The Lost Girl of Astor Street(56)

It seems safest to not even try to explain. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

Mariano hesitates. “It’s gotten much easier recently. Though now that she’s with Alessandro, it’s hard again.”

My heart twists in a way that makes me long for stone walls. How fast could I build one? Or once you’ve let someone in, is it impossible to wall them back out? “I’m sure it’s difficult to see her moving on.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Mariano’s hand clasps mine. “I didn’t mean that at all. It’s only difficult because Alessandro chooses for it to be. He seems to think he bested me somehow, and it’s hard for us to talk without it turning into an argument. I hate feeling pitted against my own family. More than I already am.”

Mariano’s grasp loosens, and he weaves his fingers between mine. “But—and I want to make sure this is completely clear to you, Piper—I have no lingering interest in her. And no regrets that I’m sitting here with you.” He squeezes my hand. “Is this bothering you?”

When I look up from the captivating sight of his olive fingers entwined with my fair, I find Mariano’s face is close to mine. “No.” I squeeze back. “Not at all.”

He grins and leans against the bench. “How’s Sidekick doing? He’s put on a good amount of weight the last few weeks. He actually looks like a decent sidekick now.”

“I think he’s doing well. Though if I leave the house for too long, he expresses his anger by dragging my shoes from the closet. I finally put them on higher shelves.”

“Good plan.” He licks olive oil from his thumb. “How are the LeVines? Have you seen them recently?”

I nod. “Yesterday, actually. Mrs LeVine and Hannah, anyway. They’re . . . I don’t know. They’re very sad.”

“I wish I could fix it all for you, Piper.” His shoulders droop forward. “More than anything. And since I can’t bring her back for you, I wish I could at least give you the answers you want.”

“No one with the police is still looking, are they?”

Mariano shakes his head. “Even before everything with this new case, Matthew’s trail was cold.”

“Did you follow up with the Finnegans?” Just saying their name sends a tremor through me. “What were they doing at the time Lydia went missing?”

“Colin was already in jail. Patrick’s alibi is solid—movie theater. Plenty of witnesses. But of course they have a lot of men under their influence . . .” Mariano crumples his empty butcher paper. “I haven’t counted them out. I did keep an eye on Dr. LeVine in the week after. I think you’re safe with him. I haven’t found anything I normally would—no paper trail. No suspicious phone calls. No unexplained absences from work. The shady business of him not being forthright about Lydia’s condition was really just a matter of his ego, I think.”

“Did you look into David Barrow any further?”

“Ah, yes, David Barrow. I did a little digging and learned he’s quite the fan of gambling. Spends a lot of time at the tracks and gin joints. Has a lady friend who keeps him company when he’s there, actually.”

I shudder as I think of pretty Mrs. Barrow with her newborn son. The way she always waves and says a bright, “Hello!” when I pass by.

Mariano sighs. “So while he’s guilty of deplorable behavior, that’s not exactly evidence or a motive.”

“Lydia didn’t like being around him. She found him to be creepy.”

Mariano’s mouth curls into a slight smile. “Creepiness isn’t a motive.”

A seed of an idea niggles at me. “What about the nanny who used to work for the Barrow family?”

“What about her?”

“Has anyone talked to her about Mr. Barrow? Lydia once told me she works at John Barleycorn.”

He only blinks at me.

“It’s a speakeasy, Mariano.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know. I was waiting to see where you were taking this.”

“Lydia was always suspicious about why she quit so suddenly. I just wondered if maybe this girl knew something.” My knowledge of speakeasies is limited, all secondhand from Presley’s girls who fancy it fun to sneak into what used to be male-only saloons, drink illegal booze, and dance the night away. “How does one get into a speakeasy? Do I still need a password? How does one learn the password?”

Mariano sighs. “I think you’re going to give me an ulcer, Piper.” He glances behind us, where the jazz trio plays “It Had to Be You.” Mariano drapes his arm over the back of the bench, where it whispers against the fabric of my dress. “I’ve gotta confess something. I brought you here because I was hoping to dance with you. But if you don’t feel like that tonight, that’s okay. We could do it another time.”

Another time. Like another date.

I glance at the couples who are already out there. The girls in their bright dresses, with skirts that twirl out like upside-down flowers, make my feet itch. “I’m a terrible dancer.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I am. I always try to lead.”

Mariano huffs a laugh. “Now that, I believe.”

I try to glare, but it’s impossible with his fingertip tracing the slope of my shoulder.