The Lost Girl of Astor Street

“She ain’t here, and I got tings to do with my time.” The woman turns and waddles away, igniting my fury.

“Thanks so much for your concern!” I call after her, my voice lit with sarcasm. “Your effort really means a lot!”

But she pays no mind to me. “Is this really how people feel about someone who goes missing?” I jab open the door and march through. “That it isn’t their problem?”

“I know how personal this is to you, Piper.” Mariano’s voice is low and soothing in my ear. “But you have to stay clearheaded at a time like this, okay? If you stop thinking clearly, you start making mistakes.”

“What if it were them? Or their child?” My breath rattles in and out of me. Lydia’s photograph vibrates in my clutched fingers. “Will they all be like this? So callous to Lydia’s situation?” My voice morphs to some mocking tone that I don’t even recognize. “Well, it’s not my problem she got herself taken. It’s not my problem she has seizures.”

“Hey.” Mariano stands in front of me and snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. “Breathe, Piper.”

I tell myself to take deep breaths, but the air barely scrapes my windpipe before my body expels it, and I’m growing dizzier with each passing moment.

“Take a deep breath with me, okay?” Mariano fills my vision as he sucks in a deep inhale and then exhales out his mouth.

After several tries, I’m able to mirror his actions. The anger boiling in my chest fades to a simmer, and I realize my head is so still because Mariano’s hands have anchored it. His thumbs press into my cheekbones.

The pressure of his hold softens as my breathing regulates. “Better?”

I nod, and he releases me. My cheeks must be like neon lights. He won’t think me so strong now, will he?

I take one more deep breath before trusting myself to speak. “How long until the lunchroom opens?”

Mariano looks at me for a long moment, and I fear he’s about to ask if I’m really strong enough to go in there. But he glances at his watch. “About fifteen minutes. Let’s see what else is open up here and then head back.”

The butcher doesn’t recognize Lydia, but he’s kind about it. As is the tailor we speak to.

“You know who would be good to talk to?” The tailor rolls the end of the measuring tape around his finger. “The man who owns the lunchroom a few blocks down—Johnny Walker.”

“Why’s that?” Mariano asks before I can share that we were already on our way to see him.

“Well.” The tailor’s gaze skitters to me and then away. “It’s not really fittin’ for a lady’s ears.”

“I’m fine—”

Mariano flicks me a just go along with it kind of glance. “I’ll be right out, Piper.”

My chin juts, but I turn on my heel and stalk out the door without further protest. It won’t do Lydia any good for me to pout.

Outside, I lean against the brick building and let my gaze wander the rows of businesses. Where was Willa Mae? Behind one of those ordinary-looking windows? Is that where we’ll find Lydia too?

Mariano emerges a minute later, calling, “Thank you, Mr. Gorecki!” over his shoulder.

“So? What is it?” I trot alongside Mariano, who’s nudging me toward the lunchroom. “What’d he say?”

“You already know the stuff about Willa Mae. And apparently Mr. Walker has a bit of a reputation for, well, spending time with ladies who . . . Well, with women of a certain . . . I mean—”

“Prostitutes.”

Mariano rubs his chin. “Yeah. Mr. Gorecki also thinks he might be involved in gambling or laundering in some way. That perhaps the money funnels through the lunchroom on its way to the Finnegans.”

My heart quickens at the thought that we might be just a few breaths away from Lydia. That this Johnny Walker, however vile his personal choices might be, could be what saves her. “Mariano”—my words are breathy from our pace—“I think it’d be best for me to go into the lunchroom alone.”

Mariano snorts a laugh. “Think again, Piper Sail.”

“I’m serious. I have a better chance of getting him to talk if I’m in there by myself.”

Mariano stops walking and gives me an incredulous look. “Did you not hear what I just said?” He ticks it off on his fingers. “Prostitution. Gambling. Money laundering. Finnegan. So, no, you’re not going in there by yourself.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Just because a man partakes in a number of vices doesn’t mean it’s unsafe for me to order a cup of coffee in his restaurant.”

“No, Piper.”

“How about you give me five minutes in there? You wait right outside, where you can hear me if I scream, and then you can come in if you’d like. But don’t act like you’re with me if I’m making progress.”

“We’re not doing any undercover operations that involve me needing to be close enough for rescue in case you need to scream. I’m coming in with you, and that’s that.”

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