The Unknown Beloved(91)

The woman knew exactly what she had.

“Here ya go. That’s everything.” She pushed two boxes toward them, one large and one small, and both labeled Rose Wallace.

He opened them, unwilling to lug them up the stairs if there was nothing they could use. The woman snorted like he was challenging her integrity.

In one box was a frying pan, a teapot, and assorted dishes. That one wouldn’t do them any good. He shoved it aside and opened the next one. The second box was half-empty. It contained a lipstick and hair pins, a straw hat, and an empty perfume bottle. The only items of clothing, besides the hat, were a hair scarf, a single silk nylon, and a threadbare nightgown that was probably pink at one time but had been washed into beige. It was something, but not much. Malone closed the small box and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

“We’ll take this one,” he said. “Someone else might be able to use the dishes, seeing as Rose isn’t coming back.”

The woman pulled out the frying pan and tested its weight.

“Is there a chance we might see the room she occupied?” Dani chirped up. Malone knew she was angling to feel up the drapes.

The woman looked at Dani like she’d just asked if she could have a nap in her bed.

“No, you may not. I have a boarder in that room now. And why in the world would you need to go in her room? Are you one of those ghost hunters? Because I’ll have none of that.”

“Thank you very much for the box,” Malone interrupted. He handed the woman another dollar for her trouble. She made the sign of the cross and shot another dirty look at Dani and ushered them up the stairs with her new pan.

“We don’t need to do this right here,” Malone said when they were back in the car. “But we might as well see if these things were really hers at all.”

Malone handed Dani the nightgown, and she balled it up in her hands and stilled, the way he’d almost become accustomed to. A moment later, her cheeks grew flushed.

“What?” Malone grunted. “You’re blushing.”

“It’s hers.”

“How do you know?”

“She must have worn it near her last day. It hasn’t been laundered.” She paused. “She likes how Willie calls her Roses. Not Rose, but Roses, like she is a whole bouquet.”

“All right. That’s good.” But that didn’t explain Dani’s warm cheeks and glassy eyes.

Her voice dropped, almost like she was hearing Rose Wallace in her head. Even the cadence of her words sounded like someone else.

“He makes better love than any man she’s ever been with, and he only has one arm. He makes her feel good. If she could make love all the time, she would. It’s after the loving that Willie gets mean. Never during and never before.”

Malone took the nightgown from her hands and put it back in the box. Her eyes cleared slightly, and she frowned.

“What?” she asked him. “Isn’t this helpful?”

“Let’s go,” he said, terse, and closed the box. She would have to tell him more about the nightgown, but he didn’t think he could listen to her talk about “making love all the time” in that breathy voice without losing his mind. Dani would have to see what else remained in the fibers of the cloth later. Without him.

The building at 3205 Carnegie, where Flo Polillo had resided, was the same color, the same shape, and the same condition as the one Rose had lived in, but two girls sat on the stoop playing with their dolls, making the place seem a little less ominous, even though the building sat right on the edge of the Roaring Third, a part of town known for its depravity and despair. The girls were clean and cared for, though their clothes were plain and a little too small.

When they rang the bell and knocked on the door, nobody responded.

“Excuse me,” Dani asked the girls, “do you live here?”

“Mother went upstairs,” the older girl said. “Mrs. Brewster’s having a baby. We’re listening for the cry.” She pointed up at the open window just right of the entrance.

Malone turned around and headed back down the stairs, not wanting any part of that, but Dani hung back.

“What’s your doll’s name?” he heard her say.

“Louisa.” The little girl said it with a lisp, making it Lew-ee-tha.

“That’s a very nice name. And what a beautiful dress that is,” Dani said.

“My dolly’s name is Genevieve,” the older girl inserted. “I don’t like it much. But I didn’t name her.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Can I hold them?” Dani asked. Malone checked his pocket watch. If they hurried, he might still be able to swing by Hart Manufacturing. It was late in the day, but if Steve Jeziorski was working a swing, he might catch him. He turned back to the front steps where Dani had taken a seat by the girls. She was holding the dolls and straightening their clothes, her head bowed. He groaned.

“Genevieve is a special name,” she said, and her voice sounded pained.

“Why?” the older girl asked.

“Because it was Miss Polillo’s middle name.”

“You knew Mith Polillo?” the little girl with the lisp asked, dumbfounded.

Dani nodded, but Malone wasn’t sure she’d heard. Her hands had stilled.

“Dani?” he called, unnerved.