But Jeremiah seems intent on ignoring his sister. “Are you sure about this, Piper?” The rocking chair creaks as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and with something undefinable in his gaze. “I’m working on a story about the Cassano family for the Daily, and I’m worried about what you might be getting yourself into.”
I’ve done some reading myself on the Cassano family, consisting mostly of trumped-up stories in the archived newspapers at the library. The articles had been what I feared I might find—territory battles with other families, gin joints being raided and shut down. And the story that had my father’s name peppered throughout, when Lucas Cassano was accused of gunning down his own moll outside of her swanky Michigan Avenue apartment.
“I appreciate your concern, Jeremiah. But Mariano is on a different path than his family.”
“Is he?”
My mind goes to the restaurant last night, to Mariano’s earnest eyes as he assured me that he was just a detective. “Yes.”
“What kind of story?” Emma’s voice is low and fearful, her eyes wide.
Jeremiah looks to her. Takes a breath. The silence stretches tight between them.
“You’re not doing anything foolish, are you?” Emma sounds like a scolding mother rather than a little sister.
“I’m fine, Emma.”
Emma doesn’t seem convinced. Perhaps it’s because Jeremiah keeps twisting his hat in his hands. Or the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He looks back to me and changes the subject. “Where have your father and his wife gone for their honeymoon?”
“Paris. Jane had never been.”
Emma’s plate clatters onto the end table. “Jeremiah Crane, what is your story about?”
Irritation gleams in Jeremiah’s eyes. “Don’t trouble yourself over it. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?”
“I should go.” I stand, and hope neither notice when crumbs sprinkle to the ground.
Emma jumps to her feet. “Piper, please don’t.”
The rocking chair creaks as Jeremiah rises as well. “Yes, don’t let my rudeness drive you away.”
“It isn’t that. I’m having dinner with Nick and his girlfriend tonight, and I had better get dressed.” I set my plate and empty bottle on the tray and pivot toward the front door.
“I think we saw them together in the neighborhood,” Emma says as she follows. “Tall girl? Auburn hair?”
“That’s Alana.”
I reach for my cloche hanging on the entry rack, but Jeremiah’s hand intercepts me. He lifts it from the hook and offers it to me without a smile.
My cheeks heat under his somber scrutiny. “Thank you.”
“Neither of us recognized her,” Emma says. “How did they meet?”
The question makes my heart ache a bit, like pressing on a bruise before it’s completely faded. “She was one of the reporters who covered Lydia’s story.”
Emma frowns. “A woman?” She looks to Jeremiah. “Who in town has women doing such macabre articles?”
“She’s from Kansas City, actually.” My cloche pushes out one of my hair pins, and I tuck it back into place. “Because of the connection between Matthew and the organized crime down there, The Kansas City Star apparently felt it would interest their readers enough to send a reporter of their own.”
Jeremiah leans against the wall, tucks his hands in his trouser pockets. “But a woman?”
“Someday, the two of you may be colleagues, actually. Her father owns The Kansas City Star. I suppose that is why she has the freedom to take on a story like this.”
Jeremiah blinks, slow and considering. “Are you saying her father is Irwin Kirkwood?”
“If he’s the owner of The Kansas City Star, yes.”
“He is. But are you sure she said she was his daughter?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Not his niece or cousin or anything?”
Emma sighs. “Jeremiah, really. Must you always be tiresome?”
But Jeremiah doesn’t look away from me, and there’s something foreboding in his eyes that prevents me from turning away either. I think back to that family dinner, and play Alana’s words through my mind. “She said daughter,” I confirm. “Why?”
He takes in a breath, holds it a moment. “Because Irwin and Laura don’t have any children.”
I stare at him, thoughts whipping through my brain too fast to grab a firm hold of any.
He stares back.
Emma’s laugh rings high. “You must be remembering wrong, Jeremiah.”
“No, I’m quite certain.”
“Maybe I misunderstood her.” My fingers draw my locket up the length of its chain. I can hear her words from dinner that evening as clear as if she just spoke them. When your father owns the paper, you have to learn it all, whether you’re a female or not.
Why did she lie? Some kind of trick to win Nick’s affections? Did she think my brother would only notice her if she had a family of means and power?
“Why would she have lied about that?” Emma’s question is breathy with disbelief, and it brings a smile to my face. Lydia would have reacted exactly the same.
“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.” I wink at Emma. “Perhaps dinner won’t be as dull as I had feared.”