“Well, this one sure likes you.” Mariano holds out his hand, but the dog flinches away, drawing his tail up between his legs as he cowers. “He’s harmless, poor thing.”
Mariano crouches, leaving me exposed, and holds out his hand. The dog sniffs it and whimpers. “My mother had a cocker spaniel.” He’s looking at the dog, but speaking to me. “And after she died, the dog was never quite the same. She took to sleeping in the closet, on Mama’s house slippers. Piper, just hold your hand out. He won’t hurt you.”
“No, thanks. He attacked me no more than an hour ago.”
I feel Mariano’s chuckle through his suit coat. “He hardly attacked you. He’s hungry.” Mariano takes my hand in his and tugs me down beside him.
He’s holding my hand. Detective Mariano Cassano—handsome and under the impression that I’m mushy inside—is holding my hand.
“He’s a good one, Piper. He must have belonged to someone not too long ago. He still has a collar on. No tags, though.”
The collar is loose around his scruffy fur. Our attention has set him trembling, and he stares up at us with woeful brown eyes.
“What happened to your mother’s dog? Do you still have her?”
“She died a few years ago.” Mariano’s voice droops under the weight of sadness. “Father cried. Which he hadn’t done since she passed. But it was like losing another piece of her, you know?”
“It’s funny how it can hit you like that, missing someone all over again. Even years later.” I stand, knees popping. “About a year ago, I was over at the LeVines’. Sarah, one of Lydia’s little sisters, broke a lamp when she was playing. Mrs. LeVine was so furious, going on and on about how much it cost.” Tears clog my throat. “My mother never cared a whit about anything like that. It’s my father who loves the grandeur. The right address, the right furniture, the right parties.”
Mariano stands too. “I imagine you’re a lot like your mother.”
“I hope so.”
He’s still holding my hand. “We should get you back to school.”
I like him. Not because of his handsome face, but his heart. The kind way he’s looking at me now. His soft Italian accent when he says mama. His concern over Lydia. The freedom I feel around him to be myself.
Something wet grazes my knee, and I jump away when I see it’s the dog, sniffing me.
Mariano laughs. He holds out his hand once more to the dog, but it flinches away. “I don’t know which of you is more nervous.”
For the first time, I look at a dog and feel something besides nerves flare to life within me. He seems to desperately want our attention, and yet is too fearful to accept any affection. “Poor boy. Someone must have been cruel to him.” I chew on my lower lip. “We can’t just leave him . . . can we?”
Mariano shrugs. “I can’t have a dog in my apartment. Nor will he let us touch him.”
“True.” I offer my trembling hand, but Mariano’s right that I don’t need to be nervous. The dog only sniffs it before ducking his head. “I guess we’ll have to leave him.”
Mariano presses his hand against my back and urges me down the sidewalk. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to school. I need to call into the office, but I think there’s a public telephone by the train station.”
As we put space between us and Johnny’s Lunchroom, my heart sags. “I really thought we might find her.”
Mariano sighs. “I know you did. And maybe we got closer than we realize today. Sometimes little things that seem inconsequential add up.” His voice darkens as he adds, “I can’t believe you actually left your phone number for that despicable Johnny Walker.”
I shiver as I think of how Johnny winked at me when I scribbled my telephone number on the back of my receipt. “What else should I have done? He may have some shady deals going, but if he can help get Lydia back, it’s worth it.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s how he viewed it. I think he sees it as an excuse to call up a pretty girl.”
My cheeks flush at the compliment, regardless of the gruff manner with which it was delivered. Nails click along the sidewalk behind us. I glance over my shoulder and find the dog trotting several feet back. “We have a shadow.”
Mariano glances over his shoulder. “Well, how about that.”
When we stop walking, the dog stops too. His long tail makes a tentative brushing sound against the sidewalk. Shh, shh, shh.
“Would they let him on the train, do you think?”
“Sure. If we had a length of rope or something to—” He watches as I dig in my bag. “Don’t tell me.”
The dog’s tail wags faster when he sees me reaching into the sack.
I pull the rope out triumphantly. “You ask, and I deliver.”
“Do I even want to know why you thought you might need that?”
“Probably not.”
I crouch on the ground, and the dog sniffs at the rope and gives it a lick. “Does it taste like a chicken sandwich?” My fingers tremble as I slip the rope through the dog’s collar and tie a quick knot. With the way he cowers, it’s easy to not be debilitated by nerves.