Murder in Little Italy

Frank thought Roosevelt was right about Ugo putting up a fight. He wouldn’t sit by and see his family attacked, but he certainly had no loyalty to the bastard child of a woman who had lied to his nephew. He’d help put pressure on the family.

“I’m not sure it’s really safe for Mrs. Brandt to go down to Little Italy,” Frank tried, grasping at his last straw.

“Then you and Officer Donatelli will accompany her. Take as many officers as you think you’ll need to protect her, too.

We must get this settled, Mr. Malloy. Every night that passes gives Tammany another opportunity to stir up more trouble.”

“I’ll go see her this morning, sir,” Frank said, giving Donatelli a dirty look he didn’t understand.

“Dee-lightful. Please give her my regards and my personal thanks for her efforts,” Roosevelt said.

Sarah was trying to decide if she should take Aggie and Maeve with her to visit the mission when someone rang her front doorbell. Her heart quickened when she saw Malloy’s silhouette through the door, and she smiled as she pulled it open.

“Malloy,” she said in greeting, but her smile faded when she saw his expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.

“Let me in, and I’ll tell you,” he replied sourly.

Aggie and Maeve had heard the bell and now came running to greet him. He put on a good show for them, teasing and grinning, until Sarah sent them upstairs and took Malloy into the kitchen. She poured coffee without asking and set it in front of him.

“I saw the story about the riot in the newspaper. Did something happen to the Ruoccos? To the baby?”

“No, we managed to keep the rioters out of the restaurant until the police came.”

“You were there?” she asked in amazement.

“Donatelli and I were there questioning the family when it started.”

“How is Maria? And the baby? She must be terrified!”

“Everybody was fine, or at least nobody got hurt. They sent Maria and the baby and the daughter to a neighbor’s house.”

“Did you find out anything when you were questioning them? About who might have killed Nainsi?”

“Nobody confessed, if that’s what you mean,” he said grimly.

She could see the discouragement in his eyes. “I wish I could help. I’ve been trying to figure out if anything I learned when I was there was important.”

“What did you learn?” he asked, surprising her.

“Maria is determined to be a good mother to the baby. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have any of her own because . . .”

“Because what?” he prodded when she hesitated.

“Because Joe doesn’t do his husbandly duty anymore,”

she told him with just a touch of glee, knowing he’d be embarrassed. He didn’t like discussing such things with her.

He reached up and rubbed his eyes, probably to keep from having to look at her. “All right,” he said with more than a touch of discomfort. “So Maria is claiming the baby for herself because she can’t have one of her own.”

“I didn’t really expect the rest of the family would be too happy about it, but even Mrs. Ruocco has come around.”

“The old woman?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes, she’s very fond of Maria and wants her to be happy.

She must know that Joe isn’t much of a husband and Maria doesn’t have any other joy in her life. This is her one chance to have a child.”

“I can’t believe Joe went along with it.”

“I can’t either, but maybe he has a guilty conscience. He’ll let her have her way so she’s too busy to bother him anymore.”

“Valentina doesn’t seem very pleased to have the baby there,” Malloy remarked. “She wanted to give it to the mob last night so they’d go away and leave them alone.”

“Oh, my! I know she’s a spoiled brat, but I never would have thought her capable of such a thing. Do you think she was serious?”

“Yes, I do,” he confirmed gravely. “She hates that baby.

I wouldn’t leave her alone with it for a second.”

Sarah considered this information. “Do you think she could have hated Nainsi that much, too?”

“I thought you said she was the one who discovered the body.”

“She was, but . . . She was screaming like a banshee. I thought she was genuinely terrified.”

“Maybe she didn’t realize she’d killed Nainsi. Maybe she just put the pillow over her face to shut her up or something. Then she went in the next morning and found her dead. She’d be pretty upset.”

“It’s possible, I guess. I’d hate to think someone so young could do such a thing, though.”

“You’d be surprised what kids can do,” Malloy said.

“Sometimes they’re worse than adults because they aren’t smart enough yet to even think about the consequences of the things they do.”

Sarah shuddered at the thought.

“So we’ve got Mama Ruocco, Maria and Joe in favor of keeping the baby. Valentina is very much against it.”

“I don’t know how Antonio feels,” Sarah said. “I haven’t heard him say anything on the subject.”

“He wanted to give the baby to Mrs. O’Hara last night when the mob was trying to break down their front door.”

“That seems logical,” Sarah mused. “He wouldn’t feel any connection to the baby, and he wouldn’t be overly concerned about Maria’s happiness. Lorenzo was, though,”

she remembered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when Ugo wanted Maria to give up the baby, he stood up for her.”

“When did this happen?” he asked, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

She sighed in resignation. “Yesterday. Ugo came to the restaurant in the afternoon. I’m sure he thought all he had to do was tell them to give the baby to Mrs. O’Hara and they’d obey. Maria refused him to his face, though.”

“And Lorenzo defended her?”

“Yes, he and Joe and Mrs. Ruocco, all of them. Lorenzo took the lead, though. He actually shamed Joe into joining him.”

Malloy took a long swig of the cooled coffee and set the cup down with a clunk. “If they didn’t listen to Ugo, they probably won’t listen to anybody else, either.”

“Listen to them about what?”

Malloy gave her a long, level look, as if judging her in some way.

“Malloy, what are you talking about?” she prodded, letting her annoyance show.

“I’m talking about getting them to give the baby to Mrs.

O’Hara to make peace.”

“Mrs. O’Hara can’t take care of an infant,” she protested.

“She couldn’t even support herself and Nainsi.”

“Tammany is going to give her a pension so she can,” he reported.

“Tammany Hall? What do they have to do with this?”

“It’s an Irish baby. They say it was kidnapped by Italians who killed its mother.”

“Nobody kidnapped him!”

“Somebody killed his mother, though.”

“Maria certainly didn’t!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Who did, then?”

“How should I know?”

Malloy scowled at her. “Then why are you so sure it wasn’t Maria? It could’ve been her just as easy as anyone else.”

Now Sarah rubbed her eyes. “This is crazy, Malloy. First Valentina and now Maria. Next you’ll be accusing the baby!”

“He didn’t have a motive,” Malloy pointed out dryly.

“Neither did anybody else,” she snapped back. “Not enough of one to kill her, at any rate. Antonio was the only one who had a reason to be angry enough. She’d made a fool of him and ruined his life.”

“He was too drunk,” Malloy said.

“How do you know that?”

“Don’t you remember how hungover he and Joe were that morning? Besides, I questioned them both.”

“Then tell me everything you found out. Let’s compare notes and see what we know about the night Nainsi was killed. Maybe we’re missing something.”

Frank glared at her, but after a few seconds, he gave in.

“We both know what happened up until you left that night.”

“That’s right. Maria was with Nainsi, helping her with the baby.”

“According to the ones I questioned, Maria went downstairs with everybody else to help serve dinner to the customers that night. Nainsi was fine then. After the crowd left, Joe and Antonio went to see Ugo, while the rest of the family cleaned up. Then the family went up to the second floor. There’s a parlor there, where they usually sit.”

“Did someone check on Nainsi after they came upstairs?”

Sarah asked.

“Maria said Mrs. Ruocco wouldn’t let them. Valentina had taken some supper up to her earlier, but no one saw her again until Maria went up to bed.”

“But Maria saw her then?”

“She said she looked in and saw the baby was sleeping in his cradle. The room was dark, and she thought Nainsi was asleep, too, so she didn’t say anything to her.”

“Then she could have been dead already,” Sarah said.

“Not according to Maria. She said that when Joe came in later, after she’d gone to sleep, he made some noise and woke her and Nainsi up. Nainsi called out for him to be quiet.”

“That means she was still alive when Joe and Antonio came home. Do we know what time it was?”

“No one paid any attention.”

“Of course they didn’t,” Sarah sighed. “But now we know everyone was at home when she died. What else do we know about Joe and Antonio? You said they went to see Ugo. Do you know why?”

“Joe said he and Antonio went to tell Ugo what had happened and ask him how they could keep the baby for Maria.”

“That doesn’t sound right!” Sarah exclaimed.

“I know. I think Joe’s lying about that. Probably, they went to ask Ugo how to get rid of Nainsi and her baby, but he didn’t want to say that to a cop.”

“We’ll probably never find out for sure what they talked about. Ugo certainly isn’t going to tell you that.”

“No, he won’t. None of them will. They do admit that Antonio drank a lot that night and passed out when he got home. He says he slept on the sofa in the second floor parlor, so he wasn’t anywhere near Nainsi. Maria claims Joe got into bed after Nainsi called out for him to be quiet, and nei-ther of them got up again.”

“Then that’s it. Don’t you see? Joe and Antonio went to Ugo to ask him to get rid of her, and he sent someone over to kill her. You said yourself how easy it would be to sneak up the back staircase.”

“It’s a good theory,” Frank agreed. “The problem is proving it. Ugo isn’t going to tell us who he sent over, and nobody is going to confess. Meanwhile, the Irish will continue thinking the Ruoccos killed the girl and kidnapped her baby, and they’ll keep going down to Little Italy and causing trouble until they get the baby back.”

“That’s ridiculous! They’ll get tired or forget all about it.”

“Not if Tammany Hall keeps them stirred up. It’s politics, Sarah. Tammany wants to put the Italians in their place. They’re going to keep organizing riots—”

“Organizing?” Sarah cried in outrage.

“Yes, the Ward Heelers got that group together last night. And they’ll keep doing it until Roosevelt helps them get what they want.”

“Roosevelt? He’ll never go along with this.” Sarah had known him all her life, and she knew he could never be coerced.

“He can’t stand by and watch people riot in the streets.

He doesn’t have a choice, Sarah. He has to keep the peace, and the Ruoccos don’t have any right to that baby.”

“But the law—”

“Morally, they have no right to it,” he insisted. “Especially if somebody in their family killed Nainsi . . . or ordered it done.”

Sarah felt tears stinging her eyes as fury flooded her. “You can’t just pass a baby around like it’s a . . . a loaf of bread!”

“We’re going to give him to his grandmother, his only known relative,” he pointed out reasonably.

“You’ll never convince Maria to give him up,” she warned him furiously.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why you have to do it.”

9

Frank hadn’t expected Sarah to give in so easily, which made him really suspicious. “You do understand what you need to do, don’t you?” he asked her as they rode downtown toward Little Italy in a Hansom cab.

“Of course I do. You made it very clear. I’ll have a few sharp words to say to Commissioner Roosevelt when next we meet, though.”

Frank was sure she would. “He’s got to do what’s best for the city,” Frank tried. “Innocent people are getting hurt in the riots. It’s only a matter of time before somebody gets killed. It could even be one of the Ruoccos. Or maybe they’ll burn the restaurant and half the street down.”

“You can stop explaining. I understand, Malloy,” she said tartly. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

She didn’t have to add that she didn’t like it. That was obvious. They rode the rest of the way through the city in uneasy silence. Frank hoped she was thinking about what she would say to the Ruoccos, and he hoped it would be convincing.

The cab dropped them off at the corner.

“What if they aren’t home?” Sarah asked uneasily.

“They’ll be getting ready for the lunch customers,” he pointed out.

She looked around, noticing the signs of last night’s riot.

He could see her shock and was glad for it. Maybe that would soften her up a bit.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s get this over with.”

The front door was locked and the shades drawn, so he knocked. He saw Sarah eyeing the patch on the door frame where it had been ripped out last night. The edge of the window shade moved a bit, as if someone was peering out to see who was there, and then the door opened.

“Mrs. Brandt,” Lorenzo said in surprise. Then his gaze cut to Frank, and his eyes darkened with suspicion. “What are you doing here?” he asked Frank.

“We need to speak with you, Lorenzo,” Sarah said before Frank could answer. “We need to speak with your whole family, all together.”

“Mama said not to let the police in,” he protested.

“Mr. Malloy is escorting me today, to make sure I’m safe because of the trouble last night. I have something to explain to you, something that could end all this trouble and get your lives back to the way they were before. Please, Lorenzo. It’s very important.”

Lorenzo looked unconvinced, but he said, “Come in. I’ll ask Mama.”

He locked the door behind them and then went to the kitchen, leaving Sarah and Frank standing in the empty dining room.

“They did a good job getting the place cleaned up,”

Frank observed. The patch job on the front door would do for now, and all the debris was gone.

“I can’t believe the mob actually broke down the door,”

she said.

“They only broke it in, not down. Next time they’ll probably smash the windows and loot the place.”

She gave him a murderous glare, but luckily, Mrs. Ruocco came out of the kitchen like a small whirlwind, with Lorenzo and Joe right behind her.

“What you want?” she demanded of Frank. “I tell you go home, not bother us!”

“Mrs. Brandt is the one who wants to talk to you,” Frank defended himself, taking a step backward to show he was no part of it.

“How is the baby doing?” Sarah asked, skillfully divert-ing her attention.

Mrs. Ruocco forced herself to be polite to Sarah. “The goat milk is good for him. He sleep now.”

“That’s wonderful,” Sarah said with genuine relief. “And Maria? Is she getting enough rest?”

Mrs. Ruocco shrugged one shoulder.

“She’s doing better now that the baby is sleeping,”

Lorenzo reported, earning a disapproving look from his mother.

“Is she here?” Sarah asked with the kind of confidence that had to have been bred into her for generations. “I’d like for her to hear what I have to say, too.”

“Is about baby?” Mrs. Ruocco asked suspiciously.

“It’s about the trouble you’ve been having,” Sarah said.

“I think we can put an end to it, but Maria should be here before I explain.”

Mrs. Ruocco studied her for a long moment, probably trying to judge her sincerity. Apparently satisfied, she gave Joe a nod, and he went hurrying away up the stairs to find his wife.

“We are busy cooking for customer,” Mrs. Ruocco warned while they waited. “We must earn living.”

“Of course,” Sarah agreed. “I won’t take up very much of your time, but I know you’re anxious to stop these riots.”

No one spoke, and in the silence, they could all hear Joe’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs and then came back down again. A second set of footsteps followed. Joe emerged from the stairway, and he seemed a bit shocked to see everyone still standing exactly as he’d left them all staring at him. He turned and made sure Maria negotiated the final steps. She carried the baby, who was wide awake, taking in everything around him with the watchful somberness of the newly born.

“Mrs. Brandt, what’s wrong?” Maria asked, looking around uncertainly.

“You look much better today, Maria,” Sarah said with a small smile.

“He only woke up once last night,” Maria reported.

“Why are you here? Did something happen?”

“Nothing new,” Sarah assured her. “I just . . . I wanted to speak with you about this situation you’re in. You may not know it, but the politicians from Tammany Hall are the ones organizing the rioters. They are buying them drinks and getting them stirred up until they’re brave enough to come down here and attack the place.”

“Why would the politicians do that?” Joe challenged.

“Why would they care about us?”

“Mr. Malloy explained to me that Tammany Hall wants to show its power over the Italians.”

Joe and Lorenzo made outraged noises.

“Silenzio,” Mrs. Ruocco snapped. “Why they come here?”

“Because Nainsi’s death put your names in the newspapers, and everybody knows you now. Because they’ve told lies about you and made the Irish angry. They’re saying you murdered Nainsi so you could have her baby.”

Maria made an anguished sound and covered her eyes with one hand, holding the baby tightly with her other arm.

Mrs. Ruocco said something in Italian that Frank was glad nobody translated, and Joe and Lorenzo muttered ominously.

“How can we stop them?” Joe demanded.

