The Lost Girl of Astor Street(90)

Emma’s laugh rings high. “You must be remembering wrong, Jeremiah.”

“No, I’m quite certain.”

“Maybe I misunderstood her.” My fingers draw my locket up the length of its chain. I can hear her words from dinner that evening as clear as if she just spoke them. When your father owns the paper, you have to learn it all, whether you’re a female or not.

Why did she lie? Some kind of trick to win Nick’s affections? Did she think my brother would only notice her if she had a family of means and power?

“Why would she have lied about that?” Emma’s question is breathy with disbelief, and it brings a smile to my face. Lydia would have reacted exactly the same.

“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.” I wink at Emma. “Perhaps dinner won’t be as dull as I had feared.”




At home, I find Joyce forgot to lock the back door—so unlike her—and that Sidekick isn’t in his usual place on the towel we keep in the pantry.

I groan. If he’s chewed up my shoes again . . . “Sidekick? Where are you, you troublemaker?”

After a moment, I hear the distinct sound of Sidekick’s nails scraping along the hardwood as he races down the stairs, makes a sliding turn in the entry, and barrels into the kitchen.

His front paws land square on my chest, and he gives a delighted yip.

I scratch his ears before nudging his paws off me. “Easy, buddy. Madeleine Vionnet dresses don’t grow on trees, you know.”

He dances a circle on the floor, his tail whipping back and forth.

Accusing Alana of lying is too big an allegation to hang on Jeremiah being “quite sure” that Irwin Kirkwood has no daughter. I could call the newspaper and learn her real last name, and then, if there’s time, go to the library and see if I can get my hands on some archived issues. Seems like I should know everything I possibly can for when she inevitably denies the truth.

I settle at Father’s desk and pull the telephone close to me. Sidekick lays his head on my lap and whimpers. “What’s going on with you?” I hook my finger in the dial and pull until my finger aligns with the appropriate number. “You’re acting very peculiar.”

I rub by his ears while I wait. A woman comes on the line. “Long distance.”

“Hi. I’d like to make a person-to-business call to The Kansas City Star in Kansas City, Missouri.”

“Your name and number, please?”

“Piper Sail. LIN-0421.”

“Thank you. I’ll ring you back soon with your connection.”

“Thank you.”

My heart pitter-patters in my chest as I hang the earpiece back on the hook. Hopefully, Father makes enough long-distance telephone calls that the exorbitant expense won’t be shocking enough for him to investigate when the next bill comes.

Sidekick presses his head deeper into my lap while we wait. I eye the ticking grandfather clock by the door. Supposing the call is quick, I might be able to make it to—

The phone trills, ratcheting up my heart rate. I shake my head at myself—I’m such a ninny sometimes. “Hello?”

“Your connection has been made.”

“Thank you.”

“Kansas City Star. How may I direct your call?” There’s a click as the long-distance operator leaves the line.

“I’m calling for Alana Kirkwood.”

Pause. “Did you say Irwin Kirkwood, miss?”

“No, Alana Kirkwood. One of your reporters.”

The second pause sends a satisfying thrill through me. “We don’t have any reporters by that name, miss.”

I throw my stocking feet up on Father’s desk. Gotcha. “Oh, really? I was sure that was her name. What about one of your other female reporters? Are they available?”

“We don’t employ any female reporters, miss.”

I sit upright, and my feet fall to the floor with a thunk that makes Sidekick scurry away.

“Miss?”

“I’m here. I . . .” None? “You don’t employ any?”

“No, miss. What is your call in regards to? I’ll connect you to the best party poss—”

I let my finger fall heavy on the switch hook.

No female reporters? Absolutely none? Does that mean—

“So.” Alana smirks at me from the doorway, and a yelp escapes me. “You learned my little secret.”

My heart thunders. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I know.”

The simplicity of her words and the mystery of her smile makes my stomach fold in on itself. “Why’d you lie?”

Alana saunters toward Father’s desk, the late-afternoon rays of sunlight shimmering in the beads of her fine dress. “Haven’t you ever lied to get what you want, Piper?”

I fight away an eye roll. “Nick is no sap. Don’t you think he would’ve figured out that you’re a fake before you dragged him down the middle aisle?”

Alana stands tall on the other side of Father’s desk, looking down at me with a patronizing smile. “You really think I’d go to all this trouble for Nick?”

How dare she insult my brother. “If not for Nick—who, by the way, would be a catch for a girl like you—then why?”