The Lost Girl of Astor Street(75)
Oh. Oh. “I . . . Yes, you too, sir.”
His grip on my hand is surprisingly gentle. “My son speaks very highly of you.”
And I have no idea how to respond to that. “Thank you. He does of you too.” I think he does, anyway. Mariano doesn’t seem to like talking about his family. “Is he here yet?”
“I expect him at any minute. He wasn’t supposed to be long at the office today, but . . .” Giovanni shrugs his shoulders.
“Mr. Cassano.” I startle at the sound of Tim’s voice. He rises from the table, his hand outstretched. “Great to see you, sir. So glad you could make it.”
“Glad to have been invited. I finally get the chance to meet your lovely wife.”
How does my brother know Giovanni Cassano? A memory tickles at me, like a song you know, yet can’t quite recall the exact tune. Is it Tim whom I’ve heard talk about the Cassano family? Or Nick? I think, maybe, I’ve heard Nick saying—
“Piper.” Giovanni nods toward the entrance. “Someone finally broke free from his desk.”
In the doorway, Mariano cuts a dashing figure in his silk top hat and cutaway coat. His gaze scans the crowd, and his mouth spreads into a smile when he spots me walking toward him.
In my stocking feet—whoops.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“It’s funny, but you look just like this guy I used to know.”
“Way back last week, you mean?”
“Mm-hmm.”
His fingers clasp mine, but with a ballroom full of people—including both our fathers—neither of us move closer. Gray smudges beneath his eyes give away how taxing his week has been.
“You need a good meal, detective.”
He squeezes my hand. “I need time with my girl, Miss Sail.”
My stomach seems to fold in on itself. “Maybe we could make both happen at once.”
The band leader announces that Mr. and Mrs. Sail are going to enjoy their first dance—Jane’s new name grates on my ears—and the band strikes up, “You Made Me Love You.”
All eyes in the room lock on Jane and my father, who dances like you might guess a lawyer in his late forties would. Mariano’s arm curls around my waist, and his mouth whispers against my ear. “Think they’d play ‘It Had to Be You’ if I ask ’em real nice?”
I grin with the memory of the Parmesan-scented evening at Vernon Park, the winking stars in the sky, and the warmth of Mariano’s mouth on mine. “If not, I’ll sic Jane on them.”
His chuckle is a warm rumble against me.
I happen to catch Alana’s eye—not everyone is tuned in to Father and Jane, apparently—and I return her smile, hoping she sees that, like she had hoped on the front porch hours ago, I’m getting through the day just fine.
“Lydia getting into the car certainly implies that she knew the driver.” Mariano twirls me out and then back against him. “That’s the most disturbing thing to me. I can’t get over it. You’re sure David Barrow was telling the truth about the car?”
“Pretty sure. But you’ve spoken to the Finnegans?”
Mariano nods. “Jail and the cinema, remember? Rock solid.”
My peach skirts swish against my legs as we waltz. “But what about beyond the brothers. Did you check out men who work for them? Because I could do some dig—”
“No.” Mariano’s hand presses into my back, and my heart hiccups in my chest at our closeness. “Please, no. After the week I’ve had and everything I’ve seen with this current case, I just really want to know that you’re safe.”
We’ve stopped dancing.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He exhales, clutches me tight for a moment, and then spins me out. When he pulls me back close, his gaze has that faraway look. The one he gets when he’s thinking. “But you still don’t suspect Matthew at all?”
There’s a tightness in my chest. “Should I?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes, he seems to make the most sense.”
“He has an alibi too, though.”
“Not as firm as some others.” We take several spins across the floor in silence. Mariano looks down at me, sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Piper. I know you want to believe he’s been falsely accused. It’s just not in my nature to trust. Not anymore.”
A sentiment I well understand. “The thought has crossed my mind, for sure.”
“But . . . ?”
“But Lydia was as na?ve as she was sweet. If someone wanted her to get into the car voluntarily, I don’t think it would have been so hard, really. You could simply say you were hurt or lost or a friend of a friend or whatever, and she would’ve done it.”
The song comes to a close, and Mariano rests his forehead against mine. “I sure know how to woo a girl, don’t I?”
Around us, people applaud the quartet, and I mindlessly join them. “You’re the only one who’ll still talk to me about this instead of just telling me I need to move on. The only one who seems to care about the issue that matters more to me than anything else. That’s . . .”
Love, Lydia whispers into my ear. That’s love.
I swallow. “I’ll take that over wooing any day.”