“Commissioner Roosevelt has suggested that in order to satisfy the Irish and take away their reason for attacking you, you give the baby to Nainsi’s mother,” Sarah said as gently as if she’d been suggesting a walk in the park.

This time Maria was the one who cried out. “No!” she shrieked, startling the baby. “She cannot have him! She can’t buy the milk for him! She can’t keep the bottles clean! She lives like a pig! He will die!”

The baby’s tiny face screwed up, and he began to wail.

Maria started bouncing him absently as she continued her rant. “Mama, you cannot let that woman have him. You cannot let him die!”

To Frank’s surprise, Lorenzo went to her and took the baby out of her arms. “Stop it, Maria,” he said gently, as he awkwardly shifted the crying infant into the crook of his own arm. “We will not let him die.” As if he understood the words, the baby stopped crying and gazed up at Lorenzo in wide-eyed wonder.

“But what can we do?” Joe asked, his voice an annoying whine. “Even Uncle Ugo’s men can’t protect us! Last night they broke in here. Who knows what they will do tonight or tomorrow night?”

“Then I will take the baby away someplace,” Maria said, her voice quivering with anguish. “He will be safe, and they will forget about all of you when he’s gone, and then you’ll be safe,” she added with a touch of contempt to her husband.

“I have a better idea,” Sarah said, startling everyone, especially Frank.

He looked at her with apprehension, trying to read the serene expression on her lovely face. She hadn’t told him about any other ideas, and he certainly hadn’t given her permission to have any.

“Mrs. Brandt, we should go now,” he tried, but she ignored him completely.

“The reason the newspapers got everyone so angry in the first place is because Nainsi was murdered in your house,”

she reminded them. “They’re saying you don’t have a right to her baby because you kidnapped and killed her to get it.”

“That is lie!” Mrs. Ruocco cried.

“Of course it is, but people believe it because they don’t know the truth.”

“What truth?” Lorenzo asked skeptically.

“They don’t know who really killed Nainsi,” she said, making Frank wince. “When her killer is caught and punished, everyone will understand you had nothing to do with it.”

They all stared at her, dumbfounded. Frank felt pretty dumbfounded himself. Her logic was so reasonable—and so wrong! They still didn’t know for sure who had killed Nainsi. If one of the family members had done it, all hell would break loose. Didn’t she realize that? No, she didn’t, he remembered, because she thought one of Ugo’s men had killed Nainsi.

Frank watched their faces as they began to comprehend her argument. Joe and Lorenzo didn’t quite know what to think. Maria’s face seemed to glow with a desperate hope.

But Mrs. Ruocco . . . She understood. She knew someone in her family must have killed the girl, and the truth would destroy them.

“Get out my house!” she said furiously, pointing one gnarled finger at the door. “Get out now!”

“But Mama,” Maria pleaded. Mrs. Ruocco silenced her with a gesture.

Before she could protest, Frank grabbed Sarah’s arm and hauled her to the door. She almost stumbled, but he didn’t loosen his grip or slow his pace. He had to throw back the bolt one-handed, but he got them both outside.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, outraged. “We have to convince them to cooperate, or you’ll never find Nainsi’s killer!”

He just kept walking, dragging her along with him until they’d crossed the street into the next block. Then she finally dug in her heels and forced him to stop.

“What are you doing? Don’t you want to solve this case?” she asked breathlessly, her cheeks scarlet with fury.

“Of course I do, but that’s not the way to do it!”

“You won’t find the killer without their help,” she insisted.

“And they won’t help if the killer is one of them.”

“But one of Ugo Ruocco’s men killed her,” she argued.

“Maybe, but we don’t know anything for sure. Did you see Mrs. Ruocco’s face? She isn’t sure either. She knows as well as I do that it might’ve been one of her children and she’d cut off her arm before she’d help us find out.”

“But if it wasn’t one of her children—”

“She’s not going to take that chance,” Frank said. “She’ll protect them the way Maria is protecting that baby. If she knows who did it . . . if any of them know . . . it’s a secret they’ll take to their graves.”

So much for Roosevelt’s plan to have Sarah reason with them.

“ You should’ve taken me with you,” Gino Donatelli said later, after Frank had escorted a chastened Sarah back home and returned to Headquarters. “I might’ve been able to convince them.”

“First of all, you didn’t see Maria Ruocco with that baby.

She isn’t giving him up, no matter who wants her to,” Frank said. “Second, none of them are going to help us find the killer because they’re all afraid it’s somebody in the family.

Third, that’s true in any language, so you couldn’t have helped.”

“But I know how they think,” he argued.

“So do I,” Frank replied acidly. “They think we want to put one of them in jail, and they’re right.”

Gino ran a hand over his face in exasperation. “Maybe Mrs. Brandt was the wrong person to deliver the message,” he said.

“I think we agree on that,” Frank said sarcastically. “Who else would you suggest? Maybe Commissioner Roosevelt would go down and talk to them.”

“They’d never listen to him, either,” Gino said as if Frank had made a serious suggestion. “They’d listen to Ugo, though.”

“Mrs. Brandt said he already told them to give the baby up, but they refused.”

“Things weren’t so bad then. The stakes are higher now.

He doesn’t want his men fighting the Irish in the streets any more than we do, and he must know he can’t beat Tammany Hall.”

“He’s not going to turn in one of his own family members, and his men won’t follow him anymore if he turns in one of them,” Frank pointed out.

“No, but he might force Maria to give up the baby to make peace, and then . . .”

“And then what?”

Gino grinned smugly. “And then she’ll hate all of them so much, she’ll help us find the killer.”

Sarah walked far enough to make Malloy believe she was going home, but as soon as she was out of sight, she cut over to Broadway and turned south again. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew that on a pleasant day like this, plenty of people would be out in the street, and someone would be able to give her directions.

Howard Street teemed with life. Teamsters guided their wagons through the narrow passage, shouting and swearing.

Homeless urchins darted in and out of the traffic, dodging wheels and horses’ hooves. Women argued with street vendors over prices and gossiped on porch steps.

Sarah only had to make three inquiries before she found the right tenement. As she made her way up the dark stairs, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over refuse and heaven knew what else, she could easily imagine how a young girl would grasp at any chance to escape such a dreary place. The Ruoccos weren’t really rich, unless you compared them to this.

The door to the flat stood open to catch the breeze, and Sarah saw a woman sitting at the kitchen table with her back to the door. The room held only the rickety table and chairs and a battered stove, which was cold on this spring day. Crates nailed to the walls held a few kitchen utensils and dishes. The walls were an indeterminate color beneath years of grime.

“Mrs. O’Hara?” she called, tapping lightly on the door frame.

Nainsi’s mother turned in her chair to see who was calling. “Mrs. Brandt,” she said in surprise, pushing herself to her feet. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing new,” Sarah said with a smile. “I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“Is the baby all right? Have you seen him?” she asked anxiously. “They won’t let me near him, them damned murdering dagos.”

Sarah managed to maintain her cheerful smile. “He was a little colicky at first, but we tried feeding him goat’s milk, and that helped a lot. The last time I saw him, he seemed to be doing fine.”

She murmured something that might have been a prayer and crossed herself. “It ain’t right,” she said bitterly. “They got no claim to the boy at all. He’s nothing to them. Why would they even want him?”

“If it’s any comfort, Maria is taking very good care of him,” Sarah said.

“It’s a little comfort,” Mrs. O’Hara admitted. “I wouldn’t put it past the rest of them to let him die, just for spite, but that Maria, she wouldn’t let it happen, I know. She’s a good girl, for being Italian and all.”

“How are you doing, Mrs. O’Hara?” Sarah asked. “I know this has been very hard on you.”

She waved away Sarah’s concerns. “I’m doing all right, all things considered. Take more than this to do me in, I’ll tell you that. Well, now, where’s my manners? Come in and sit down. Can I get you something?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you,” Sarah said, knowing the woman wouldn’t have any food to spare. She took a seat at the table. She saw that Mrs. O’Hara had been working at making men’s ties.

“I won’t have to do this anymore once I get the baby,” she told Sarah, moving her work aside. “I don’t even have to take in lodgers anymore. Them politicians, they already give me some money, and they said they’d make sure I got a regular pension so I can take care of the boy proper.”

“That’s very nice of them,” Sarah remarked, wondering why the politicians would have taken such an active interest in a woman like Mrs. O’Hara, much less champion her cause.

“Ain’t nothing nice about it,” she sniffed. “They seen a chance to get a leg up on the Italians, and they took it. They gotta make folks think they’re doing something important, or they won’t get reelected.”

Sarah had to admit this was a rather astute observation from a female who couldn’t vote and probably couldn’t even read. “I would never have thought of asking for that kind of help,” she admitted.

“Don’t know why not,” Mrs. O’Hara said in amazement.

“That’s what everybody does. Got some trouble, you go down to Tammany Hall, and they fix you right up.”

“I had no idea!”

“Well, they can’t fix everything, mind you. But lots of things. A word here or there to the right people, and life goes a little better. That’s why people vote for ’em. I didn’t know what they’d’ve said about Nainsi’s baby, but I guess after I told my story to them reporters and it was in the papers, they didn’t have much choice.”

Once again, Sarah was impressed by Mrs. O’Hara’s political astuteness. “It’s a shame about the riots, though,” she tried, hoping to make Mrs. O’Hara see the unpleasant re-sults of her efforts. “A lot of the Irish boys ended up in jail.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mrs. O’Hara said philo-sophically. “If it wasn’t for that, they’d be in for something else. Besides, we need to scare them Ruoccos so they know they gotta give up the baby.”

Sarah still had one weapon left in her arsenal. “Yes, well, another reason I came today was to talk to you about taking care of him.”

“I know how to take care of a baby,” Mrs. O’Hara scoffed.

“I raised Nainsi, didn’t I? She had a brother, too. He’d be twenty now, but he got the diphtheria and died when he was four. I don’t need no lessons in how to take care of a baby.”

Sarah smiled sympathetically. “Of course you don’t, but taking care of this one will be a little different. I’m sure you nursed your children, but your grandson will have to be fed with a bottle unless you can afford a wet nurse for him. That means you’ve got to buy milk for him every day.”

“Every day?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yes, because it needs to be fresh, and as I said, he needs to have goat’s milk or else he’ll get sick. You’ve probably never used baby bottles, so I wanted to be sure you understand that they have to be thoroughly washed and boiled after each use.”

“Boiled? Whatever for?”

“If you leave milk in the bottles, even just a little bit, it will go bad and make the baby sick. I know you don’t want that to happen.”

Mrs. O’Hara glanced around the kitchen, and Sarah knew what she was thinking. No one in the tenements used their stoves in the summertime. The buildings were already unbearably hot. The residents would buy their food from the vendors in the streets, which was actually cheaper than buying fuel and hauling it up to their flats.

“Well, maybe Tammany will help you pay for a wet nurse,”

Sarah went on. “That would be the best thing anyway.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mrs. O’Hara with a frown. “I don’t know about any of this. Nobody said he needed anything special.”

“I know, that’s why I came. Maria would have explained it all to you, I’m sure, but I didn’t want you to be surprised.

Or unprepared.”

The older woman raised a hand and rubbed her forehead.

“I never thought . . .”

“Mrs. O’Hara, I know how worried you must be. You’ve already lost your daughter, and I don’t want you to lose your grandson, too,” Sarah said. “That’s why I came. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“I never dreamed it’d be so hard,” she said.

“Taking care of a baby under the best of circumstances is difficult,” Sarah reminded her. “The sleepless nights, the diapers, keeping them safe. I’m sure you remember that from your own children.”

“I lost two others, too,” she admitted sadly. “I don’t like to remember them. One was stillborn, and the other . . . the other just died. We never knew why.”

Sarah felt the other woman’s grief like a lump in her own chest. “I’m sorry.” Then she waited, giving Mrs. O’Hara a chance to make the right decision.

The other woman stared at something only she could see for several minutes, and then her eyes hardened with resolution. “I love that baby, Mrs. Brandt. It would kill me if anything happened to him.”

Sarah nodded, holding her breath and silently praying.

“But those people got no right to him. He’s my flesh and blood, the only family I got left. I can’t leave him in that house, Mrs. Brandt, because somebody in that house killed my Nainsi.”

Sarah let out her breath on a sigh. She’d done her best, but she’d lost.

In all the years he’d been a cop, Frank had faced many dangerous situations, but none quite so dangerous as bearding Ugo Ruocco in his own den. He could feel the wave of hostility wash over them when he and Gino entered the saloon where Ugo held court. Every eye in the room turned toward them, all filled with hatred.

One of the men challenged them in Italian, and Gino replied in Italian, his tone polite but firm. Several of the men got up from their tables and walked slowly toward them, their expressions taunting as they formed a loose circle around them. The threat of violence was blatant, but Frank knew better than to show a trace of fear. He glared back at them, silently daring them to risk attacking the police. They might win this battle, but they would start a war that would bring down the wrath of the Irish and the police and the city government, too. Frank sincerely hoped they realized that.

After a long moment, an older man sitting at a table on the other side of the room stood up and gave a curt order.

He was short and round with graying hair and a well-worn face. The thugs fell back, opening a corridor between him and them. “You want to see the Padrone, Gino Donatelli?” he asked.

“Yes, we do,” Gino replied. Frank had to admire the way he refused to be intimidated. Maybe letting dagos on the force wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I will ask if he will see you,” the man said, his tone implying that he sincerely doubted that would happen. He turned and walked through a door at the back of the room, closing it softly behind him.

As they waited, Frank could hear the words “fool’s errand” echoing in his head. That’s what his mother would’ve said about him walking into a dago saloon. Frank carefully made eye contact with each of the men in the room, silently letting them know they didn’t scare him one bit.

Even if it was a lie.

After what seemed like an hour, the older man returned and motioned for them to follow him. Gino led the way. The thugs closed in a bit as they passed, letting Frank and Gino feel their presence without actually making any threatening moves. Frank figured ordinary citizens would be terrified.

Although the saloon itself looked exactly like every other saloon in the city—its furnishings plain, functional, and worn with hard usage—the back room was clearly the office of an important man. Velvet drapes hung at the windows and a handwoven carpet covered the floor. Gilt-framed pictures of European landscapes hung on the wallpapered walls, and Ugo Ruocco sat at a large round table with a bottle of wine and a half-empty glass before him.

Their escort held the door for them and then closed it behind him, standing with his back to it to observe their meeting and prevent interruption.

“Gino,” Ruocco said with apparent good cheer. “What brings you here? And who have you brought with you?”

Gino whipped off his hat and nodded slightly in greeting. “Good afternoon, Padrone,” he said with more respect that Frank would have shown. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“How could I turn you away? I would never know why you came, and I am very interested to know that. Please, sit down,” he said, waving magnanimously at the empty chairs at the table. “You, too, Detective,” he added less enthusiastically.

Gino exchanged a glance with Frank before taking one of the offered chairs. Frank took the one beside him. Frank sized up Ruocco across the expanse of tablecloth that separated them. He was a man supremely confident in his place in the world and the power he wielded. Someplace else, he might not be so confident, but here he was in total control of everything and everyone. Frank and Gino were suppli-cants come to beg a favor of the great man. The knowledge burned like gall in Frank’s mouth, but he knew better than to betray it.

“Padrone, Detective Sergeant Malloy has come because he has something important to discuss with you,” Gino said.

“I am sure it is about my family,” Ruocco said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You probably know by now that Tammany is behind the riots,” Frank said.

