“Daniela?” An old woman walked from the back of the shop, a cane clutched in her hand. Her dress looked like something from the previous century, and her hair was knotted at the back of her head, as if she was attempting to lift her papery skin back into place. But her eyes were bright, her cheekbones high, and her back straight.
“I’m right here, Teta,” the younger woman called, bounding up again, still bundled, but he guessed she’d changed her shoes. The old woman gaped.
“You should not leave the shop looking like that, Daniela. We make clothes. You make clothes! People will not trust your judgment.”
“It’s cold outside.” The girl named Daniela lifted her chin to free her mouth from the folds of her scarf and began to unwind it. It was a very pretty mouth, and Malone was instantly, and surprisingly, distracted. To be sidetracked by a pretty mouth was a pleasure he didn’t often indulge in.
The buttons of her coat came next, and as she shrugged it off, she tossed her hat aside as well. Her chin-length hair was the color of shiny pennies, but the static from her hat made the copper coils writhe about her face.
The old woman glowered in disapproval, but the young woman smiled indulgently, ran her hands over her hair, and pushed her spectacles up on her nose. She was quite lovely now that Malone could see her. Her deep blue dress accentuated fine skin, full breasts, and a lithe figure, and he cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I hope I’m in the right place.”
The young woman stilled as if she’d forgotten he was there, and the old woman’s frown became even more pronounced.
“How can we help you, sir?” the old woman asked.
“I’m here about the room,” he repeated.
The young woman gasped. “I know you.”
“You do?” the old woman asked.
“I most certainly do,” Daniela whispered.
“I doubt that very much,” he protested. It was a strange thing to say upon a first meeting, but she seemed too stunned to be embarrassed by her frankness.
The old woman peered at him, lifting a monocle she wore around her neck so she could study him more closely. “Well, I’ve never seen him before, Daniela,” she protested. “And he needs a better suit. Perhaps you are also here for a suit, sir?”
He looked down at the fit of his off-the-rack suit and decided he probably did need a better one. Everyone needed new clothes these days, but he suspected few were buying them. He wondered how the poor women were making ends meet in such a business.
“You have good shoulders and a lean frame. At the very least, we can make that one fit better,” the old woman mumbled.
“Yes, I’m sure . . . but I’m here about the room,” he insisted.
The old woman frowned. “What room?”
“It’s b-been rented, sir,” the young woman stammered, still gaping at him. He wished she would take off her glasses. The yellow lenses hid her eyes. If he could see them, he might know her too, come to think of it. He pulled the paper out of his breast pocket and checked the name.
“A month’s deposit was put down by a woman named Inez Staley. Could that be the mix-up?” he asked.
The young woman didn’t answer. She simply continued to stare at him like she wasn’t hearing him at all.
“Well, you are not Inez,” the old woman said. She had a hint of an eastern European accent and an entirely American attitude.
“I am not Inez. No. But the deposit was made for me. On my behalf. I was told it would be ready today. Actually, yesterday.” He was getting irritated.
“Malone?” the young woman said, her voice so faint he wasn’t sure he heard her right.
“My name is Michael Malone. Yes.” He’d been under the impression Ness’s secretary had withheld his name, but maybe it was better that she hadn’t.
The young woman sat abruptly as if she’d grown faint. He could barely see her head above the counter. There must have been a stool back there.
“Daniela Kos, what in the world has gotten into you?” the old woman snapped. “Are you ill?”
The woman named Daniela stood again, slowly, and her face was ashen.
“I’m fine, Zuzana. And yes. Inez Staley. Yes. That was the name.” She walked out from behind the counter.
“I will show you the room, Mr. . . . Mr. . . .” She let her voice run off like she wanted him to supply his name, even though she’d just said it.
“Malone.”
“Yes. Malone. Michael Malone,” she repeated, almost marveling. What a peculiar young woman.
“Daniela! What have you done? We must discuss this!” the old woman snapped.
“Is there a problem?” he asked. He kept his voice level, but he was seconds from exiting the premises.
“No. There’s no problem,” Daniela said, shaking her head emphatically. “I expected you yesterday. And I did not know . . . I did not know . . . it would be you.” She closed the distance between them and took his coat and hat. He surrendered them hesitantly, but she gave him no choice.
“You didn’t know it would be who? Who, Daniela? Who is this man?”
“Zuzana, Mr. Malone is our new boarder. He will be staying in the room downstairs. Just as we discussed. The deposit has been paid. Rent too. For the next six months. We’re being very . . . rude.”
The old woman looked at Daniela as if she’d sprouted two heads. He could hardly blame her. The whole thing was quite strange.
“Please follow me, Mr. Malone,” Daniela instructed, still clutching his hat and coat.
The old woman—Zuzana—let Daniela pass, but she halted Malone with her cane.
“We need a reference, sir,” she said imperiously. “Who are you, and what is it that you do?”
“My name is Michael Malone, like I said. I am a . . . consultant.”
“And who is it you consult with, Mr. Malone?”
He hesitated. He did not know what had already been communicated and he did not want to contradict it.
“He is in policing,” Daniela said softly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Malone?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “In a manner of speaking.” Inez Staley must have given her a backstory of some sort.
“You’re cheating, Daniela,” Zuzana snapped. “I would like to hear it from Mr. Malone, not from his garments.”
Cheating? Malone looked at the women, dumbfounded.
“And you are unmarried?” Zuzana continued her grilling.