The Unknown Beloved(90)

“The Rockefellers still go to the gala. It’s . . . swanky.”

“Do you think you can find something to wear?”

“I am a clothier, Michael,” she said with a haughty lift of her chin and a slight eastern European accent. “Of course I can find something to wear.”

“You are not just a clothier, you are a Kos, Daniela,” he said, mimicking the flavor of a true Bohemian, and making her laugh.

“You are better at that accent than I am, and I’ve been hearing it all my life,” she marveled.

She sat back in her chair, considering her options, and her excitement grew. “You must wear one of your silk suits. The one with the chalk stripe.”

“Shouldn’t I wear tails?”

“Tails are a step down from a suit like that. And I have just the dress.”

“Good. We might have to work a little . . . but I think we could squeeze in a dance and maybe some free champagne.”

“Do you like to dance, Michael?” she squeaked, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “Does that surprise you?”

She tipped her head to the side, trying to imagine it.

“It doesn’t surprise me, no. You’re an actor, after all. But I’d like to see it.”

“I didn’t say I was good. I said I enjoyed it. At least I did, once.”

“With Irene?” She didn’t mean to sound jealous, but she did.

It didn’t appear to bother Malone. He even smirked at her a little. “Yeah. With Irene. And long before that. Molly taught me. She loves to dance, and I was her practice partner. My mother loved to dance too.”

“What was she like, your mother? I can’t picture her.”

He was quiet for a minute, his eyes distant. “You know . . . I don’t really remember. It was a long time ago. I was brokenhearted when she died. I remember that much.” He rose and rinsed his plate, like he’d made himself uncomfortable with his admission.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No need. Like I said . . . it was a long time ago. I learned how to . . . move on.” He set the plate in the rack beside the sink and shook off his hands.

He shifted his weight like he wanted to stay, and still he headed for the door.

“Good night, Dani,” he said, not looking back.

“Good night, Michael.”



“Flo Polillo was in a rooming house on Carnegie, and Rose Wallace rented a single on Scovill,” Malone explained to Dani the following afternoon. “They aren’t far from each other. The rooms have been rented out. I checked a while back, but the landlords might still have some of their possessions. We’ll go see what we can find.”

He’d considered taking the streetcar—he didn’t like the attention his car garnered in the poorest neighborhoods—but they had a few stops, and he didn’t want Dani walking in the parts of town where they were headed. They would just have to be quick.

“We’ll go to Scovill first,” he said. “Rose Wallace was missing for almost a year before her remains were found under Lorain-Carnegie Bridge, but her landlord wouldn’t have known she was dead, so maybe they’re still boxed up somewhere.

“She was last seen doing her laundry. A friend stopped by and told her someone was asking for her at the bar around the corner. She dropped everything and went. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and you can get your magic hands on that laundry.”

“What’s our story? Are we just going to ask for her things?” Dani asked as they pulled up in front of a grimy building that butted right up next to the street. If someone tried to take his car, he could reach out and smack them without taking a step.

“Nah. You’re a friend. You’re wondering if any of her things are still around. You’re looking for something you lent her.”

Rose Wallace’s landlord was not impressed with Dani’s story. Malone wouldn’t have believed her either if he were the woman. Dani was too sweet and prim. The residents of this rooming house were neither.

“You didn’t know Rose. You’re just trying to claim her things. That’s low down, if ya ask me,” the woman growled. She was missing three of her front teeth and two of her fingers, but she stared at Dani’s eyes like Dani was the odd one.

“We’d be glad to pay for them,” Malone chimed in. “It’s not an issue of money.”

“Oh yeah? How much?”

Malone handed her five dollars.

“Well, when you put it like that, I’m a little more willing to take a look. I think Mr. Morgan put her things in a box in the basement.” She put Malone’s fiver in the pocket of her skirt. “It’s down three flights of stairs, though. You’ll have to go with me. I’m not lugging it back up. If there’s something there, you can have it all. Nobody else wants it. Rose’s clothes are too small for me.”

Malone tossed a fleeting look at his car and considered making Dani wait for him there. He decided she was safer with him and took her hand before following the woman into the bowels of the building. He didn’t think they would get jumped. Swindled? Yes. But not jumped. And as Dani had so aptly put it, his holster was not empty.

The basement was littered with the detritus of years. No one dared get rid of anything anymore. Scarcity did that. A pile of junk felt like a pile of possessions, and possessions felt like safety.