Ruocco nodded once, his eyes hard and suspicious. “I have heard this, yes.”

“They want to show everybody that they can keep the Italians in their place.”

Ruocco’s smile disappeared. “Have you come only to tell me what I already know?”

“No, I came to ask you to put an end to the trouble.”

“I have men guarding the restaurant,” Ruocco reminded him impatiently. “They could not stop it.”

“Tammany Hall wants Nainsi’s mother to have the baby.

If that happens, the riots will stop.”

Ugo considered this for a moment. “One small baby to cause so much trouble,” he mused. “But we cannot trust them. They also say my family killed Nainsi to get the baby.

They will want the murderer, and they will not stop until they get him.”

“The police would like the murderer,” Gino said, completely violating his agreement with Frank to keep his mouth shut during this discussion.

“If we found the killer,” Frank clarified quickly, “then Tammany wouldn’t have any reason at all to cause more trouble.”

“Tammany will always cause trouble,” Ruocco corrected him bitterly.

“But they’d cause it for someone else’s family,” Frank said.

Ruocco saw the logic in this, but he was unmoved. “Poor Maria, I told her to give the baby to that woman, but she would not. If I take the boy now, her heart will break.”

Frank didn’t think Ruocco cared a whit for Maria’s broken heart. “The only other way to get them to call off their dogs is to punish the killer, then,” he said, knowing Ruocco would never agree to that.

“Yes,” Ruocco said wisely. “That is what we must do.”

Frank didn’t bother to hide his surprise, and Gino’s jaw actually dropped before he caught himself and snapped it shut again. Frank recovered first. “Are you telling us you know who killed Nainsi?”

Ruocco smiled. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “I will tell you what I know. I know my brother’s wife hated the girl. She made Antonio a fool. He married a whore and gave his name to her bastard child. The girl hurt one of Patrizia’s children, and Patrizia will do anything to protect her children.”

“Most women will,” Frank noted.

“Will most women kill? Patrizia killed my brother to protect her children,” he said, and the loathing in his eyes chilled Frank.

“Are you saying she murdered her husband?” Frank asked in disbelief.

“She sent him back to Italy to die alone so her children could stay here,” Ruocco said. “It is the same thing.”

Not exactly, at least to Frank’s way of thinking. This sounded more likely than outright murder, and it certainly didn’t make Patrizia Ruocco a killer. “Did Mrs. Ruocco kill Nainsi?” Frank asked.

“I am telling you what I know,” Ruocco reminded him sharply. “Do you think the boys do something without Patrizia knowing? Do you think Maria or Valentina can kill like that? No, only one in that house can kill. Patrizia, she is the one.”

10

“Do you really think Mrs. Ruocco killed the girl?” Gino asked as he and Frank made their way back to Headquarters.

“Ugo wants us to think so. What was he talking about when he said she sent her husband back to Italy to die?”

“I don’t know. She’s been a widow as long as I’ve known her.”

Frank reviewed what Ruocco had told them. Frank had considered Mrs. Ruocco a suspect, of course. She had a good reason to want Nainsi dead, the same reason everyone else in the house had. What Ruocco said about the boys was probably true, too. They’d do only what she told them, unless some irresistible passion drove them. If any of them was capable of an irresistible passion, Frank hadn’t seen any evidence of it yet.

“You can’t believe Mrs. Ruocco did it,” Gino was saying.

“She’s a woman.”

“Women can kill,” Frank assured him. “They do it for different reasons than men, but they do it just the same.”

“Whores do,” Gino argued. “But not respectable women like Mrs. Ruocco.”

Frank sighed at his naïveté, but he let it go. “Do you know anybody who’d remember the story about what happened to her husband?”

“My mother might. Do you want me to ask her?”

“Yeah, I do. How soon can you talk to her?”

“Right now, if you want. I’m off duty.”

Frank looked at him in surprise, pleased at his dedication to pursue this case on his own time. “Good. Find out everything you can, then come and tell me. I’ll be at Headquarters doing some reports.”

Gino gave him a mock salute and headed off at a sprint.

Frank sighed, wondering if he’d ever been that young and eager. He reached the corner and glanced down the street toward Mama’s Restaurant. Everything seemed peaceful enough in the waning evening light. A movement in the shadows caught his eye, and a uniformed patrolman stepped forward.

“ ’Evening, Detective Sergeant,” he said.

“ ’Evening, Officer. Keeping an eye on things?”

“Yes, sir. Commissioner Roosevelt, he ordered that we station a couple of men down here in case there’s more trouble. He wants to be sure we get officers down here quicker than we did last time . . .”

“I doubt you’ll see another mob so soon,” Frank assured him. “Most of the troublemakers from last night are still recovering. But if anything does happen, anything at all, let me know. I’ll be at Headquarters.”

“You’ll be the first to hear about it then,” the officer promised with a grin.

In the silent, deserted room where the detectives had their desks, Frank was feeling sorry for himself. Grumbling about the paperwork, he was wishing he’d gone home to have supper with his son when Gino found him. He’d changed out of his uniform into casual clothes and a soft cap, and as usual, he looked much too excited.

He set a paper sack down on the desk in front of Frank.

“My mother sent you some supper.”

Frank’s stomach growled in response to the aroma of garlic and fresh-baked bread. He tried not to look as grateful as he felt as he pulled open the sack to peer inside.

“What did you find out?” Frank asked. Inside the sack were two thick slices of bread covered with tomato sauce and melted cheese. Frank pulled one out and took an enor-mous bite. It tasted even better than it smelled.

“I found out that Patrizia and Ugo hate each other.”

Frank swallowed. “We already knew that,” he reminded Gino grimly.

“Yeah, but now I know why they hate each other.”

“The protection money,” Frank guessed.

“Oh, no, it’s about her husband. A story I never heard before.”

Frank sighed. “I’m betting it’s a long story.”

“Not real long,” Gino said with far too much glee, pulling up a chair next to Frank’s desk. “You see, Ugo came over from Italy first, about twenty years ago. Back then, a lot of men came over to work for a few years and send money home. When they saved up enough to buy some land there, they’d go back to Italy. Most of them never intended to stay here very long.”

Frank couldn’t understand why somebody would prefer a foreign country to America, but there was no figuring out Italians. “Let me guess, Ugo decided to stay.”

“Yeah, he found out he could be a big man over here. He was nothing in Italy and never would be, but here people listened to him. He made lots of friends and lots of money.”

“So he brought over the rest of his family.” Frank reached into the bag for the other piece of bread.

“No, not all of them, only his brother. At least that was the plan. He was going to bring Ernesto over to work for a while, too. Then they would send for their families. But it didn’t work out that way.”

“Why not?” Frank asked between bites.

“Because Patrizia Ruocco refused to stay in Italy. By then Ugo’s wife had been left alone for almost five years.

Patrizia didn’t think Ugo was going to send for his wife at all. Some men did that. They’d get here and forget all about their wives back home. Sometimes they’d even get married to another woman. The wives back in Italy, they called them white widows. Patrizia wasn’t going to be a white widow.”

“So she came along with her husband?”

“She convinced Ernesto not to come without the whole family, even Ugo’s wife. Ugo was plenty mad, but in the end he gave in because he wanted his brother here. Like I told you before, family is very important to Italians, and he needed somebody he could trust to help him in his business.”

“And Ugo never forgave Patrizia for making him bring over his fat, ugly wife?” Frank guessed.

“No, he never forgave her because when they got here, Ernesto couldn’t get in. Turns out he had consumption. He was dying, so they sent him back to Italy.”

Now Ugo’s accusation against Patrizia made sense. “Patrizia sent him back alone?”

“That’s right. Ugo thought she should go home with him, to take care of him, but she wouldn’t. She wanted her children to live in America, and she wouldn’t leave them here with Ugo. Ernesto asked Ugo to take care of them all, so he did. But Ugo never forgave Patrizia because Ernesto died alone back in Italy just a few months later.”

Frank considered this information. “So Ugo would have a good reason for trying to get Patrizia in trouble.”

“We call it a vendetta,” Gino explained. “When you carry a grudge against somebody until you figure out a way to get revenge.”

“Fifteen years is a long time to wait,” Frank observed.

“Not for an Italian,” Gino assured him with a grin. “Ugo might see this as his big chance to punish Patrizia by blaming her for Nainsi’s death.”

Frank licked the last of the sauce off his fingers thoughtfully. “Or maybe she did kill Nainsi, and he sees this as his big chance to turn her in for it.”

Gino scratched his head. “Even if she did, we still have the same problem. How can we prove it? Ugo’s word isn’t enough. He wasn’t even in the house, so he can’t know for sure or have any proof. Her children aren’t going to tell us anything about her, and all she has to do is keep her mouth shut.”

“We won’t get anything out of any of them as long as they’re holed up in their house together. We need to separate them, get the boys away from Mama. If we can scare them, maybe—”

“Detective Sergeant Malloy,” a voice called. Frank looked up to see the officer he’d spoken with earlier on the street near Mama’s Restaurant. “Wanted you to know, I saw two men leaving the Ruocco house a little while ago.”

“Two men? Customers, you mean?” Frank asked.

“No, sir. There was hardly any customers tonight. Nor at noon either. Guess folks are scared there might be trouble.

They’d already closed up for the night, turned out the lights down in the restaurant, and then two men come out.”

“Who was it?”

“Couldn’t see for sure, but it must’ve been two of the boys.”

Gino muttered a curse. “They’d leave their mother alone and unprotected after what happened last night?” he said in outrage. “What kind of men are they?”

“Stupid and selfish ones,” Frank supplied. “Did you see where they went?” he asked the officer.

“Yeah, O’Malley followed them. They went to some dance house on Broadway.”

Frank looked over at Gino. “Like Antonio said he used to do with Lorenzo. That’s how he met Nainsi. Now’s our chance to catch them away from their mama.”

The Dance House was above a saloon. Decent girls wouldn’t dare enter the saloon, but the room above presumably provided respectable entertainment, so they could go up there. A band played dance music for short periods of time, during which the men in attendance would select a partner. Then the music would stop, and the men would have a long interval during which to ply their partners with drinks from the bar. This was the only type of establishment in the city where unescorted females could meet men without being labeled prostitutes.

Shop girls and factory girls would pay the nickel or dime admission fee for the chance to have a few hours of fun, some free drinks, and perhaps find a man to marry so they could escape their hopeless lives.

Once the dance houses had sprung up all over the city, however, many men quickly learned that the girls were desperate for more than a good time. Their meager wages barely covered the cost of food and shelter, leaving little for clothing and nothing for the occasional luxury, like a new hat or piece of jewelry. Many of the girls, who were usually younger than sixteen, would willingly trade sexual favors for the gift of an article of clothing or some geegaw. Frank wondered what the man who had impregnated Nainsi had given her for the privilege.

When they arrived at the crowded, overheated, and smoke-filled upstairs room, a musical number was just ending, and all the dancers were making their way to the bar for some refreshment. The man at the door tried to collect an admission fee from Frank and Gino, but Frank flashed his badge.

“We ain’t doing nothing illegal here,” the man cried, holding up both hands in silent surrender. “You got no call to raid us.”

“This isn’t a raid,” Frank said, already scanning the room for sign of the Ruocco brothers. “We’re just looking for somebody.”

“I don’t want no trouble,” the man whined. “It’s bad for business!”

“When we find him, we’ll take him out real quiet,”

Frank promised. “Do you see them?” he asked Gino.

Gino shook his head. The mass of bodies at the bar was four or five deep, but Frank would’ve thought they could see the Ruoccos’ heads above the crowd because of their height.

“We’ll circle the room,” Frank said. “You go that way, and I’ll go this way. We’ll keep an eye on each other and signal to the other if we see them.”

“Right,” said Gino, and he started off, eyeing the crowd.

He hadn’t gone three feet before a girl accosted him, though. Frank couldn’t hear what she said, but he understood the look in her eye all too well. Gino was a handsome man, and if he was here, he must’ve come to meet girls.

Frank waited to see if he could extricate himself. He did, but he didn’t get far before two more girls latched onto him.

With a weary sigh, Frank started in the opposite direction. If he found the Ruoccos, maybe Gino could at least help take them into custody. He scanned the crowd for tall men with dark hair as he walked slowly around the perime-ter of the room, but none of the men who caught his eye were the ones he wanted. He’d just mentally dismissed yet another one when he noticed that the girl he was talking to looked very familiar.

She was Nainsi’s friend, Brigit. She looked different tonight, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright from al-cohol. She was shaking her head, refusing whatever the man was offering. She didn’t notice Frank’s approach.

“Brigit,” he said, startling her.

“Is this the fellow you’re waiting for?” the man scoffed, looking Frank over with contempt. “Find yourself another girl, old man. I’m taking this one.”

“Are you?” he asked mildly, but gave the man a look that sent the blood rushing from his face.

“I . . . I’ll see you later,” the man said and scurried away.

“What’re you doing here?” Brigit asked in alarm, glancing around as if searching for someone to help her.

“I was looking for Antonio Ruocco. Have you seen him?”

“Antonio?” she echoed in surprise. “No, not tonight. Not for a long time, either. At least since he married Nainsi.”

“Was this where they met up?”

“Mostly, I guess,” she said, twisting her hands in front of her nervously and glancing around again.

He remembered something else he’d wanted to check.

“When did you first meet Antonio?”

“Me? I don’t know,” she said plaintively. “I can’t remember.” She didn’t want to talk to him, but she was afraid to run away.

“You said she started seeing him last spring. Was that when you met him?”

She shook her head. “Nainsi said she didn’t want us stealing him away. She wouldn’t ever bring him around us.”

“But she told you she was seeing him?”

“Sure she did, like I told you before. She was bragging about how she was going to marry a rich Italian. Can I go now? My fellow’s gonna be back in a minute.”

“Antonio says he never even met Nainsi until last August,” Frank said, watching her reaction.

She didn’t have one. “He’s lying then, and he’ll burn in hell for it, because it got Nainsi killed, didn’t it?” she said impatiently. She was still looking around. “Please, let me go. My fellow won’t like me talking to you.”

“When did Nainsi first trust you to meet Antonio?”

Frank continued relentlessly.

“I already said, I don’t remember!”

“Was it when she told you they were getting married?”

Frank guessed.

She gave the question a moment’s thought. “I guess it was,” she recalled in exasperation. “She said it was safe then, because they was already promised. She wanted us to see how handsome he was and be jealous. Then they got married a few days later.”

She looked up again, over Frank’s shoulder, and her eyes grew wide with apprehension. She tried to warn away whoever was coming, but Frank turned and spotted him before he could comprehend the warning.

Richard Keith’s jaw dropped when he saw Frank. He was carrying two glasses of beer, one of which was half empty, both of which he forgot about as he turned to flee. He ran right into another man, and the beer went flying in every direction, splashing on several of the other customers who were none too happy about it. They started shouting and shoving and before Frank could rescue Keith, someone had socked him right in the jaw and sent him sprawling at Frank’s feet.

“Police! Police! Get out of the way!” someone was yelling over the commotion, and Gino burst through the crowd like an avenging angel.

“Step back, all of you,” Frank commanded, and the shocked crowd obeyed, giving Frank and Gino room to pull Keith to his feet.

“Let’s get him out of here,” Frank said, and Gino helped him half drag, half carry Keith through the crowd, outside, and down the stairs to the street.

“Why did you hit me?” Keith asked, glaring blearily at Frank.

