“Well, I have lunch covered, anyway.” I pat my bag. “I swiped sandwiches from the school cafeteria.”
“Ah, good.” Mariano’s hands are in his pockets again, giving him a boyish look. “Because I don’t know where we would find lunch during our investigation of Johnny’s Lunchroom.”
I turn away, my nose in the air, and try to bite back my smile. Mariano laughs loud enough that I can hear it above the squeal of the approaching train. “I’m only teasing you, Piper. My stomach thanks you for thinking of it.”
After we’ve waited for passengers to exit, Mariano holds out a hand to help me across the threshold. The train is stuffy, and I pick a window seat underneath a fan. Mariano settles beside me in the green plush seat, his knee bumping mine.
As the train lurches onward down the tracks, I cross my arms around my bag, securing it against my chest. “I’ve never done anything like this. Do we need some kind of a cover story?”
Mariano’s mouth pooches as he considers my question. “This is one of those times when the truth will serve us just fine. My guess is that anyone we talk to will have seen the news about Lydia in the paper. You tell them you saw Willa Mae’s story, and you felt hopeful. Simple as that.”
“And what about you?” The train curves and we bend with it. “Who do we say you are?”
“When people ask you about Walter, what do you say?”
“Walter?” It’s strange, the twist of guilt in my gut. Should I have told Walter what I was doing? Should I have given him a chance to come with me, to help? I turn my gaze out the window. “He and I haven’t done many undercover investigations together, so I’ve never had to answer for him.”
“But surely you have to explain him to others sometimes.”
Do I? “In the neighborhood, people know he works for my family. I suppose they feel that’s a sufficient reason for seeing us out together.”
“What about outside of the neighborhood?” Mariano hooks his ankle over the opposite leg. “When the two of you are out, what do most think?”
“How should I know what they think? Maybe they think he’s my brother or my bodyguard. I don’t know. Times are changing. Even if people knew that Walter worked for my family, I doubt they would give it any thought.”
“Don’t make the mistake of assuming that just because you don’t think on it, no one else does.” Mariano shifts in his seat, and again his knee bumps mine. This time it settles there. “I suppose I’m too narrow to make for a convincing bodyguard, so we had better go with the brother angle.”
“But we look nothing alike.” A man on the other end of the aisle appears to be angling for a better view of my legs, and I rearrange my skirt to cover my knees. “And I disagree about the bodyguard thing. While you aren’t big like Walter, you have an air about you that suggests you aren’t a man to be messed with.”
Mariano doesn’t answer. When I glance at him, I find his gaze full of questions. Does he think I’m flirting with him?
Am I?
I look away. “I think I should do the talking.” My voice seems terse to my ears. “It’ll be less threatening to talk to some secondary-school girl like me. Any advice for how to get information out of people?”
“I think I should be asking you. You seem to know what you’re doing.”
I shake my head. “I’m just winging it.”
“You’ve got good instincts.” His gaze is on me again, but I keep my face turned toward the window. “Most young society ladies in your situation would have fallen apart. But you’re too strong for that.”
“Your praise is too lofty, Mariano. I don’t intend to waste time falling apart when we don’t know if anything has happened to Lydia. If that reality changes”—there’s a tremor in my voice that hopefully the train covers—“you will not think me strong at all.”
“Grief is not weakness.” Mariano’s words soothe the rattle of fear in my heart. “And I would never accuse you of it, Piper.”
I don’t mean to look at him, but I can’t seem to not. Mariano’s face is a man’s, no doubt, but there’s a boyish softness to him when he regards me that makes my heart quicken. “Thank you.”
The bodyguard idea was a smart choice. I don’t imagine that anyone who sees us here, staring at each other, would buy that we’re brother and sister.
“Closed,” I groan. “Why didn’t I think of that? I assumed all places like this were open for breakfast too.”
Mariano glances at his wristwatch. “But it opens in thirty minutes. That’s not so bad.”
“We can’t just stand out here.”
“No. We’ll walk around. Experience Clark Street in its Monday midmorning glory.”