dark gaze hangs on me. Can he see the fatigue? That simply existing is tiring for me right now?