“I didn’t hit you . . . yet,” Frank said, standing him up on his feet and glaring at him, while Gino stood by to catch him if he fell. “Tell me, Mr. Keith, what is a happily married family man doing in a dance house with one of the girls who works for him?”

Keith’s eyes widened as he realized his predicament.

“I . . . I like to dance,” he claimed. “I just happened to see Brigit there and . . . and . . .”

“And you thought you’d buy her a drink and diddle her a little, is that it?”

“No! I never . . . I don’t . . .”

“Yeah, I know, the girls don’t get any bastards from you,”

Frank said in disgust. “Doesn’t stop you from getting plenty from them, though, does it?”

“I . . . They don’t mind, though,” Keith insisted.

“I’ll bet they have a different opinion,” Frank said.

“They don’t, really! I never make them actually do it,” he claimed virtuously.

“How did Nainsi get pregnant then?” Frank demanded.

That sobered him instantly. “I didn’t . . .” he tried, but the words caught in his throat. “I couldn’t help it! It wasn’t my baby, though,” he added hastily. “I don’t care what she said. It couldn’t have been!”

“And why is that?” Frank asked with genuine interest.

“Because she . . . It didn’t happen until July. That was too late. Brigit told me.” Frank noticed he was sweating even though the evening was pleasantly cool.

“What did Brigit tell you?”

“When the baby was born, she told me it was full-grown.

I’ve got kids of my own. I know if a baby is born early, it’s sickly. If it was mine, it would’ve been sickly.”

Frank considered him for a long moment. “Mr. Keith,”

he said with mock respect. “How is it that a man so careful as yourself got caught up in this?”

“I . . .” he looked around wildly for a moment, as if searching for someone to help him. “It was her—Nainsi.

She was a witch! She tricked me and . . .” He ran a hand over his face, and his shoulders slumped with despair.

“And what?” Frank prodded.

“I already told you, I’m a careful man. I don’t . . . penetrate the girls,” he explained in a whisper, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “They just . . . They hold their legs together. It’s a trick I learned from a whore years ago,” he added defensively.

Gino frowned in distaste, and Frank felt his skin prickling with fury. “So you think it’s all right to use the girls like that so long as you don’t penetrate them.”

“I told you, they don’t mind,” he insisted. “They don’t have to worry about losing their jobs or getting a baby, and I get what I want, too.”

Frank had to close his hands into fists to keep from striking Keith. He still needed a few more answers. “You said Nainsi tricked you,” he reminded him. “How did she do that?”

“Well, she . . . See, it was like always except at the end she puts it in! Wasn’t nothing I could do, either. It just happened. Then she laughs, like she did something funny,” he added in amazement.

“Did she tell you the baby was yours?” Frank asked, trying to figure out what Nainsi had been trying to accomplish by taking such a risk.

“She . . . hinted,” he admitted reluctantly. “When she comes in to tell me she’s leaving to get married, she sort of winks and tells me she’s in a family way. Says she won’t know until it comes who the father is, either.”

“So you told Brigit to let you know as soon as the baby was born,” Frank guessed.

“I needed to be sure,” he defended himself. “I can’t have some little whore bringing a baby to my front door and telling my wife it’s mine, now can I?”

“Is that what you thought Nainsi would do when the Ruoccos threw her out?”

Keith wiped his sleeve across his beaded forehead. “No, why would she?” he asked shakily. “She’d know it wasn’t mine.”

“Because she’d need money, and you’re the richest man she knows.”

“She’d never get a cent from me. It wasn’t my kid!”

“But your wife would know it might’ve been, wouldn’t she?” Frank said. “Is that why you killed Nainsi, Keith?

So she wouldn’t tell your wife what you’ve been up to with all the girls?”

“I didn’t kill her!” he cried.

Frank remembered when he’d first questioned Brigit.

He’d been sure there was something she hadn’t wanted to tell him in front of Keith. “But you did know the Ruoccos thought her husband wasn’t the father. Brigit told you that, too, didn’t she? You knew they were going to throw her and the baby out.”

“What if I did? It was nothing to do with me!” he insisted.

“It was everything to do with you if you thought she was going to talk to your wife. So you went over to the Ruoccos’

place, sneaked up the back stairs, and killed her.”

“I didn’t! I wasn’t anywhere near there that night!”

“Where were you then?”

“Here, right here! After Brigit came to tell me, I stayed until about eleven-thirty. Ask her. She was here, too.”

“Where did you go then?”

“Home to bed. My wife will tell you.”

“I’m sure she will,” Frank said. “Officer Donatelli, take him to Headquarters and lock him up for the night.”

“What?” Keith roared in outrage. “You can’t lock me up!”

“Don’t annoy me, Keith,” Frank warned. “It’s all I can do to keep from smashing your face in right now.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You’ve done enough to deserve a night in the lockup,”

Frank told him pleasantly. “If Brigit and your wife vouch for you, I’ll think about letting you go.”

“You can’t ask my wife!” he cried desperately. “She’ll want to know why you’re asking. You can’t tell her!”

“Would you rather go to prison for murder?”

“What about the Ruocco boys?” Gino asked.

“We’ll have to catch up with them later,” Frank said.

“Don’t tell her! Please, don’t tell her!” Keith pleaded as Gino grabbed him by the collar and started hustling him down the sidewalk.

Frank ignored him. He was already climbing the steps back up to the dance house. The music was blaring again, and Frank stood in the doorway, watching the couples spin-ning by. He wondered what his mother would say if she saw the way these men held the girls so obscenely close. And the steps they did, so suggestive. The fellow guarding the door watched him glumly, probably expecting the worst, but this time he knew better than to challenge Frank’s entrance into the hall.

When he’d circled the room twice and looked at every woman there, he had to conclude that Brigit had escaped.

Seeing them carrying Keith out would’ve frightened her, of course. She had probably run out some back entrance as soon as they left. Well, he knew where she lived and where she worked. He’d find her soon enough. And the longer it took to check Keith’s alibi, the longer he’d have to stay in jail. That suited Frank just fine.

Frank had a pretty good idea of what Mrs. Keith would be like, so he found himself speechless early the next morning when the woman who opened the front door acknowledged she was indeed Richard Keith’s wife. Mrs.

Keith was a wisp of a woman, her face pale and drawn, and her eyes sunken and shadowed. She’d once been pretty. The evidence was still present, even though suffering had etched deep lines across her beauty.

“Is my husband dead?” she asked raggedly when Frank had identified himself.

“Oh, no,” he hastily assured her. “He’s fine.” But even still, she looked as though she might faint as her thin shoulders sagged in a sigh of relief.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Keith?” he asked, instinctively reaching to catch her in case she fell.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m . . .

I’ll be fine,” she said. When she opened her eyes, he saw resignation there along with the pain that he realized must be constant. “Do you know where he is? He didn’t come home last night.”

“Yes, he’s . . . he’s helping us with an investigation,”

Frank said, not really lying. “Can I come in for a minute? I’d like to explain what happened with your husband, and you look like you need to sit down.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said and moved aside to allow him to enter.

The Keith home was modest but well tended. The parlor where she led Frank had the comfortable look of a room where a family gathered to enjoy each other’s company. She took a seat near the fireplace where a coal fire burned on the grate, even though the day was mild. He realized she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, too, as if she was unable to get warm.

Frank took the chair she offered.

“You’re certain my husband is all right?” she asked anxiously. “He’s never been away from home all night before.

He’s late sometimes, when he has to work, but he always comes home by midnight. I’ve been terrified for him.”

Nainsi had been killed in the wee hours of the morning, according to Maria’s account of her waking up when Joe came home. Mrs. Keith had just confirmed her husband’s alibi. He wouldn’t even have to question her, thank God. He didn’t relish the idea of causing this woman any more pain.

“He’s in perfect health, I promise. He’ll explain everything when he gets home,” Frank said, figuring that would be his small revenge on Keith. Let him come up with a believable story for this poor woman. He’d thought Keith was afraid of a harridan who would make his life miserable. Instead he’d been trying to protect a woman who had already suffered enough. Frank didn’t feel any more kindly toward Keith, of course. The man was adding to her pain, even if she didn’t know it. “We needed his help just a bit longer, so he asked if I would come and let you know not to worry.”

“Will he be late for work? He mustn’t lose his job,” she asked.

Frank had seen the photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Keith and their two children on the mantel. “I’ll speak to his em-ployer as well. We’re sorry to have caused you distress, Mrs.

Keith.”

“I’m very grateful that you came to tell me. If anything happened to him . . .” She bit her lip and managed not to weep.

Now Frank really did want to smash Keith’s face in. Unfortunately, he’d only be hurting this woman if he did.

Frank stopped at the factory next, but Brigit hadn’t come in to work that morning. The owner was rant-ing about his foreman not showing up, but Frank was able to calm him with a story about Keith being in an accident.

The lie was like gall in his throat, but he thought about Mrs. Keith and the children and swallowed it down.

“I need to talk to one of your other girls,” Frank added at the end of his explanation. Not waiting for permission, he strode down the center aisle to where Nainsi’s other friends sat. He found the one he remembered being so talkative the last time he’d been here. He took her by the arm and jerked her out of her chair.

“I didn’t do nothing!” she protested as Frank roughly conducted her to the back of the room.

“What happened to Brigit last night?” he asked softly, so no one would overhear.

The girl’s eyes grew large. “She disappeared! We was all at the dance house like always, and then she and Mr. Keith was both just gone. We thought . . .”

“Well, don’t think it anymore. I put Keith in jail. Brigit must’ve gotten scared and run. Where would she go?”

The girl shrugged. “Home, I guess. She didn’t come to none of us, and she’s got no place else.”

He was just about to let her go when he remembered one more thing. “When did you first meet Antonio?”

She looked at him in surprise at this sudden change of subject. “I don’t know. Right before they got married, I guess. She was talking about him for so long, we all thought she made him up. Then she just shows up with him one night and says they’re getting married.”

He did let her go then, and she scurried back to her seat, casting an apprehensive glance at the owner before putting her head down and starting up her sewing machine again.

With a weary sigh, Frank started back downtown to the tenement where Brigit lived. He didn’t want to let Keith go if there was any chance he might’ve killed Nainsi, so he wanted to hear what Brigit had to say before he cleared him completely.

The building was still as dark and dreary as he remembered. He wasn’t sure which flat was Brigit’s, so he had to knock on a few doors before a plump young woman holding a screaming baby directed him to the third floor. According to the neighbor, Brigit lived with her mother and several younger brothers. Frank knew they’d rely on her meager in-come to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.

She wouldn’t have missed work without a good reason.

Even before he reached the landing, he could hear the sobs. Someone was crying as if her heart would break. Frank pounded on the door, and the weeping ceased abruptly.

“Who’s there?” a female voice called hoarsely.

“Police,” he replied in his official voice. “Open the door or I’ll break it down.”

He heard a little cry of distress, but after a moment, the lock turned and the door opened a crack. Frank pushed it wide, sending Brigit stumbling back into the room.

“What do you want?” she asked fearfully. “Where’s Dickie?”

“Who’s Dickie?”

“Richard . . . Mr. Keith,” she corrected herself. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut, her face blotchy and tear-streaked.

“You took him, and he didn’t come back. What did you do to him?”

“He’s in jail.”

She cried out in dismay. “Why? He didn’t do anything!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, and this time you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I never lied!”

“Oh, I think you did, Brigit. What happened the night you found out that Nainsi had her baby?”

“What do you mean?” She seemed to be trembling. That was good. Terrified people seldom had the wit to make things up.

“What did you do after Mrs. O’Hara told you Nainsi’s baby was born?”

“I . . . I went out.”

“To the dance house where I saw you last night.”

She nodded, relieved. “That’s right. To see my friends.”

“Maybe you went to see Dickie,” he suggested.

She swallowed. “No, I . . . I didn’t know he’d be there, but . . . but he was.”

“I said I wanted the truth,” he reminded her, taking a step closer.

Her breath caught in her throat. “He goes there a lot!”

she admitted quickly. “He wanted to know when the baby was born, so I went there to find him.”

“What did you tell him?” Frank asked, keeping his voice even and icy cold.

“Just that it had been born, and it was a boy.”

“What else?”

She laid a hand on her heart, as if to quiet it. Frank figured it was pounding like a trip-hammer. “That . . . that they were all mad at Nainsi, because they didn’t think Antonio was the father.”

“What did Dickie say to that?” Frank asked, the contempt in his voice thick.

“Nothing!” she claimed. “He just . . . he just wanted to know, that’s all.”

“Why would he even care about a thing like that?” Frank asked, watching her face carefully.

“I don’t know! Because she worked for him, I guess,” she tried. “He was just . . . interested.”

“Oh, he was interested all right. He wanted to know how long it had been since he’d slept with her until her baby came. He wanted to know if it was his.”

“No!” she cried fiercely. “It couldn’t have been his!”

“Why not?” Frank asked with interest.

“Because he doesn’t—” She caught herself, too embarrassed to speak of such things to a stranger.

“I know he doesn’t,” Frank assured her. “He’s usually real careful, but not with Nainsi. He had a little slip with Nainsi, you see. That’s why he wanted to know when her baby was born, so he’d know if it was his.”

“He didn’t love her,” Brigit insisted. “He didn’t love any of them!”

“Does he love you?” Frank asked curiously.

“Yes, he does!” Her swollen eyes glowed with pride.

“He’s going to marry me, too.”

Frank couldn’t help the wave of pity he felt for her.

“Don’t you know he’s already married?”

“His wife’s real sick, though,” she informed him. “She’s going to die, and then we’ll be married.”

This was all very interesting, but not getting him any closer to solving Nainsi’s murder. Frank gave himself a little shake. “Congratulations,” he said sarcastically. “Meantime, tell me the rest of what happened the night the baby was born.”

“Nothing happened!”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Does that mean you spoke to him, and then you all went straight home to bed?”

“No, we . . . we just . . . We danced a little. Dickie wasn’t real happy that night. He kept staring off at nothing, like he was thinking about something real hard. I know he was thinking about her.”

“Nainsi?”

“No, his wife,” she corrected him testily. “Why would he think about Nainsi?”

“Because he was afraid she’d just had his baby, and the Ruoccos were going to throw her out, and she was going to end up on his doorstep asking for money.”

Brigit didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she was thoroughly frightened. “Even Nainsi wouldn’t be that stupid!”

“Wouldn’t she? Well, it doesn’t matter now because she’s dead. What I want to know is how long did Dickie stay with you?”

“As long as he always does. He has to be home by midnight, so he left a little before. He checks his pocket watch all the time to make sure he’s not late. He doesn’t want to worry her. She’s sick, like I said.”

“He’s very considerate.”

“Yes, he is.”

Frank figured Brigit missed the irony. Well, at least he’d established Keith’s alibi for the entire night. Too bad. He would’ve liked to see a man like that sit down in Old Sparky, New York’s new electric chair. He’d just have to hope there was a special place in hell for people like Dickie Keith.

Frank was just about to tell Brigit to get herself cleaned up and off to her job when they heard a scream. Frank ducked out onto the landing, looking up and down to see if he could tell from what direction it had come.

“Murder!” someone was screaming from above. “Help, somebody! It’s murder!”

11

Frank set off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time he reached the top floor, people had started emerging from their flats, eyes wide with curiosity and fear. A middle-aged woman stood in front of a half-opened door wailing in terror. Then he saw which door it was, and he groaned.

Frank showed his badge, and the woman pointed. “All that blood! She’s dead, ain’t she?”

