Mariano’s Adam’s apple bobs as he casts his gaze on a passing car. “But we found out later that Alessandro had snuck into the room during all the commotion. That he had been in there for the screaming, and then . . . then for the silence.”
When Mariano turns to me, his eyes are dry but his face makes my heart ache. “Perhaps it’s a coincidence, Cole Barrow’s silence. But it bothers me. And his parents won’t let us near him. Would you mind, Piper? I’ve no business asking it of you, but seeing as you know Cole, if you happened to be around him in the next day or two, I would like to know your opinion of his behavior.”
“Yes.” The word emerges breathless. I’m being asked to help! “Of course.”
“Though, if you pay a visit, I would suggest you do it at a time when it’s only Mrs. Barrow and her son. And I would bring someone with you. Your brother, perhaps.”
“I will.” As Mariano and I walk past where Walter and I found Lydia seizing, I clutch the handkerchief tighter and seek to distract myself from the memory. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother. How old were you when she died?”
“Seven.”
I wince. “Are you able to remember her very well?”
His look is questioning.
“My mother died when I was thirteen, and I don’t remember as clearly as I wish. Seven would be much worse.”
“Losing a good mother is never well-timed.” Mariano’s smile is wry. “I try to feel grateful that I had seven years. My brothers had far less.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
Mariano’s gaze hangs on me for a moment. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised. I can’t recall anyone I’ve investigated asking me questions.”
My stomach flips at the term. “Am I being investigated?”
“Oh, not like that. You’re part of the investigation, I mean. And usually no one is too interested in my childhood.” Mariano tweaks his tie. “I’m the second oldest. My sister is twenty-three, and my brothers are nineteen and fourteen.”
Emma Crane is seated on her front porch, perusing the newspaper and drinking a glass of milk. She gives me a slight smile and wave but doesn’t call out.
“Were you all born in the states?”
“Yes, though Gianna, just barely. My parents had only been in Chicago a few weeks when she was born. She arrived a month earlier than anticipated.”
I shudder involuntarily. “How terrifying for them. Your mother must have been very brave.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the warm look he gives makes me feel as though I’ve done something special.
“Thank you for the walk, Piper,” Mariano says several minutes later as he holds open the gate to my yard. “You were very helpful.”
“Good.”
He walks alongside me to the front door. “And if you do happen to speak to Cole, please telephone me to let me know what you think.”
“I will.” I bite back the urge to thank him for giving me a task.
Mariano tips his hat. “Good afternoon, Piper.”
“Good-bye.”
But before he reaches the bottom step, he pivots and climbs the stone steps once more. Mariano stops on the stair below mine, making us the same height. “I’m probably just being overly cautious, but I would recommend you not visit the LeVine house by yourself.”
The words wrap around my heart with icy fingers.
“I’m sure it’s just paranoia getting the best of me.” There’s warmth on my arm, and I glance down to find Mariano’s hand resting on the crook of my elbow. “But I think it’d be best—safest—if you stay away from there for now.”
I nod because I can’t seem to speak. With a farewell squeeze of my arm, he strides purposefully through the gate.
CHAPTER
SIX
Walter’s rag pauses midwipe of the glass. “I cannot believe he’s asked this of you.” He turns away from the windowpane to look at me. “Is he the police, or are you?”
“But the Barrows won’t let the police talk to Cole.” I fuss with the pearl necklace Father gave me on my eighteenth birthday. “It’s something I can do to be helpful.”
In the reflection of the window, I catch Walter scowling as he returns to cleaning. “Haven’t you been plenty helpful already? I mean, how long was that walk yesterday? An hour?”
The air is heavy with the threat of rain, and his words make me want to start my own storm right here on the front porch. Plenty helpful? What does that even mean? But I know from experience that digging in my heels only makes Walter dig his in deeper, and I need him.
“Ignoring your gross exaggeration, what better use of my time could there possibly be but to provide information that might help us recover Lydia safely?”
Walter methodically wipes the window dry. He hangs the towel over the edge of the bucket of vinegar water, and then comes to stand near me, where the front porch meets the walkway. His knickers are grubby from a morning of working in the yard and his cheeks are smudged with dirt. But he doesn’t talk, just looks at me.
“Please come with me. Nick is at the library, and I don’t want to go alone.”