Sam smiled. “My brother is protective of me. What’s this story about, exactly?”
Rose filled him in on the background, about meeting her mysterious neighbor and the interviews with the women of the fourth floor.
“But the woman disappeared before I could interview her.”
“Who?”
Rose got the impression he was testing her. “Esme, who we think assumed Darby McLaughlin’s identity after the fall on the roof.”
He stiffened. “And how do you know about that?”
“We saw the letter you wrote to her; she saved your reply.”
“She showed it to you?”
Jason stepped in. “We’ve also seen the book of spices. It’s phenomenal, and we were wondering what you ended up doing out West, if you were able to put your recipes to use.”
“The book of spices. I can’t believe it’s still around.” He scratched his jaw. “I showed up at my brother’s hotel room, on the run, and tried to forget about that damn book. Got a job in a Vietnamese restaurant and eventually married the owner’s daughter, a widow. Not a bad life, until she passed away and my eyes started to go. But Jessica takes good care of me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We found the book intriguing, to say the least.”
“Well, thanks. It’s funny to think Esme’s saved it all these years. I figured she’d tossed it in the trash.”
“Maybe you can meet her, and she’ll give it back to you. It is yours, after all.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to stir up trouble. I have nothing to say to her.” A fleeting look of pain crossed his face.
Rose threw a warning glance to Jason. “We don’t want to upset you in any way, Mr. Buckley. But we know about Mr. Kalai and the drug ring; we were hoping you could fill us in on some of the details we’re missing.”
“You want to know what happened that day?”
“Well, we don’t want to pressure you. But yes, we’d love to get your perspective. To try to put the pieces together.”
Malcolm returned to the table. “We’ve got to go, Sam.”
Rose pressed her card into Sam’s hand. “My cell number is on there; feel free to call anytime you want to talk.”
“I’ll think about it.” He reached for his cane and stood. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.”
The two men shuffled out of the club.
Rose and Jason took the elevator down to the ground level and walked out into the night. She grabbed him by the arm and pointed. Malcolm and Sam stood by the line of taxis, arguing. Sam spoke rapidly, but he was too far away to be understood.
“He wants to talk to us. We should go to him.”
Jason sighed. “No. Let them work it out; we don’t need to cause any more problems than we already have.”
She couldn’t resist. She ran over and touched his arm. “Sam, let’s go get a drink; there’s a pub across the street. Please.”
Malcolm leaned into Sam. “I’m telling you, you’ve got to watch what you say.”
“Please, Sam. One drink.”
“One drink,” he agreed. “Maybe it’s time to let go of some ghosts.”
Malcolm pulled Rose aside as they crossed the street. “Take it easy on him, that’s all I ask. He was a mess when he turned up in San Francisco all those years ago. His life was going one way, and then it suddenly took a sharp turn. It took him a long time to recover.”
Rose nodded. “I understand, believe me. We won’t push him.”
They sat at a table in the back of the empty bar, where Frank Sinatra crooned gently over the sound system.
Sam sat next to Malcolm and began to speak, staring out over their shoulders and into the past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
New York City, 2016
Darby and I had fallen hard for each other by then,” said Sam. “Or at least I had fallen hard for her. She was a combination of smart and innocent, not like most of the girls who hung around at the club.”
“I heard a recording of Darby and Esme,” said Rose. “Darby did the harmonies, but it was gorgeous.”
“Darby’s voice was pure as snow. You see, when she sang, it wasn’t about showmanship or glitter but about the song and the words. You were captivated when she opened her mouth. And she had no idea. Sometimes she’d put herself down, like she was some dowdy girl from the Midwest, but she was much more than that.”
“What was Esme like?” asked Rose.
“That girl was ambitious, always had been. I knew she was working for Kalai; a lot of people were; it was how the system worked. But the minute she got paid to squeal, she was asking for trouble.”
“What happened the last day you saw Darby?” asked Jason.
“My father showed me the article in the paper, where Esme ratted out the musicians and Kalai. Kalai was furious, of course, and word on the street was that he was after me and Esme, both. He and his sons figured I was a snitch, too.”
“But you weren’t.”
“Didn’t matter. I convinced Darby to leave with me; we were going to go to California together. By then she’d been kicked out of school. I went downtown to pack and as I was pulling my stuff together, I heard Kalai’s guys come into the club downstairs. I was trapped. So I wrote a message in the spice book and tossed it out the window to one of the busboys, told him to bring it to the Barbizon for Darby.” A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched. “I was taken to Kalai, where they beat the hell out of me and held me for several days.”
Rose shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“They had no mercy, none. I was locked in a room in the back of the spice shop. That’s what kept me going hour to hour, trying to take my mind off the pain by figuring out what spices I could identify by smell. Until my nose became too bloody to breathe through.”
She couldn’t imagine the terror. “Your father must’ve known where you were. Couldn’t he tell the cops?”
“Kalai controlled the neighborhood, and he controlled my father. When it came to a choice between the club or his son, my father chose the club. But Kalai loved me better than that in his own way. He wanted his men to punish me, but he didn’t want them to actually kill me. Once he figured I had learned my lesson, he released me to my father with a warning to leave town. That same evening, my father took me to the bus depot and sent me across the country, to my brother. By then, my mind wasn’t right.
“After a few months, I pulled myself together. I sent Darby a letter, explaining what had happened to me, and asked her to join me. Esme wrote back and told me that Darby had died, that she was living at the hotel now and I should move on.”
“Did she tell you what happened, about the accident?”
He didn’t respond to the question. “What do you know?”
Rose had to be careful; he’d been through enough. “We think there was some kind of skirmish up on the terrace. We don’t know exactly what happened, but we think Esme got slashed badly on the face, and Darby fell to her death. From that letter, along with some other pieces of evidence, we assume Esme took on Darby’s identity.”
“That way she’d avoid Kalai looking for her.”
Rose nodded.
“They were the same size, had similar builds,” recalled Sam. “Strange, to think she could get away with it for so many years.”
“The letter you received must’ve given you quite a shock.”
“It did. I had imagined her going to the club and my father telling her I’d gone away and wouldn’t be coming back, not giving her any further details. The thought made me sick. So I was thrilled when I got a letter back with the Barbizon Hotel on the return address. I was sure this would be a new beginning for us. The news of Darby’s death hit me hard. I never forgot her, or what we might have done together.” He took a long sip of his drink. “Esme said never to contact her again; that much was easy.”
“Do you think Darby slashed Esme with a knife?”
Sam shook his head. “She wasn’t like that. Only if she was being attacked. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense to me.”
So many unanswered questions. And in the meantime, Sam and Darby’s love had been subsumed by something dark and ugly.
“Well, I’m glad we were able to talk, as it helps us understand most of what happened,” said Rose.