He pushed the door open all the way and peered in. The first thing he saw was the sprays of blood all over the wall.

The metallic smell filled his nostrils. Mrs. O’Hara sat in the same chair she’d occupied when he’d called on her a few days ago. The ties she’d been sewing were still spread on the table, only now the woman was slumped over them. Her dark blood had stained them, pooled on the tabletop, and spilled onto the floor.

He stepped back and pulled the door closed behind him.

When he turned, he saw a sea of horrified faces staring at him, waiting for him to make sense of it. Brigit had followed him up the stairs. She stood on the landing, her tear-blotched face now a ghostly white.

“Somebody go find a beat cop,” he said, using the tone that demanded obedience. No one moved, so Frank pointed at a young man. “You!” he said sharply. The fellow turned tail and fairly flew down the steps.

“Ain’t you gonna help her?” the woman who had been screaming demanded desperately.

“No one can help her now. Are you the one who found her?”

The woman’s eyes were unfocused. She was probably in shock. “We go to the market every Friday, but she didn’t come down, so I come up to get her,” she said in wonder.

“When she didn’t answer, I opened the door . . .” She swayed, and one of the other women caught her before she fell. Several others hurried to get her into a neighboring flat.

“Why’d anybody want to kill Mrs. O’Hara?” Brigit asked Frank.

Frank could think of a lot of reasons, and those reasons pointed to several people in particular. He was beginning to think things might finally be falling into place.

The medical examiner had been looking around the room and at the body for much longer than Frank’s patience would permit.

“How long does it take to figure out somebody cut her throat?” he asked with annoyance.

Dr. Haynes gave him a jaundiced look. “Not long, since they told me that before I even left my office,” he said, matching Frank’s tone. “I thought you’d like to know how it happened, too, or am I wasting my time?”

“All right, you win. How did it happen?” Frank asked wearily.

“Looks like she was sitting here at the table, working on these . . . ties, are they?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Somebody came up behind her. Probably, he grabbed her by the hair. See how it’s all sticking up on top there, like somebody pulled it?”

Frank nodded.

“He pulled her head back.” The doc pretended to be grabbing himself by the hair on his head with his left hand and pulling it back. “Then he sliced her throat from behind.” He made as if he were holding a knife and drawing it across his throat from left to right.

“Doesn’t look like she put up much of a fight,” Frank observed.

“He probably snuck up behind her and took her by surprise. Maybe the door was open, and he just walked in. Or maybe it was somebody she knew who’d come to call, and she never expected him to grab her from behind and cut her throat.”

“Not many people expect that.”

“It’s a messy way to kill someone,” the doc added, pointing at the blood sprayed on the wall in front of where Mrs.

O’Hara had been sitting.

“So he would’ve had blood all over him?” Frank asked.

“Not likely, doing it from behind like that. The blood would shoot out in front. He’d get some on his hand and maybe his sleeve, but that’s about all. When he let her go, she was still alive for a minute or two. She’d be sitting up, bleeding on everything, and then she slumped down on the table when she died. Killer would’ve been long gone by the time the blood started dripping onto the floor, so he didn’t step in it, either.”

“Any idea when she was killed?”

“Not today,” doc said. “She’s in full rigor mortis, so anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours ago.”

“That would make it sometime between mid-morning yesterday to late last night.”

“You might find somebody who saw her yesterday to help narrow down the time, although it won’t help much if nobody saw the actual killer.”

Frank didn’t want to think about that possibility. “Why do you think there’s blood on that towel?” Frank asked, pointing at a piece of rag lying on the floor near the body.

“Did the killer wipe his hands?”

The Doc picked it up and looked at it. “No, the smear is too neat. I didn’t find the murder weapon. Looks like the killer used this to wipe the knife off and took it with him.”

He glanced around the shabby room. “Why’d somebody want to kill her? There’s nothing here worth stealing, and what could she do to make somebody that mad at her?”

“Did you see the stories about the Italians who suppos-edly kidnapped an Irish girl and killed her to get her baby?”

“Yes, the Ruoccos were supposed to have done it, but I don’t believe it for a minute. I’ve eaten at their place for years, and I know every one of them.”

“This woman was the Irish girl’s mother.”

“The one who wanted to get the baby back?”

Frank nodded. Doc Haynes snorted in disgust. “She took on the Black Hand and Tammany Hall. She’s lucky they just cut her throat.”

“Detective Sergeant?” a voice called from the doorway.

Frank looked up to see Gino Donatelli. “What is it?”

“We’ve been questioning all the neighbors,” he reported.

“Some people outside remember a woman asking where Mrs. O’Hara lived yesterday.”

“A woman?” Frank echoed in surprise, instantly thinking of what Ugo Ruocco had said about Patrizia. Putting a pillow over someone’s face was one thing, but slitting someone’s throat . . .

“Yes, sir, a woman. Mrs. Murdock here, she was the one who sent her up to this flat.”

Frank hurried to the door, and he saw a woman standing on the landing, a baby on her hip. She was the one who had directed him to Brigit’s flat earlier. The child looked at him gravely, his thumb stuck securely in his mouth. “Do you remember what time it was you talked to this woman?” he asked.

Mrs. Murdock shrugged. “I didn’t think about it at the time. We hadn’t had dinner yet, so it was morning. Not real early, though.”

“Did you see her leave?”

“No, didn’t see her anymore after that at all.”

“Can you tell me what she looked like?” Frank asked, reaching into his coat pocket for a pad and pencil to jot down some notes.

“She doesn’t have to describe her,” Donatelli said grimly.

“She recognized the woman.”

“You know her?” Frank asked, unable to believe his luck.

Mrs. Murdock nodded.

“You’re positive?” Frank prodded.

“I should be,” Mrs. Murdock said. “She delivered this baby. It was the midwife, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah was looking at the cold ham and stale bread in her larder and wondering if she dared hope Mrs.

Ellsworth would drop in with something more appealing for supper when someone rang the doorbell. Hastily, she sliced off a bit of the ham and popped it into her mouth. If this was a delivery call, she wouldn’t get any supper at all.

She heard the girls running to answer the bell, so she quickly took a few more bites before making her way to the foyer. Before she arrived, however, she’d already heard the familiar voice and knew she wouldn’t be going on a call.

Frank Malloy was teasing the girls, and Aggie and Maeve were responding gleefully.

“Malloy,” she said in greeting, but when he looked up at her, she saw instantly that he was furious. She tried to remember what she might have done to merit such a response, but she couldn’t think of anything.

“Is Mrs. Ellsworth here?” he asked gruffly.

“No, she’s not,” she answered, confused by the question.

“Girls,” he said, his tone switching instantly back to pleasantness, “why don’t you go next door and pay her a little visit. I need to speak to Mrs. Brandt alone.”

Sensing his anger, the girls sobered, and Maeve hastily shoved Aggie into her jacket and ushered her out the front door. At the last second, she hesitated, looking back at Sarah. “What if she isn’t home?”

“Then take a little walk,” Sarah said, forcing a smile before Malloy closed the door behind her. “Whatever is the matter?” she demanded anxiously when it clicked shut.

“What were you doing down on Howard Street yesterday?” he demanded gruffly.

So that was it! She’d known he wouldn’t approve, but this reaction was way out of proportion to her offense. “I went to see Mrs. O’Hara, as you must have figured out,” she explained.

“What in God’s name for?”

She’d seen him this angry, but never at her. “I thought . . .

that is, I wanted to be sure she understood everything she’d need to know to take care of the baby.” She hated sounding defensive. It was a perfectly legitimate concern. He didn’t have to know she was also trying to convince Mrs. O’Hara to give up the idea of claiming the child.

“That’s a pretty story, but I know you too well, Sarah.

And you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent liar!” she claimed, earning a derisive glare.

“Why did you really go down there? No, wait, let me guess. You thought you could convince her to stop trying to get the baby away from the Ruoccos.”

“Why would I do a thing like that?” she asked, aware that he was right: she was a terrible liar.

“Because you’re a meddling do-gooder who can’t mind her own business,” he informed her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Somebody has to put a stop to this,” she argued. “Mrs.

O’Hara can’t keep the baby healthy in that place, even if Tammany Hall does give her the money they promised.

And if she stops fighting for the baby, Tammany will back off and the riots will stop.”

“I doubt Tammany would have even let her change her mind. They had too much at stake, and they couldn’t let the Italians win, no matter what she wanted.”

“Well, she refused to even consider it.” Sarah said with a sigh. “So no harm done.”

This seemed to make Malloy even angrier. “Oh, harm was done, all right. A lot of harm was done, because Mrs.

O’Hara is dead.”

“Dead!” Sarah cried, covering her mouth. Tears stung her eyes. “How could that happen? I just saw her—”

“Yesterday. Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here. A lot of people were only too happy to tell us they saw you going to visit the murder victim. Near as we can figure, you were the last visitor she had.”

“Good heavens!” She looked into Malloy’s dark eyes and saw the rage boiling there. “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”

“No, but I should lock you up on suspicion just the same. At least I’d know you were safe. What if you’d been there when the killer came?” He was shouting now. “It could’ve been your blood splattered all over that kitchen along with hers!”

Sarah cried out in protest, tears filling her eyes as the truth of it washed over her in a sickening wave. Then Malloy’s strong arms were around her, holding her with a desperate strength as she wept against his chest. His familiar scent enveloped her, and his hands moved across her back, comforting and caressing at the same time.

“Don’t cry,” he begged after a long moment. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She gave a watery laugh at that and raised her head. She found that he was close, dangerously close, so she pulled a safer distance away. He released her with obvious reluctance, and they stood staring at each other for an awkward moment—each wanting the same thing but certain the price the other would have to pay was too high.

Sarah broke the strained silence, swiping away her tears.

“I’m sorry, Malloy. I had no idea.”

For a second, he looked as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Then he ran one over his face, as if to clear his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he admitted. “It wasn’t your fault. Are you all right?”

“I will be.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, wondering how badly her face was blotched. “I could use a cup of tea.”

“I’ll make it for you,” he offered almost gratefully and led her into the kitchen.

True to his word, he made Sarah sit down while he put the kettle on. She was always amazed at how comfortable he was at domestic tasks. He sat down opposite her at the table while they waited for the water to boil.

“You said there was blood . . . splattered blood,” Sarah recalled with distaste. “I guess she wasn’t smothered then.”

“Someone cut her throat,” he said baldly.

She winced, knowing his bluntness was her reprimand.

“How awful.”

“It was fast, at least.” He briefly described what Doc Haynes thought had happened.

This time Sarah shivered. “But who would want to kill her?”

“That’s pretty easy to figure out. Somebody who wanted her to stop trying to get the baby so the trouble would be over.”

“But you said Tammany wouldn’t back down.”

“They were trying to get the baby back for Mrs. O’Hara.

If she’s dead, there’s nobody to fight for. If they did get the baby from the Ruoccos, what would they do with it?”

“Oh,” Sarah said in dismay, realizing that suspicion would fall squarely on the Ruoccos. “Could Ugo have sent one of his men to do it?”

“Maybe, just like he might’ve sent one to kill Nainsi, but it doesn’t seem likely. Yesterday, he was trying to convince me that Patrizia Ruocco was the killer.”

“Mrs. Ruocco?” she echoed in amazement.

“They don’t get along. It started back when Mrs. Ruocco and her family came over from Italy. Her husband, who was Ugo’s brother, couldn’t get into the country because he was sick, so they sent him back to Italy. She stayed here with the kids, and he died alone. Ugo never forgave her.”

“And you think he’s accusing her of murder to get even?

But that was so long ago. What makes you think that’s the reason?” Sarah asked.

“Donatelli says Italians are like that.”

Sarah blinked in surprised. “You don’t believe she did it, do you?”

“She could’ve killed Nainsi,” he pointed out. “She had a good reason.”

“I guess she did, but the others had the same reason,” she argued. “It could just as easily have been one of them, and she seems too sensible to take a chance like that.”

The water was boiling, so Malloy got up and poured it over the leaves in the pot to steep.

“Do you think the same person who killed Nainsi killed her mother?” Sarah asked.

“That would make it nice and neat, but it might be more than we can hope for.” He paused. “I’ve got to ask you some questions about your visit with Mrs. O’Hara.”

“Of course,” Sarah said, touched that he would be reluctant to bring up an unpleasant memory.

He sat down again. “Do you know what time you were there?”

“I don’t know exactly, but I went there right after I left you yesterday morning.”

“Oh, yes, right after I told you to go straight home,” he remembered with annoyance.

She smiled sweetly, refusing to be baited.

“How long were you there?”

“Not long. Half an hour at most. Then I went straight home.”

“Finally,” he muttered. “What did you talk about?”

“I told her all the things she’d need to know to take care of the baby. I thought . . . I admit it, I thought that if she knew how difficult it would be, she might reconsider and let Maria have him. She’ll have a terrible time trying to keep him fed with goat’s milk from bottles. She’ll never be able to keep the bottles clean and getting the milk will be a constant struggle . . . Oh, listen to me, talking like she’s still alive. Anyway, I tried to make her see that the poor little fellow wouldn’t have much of a chance living with her.”

“Didn’t she believe you?”

“I think she did, but she didn’t care. She must have thought anything was better than letting the Ruoccos have him. She reminded me that one of them had killed Nainsi.

In her place, I would probably feel the same way.”

“And now one of them has killed her.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Sarah argued.

“Two of the Ruocco boys left the restaurant last night.

We’d stationed some men to watch the place, in case the Irish made another visit, and one of them followed them to a dance house.”

“They were going dancing when a mob might attack the restaurant at any minute?” she asked incredulously.

“We thought that was funny, too, and when we went to the dance house, they weren’t there. We never did find them, either.”

“So they could’ve gone to Mrs. O’Hara’s,” Sarah mused.

“It would be a logical solution to their problems. If they killed her, she wouldn’t be around to cause any more trouble and keep demanding they give her the baby. No mobs would try to burn their house down, and nobody would want to take the baby away anymore.”

“Poor Mrs. O’Hara. I wonder if she had any idea she was in danger.”

“Tammany probably promised to protect her on top of everything else.”

Frank got up and poured a cup of tea. Then he reached into a cupboard and pulled out the bottle of whisky that he knew she kept for medicinal purposes and splashed a bit into the cup. He set it down in front of her and took his seat again.

She looked askance at the spiked tea.

“You need it,” he said. “A little sugar will cut the taste.”

She obediently put a spoonful of sugar in and stirred. On second thought, she added another. “If only we’d found the killer,” she said.

“Finding the killer wouldn’t have solved much,” Frank pointed out. “Mrs. O’Hara might still be alive, but she’d still want the baby, and somebody the Ruoccos love would be in jail. Tammany would probably still be trying to get the baby and sending mobs down to Little Italy.”

“Why would they take a chance by killing Mrs. O’Hara, though? Yes, it might stop the mob attacks, but it wouldn’t stop you from trying to find out who killed Nainsi. That’s the real danger to their family.”

“And now I’ve got an even bigger reason to find the killer. The penny press will probably be full of stories about the Black Hand cutting people’s throats, stirring up even more trouble.”

“I didn’t think of that!” Sarah said in dismay. “The Irish might even march down to Little Italy again to get revenge for Mrs. O’Hara!”

Malloy winced and rubbed his forehead. “I hope to God nobody else thinks of that.”

