The Lost Girl of Astor Street(71)

Fear leaps to life in my heart as I paint on a smile. Does he know I came here looking for him? “Why, David. What a pleasant surprise.”

“That’s the ticket.” His hand is low on my back as he presses me through the crowd, toward a corner of the room that’s invisible to Walter. He edges me in, leans to the point his nose is just inches from mine. To the casual passerby, we are nothing more than a couple trying to steal a moment of privacy. “Rosie put you up to this, didn’t she? However much she’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

Rosie? I raise my eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be cute with me.” The words are a growl. “I’m not a man you want to mess with.”

“I wasn’t trying to be cute. I actually don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Doubt flickers in his eyes, and he draws back a bit. “Yes or no—Rosie sent you here to keep an eye on me.”

“I don’t even know who Rosie is.”

“My wife.”

Ah, of course. “And why would your wife ask me to keep an eye on you?”

“Annette said you were here to ask her questions.”

It’s all coming together now. Why Annette might have quit her nanny job so suddenly. Why Mr. Barrow would just happen to be a regular patron of the place where she works. He’s here for her. The thoughts make my stomach pitch, but I pair an indifferent shrug with a roll of my eyes. “You think I care at all that you’re having an affair? I’m here to talk about Lydia.”

“Lydia?” The pressure of his fingers on my wrists eases. “Why would you want to talk to me about her?”

There’s a part inside me that trembles with fear. That wants to run from this man, who might be capable of snapping me in half. But the other part of me—the part that insisted Mariano listen to me when Lydia first disappeared, that flirted with Johnny Walker, that would do whatever it takes to get answers about Lydia—won’t shut up.

“I wondered if you might tell me why you’re beating your son to keep him quiet.”

A range of emotions—fury, sadness, bewilderment—fly over Mr. Barrow’s face before he wipes his expression blank. “What would make you say that, Miss Sail?”

“I’ve seen his bruises.”

“As a father, I’ve got a right to discipline my son.” The words come through clenched teeth. His hands are once again tight around my wrists.

“You’re not disciplining. You’re silencing. You don’t want him to say what he knows. And why is that, Mr. Barrow?”

Mr. Barrow leans close, his beer-laced breath hot on my ear. “What good could come from Cole talking? I’m doing him a favor. No five-year-old needs to know just how nasty those Finnegan brothers are.”

The words send a shiver through me. “What do you mean?”

“It’s none of your business, girl. You keep sniffing around like you are, and you’re going to wind up just like your friend.”

“Well, if you don’t tell me what you know, I might just have to pay a visit to Rosie tomorrow and—” My whimper of pain is drowned out by the brassy notes of “Tin Roof Blues.”

His fingers press painfully into the delicate flesh on the underside of my wrists. “I told you I’d make your life miserable if you breathed a word of this to my wife.”

“I could do the same for you too, you know.” The words bleed with discomfort. “Let’s make a deal. You tell me what you know, and I keep quiet about you and Annette.”

“I don’t want to see any cops knocking on my door, you hear? You’ve got a real nice dog, I’ve noticed. Be a shame if something happened to him.”

My hands fist at my sides. It’s imagining Mr. Barrow with a black eye that enables me to paint on a smile. “I won’t send the cops your way. I just want to know what you know.”

He stares at me. In the shadows, his narrowed eyes seem black. “I’ll tell you what I know, but I don’t ever want to find you around here again. You got it?”

I nod.

“I was walking back from the train station, and I saw the car take off. An armored Model T, custom job. I might’ve known just from that, but the Finnegans . . . they’re as dumb as they are ugly. On the bottom corner of the door, they’ve got the two lions with the sword. And that red sticks out like a sore thumb. You can’t help but notice it.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

“It’s the Finnegan family crest. Look it up. They think they can be flashy gangsters like others have been and get away with it. They seem to forget—or maybe they just don’t care—that the flashy ones get gunned down. They’re idiots.”

I shudder. “Dangerous idiots.”

“But you’re a smart girl, right, doll?” His fingers seem to press even deeper into my flesh. I hold in a cry of pain. “You know that it’s in your best interest to keep this between us.”

A threat—that I better not see him within ten feet of Sidekick—sits on my tongue.

“Piper.” My name is sharp, like the rap on a snare drum, and Walter glowers at the two of us. “I think it’s time that we leave.”