The Lost Girl of Astor Street(81)

“That’s part of being a defense attorney, Piper. ‘In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial.’ The sixth amendment isn’t just for good guys.” Nick pauses for another puff. “And if you have to provide a defense for a man who’s guilty, as a way of upholding the founding principles of our country, what’s the shame in making decent money at it?”

“There’s a difference between decent money and, well, this.” I gesture to our house.

“You’re still thinking about it wrong. Don’t think of it as ‘my daddy defends the mafia.’ Instead, think of how our father works to protect one of the greatest rights we have as American citizens.”

Nick will be a very good lawyer.

“And he’s being paid ridiculously well for the verdicts he gets.”

“Stop being so hung up on the money.”

“Would Father still defend them if they were poor?”

“Absolutely.”

Nick doesn’t even flinch when he says it. And it’s unsettling to see how it takes him no effort, how it costs him nothing, to lie.

“What would Mother have said about all this?”

Nick takes a final inhale of his cigarette before putting it out on the stoop. “I don’t know. But it’s not fair of us to speculate. To put words in the mouth of someone who can’t speak for herself.” Nick clasps a hand on my shoulder as he stands. “’Night, sister. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Nick.”

But when I don’t hear the door open, I turn and find him with his hand on the doorknob and his gaze on the quiet street. “You won’t stay outside too long, will you?”

“No.”

“It’s just that what happened to Lydia could’ve easily happened to you.”

Maybe it was even supposed to happen to me. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if my shivering has anything to do with the nighttime chill. “Not if it was Matthew.”

“We both know it wasn’t.” Nick’s voice has turned dark. “He loved Lydia. Alana says the same thing, that Matthew loved Lydia. She’s working hard to find him. She’s even traveled to places she thinks he might’ve gone.”

“Why does she want him found so badly, if she thinks he’s not guilty?”

“How else will we find the man responsible? Really, you should listen to her and work with her. You have the same goal.”

I think of the predatory way she looked at me when we met, that day when it came out that Matthew had left town. No, I think Alana is all about herself on the issue of Matthew—her fame, her big break.

“Good night, Nick,” I say again.

“Promise me you’re coming inside soon. It’s really not safe out here. Not these days. Bosses aren’t content with just taking out the guy they want. They mow down entire families—wives, children.”

Again, I shudder. But I don’t want to give Nick the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

“I’m not going to cower inside our home because of who you and Father choose to do business with.” I sound much braver than I feel. “If you don’t like it, that’s not my problem.”

Nick mutters a terse good night and shuts the door firmly behind him.

I gaze up into the sky. This deep in the city, the sky is more of an ashen gray, even after midnight, as it reflects the city lights. There are stars up there. I don’t see them—I rarely do unless I’m at Tim’s—but I know they’re there. I sit for a while, trying to spot a single star, but I can’t. If I chose to, it would be easy to deny their existence.

They’re there, I tell myself. Even if your eyes can’t perceive them.





CHAPTER


TWENTY-TWO


I stare into my leather shopping bag—containing my notebook, several pens, Nick’s pocket knife, a length of rope, and my F. Scott Fitzgerald novel for while I wait. I’ve never staked out a man’s apartment. I’m not sure what all I need.

With all leads in Lydia’s case pointing to the Finnegans, I’m at a bit of a dead end. I can’t exactly go after them on my own, and even though I’ve thought of little else but Mariano and how to reconcile that he lied to me with my Father’s belief that Mariano isn’t mixed up in the family business, I still don’t really know how involved with him I want to be.

So if I can’t go after the Finnegans, I can at least help Emma solve the mystery of the very nice, but very vague Robbie Thomas. A consolation prize of sorts while I figure out my next move with Lydia.

There’s a knock at my door.

I fold over the top of my shopping bag. “Come in.”

I hold in a groan when Alana pokes her head in the door. “Hi, Piper.”

“Hi.”

She steps into my room, all grown-up glamour in a geometric-print dress and heels that make her even taller. “Your room is lovely.”

Under her scrutiny, I feel even more aware of how it looks like a little girl’s bedroom. “Thank you.”

Sidekick sniffs at Alana, and she moves to pet him. He jumps back.

“He’s very skittish around new people.”

She crouches lower and holds out her hand. “I’m hardly new, right, Sidekick? You know me.”