Sarah picked up her cup and took a sip. The whisky fumes cleared her nose and burned her throat, but she forced down a swallow. After a moment, she could feel the warmth settling in her stomach. “If two of the Ruocco boys went to kill Mrs. O’Hara last night, then one of them must have killed Nainsi, too.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they might’ve killed Mrs. O’Hara to protect someone else in the family.”

“Like their mother,” Sarah guessed.

“Just because Ugo hates her doesn’t mean he isn’t right about her. But first, I’ve got to figure out which two of the boys went out last might.”

“If they were protecting their mother, I’d pick Joe as one of them. He’s the oldest, so it would be his duty.”

“Antonio has the biggest stake in this, so he was probably the other one.”

“But he’s so young. I don’t think I’d trust him, although Lorenzo seems too levelheaded to do something so rash.”

“Lorenzo is protective of Maria and the baby, though.

You said he stood up for them to Ugo before Joe did.”

“Now that you mention it, he’s taken an unusual interest in the baby,” Sarah remembered. “He even sat up with Maria all that first night when the baby was screaming because the milk didn’t agree with him. Even most new fathers wouldn’t do that.”

“I know I wouldn’t have,” Malloy agreed.

“And Mrs. Ruocco really wants to keep the baby now, too. She’s determined Maria will have him.”

“If Mrs. Ruocco wants the baby, then Lorenzo probably decided it belongs with them. Maybe he figured killing Mrs. O’Hara was somehow good for the family. Italians are crazy when it comes to their families. And if he thought his mother had killed Nainsi . . .”

“I still can’t see him cutting someone’s throat,” Sarah said. “Antonio is the only one who had a real reason to kill Nainsi in the first place, but wasn’t he out getting drunk the night she died?”

“According to Maria, Nainsi was still alive when he and Joe got home. She said Joe went straight to bed and didn’t get up again. If she’s not lying to protect her husband, then—”

“That leaves Antonio, but he just doesn’t seem like the type either,” Sarah argued.

“When you’re drunk and angry, bad things happen,”

Frank said grimly.

Sadly, she knew that was true. “But why would Antonio even think of killing her? His mother was going to throw her out.”

“Why would any of them? It still doesn’t make sense.

I’m missing something.”

Sarah sighed, wishing she could help. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to get Antonio and take him to the station for questioning.”

Sarah winced. She knew the techniques the police sometimes used to get a confession. “He’s just a boy. If he was drunk, he might not even remember he did it.”

“That’s a myth. If you’re too drunk to remember, you’re too drunk to do it.”

“What if he really didn’t do it?”

“Then at least he’ll tell me which of them went out last night to kill Mrs. O’Hara. Once I know that, maybe everything else will start to make sense.”

“And you’ll have someone to lock up,” Sarah noted.

“That should make Theodore happy.”

Malloy just grunted. “Finish your tea. I’ll go next door and tell the girls they can come home again.”

He went out the back door. Sarah took a few more sips of the tea. She could feel the warmth seeping into her bones now. The horror of Mrs. O’Hara’s death receded a bit, and Sarah began to understand the benefits of a strong drink.

Soon she heard Aggie’s footsteps clamoring up the back porch steps and then she pushed the door open and raced into the room. Her face alight with joy, she charged straight for Sarah, but when she reached the table, her step faltered, and her smile vanished. She stopped dead in her tracks and gazed around wildly, her eyes wide with sudden fear.

“Aggie, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked in alarm.

Aggie looked straight at the tea cup, sitting half full on the table, and sniffed the air. Sarah realized she must smell the whisky, although she wouldn’t have thought the odor that strong. Then Aggie looked around again, and this time saw the whisky bottle still sitting where Malloy had left it.

She pointed at it and screamed.

“Aggie, what’s wrong?” Sarah cried, jumping to her feet and snatching the child up into her arms.

Aggie started to cling to her, but then she pulled back abruptly and started screaming again. Sarah realized she must smell the whisky on her breath. Maeve came running in.

“What’s happening?” the girl cried, seeing Aggie struggling in Sarah’s arms.

“She saw the whisky and started screaming,” Sarah said, setting Aggie down before she dropped her. The child ran to Maeve, buried her face in her skirts and started to sob.

By then Malloy was through the door, demanding to know what was going on.

“Something about the whisky frightened her. She smelled it on me and went crazy.” Sarah explained. “It’s all right, Aggie. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

Sarah quickly took the bottle and put it out of sight.

She’d get rid of it as soon as possible. Instinct demanded that she try to comfort the girl, but she knew going closer to her would only make things worse.

“Maeve, take her upstairs and try to calm her down.”

Maeve picked her up and carried her out of the room.

“She just started screaming when she saw the bottle?” Malloy asked.

“She smelled it first, in the teacup, I guess,” Sarah said.

“It literally stopped her in her tracks. Then she saw the bottle and screamed. I picked her up, and she must’ve smelled it on me, too, and she started fighting to get away.”

“Did anything ever scare her like that before?”

“Never. Oh, Malloy, do you think . . . ? Whatever frightened her enough to make her mute, it must have had something to do with whisky.”

“When you’re drunk, bad things happen,” he reminded her grimly.

“But if she can’t tell us what it was, how can we ever make it right?” Sarah asked in desperation.

Malloy had no answer for that.

By the time Malloy rounded up Donatelli and a few other officers to accompany him, it was well into the supper hour. Mama’s Restaurant wasn’t as crowded as he’d expected, though. The regular patrons still hadn’t returned after the trouble the other night.

Frank and Gino went in the front door. All eyes turned toward them, and conversation ceased. Joe was serving a couple of old men, and when he saw who’d come in, he shouted something in Italian about polizia.

A few seconds later, the kitchen door flew open, and Patrizia Ruocco came storming out, her face twisted in fury.

Behind her were Antonio and Lorenzo. Valentina stopped in the doorway, not wanting to miss anything but not wanting to enter the fray, either.

“Get out my house!” Mrs. Ruocco cried furiously. “You have no right!”

“We aren’t planning to stay,” Frank informed her.

Valentina made a squeal of surprise when the two other officers shoved her aside as they came into the room from the kitchen. They went straight for Antonio, and each grabbed an arm.

“What you do?” Mrs. Ruocco screamed. “Let him go!”

“We want to ask him a few questions,” Frank said.

“Nobody’s going to hurt him, Mrs. Ruocco,” Gino assured her. “If he tells us the truth, he’ll be home by bedtime.”

Antonio’s face had gone pale, and although his first reaction had been to resist, he quickly realized that would be foolish. “Joe,” he pleaded helplessly. “Do something!”

“You can’t just take him to jail,” Lorenzo argued. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Then he doesn’t have anything to worry about, and he isn’t going to jail. Like I said, we just want to ask him a few questions.” Frank nodded to the officers, who began hustling Antonio toward the front door.

“Giuseppe!” Mrs. Ruocco cried desperately.

“I’ll go with him,” Joe said at last. “I can answer your questions better than he can anyway!”

“You stay here and serve your customers,” Frank advised.

“If we want you later, we’ll come and get you.”

With that, he and Gino followed Antonio and the two officers out into the street. Mrs. Ruocco was screaming at her other two sons in Italian as Gino closed the door behind them.

“She wants them to follow us, make sure we don’t hurt Antonio,” Gino translated.

“Pretty soon she’ll think of sending for Ugo, too,” Frank said. “Let’s get the boy to Headquarters before that happens.”

12

Frank left Antonio alone in one of the interrogation rooms for a good half hour to soften him up while he and Gino ate some sausage sandwiches they got from a street vendor. As Frank had known, the time spent sitting in the dismal room, imagining God knew what, had made the boy desperately afraid.

He gazed at Frank and Gino with terrified eyes as they came into the room and closed the door behind them. Gino stood with his back against the door, his arms crossed for-biddingly, just as Frank had instructed. With any luck, he’d keep his mouth shut, too.

“I guess you know why we brought you in tonight,”

Frank said mildly, pulling up a chair across the table from where Antonio sat.

“Something about Nainsi,” he said, his voice thin with fear. “But I already told you everything I know.”

“Where did you go last night?”

“Last night?” he echoed in confusion.

“Yeah, you remember last night, don’t you? Where did you go?”

“I . . . we went out.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and . . . Joe,” he said, certain he shouldn’t implicate Joe but too afraid to lie.

“Where did you go?” Frank asked, his voice still only mildly interested.

“We . . . It wasn’t my idea,” he defended himself.

“It was Joe’s idea, then?”

“Well, no, not . . . not exactly.”

“Your mama’s?” Frank tried.

“Oh, no, she didn’t like it at all! She said we should stay, in case another mob showed up. She said I shouldn’t go out anymore after what happened with Nainsi, either, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But we didn’t think the Irish would come again so soon, and if they did . . .”

“Yes?”

“The police are guarding the place,” he said plaintively.

“Joe said they’d run off the Irish if they came, just like they did before. They don’t need us there to do that.”

“So you decided to leave your family alone and unprotected,” Frank said, the criticism thick in his voice.

“I already told you, it wasn’t my idea! Maria is the one who said we should go in the first place.”

Maria? Frank hadn’t even considered her a suspect. She was desperate to keep the baby, though, so it made sense.

“Are you saying it was Maria’s idea for you to go to Mrs. O’Hara’s?”

“Mrs. O’Hara?” he echoed stupidly. “You mean Nainsi’s mother? Why would we go to her place?”

“I can think of at least one reason,” Frank said. “To kill her.”

“Kill her?” he squeaked. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you and Joe went out last night and murdered Mrs. O’Hara so she wouldn’t be able to stir up any more trouble for your family.”

Antonio gaped at him. “We never . . . We didn’t go anywhere near her place last night!”

“Where did you go then?”

“To a . . . a dance house. I know it don’t look good for us to do that, but we did, I swear it!”

“You will, will you?” Frank asked with interest. “Because a cop followed you to the dance house, but when I got there, you were gone.”

“But we were there all night, until midnight!” he claimed frantically. “Lots of people were there. They’ll tell you!”

“I was there, too, Antonio, but I didn’t see you or Joe.

Now tell me where you really went.”

“I told you! We . . . Oh, wait! I remember now,” he said, his shoulders sagging with relief. “We went to the one on Broadway first, but we didn’t stay. Joe saw someone he didn’t like, and he said we should leave. We went down to Broome Street then. Ask them there! They’ll tell you!”

He gave Donatelli a silent order, and he slipped out to send someone to the dance house on Broome Street to see if anyone remembered seeing the Ruocco brothers.

Frank turned back to Antonio. The boy was sweating, and his eyes were still wild with fright.

“Let me get this straight,” Frank began, still keeping his voice neutral. “Maria sent her own husband out to a dance house?”

Antonio licked his lips. He’d lied about that, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell a better lie.

“The truth, Antonio. Don’t make me angry.”

The boy swallowed loudly. “She didn’t say to go to a dance house,” he admitted.

“What did she say?”

“She said I was making her nervous. She . . . she told Joe to take me someplace out of her sight.”

“What were you doing to make her nervous?”

“Nothing! She’s just . . . Mama says she’s worried about the baby. She yells at everybody for every little thing. Even when Mama said Joe and I should stay home, in case something happened, Maria didn’t listen to her. She started screaming at Joe, so we left. I was glad to get away from her.” He looked it, too.

“Why go to a dance house then? You could’ve gone to Ugo’s saloon.”

Antonio winced. “I didn’t want him telling me again how stupid I was for marrying Nainsi. Anyway, Joe said we’d have fun at a dance house.”

“Just like you used to, before you married Nainsi,” Frank suggested.

“Yeah, that’s right. The girls are real friendly, and they think I’m handsome. They don’t care how close you hold them, either.”

“Were you looking for another girl who’d let you under her skirt like Nainsi did?” Frank inquired.

Antonio had the grace to blush. “No girl’s going to trick me like that again!”

“So you’re going to take a vow of celibacy and become a priest, Antonio?”

“No! I’m just . . . I’m going to be careful. I’m going to marry a good girl, like Joe did.”

“I don’t suppose Joe met Maria in a dance house.”

“No! Maria would never go to a place like that.”

“How did Joe meet her?” Frank asked curiously.

“Mama found her. She knows Maria’s family, and she thought Maria would be a good wife for Joe.”

“Is she going to find a wife for you and Lorenzo, too?”

“Yeah! She . . . Well, Lorenzo says he doesn’t want a wife, but when I’m older, she’ll find me one.”

“Does Lorenzo intend to take holy orders?” Frank asked with interest.

“No, he . . . he just doesn’t want to get married, that’s all.”

“Doesn’t want to settle down, I suppose. Is he having too much fun being single?”

“I . . . I guess so,” Antonio admitted, uncomfortable with discussing his brother.

Frank remembered that Lorenzo had taken Antonio to the dance houses in the first place. “How did you meet Nainsi?”

Antonio blinked at the sudden change of subject. “I don’t know. I just saw her and asked her to dance.”

“Did someone introduce you?”

He frowned at Frank’s ignorance. “That’s not what happens in those places. The girls, they just come up and start talking to you. You take your pick of them.”

“Why did you pick Nainsi?”

“I told you, she came up and started talking to me.

When the music started up, we just started dancing.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t remember!”

“What month?” Frank prodded.

“I told you before, it was August, right after Valentina’s birthday.”

“How long was it before she let you under her skirt?”

Antonio hesitated, and a flush crawled up his neck.

“Was it that first night? The first time you met her?”

Frank inquired.

“No! I mean . . .”

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed hard again. “She didn’t let me really do it that time.”

“But she teased you, didn’t she? Let you kiss her and touch her. And she didn’t make you wait very long, did she?”

The flush had turned his face red by now. “No, not long,” he admitted sadly.

“She couldn’t wait long because she already knew about the baby,” Frank said. “She needed a husband real quick, somebody who didn’t know much and wouldn’t ask a lot of questions.”

“She said she loved me,” Antonio lamented. “She said she never let any boy do it before.”

“Of course she did, and you believed her because you’re young and stupid. I guess you were scared when she told you about the baby, too.”

Antonio winced in shame. “I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Joe. He said I should do the right thing and marry her. Maria did, too.”

“Maria knew about Nainsi and the baby?” Frank asked in surprise.

“Maria knows everything that happens in our house,”

Antonio said. “Nobody can keep a secret from her.”

Frank considered this information. Nainsi could’ve tricked Antonio, but Joe and Maria should have been more suspicious. He wondered why they’d encouraged a marriage like that. That was something to ask them, however.

“Where did you and Joe go last night after you left the dance house at midnight?”

“Home. Where else would we go?”

“I suppose everyone was asleep when you got there,”

Frank said.

“Maria was up with the baby. And Lorenzo.”

“Lorenzo was up with the baby?” Frank asked in amazement.

“He . . . he feels sorry for Maria. He tries to help her.”

Something stirred in Frank’s memory. Sarah had remarked on how unnaturally helpful Lorenzo had been with the baby.

Antonio cleared his throat. “Is Mrs. O’Hara really dead?”

“Yes, she is,” Frank assured him. “And if you know anything about it, you’d better tell me now.”

“I don’t, I swear. I just . . . Are you sure somebody killed her? Maybe it was an accident or something.”

“People don’t get their throats cut by accident,” Frank said.

“Somebody cut her throat?” Antonio asked, horrified. He instinctively lifted a hand to his own throat. “Who would do a thing like that?”

“I sort of thought you and Joe did it,” Frank said, and the boy’s eyes widened. “Somebody took her by the hair, pulled her head back, and sliced her ear to ear,” Frank explained, demonstrating on himself the way the medical examiner had done for him. “Her blood squirted all over the wall and—”

He stopped because Antonio had gone pale, clapped both hands over his mouth, and started retching.

