took a pencil and a slip of paper from his pocket, moistened the tip of the pencil with his tongue, wrote something, and handed it to me. “That’s the address.”
It was a street number; I tucked it into my purse. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, then.” He gave me a two-fingered salute and moved off. I watched him weave into the crowd of pedestrians, hands jammed in his pockets.
And then, as I watched him, there was someone else in thecrowd, someone else watching me—blond hair, eyes flashing blue watching me, watching Charlie—watching…
I raised my hand. “Teddy?” My voice came out in a croak, and my heart raced. But even if Teddy could have heard me, he was already gone, disappearing into the wave of pedestrians who jostled and pushed along the sidewalk. I stood there for the longest time, hoping to catch sight of Teddy again, but he’d vanished into thin air.
But I’d seen him. He was here, in New York. Alive and here and still laying low.
I walked back to my aunt and uncle’s, trying to sift through the tangle of feelings.
Everyone wanted something from me. Connor, Rushton, Pops, my uncle, Charlie, even my aunt…that was when I remembered. I stopped to ask Ed, “Has Miss Melody left the apartment yet?”
“Yes, miss. Right after the rain stopped.”
I groaned. I sure wasn’t acting like Miss Draper’s “A” student, nor like the detective I thought I was. Already I’d let my aunt down by not being home in time for Melody.
Ed lifted one finger. “Oh, and miss. Your aunt and uncle and Mr. Chester are also out, but there’s someone waiting in the apartment. I let him up because I know he’s a particular friend of your uncle’s.”
“Who?” But I already thought I knew the answer, and the very idea of it carved a hollow in my middle.
“Mr. John Rushton.”
CHAPTER 15
Lou
Not too long after we moved into the Long Island mansion, Killimor—Danny named it after some place he knew in the old country; can you beat that, Detective? He wants to leave his past behind, and the first thing he does is settle on a name…oh, never mind. Anyhow, not too long after we moved in I learned how Danny felt about me consorting with the help.
He’d gone off to the city, like he did near every day, and I was hungry, that’s all. Cook made me a lamb sandwich and, I ask you, why should I eat all alone at a table for twenty in that drafty old dining room with its gloomy tapestries and empty armor, with the feeling there were eyes in there watching me, when I could eat in Cook’s cozy kitchen? And it was a cold and rainy day, too, so the kitchen fire was nice.
I told Danny once that I thought modern was much nicer than all this old stuff—used furniture, I think I said—and he lectured me for near anhour on the value of antiques. On history and how rich people all have antiques. I still didn’t like them, all those creepy, dark, old things, even if he did make the help clean them till they glowed. But by then I’d learned to keep my trap shut.
Anyway, I’m eating my sandwich, and Cook starts in with stories about Danny that I hadn’t heard before. About how he’d arrived as a kid on Ellis Island with nothing on but an oversize dress shirt and a ratty pair of knickerbockers. How he started out on the Lower East Side picking pockets before moving up in his early teens as a boxer. How he earned a boxing nickname right off: Dapper Dan O’Connor.
“Wait,” I said, between bites. “O’Connor?”
“Aye,” Cook said. “He dropped the ‘O’ when he got important. Some say he dropped it because he didn’t want to be taken for someone right off the boat.” She made a noise in her throat that sounded like “harrumph.”
“Go on,” I said. “And by the by, this lamb is very tasty.”
“Why, thank you, dearie. So, anyways, he was Dapper Dan because he valued his pretty face so. I heard tell he never let a fist near it. Never got a black eye nor a broken nose, not Dan.”
I laughed.
It was a street number; I tucked it into my purse. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, then.” He gave me a two-fingered salute and moved off. I watched him weave into the crowd of pedestrians, hands jammed in his pockets.
And then, as I watched him, there was someone else in thecrowd, someone else watching me—blond hair, eyes flashing blue watching me, watching Charlie—watching…
I raised my hand. “Teddy?” My voice came out in a croak, and my heart raced. But even if Teddy could have heard me, he was already gone, disappearing into the wave of pedestrians who jostled and pushed along the sidewalk. I stood there for the longest time, hoping to catch sight of Teddy again, but he’d vanished into thin air.
But I’d seen him. He was here, in New York. Alive and here and still laying low.
I walked back to my aunt and uncle’s, trying to sift through the tangle of feelings.
Everyone wanted something from me. Connor, Rushton, Pops, my uncle, Charlie, even my aunt…that was when I remembered. I stopped to ask Ed, “Has Miss Melody left the apartment yet?”
“Yes, miss. Right after the rain stopped.”
I groaned. I sure wasn’t acting like Miss Draper’s “A” student, nor like the detective I thought I was. Already I’d let my aunt down by not being home in time for Melody.
Ed lifted one finger. “Oh, and miss. Your aunt and uncle and Mr. Chester are also out, but there’s someone waiting in the apartment. I let him up because I know he’s a particular friend of your uncle’s.”
“Who?” But I already thought I knew the answer, and the very idea of it carved a hollow in my middle.
“Mr. John Rushton.”
CHAPTER 15
Lou
Not too long after we moved into the Long Island mansion, Killimor—Danny named it after some place he knew in the old country; can you beat that, Detective? He wants to leave his past behind, and the first thing he does is settle on a name…oh, never mind. Anyhow, not too long after we moved in I learned how Danny felt about me consorting with the help.
He’d gone off to the city, like he did near every day, and I was hungry, that’s all. Cook made me a lamb sandwich and, I ask you, why should I eat all alone at a table for twenty in that drafty old dining room with its gloomy tapestries and empty armor, with the feeling there were eyes in there watching me, when I could eat in Cook’s cozy kitchen? And it was a cold and rainy day, too, so the kitchen fire was nice.
I told Danny once that I thought modern was much nicer than all this old stuff—used furniture, I think I said—and he lectured me for near anhour on the value of antiques. On history and how rich people all have antiques. I still didn’t like them, all those creepy, dark, old things, even if he did make the help clean them till they glowed. But by then I’d learned to keep my trap shut.
Anyway, I’m eating my sandwich, and Cook starts in with stories about Danny that I hadn’t heard before. About how he’d arrived as a kid on Ellis Island with nothing on but an oversize dress shirt and a ratty pair of knickerbockers. How he started out on the Lower East Side picking pockets before moving up in his early teens as a boxer. How he earned a boxing nickname right off: Dapper Dan O’Connor.
“Wait,” I said, between bites. “O’Connor?”
“Aye,” Cook said. “He dropped the ‘O’ when he got important. Some say he dropped it because he didn’t want to be taken for someone right off the boat.” She made a noise in her throat that sounded like “harrumph.”
“Go on,” I said. “And by the by, this lamb is very tasty.”
“Why, thank you, dearie. So, anyways, he was Dapper Dan because he valued his pretty face so. I heard tell he never let a fist near it. Never got a black eye nor a broken nose, not Dan.”
I laughed.
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