“Nobody else?”
“Nobody but you,” he said gently. “I left Chicago not long after you did. But when I got the chance, I tried to make it right. In a roundabout way, George Flanagan got his justice.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed like the story was too big to tell. Then he shook his head, refusing to answer.
For a moment there was silence between them, but Dani’s head was spinning.
“I haven’t ever been back,” she said. “I’ve never seen where they’re buried. Never visited their graves.”
“They share a stone. They’re buried not far from my—” Malone hesitated, like he’d said something he didn’t want to finish. But she knew. And she was too discombobulated not to follow where he’d led.
“From Irene?” she asked. She’d mentioned Irene yesterday in the shop. Maybe he hadn’t understood then. But he did now, and his face went blank.
“I held y-your overcoat,” she stammered. “You must have worn it to her service. It was her service . . . wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” He jerked his head once in assent. “It was Irene’s service. I buried her on New Year’s Day. But you might already know that.” His answer was clipped and cold, and Dani flinched.
Too much, Dani. Too much truth. You’re scaring him.
“No. I didn’t know that. I don’t see everything . . . and rarely do I understand the context of what I see. I also don’t usually make those kinds of mistakes.”
“What mistakes are those, Dani?”
“I shouldn’t have blurted it out. I always keep what I see to myself. But your sudden appearance yesterday after all these years was . . . unnerving. I didn’t handle it very well. I’m not handling it well now. Forgive me.”
He nodded once, but the bubble of candor and intimacy between them had burst. They were strangers again. His eyes were wary, her arms were folded, and they’d both had enough. She hurried to the door.
“Dani?”
“Yes?”
“Happy birthday,” he said softly.
She nodded, much the way he had done, and left him to his discomfort and his cold breakfast.
He had thought about denying it. It angered him that Dani would invade his privacy that way, and that she would admit it to him. The very least she could do was pretend. But he didn’t want to lie about Irene. She was gone, and Dani clearly knew it. Dani knew a lot of things.
She hadn’t outgrown her “stories.”
He felt exposed, like he’d suddenly found himself in a shoot-out without his gun or in a room full of strangers without an exit door. His instincts were shrieking at him to get out, but he’d learned long ago that running drew attention and suspicion. Holding his ground when he’d wanted to bolt had saved his life a dozen times. But he was dazed and disoriented, and for the first time in fifteen years, he thought maybe he was out of his depth. He would have to tell Eliot he needed a different place to stay, or simply tell him he wasn’t up to the job.
He waited until he heard their voices in the shop—Lenka and Zuzana were arguing and Dani was quiet, but he heard her quick, light tread come down the stairs and move hastily past his door. Another voice, this one singing in a language he didn’t speak, came through the back door and remained in the laundry room long enough for him to deduce this was the help.
With all the women accounted for, he went into the sewing room to use the telephone Dani had pointed out the day before. He rang Eliot Ness’s office and was put through immediately.
“Malone. Are you settled?”
“Yeah, though I’m wondering how you came across this rental.”
“Why? What’s the problem? No good?”
“No, the room’s fine. I just . . . know the landlady.”
“You know her?” Eliot’s voice echoed his surprise.
“Yeah. And she knows me. From way back. Beat cop days.”
Ness was silent, but Malone could hear him thinking.
“And you think that’s a problem?” Eliot asked. “I can’t think why it would be.”
Malone didn’t think he could explain. He kept it simple. “I’m just curious as to how it came about. I don’t like surprises. And I don’t trust coincidences.”
“When I heard you might be available, I had my girl look for a place. She saw an ad in the Plain Dealer and jumped on it.”
“Because it’s close to the Run,” Malone supplied.
“Yeah. And right across from St. Alexis Hospital.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ll fill you in.” Eliot didn’t want to tell him over the phone. Malone could hear it in his tone. “I have some time Friday. Tell you what. I’ll come by and grab you, say one o’clock. Watch for me, will ya? I don’t want to knock on any doors.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Because people recognize me. It’s a damn pain, but if we want to be quiet about this, we’re going to have to talk in the car, or you could come to my place after hours.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.”
Malone walked out of the sewing room, preoccupied, and almost ran into a woman with cheeks as red as her hair and a frame that was round from every angle.
She screeched when she saw him but immediately stuck out her chubby arm to shake his hand.
“I’m Margaret,” she said, all smiles, her accent thicker than Lenka’s and Zuzana’s combined. “You must be Mr. Malone. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Good food. Clean clothes, clean room. Anything you need, you ask Margaret.” She nodded like it was agreed and bustled on without any comment from him, but he caught her peeking back at him when he slipped into his room. There would be no privacy in this house.