Frank jumped to his feet and backed away as the boy vomited on the floor. With a weary sigh, he opened the door and left. He’d send someone down to clean up the mess, and then he’d let Antonio go. If one of the Ruoccos had killed Mrs. O’Hara, Antonio wasn’t the one, and he still didn’t know who was.

Sarah had disposed of the whisky bottle, thoroughly cleaned the cup, and aired out the kitchen. Then she’d cleaned her teeth with baking soda paste and rinsed her mouth with salt water. When Maeve assured her all trace of the odor was gone, she brought Aggie down, and they had a cold supper. Aggie kept looking around, as if still searching for the bottle, but her terror seemed to have dissipated.

Maeve got the child ready for bed, and Sarah went up to tuck her in as usual. Aggie lay under the covers, clutching her beloved doll. Her eyes were wary as Sarah approached, and Sarah tried a reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry you were scared this afternoon,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside the girl. “I threw the whisky—

that bad stuff that scared you—away, and we won’t have any in the house anymore, I promise.”

She leaned down and kissed Aggie’s soft forehead. “I would never have had it here if I knew you didn’t like it. I love you, and I don’t want you to ever be scared, Aggie. Do you believe that?”

Aggie nodded.

Sarah smiled with relief, and Aggie smiled back. Sarah swooped in and tickled her, making her giggle and breaking the tension of the moment. After a few playful minutes, Sarah kissed her again. “Time to go to sleep now, sweetheart.”

Aggie pretended to pout, and Sarah tickled her again, making the pout vanish. On impulse, Sarah said the words she’d been practicing for weeks, ever since she’d overheard Aggie speaking to Malloy’s son Brian when she thought no one could hear. “I was wondering if I could call you by a different name,” she began hesitantly.

Aggie frowned in confusion.

Sarah took a deep breath and continued. “I know Aggie isn’t your real name. It’s the one they gave you at the mission. I’ve been thinking about giving you a better one. I’ve always liked the name Catherine. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

Aggie’s confusion faded into amazement, and she nodded.

“Would it be all right if I called you Catherine instead of Aggie?”

The girl’s face lit up, and she nodded vigorously.

“Thank you, Catherine,” Sarah said in relief, taking the girl in her arms and giving her a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

Frank was sitting at his desk at Headquarters, still trying to make sense of what he’d learned from Antonio, when Gino returned.

“The guy at the dance house door remembered the Ruoccos from last night,” he reported. “He knows them both. I also saw a few girls they danced with, and from all accounts they stayed until closing.”

“I figured,” Frank sighed.

“They still could’ve gone over to Mrs. O’Hara’s and killed her after that,” Gino tried.

“Except that Antonio would’ve fainted if they did. He didn’t have anything to do with killing the old woman.”

“Then maybe Joe went by himself.”

“They were together all night, and he said they went home after that. He said Maria and Lorenzo were up with the baby when they got home, so we can check on that—if we can trust them to tell the truth.”

“Lorenzo was up with the baby?” Gino echoed. “Why would he do that?”

“Antonio says he feels sorry for Maria.”

“I feel sorry for her, too, but I’d never sit up with a screaming baby.”

“Neither would I. I’m starting to think Lorenzo might have more than a passing interest in that baby.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we know that Lorenzo and Antonio used to go to the dance houses together starting in August, so there’s a good chance Lorenzo used to go without him before that.

We know that somebody knocked Nainsi up several months before Antonio met her. I found out tonight that Nainsi seduced Antonio just a few days after she met him. She already knew about the baby by then, and she must’ve decided the first time she met Antonio that he was the one she was going to trick into marrying her. But why would she pick him, out of all the men she could meet at the dance houses?”

Gino considered. “Because he’s young and innocent. He probably wouldn’t know he wasn’t her first lover, and he’d feel guilty enough to go along with her scheme.”

“Or maybe because he was her lover’s brother, and she wanted revenge or something, because her lover refused to marry her.”

“You think Lorenzo is the father?”

“Somebody is, and it would explain why she chose Antonio,” Frank said.

“Sounds pretty far-fetched. How could she know she’d even meet Lorenzo’s brother?”

“She probably couldn’t, but she did. We also know she tried to trick at least one other fellow into thinking he might be the father.”

“Keith,” Gino remembered.

“Yes, why else would Nainsi make sure he did her proper? She already knew about the baby, so she must’ve been trying to make Keith think he was the father.”

“But he’s married.”

“Yeah, but he’d have to give her money to keep her from going to his wife. The wife’s pretty sickly, so he would’ve paid to protect her.”

Gino nodded. “She was looking for somebody to support her if she couldn’t find a husband.”

“That’s what I’m guessing. By the time she met Antonio, she must’ve been pretty desperate.”

“So the question is, why did she pick Antonio? If Lorenzo was the baby’s father, why didn’t she just try to get him to marry her?”

“Maybe she did, and he refused. Antonio says Lorenzo doesn’t want to get married at all.”

“Is he going to become a priest or something?” Gino asked in disgust.

“That’s what I asked,” Frank said with a grin. “Apparently, he just isn’t ready to settle down. So if he was the baby’s father, he didn’t want to be stuck with it or her.”

“And when Lorenzo showed up at the dance house with his little brother in tow, she latched onto him.”

“It’s a nice theory,” Frank agreed. “It still doesn’t tell us who killed Mrs. O’Hara and Nainsi, though.”

“But it gives Lorenzo a pretty good reason to do it,” Gino pointed out. “When his mother figured out that Antonio wasn’t the baby’s father, she was going to throw Nainsi and the baby out. Lorenzo didn’t have any use for Nainsi, but maybe he wanted to keep his son.”

Frank nodded his approval at Gino’s reasoning. “He must’ve figured once the girl was dead, Maria would take care of the baby and everything would be fine. Then Mrs.

O’Hara starts fighting to get the baby away from them.”

“So he has to kill her, too. Did our men notice anybody else leaving the Ruoccos’ house last night?”

“We only had two men on the place last night, so one could go for help if a mob showed up. When one went off to follow Joe and Antonio, the other might’ve missed Lorenzo leaving.” Frank frowned. “Now we’re back to having to get information from the Ruocco family. They’re going to lie to protect him, even if he did go out and kill Mrs. O’Hara.”

Gino swore. “So what can we do?”

“There’s still one person in the Ruocco house we haven’t questioned yet who would probably tell us the truth.”

“Mrs. Ruocco?”

“No, she’d lie for sure. I’m talking about Valentina.”

Gino reared back in horror. “You can’t bring a girl into the police station to question her. She’d be ruined!”

“I know, I know. Everyone would assume she’d been raped, and nobody would ever marry her. We can’t go to her house, either, because her mother would never let us talk to her at all. So I need you to figure out how we can question her with nobody finding out.”

Gino’s distress made Frank smile grimly.

“See,” he told the younger man. “I told you this job wasn’t fun.”

Sarah gaped at Malloy across her kitchen table.

“You want me to kidnap Valentina Ruocco?”

“Not kidnap her,” he said impatiently. “Just help me get her away from her house to someplace where I can question her.”

Sarah was hoping that this early Saturday morning visit from Malloy was only a bad dream, and she’d wake up any second. Unfortunately, she knew it wasn’t.

“She’s the only one I can be sure will tell the truth,” Malloy argued. “You know her family won’t let me talk to her if I go there. If I take her into Headquarters, her life will be ruined, and Ugo Ruocco would probably take his revenge in a very messy way. Think about Nainsi, Sarah. We need to find out who killed her, but we need to protect Valentina, too.”

“They won’t let me back into their house, either,” Sarah reminded him. “Not after I tried to convince them to help find Nainsi’s killer . . . Oh, no, I just realized . . .”

“Realized what?”

Sarah groaned and covered her face with both hands.

“That was probably why someone killed Mrs. O’Hara. It’s all my fault!”

“They would’ve thought of it sooner or later,” Malloy said, as if that settled it. “And it’s nobody’s fault Mrs.

O’Hara is dead except the person who killed her. If you want to find out who that was and punish him, then I have to talk to Valentina.”

Sarah groaned again. “What do you need me to do?”

Sarah and Malloy sat in the dank room in the basement of Our Lady of Pompeii Catholic Church. Sarah was certain God would strike them both dead for using the church as the location for their plot. At best He would be very angry, and if a priest or anyone else found them hiding here . . .

“Shhh,” Malloy said, rising to his feet and putting a finger to his lips. They could both hear the sound of footsteps and a young girl’s voice asking a question. Malloy moved toward the door and opened it just as the footsteps came up beside it. In the next instant, Valentina Ruocco stumbled through it, followed by Gino Donatelli. Malloy closed the door quickly behind them.

Valentina looked startled and then confused. “What are you doing here?” she asked Sarah and then turned to Malloy.

“And you?” She whirled on Gino. “You lied to me! My mother isn’t sick at all!” Gino had summoned her from the line at the confessional upstairs on that pretext.

“No, she isn’t,” Malloy confirmed. “We needed to ask you a few questions, Valentina. We need your help to figure out who killed Nainsi.”

“I don’t care who killed Nainsi,” she said petulantly. “I’m glad she’s gone. I wish her mother wasn’t dead, though. I wanted her to take that awful baby away. He cries all night long!”

“Just sit down and answer a few questions, and we’ll let you go back and to confession,” Malloy said wearily.

She glared at Gino again. “I thought it was funny that they’d send you,” she said venomously. “Wait till I tell my Zio Ugo what you did. He’ll kill you!”

Gino flinched slightly, but he managed an apologetic grin.

“Valentina,” Sarah said quickly. “I know you’re upset, but if you’d like for your life to get back to normal, the best thing you can do is help Mr. Malloy and Officer Donatelli by answering their questions.”

Valentina frowned. “Why are you here?”

Sarah smiled sadly. “To chaperone.”

She straightened as a new idea occurred to her. “I could start screaming,” she informed them haughtily.

“Then people would want to know why you left the line at the confessional booth and went off alone with me,” Gino said.

Valentina rolled her eyes, but she plunked down in the chair Malloy had vacated. “What do you want to know?”

she asked with a sigh of defeat.

“Tell me what happened last night, after you closed the restaurant.”

Plainly, she thought this a silly request. “We cleaned up like we always do, even though we hardly had any customers.

We went upstairs. Maria started picking on Antonio. She’s so mean since that baby came. She yells at everybody.”

“What do you mean, picking on him?”

“She didn’t like the way he was cracking his knuckles, and then she said he was breathing too loud. Everything we do makes her nervous. I think she’s going crazy. So she starts yelling at him and tells Joe to take him out someplace away from her.”

“So he did?”

“Not until they had a big fight with Mama. She said they shouldn’t leave us to be killed in our beds by the Irish. She tried to make them feel guilty, but then they went out anyway, because Maria wanted them gone.”

“What about Lorenzo?”

“What about him?” she asked, pretending to be bored.

“Did he go out, too?”

“Lorenzo?” she scoffed. “All he ever does is sit with Maria and moon over that stupid baby.”

“Did he leave the house at all yesterday?”

“How would I know? I don’t pay any attention to him.”

“Valentina,” Gino said in warning.

She glared at him, but she said, “I didn’t see him go any-place. He was cleaning the kitchen, or helping Maria all day.

Oh, I almost forgot, he did go to the market with Mama in the morning.”

Since Mrs. O’Hara was still alive then, Sarah knew that wasn’t any help.

“What about the rest of the family?” Malloy asked. “Did any of them go out during the afternoon?”

“No, how could they? We have to serve lunch and get ready for dinner, and since Maria doesn’t help us anymore, we all have a lot more work to do. It isn’t fair!”

“What does Maria do now?” Malloy asked.

Valentina made a sour face. “She takes care of the baby,”

she said bitterly. “She hardly even comes downstairs except to fix his bottles. I don’t see why she’s got to be with him all the time like that.”

“Babies need a lot of care, Valentina,” Sarah said. Malloy shot her a look, and she bit her lip in contrition.

“Just one more thing, Valentina, and then you can go,” Malloy said. “Did you hear Joe and Antonio come home last night?”

“No. They come home late, after I’m asleep. Can I go now?” she asked irritably.

Malloy nodded, and she got up and started for the door.

“Valentina,” he said, stopping her before she could open it. “The night Nainsi died, Joe made a lot of noise when he came in. Did you hear Nainsi yell out to him to be quiet?”

She gave it a moment’s thought. “No, I didn’t hear anything until that baby started crying the next morning and wouldn’t stop, and I went into Nainsi’s room . . .” She shuddered. “Can I go?” she whined.

“Yes,” Malloy said, and Gino opened the door for her.

She fairly ran out.

“That wasn’t much help,” Gino observed, closing the door behind her.

“No, it wasn’t,” Malloy agreed. “According to her, none of the Ruoccos could’ve killed Mrs. O’Hara.”

“Unless Joe snuck out again after he brought Antonio home.”

“If he did—or if anyone did—no one would ever admit it,” Sarah pointed out.

“So we’re back to Zio Ugo and his men,” Gino sighed.

“We’re missing something. We’ve got to be,” Malloy insisted. “Let’s go over it all again.”

“Ahem,” Sarah said meaningfully. “Could we find a place where we’ll be welcome if someone were to see us?”

“I guess we should leave,” Gino allowed. He opened the door and looked out into the hallway. “Nobody out there.

Mrs. Brandt, you go first.”

Sarah stole down the hallway and out the door into the alley where Gino had admitted them earlier. After glancing around to make sure no one had paid attention to her some-what hasty escape, she slowed her pace and walked down to the street corner, where Malloy and Gino soon joined her.

“There’s a coffeehouse on the corner,” Gino pointed out.

The three of them adjourned there. When they’d ordered coffee, Malloy gave Sarah one of his looks. “How do you always manage to get mixed up in these things?”

Sarah feigned shock. “If I remember correctly, you came to my house and begged me to do this.”

“I don’t mean . . . Oh, never mind. All right, what do we know about Nainsi?”

“She met Antonio at a dance house and tricked him into thinking he was the father of her baby,” Gino supplied helpfully.

“But we know he wasn’t because the baby was started in June, and he didn’t even meet her until August,” Malloy said.

“And she was already at least two months gone by then, maybe more,” Sarah added.

“But her friends say she was seeing an Italian man months before that,” Malloy said. “A rich Italian man.”

“Uncle Ugo?” Gino offered with a grin.

“A girl like Nainsi wouldn’t fall in love with Ugo no matter how much money he had,” Sarah assured them. “Do you have any idea who the man could have been?”

“We were considering Lorenzo,” Malloy told her, watching for her reaction.

“Lorenzo?” she echoed in surprise, trying to see him through Nainsi’s eyes. “What made you think of him?”

“We know he took Antonio out to the dance houses because Mrs. Ruocco wouldn’t let him go alone. That probably means he had been going to them himself before that.

He could’ve met Nainsi and seduced her.”

“Antonio said Mrs. Ruocco wants to find him a wife, but Lorenzo doesn’t want to get married,” Gino said.

“He especially wouldn’t want to marry an Irish girl he met at a dance house,” Sarah guessed. “His mother would never stand for it!”

“He could’ve eloped with her, like Antonio did, but maybe he’s not as noble as Antonio,” Malloy said.

“Or maybe he just didn’t want to,” Sarah surmised. “But we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. What makes you think Lorenzo even knew Nainsi, much less fathered her child?”

