The Unknown Beloved(48)

“I’ll give him your message, miss. But I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Dani returned the handset back to the cradle and sat, staring at the telephone, willing it to ring. When it didn’t, she reluctantly returned to the shop but was silent all day, straining to hear, shushing her aunts when they spoke and listening to customers with half an ear. They received five calls all day, and each time, Dani dashed to answer it, making Zuzana scold and Lenka gasp. None of the callers were Eliot Ness.

It wasn’t until they sat down for supper Sunday afternoon that Dani heard the telephone pealing from the sewing room. She flew down the stairs, through the hall, and into the sewing room before it had completed its fourth chime.

“Kos Clothiers,” she answered, her heart in her throat, the way it had been for days.

“This is Eliot Ness calling for Mr. Malone, please.”

“Mr. Ness, my name is Daniela Kos. It was I who called you. Mr. Michael Malone is a boarder in my home.”

“Is he all right?” Eliot Ness’s voice was sharp.

Dani’s heart sank. “I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Ness. He left sometime on Thursday—I thought maybe you had come to fetch him on Friday—and he hasn’t been seen since. He hasn’t been home. He didn’t take his car. I wanted to file a missing person’s report but thought maybe I should talk to you first.”

Silence shimmered through the line.

“Mr. Ness?”

“Malone is fine. I can promise you that.”

“Then you know where he is?”

“No, ma’am. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he just took the train back to Washington, DC, on business.”

“But . . . are you sure? I’m concerned. If he is in trouble, he is very much alone.”

“What did you say your name was?” Eliot Ness asked, his voice mild.

“I’m Daniela Kos, uh, Dani.”

“Dani,” he repeated. “And you’re the . . . proprietor of the house?”

“Yes, sir. I suppose I am.”

“I see. And Mr. Malone told you we were acquainted?”

Dani didn’t want to lie to the man, but she also didn’t quite know how to explain her knowledge. “That’s right,” she said. “He listed you as a reference.”

“Huh.” He left the word dangling like a hook in the water.

“We were very impressed, Mr. Ness. Very impressed b-by that,” she stammered.

“We?”

“My aunts and I.”

She could hear his questions pulsing through the line, but he hesitated as if he didn’t know how to ask them.

“He mentioned that he knew you many years ago. Is that right, Miss Kos?” he asked, so polite, so pleasant, but Dani wasn’t fooled. He was suspicious of her.

“Uh, yes, sir. That’s true.” She was surprised Malone had mentioned her.

“Quite the coincidence,” he remarked.

“Yes, sir. It was.”

“He was a patrolman then.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know him from his beat?”

“Not exactly. He was assigned to me . . . to my case . . . when my parents were murdered.” That seemed safe enough to reveal.

“I’m so sorry. Odd. I lived in Chicago during that time. I don’t remember a case with the name Kos.”

“Kos was my mother’s maiden name. My father was George Flanagan.”

“Flanagan,” he repeated slowly, like he was searching his memory. “I might remember something about that after all. You say Michael was assigned to the case?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were just a child?”

“Yes. I was ten.” She didn’t see what that had to do with Malone’s whereabouts and said as much.

“No, it doesn’t. You’re right. I was just curious. Such an odd coincidence.”

“We thought it strange as well, as it was fifteen years to the day when we first met.” She didn’t know why she told him that. It was completely irrelevant, but he made her nervous with his slow speech and mild questions. She was spilling information like a sieve. She wondered if he had that effect on everyone. He was quite the interrogator.

“Huh,” he murmured. And was silent for several seconds. “Well, don’t worry too much. He’s a very capable man,” he concluded.

“Yes, sir. He certainly is.”

“How well do you know Malone, Miss Kos?” he asked, keeping that conversational, I’m-only-asking-to-be-polite, tone.

She hesitated. She supposed she didn’t know him very well at all. And yet, she suspected she knew him better than anyone did.

“W-well enough, sir,” she babbled.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she bit her lip, screwed up her face, and kept the words from bubbling out. She already felt like a fool.

“Tell you what. I’ll make some calls and see if I can locate him. And I’ll tell him to ring and check in. Don’t expect me to call back tonight unless I get lucky. Most likely it will be tomorrow morning, but I will try to call you back, even if I don’t have any news. But don’t worry. He’s fine.”

“I certainly hope so. Thank you, Mr. Ness.”