“It didn’t fit. Nettie didn’t fit. She was too regal for it.”
“Ah. You must get that from her,” he said softly, and her heart warmed in her chest.
“Thank you. I don’t think my aunts agree. I think they worry that I have too much of my father in me.”
“How so?”
“He was wild. And strapping, I think, is the word one would use. He was loud. And jolly, and . . . passionate.”
“Were his eyes like yours?”
“One of them,” she shot back, not missing a beat. Her mouth quirked in a self-deprecating grin, and he laughed out loud, tossing his head back. The somber mood dissipated with the sound. She loved making him laugh.
“Ah, Dani. That was funny, lass. You got me. So which eye is your father’s?”
“He had blue eyes. My mother brown, though her hair was blond. A beautiful combination, I think. I got one of each, I suppose.”
“It’s not as uncommon as one might think, your eyes,” he said. “I’ve done a bit of reading on it.”
“Oh yes? Have you ever seen it before?” she said, wry.
“No,” he admitted. “Not like yours.”
“Ireland is a land of faeries. Daddy said I had fae blood. Mother always said, no. I have Kos blood.”
“You said he had an accent. When did he come to America?”
“He was born in Ireland and he came to the States when he was fourteen, though he lied and said he was eighteen. He talked about Cork. But not about his family. At least not to me. Mother and I were his family. I knew of no one else except Uncle Darby.”
He raised his brows in question.
“Darby. Darby O’Shea. His mother was a Flanagan too, I think, but I don’t know for sure. He was just Uncle Darby, though he wasn’t really an uncle, but a cousin. He and Daddy came to America together. I remember that Mother didn’t like him. She thought he was trouble. But Dad and Darby were close. He said he and Darby had always looked after each other, and they always would.”
“Darby O’Shea,” Malone mused. Something about the way he said it made her think he knew the name and had not been greatly impressed by the man, but she’d been fond of Darby.
“He showed up at the shop a few months after I moved to Cleveland. He brought me a St. Christopher medal and a picture of him and my father. The aunts wouldn’t let him see me, though. They threatened to send for the police, and he left. I would have liked to visit with him. I think he loved my dad, so it was hard for me not to love him. He sends a postcard every now and again, so I know he’s still out there.”
“From Cork to Chicago at fourteen,” Malone marveled, shifting the subject back to her father.
She nodded. “Dad and Darby lived in Kilgubbin. You know Kilgubbin?”
“I do indeed. They don’t call it Little Hell for nothing. It’s a pit.”
“Beware the lads from Kilgubbin,” Dani sang. “They’ll take what isn’t movin’. With a glint in their eyes and a glint of the knife, you can bet your life you’ll be losin’.”
“The lads of Kilgubbin were what the North Side Gang called themselves,” Malone said. “I’m surprised you know the song.”
“Daddy sang it all the time. He had a song for everything.”
“So how did he meet your mother? An Irish boy from Kilgubbin in Chicago and a Czech girl from Cleveland? Doesn’t seem like they would run into each other.”
“He and Darby came into the shop to buy hats. She was working.”
“That was all it took, eh?”
She peered up at him. The brim of his hat shadowed his face, but he had stopped.
“Apparently . . . yes. They went for a stroll, much to my aunts’ dismay. And my dad came to see her every day for a week. Then he had to go back to Chicago. And my mother went with him . . . and never looked back.”
On Thursday night, they set Malone a place for dinner, just as they always did, but he never came home. Zuzana claimed good riddance, Lenka sulked, and Dani wondered. Charlie curled up on his chair and promptly fell asleep in a furry coil, happy to have his spot back.
He didn’t eat with them Friday either. Not for breakfast or dinner.
“He doesn’t always come to dinner, Lenka,” Dani reassured her aunt, who worried that he would have to eat his dinner cold, and Margaret had prepared his favorite.
“But he isn’t in his room . . . is he? He hasn’t been here all day. I’m not sure he ever came home last night either,” Lenka fretted.
He hadn’t. Dani had checked his room first thing in the morning.
“He’s a grown man,” Zuzana said. “He doesn’t need you fussing over him. One would think he is a member of the family.”
He did not have to report to Dani, nor did he owe her an explanation. He’d said nothing about his plans for the day, but he never did, and she hadn’t seen him leave. She must have been occupied elsewhere when he departed, but his car was still in the carriage house.
Sometimes he went out after dinner and came back with his clothes smelling like smoke and cheap booze. Margaret had remarked on it, but Dani had never once seen him drink or appear drunk. She was almost certain his late-night activities were more about work than recreation. And he had always come home. Not once since his arrival more than two months earlier had he failed to be there the next morning.
Maybe Eliot Ness had come to retrieve him. Friday was their usual meeting day. At least, she thought the man Malone regularly met with was Eliot Ness. She’d never actually seen him up close. He never got out of the car, and Michael had not once mentioned him. Not once. He did not talk about his current assignment at all, though she had a fairly good idea what he was doing.
She reassured herself that must be it, that he and the safety director had gone somewhere together. But when he didn’t return Saturday, she grew frantic, fearing that he’d met with something nefarious. And she had no idea what to do.
Lenka thought they should contact the authorities. “There is a butcher cutting off the heads of handsome young men in this city, Dani,” she cried.