“Didn’t you say that Lorenzo was the one who stood up for Maria when she wanted to keep the baby?” Malloy asked.

“Yes, I did. He’s been very supportive. He even sits up with her when the baby cries at night.”

“You just heard Valentina say he spends a lot of time with the baby, and Antonio said the same thing. Why would a bachelor take such an interest in someone else’s bastard?”

“Oh, my,” Sarah said, as the pieces started to fall into place. “You’re right. Lorenzo even mentioned that he didn’t approve of Antonio’s marriage. Of course he wouldn’t want his baby brother saddled with a girl like that.”

“He wouldn’t like having Nainsi living under his roof, either,” Gino said.

“But she wasn’t going to be living under his roof anymore,” Malloy reminded them. “Mrs. Ruocco was going to throw her out.”

Something deep in Sarah’s memory stirred. “Nainsi wasn’t worried about getting thrown out, though,” she recalled.

“She was almost smug when Mrs. Ruocco threatened her. If Lorenzo was the baby’s father, then all she had to do was tell Mrs. Ruocco the truth. She wouldn’t throw her grandson out, no matter which of her sons was the father.”

“Lorenzo couldn’t have that,” Malloy said. “So he killed her.”

“And then he fell in love with his son,” Sarah realized.

“I’ve seen it happen many times. That’s why he stood up to Ugo when he wanted them to get rid of the baby.”

Gino had been listening to them with great interest. “This is a really good theory,” he said. “So how do we prove it?”

13

This silenced all of them. Sarah saw the discouragement in Malloy’s dark eyes and the hopelessness in Gino’s.

“We’ll have to bring him in,” Malloy said finally, but without much enthusiasm.

“All he has to do is keep his mouth shut, though,” Gino reminded them. “We can’t prove a thing without a confession . . . or witnesses.”

“His family won’t turn on him, even if they know he did it,” Sarah said. “And I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted any of them to know. Nainsi’s death was silent in the darkness, and no one saw the killer going into Mrs. O’Hara’s flat. He surely would’ve waited until the family was asleep—and Joe and Antonio were out—before he left for her place.”

Malloy was rubbing his chin. “But Mrs. O’Hara was working on her ties when she died. If it was late at night, she would’ve been in bed.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah said. “Piecework doesn’t pay very much, so the only way to earn more is to make more. People sometimes work all night.”

“In the dark?” Malloy asked.

“Was there a lamp on the table?”

“Yes, but it was empty.”

“Then she might have been burning it, and it went dry after she died.”

“Or it might have been empty, and she died when it was still daylight,” Malloy argued back.

“Either way, there’s still no reason Lorenzo couldn’t have done it,” Gino pointed out. “Even if Valentina didn’t see him leave the house all day, he could have. He wouldn’t have been gone long.”

“Then let’s go bring him in,” Malloy said wearily. He laid money on the table for the coffee and rose from his seat.

Sarah gathered her things and preceded the men out into the street.

“Thank you for all your help, Mrs. Brandt,” Malloy said formally, because Gino was there.

“I don’t think I helped much,” she demurred.

“Yes, you did,” Gino assured her. “We wouldn’t have dared talk to Valentina without you.”

“And when Mrs. Ruocco finds out I helped you waylay her daughter, I’ll probably never deliver another baby in Little Italy again,” she predicted with a rueful smile.

“I don’t think it’ll be that serious,” Malloy said. “Can I convince you to go home now?”

“Yes, you can. I’ll be happy to spend the rest of the day with Catherine.”

“Who?” Malloy said in surprise.

Sarah couldn’t help smiling. “I asked if I could start calling her Catherine, and she said I could.”

Malloy grinned back, the sort of sentimental smile she seldom saw, which made Gino ask, “Who’s Catherine?”

Malloy sobered instantly. “I’ll tell you later. Find Mrs.

Brandt a cab so she can be on her way.”

“Will you send me word about what happens with Lorenzo?” she asked.

“I’ll be sure you find out,” Gino promised, earning a frown from Malloy.

All too quickly, they put her in a cab and left her to imagine what would happen next. Whatever it was would only bring more heartache to the Ruocco family.

This time Frank and Gino decided to try a different approach to convincing Lorenzo to come to Headquarters for questioning. A deciding factor was that Ugo Ruocco had increased the number of men he had guarding the street outside since they’d taken Antonio in for questioning, and Frank didn’t think they’d just stand by while he and Gino marched Lorenzo out the front door. He pulled in a couple of officers from another precinct and instructed them carefully in what their part would be.

Saturday had brought more customers to the restaurant for lunch. Perhaps they thought that with Mrs. O’Hara dead, there would be no more trouble. Frank and Gino waited until the crowd had thinned down, and then sent two officers in, dressed as ordinary working men. Frank and Gino waited out of sight around the corner with the police wagon. A beat cop was idly strolling down the street in front of Mama’s Restaurant, and within minutes the front door flew open, and Joe started hustling one of the disguised policemen out, convinced he was nothing more than an unruly customer.

They were both shouting, and the cop was throwing punches that Joe managed to duck. Seconds later, the other officer emerged, grappling with Lorenzo. Instantly, the uniformed beat cop started pounding his locust club and shouting for help.

That was the cue for the wagon driver to slap his team into motion. The Black Maria went hurtling around the corner just as other uniformed cops emerged from their hiding places to assist in calming the melee.

Ugo’s men had immediately moved in to help the Ruocco boys, but the police quickly discouraged them by grabbing every man they saw and throwing him into the paddy wagon. Joe and Lorenzo were the first inside, in spite of their vocal and violent protests that they’d just been protecting their property. The two unruly customers followed, mostly to make sure the Ruoccos didn’t escape, and by then most everyone else had fled. The wagon rumbled away, and Frank and Gino met it at Headquarters when it pulled up to disgorge its passengers.

By then Joe and Lorenzo were furious and ready to take on the entire police force, until they emerged and saw Frank’s smiling face.

“Good afternoon, fellows,” he greeted them. “So glad you could make it.”

Lorenzo gave him a murderous glare. “You! After what you did to Valentina, I should cut your throat!”

“Like you did to Mrs. O’Hara?” Frank inquired mildly.

Lorenzo had no answer for that.

“Bring them inside, boys,” Frank said, and the officers escorted them none too gently up the front stairs.

Joe noticed the two “customers” walking away. “What about them?” he asked in outrage. “They started a fight in our place!”

“They’re cops,” Gino informed them. “We needed a way to get the two of you down here without having to wade through Ugo’s men.”

Frank and Gino were roundly cursed in two languages, so Frank let the boys cool their heels for over an hour down in separate interrogation rooms. He could have let Joe go, of course, but he didn’t, reasoning that he might need to verify something Lorenzo said . . . or didn’t say. Besides, he felt ornery.

When Frank and Gino finally joined Lorenzo downstairs, he had regained control of his temper. In fact, he looked entirely too cool for Frank’s taste. Sitting in the dingy room hadn’t panicked him like it had Antonio. He simply looked disgusted.

Frank took a seat opposite him while Gino manned the door. “We know why Nainsi died, Lorenzo. We know everything.”

“Then why am I here?” he asked. “Why is my brother here? Why haven’t you arrested the killer?”

“Tell me, Lorenzo, why did you defend Maria against Ugo when she wanted to keep the baby?”

The question puzzled him. “Because she wanted him.”

“Because she wanted him?” Frank asked. “Or because you did?”

“Why would I want him?”

Frank nodded sagely. “That’s a good question. Why would a man even care what happens to a little bastard some whore delivered on his doorstep?”

Lorenzo shifted uneasily in his seat. He didn’t like Frank’s choice of words, but he didn’t protest.

“That’s what Nainsi was, wasn’t she? A whore?”

The word pained him, and Lorenzo didn’t want to agree.

“She was foolish. Young and foolish.”

“Young, but not too foolish. She got herself a husband, didn’t she? A man to take care of her and her baby when the real father wouldn’t.”

Lorenzo refused to respond. Frank could see the muscles in his jaw working.

“Why do you think the real father wouldn’t marry her, Lorenzo?”

“I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Let’s think about it then. Maybe the real father was the kind of man who likes to take advantage of foolish young girls. He likes to use them for his pleasure and then move on to another one. Maybe he’s the kind of man who wouldn’t care that he has a son somewhere whose name he doesn’t even know.”

Anger flickered across Lorenzo’s face. “Maybe he is.”

“What would you think of a man like that, Lorenzo? A man who’d turn his back on a girl after he put a baby in her belly? A man who’d turn his back on his own child?”

“He is not a man,” Lorenzo decreed.

“But you didn’t want Antonio to marry Nainsi, did you?

Even when everybody thought the baby was his, you didn’t approve. Why is that?”

“That girl, anyone can see she’s a liar. Antonio would never . . . He’s too young to know what to do. She would have to show him, and how would she know what to do if she hadn’t been with another man already?”

“So you didn’t think the baby was his right from the beginning?” Frank guessed.

“I didn’t know, but I knew she wasn’t a nice girl for Antonio.”

“Or maybe you knew because she’d been with you already.”

Lorenzo actually reared back in shock. “Who told you this?” he demanded.

“We figured it out,” Frank said with some satisfaction.

“Nainsi was bragging to her friends about her Italian lover for months. When she married Antonio, they all thought he was the one she’d been seeing, but we know he didn’t even start going to the dance houses until August.”

His expression was almost comical. “And you think I was this Italian man?”

“A young man like you, who could blame you for going to dance houses? For wanting to spend time with girls who aren’t too virtuous before you have to settle down with a wife of your own? But wait, you don’t want a wife of your own, do you?” Frank said, pretending to just remember that fact. “Antonio said your mama wants to get you a wife like she did for Joe, but you don’t want to get married at all.”

Lorenzo blanched, but he managed to hold his temper. “I never saw Nainsi before Antonio brought her to our house,”

Lorenzo insisted.

Frank slapped his hand down on the table, making Lorenzo jump. “Don’t bother lying, Lorenzo,” he said fiercely.

“We know you’re the one who took Antonio to the dance house where he met Nainsi. We know you’d been going there for a long time. We know you got Nainsi pregnant and refused to marry her. We know you were angry when she tricked your little brother into taking responsibility for your mistake, and we know you killed her so she wouldn’t tell your mother the truth.”

Stunned, Lorenzo stared at Frank for a long moment, as if trying to comprehend everything he’d just heard—or figure some way to deny it.

And then he started to laugh.

Sarah groaned when she heard someone knocking on her door. She and Maeve had been practicing calling Aggie by her new name and pretending to forget to make her laugh. Sarah didn’t want to stop. She wanted this joyous time to last forever. Maeve went downstairs to answer the door, but when she called up, Sarah knew she’d be leaving.

As she and Catherine came down the stairs, she was surprised to see Antonio Ruocco waiting in the foyer. She knew a moment of apprehension, thinking he might have come to berate her for her part in questioning Valentina this morning, but then she saw the desperate look on his face.

“Mrs. Brandt, Maria needs for you to come right away.

The baby is sick.”

Sarah might have thought it was a trick to lure her someplace where Ugo Ruocco could take revenge, but Antonio was too innocent to lie so well.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He won’t stop crying,” Antonio reported in dismay.

“And his bowels are running, and Mama says he’s too hot.”

“Antonio, I want to help Maria, but I think your family must be very angry with me right now.”

“Because of Valentina,” he said, nodding his head.

“Yes, and because of my last visit there, too. Maybe Maria doesn’t know about Valentina, but I’m sure your mother—”

“She knows. We all know. Valentina tells everyone who will listen, and then the police took Joe and Lorenzo away in a wagon today, too. We’re all very angry, but Maria doesn’t care. She says you are the only one who knows how make the baby well.”

“But I doubt your mother would even let me in the house,” Sarah protested.

“She’s the one who told me to come. She’s afraid of what will happen to Maria if the baby dies. Maria loves him so much . . . Too much, I think,” he added sadly.

Sarah remembered what Valentina had said about Maria’s state of mind. She must already be near the breaking point, and with the baby sick . . . Sarah could at least provide reassurance and support to ease the strain Maria was under. If Mrs. Ruocco would let her in, that is.

“Girls, I’m sorry, but I have to go with Mr. Ruocco.”

Their obvious disappointment broke her heart, and she promised to return in time to tuck Catherine into bed.

Then she checked her medical bag to make sure she had the proper remedies. Satisfied, she set out with Antonio.

When they arrived at the restaurant, they found the shades closed and the restaurant dark. They’d be hard pressed to serve dinner with the two older boys still at police headquarters. Antonio took her inside and led her to the interior stairs, calling out to let his mother know they’d arrived.

When they reached the second floor, Sarah could hear the baby crying from the floor above. She hurried past Antonio, snatching her medical bag from him. She found Maria and Mrs. Ruocco in the parlor. Mrs. Ruocco was rocking the baby while Maria paced. She ran to meet Sarah.

“He’s dying,” Maria cried, nearly hysterical. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “You must save him!”

Sarah hazarded a glance at Mrs. Ruocco, who glared back. Her gaze could have cut glass, but Sarah managed not to flinch. “I’m sorry for what happened with Valentina, Mrs.

Ruocco, but the police said they were going to question her no matter what. I thought at least I could make sure nothing improper happened.”

Mrs. Ruocco rose from the chair and strode toward her.

As she passed, she handed Sarah the baby and kept going.

Plainly, she wasn’t willing to forgive or even to remain in the same room with her. But at least she hadn’t thrown her out.

“What’s wrong with him?” Maria pleaded. “Will he die?”

Sarah quickly felt the baby’s head and limbs. He was slightly warm, but that could just be because he’d been crying for so long. He did seem to be uncomfortable. He was pulling his knees to his chest, and the cry was distinctively one of pain. “Can I see one of his dirty diapers?”

Maria ran to fetch one, and Sarah laid the baby down on the couch and unwrapped him from his blanket to examine him, poking and prodding. When she’d finished and examined the diaper, she knew as much as it was possible to know about a patient who couldn’t even tell you where it hurt.

“Is he eating?” Sarah asked over the baby’s cries.

“Not since early this morning. He was fussy all morning after that and wouldn’t nap. Then he started crying and wouldn’t stop no matter what I did. Is it the milk again?”

That would have been Sarah’s first guess. “Goat’s milk rarely disagrees with a baby, but you can never be sure if what you get at the market is really goat’s milk or how fresh it is or what else they might have mixed with it,” Sarah explained. “Keeping the bottles clean is another problem, although I’m sure you’ve been doing a good job of that.”

“Oh, yes, I boil them every time,” Maria assured her, wringing her hands. The circles under her eyes were so dark, they almost looked like bruises, and her normally glowing complexion was chalky.

“Have you thought about finding a wet nurse for him?”

Sarah asked, picking up the baby again and instinctively trying to rock him to soothe his cries.

Maria’s expression changed from despair to terror. “I want to take care of him myself!”

“Of course you do, but perhaps one of the women in the neighborhood would sell you some breast milk. Even if it was only for a few weeks, until he’s stronger. Then we can try the goat’s milk again.”

Maria looked too overwhelmed to even begin to consider such a prospect. Sarah decided to speak to Mrs. Ruocco about it, even if Mrs. Ruocco wouldn’t speak to her. But first things first.

She opened her medical bag with her free hand and found the bottle she wanted. Using an eye dropper, she placed a drop on the baby’s tongue. He made a face at the taste, then started to cry again.

“What did you give him?”

“Paregoric,” Sarah said. “To stop the diarrhea.” She didn’t explain that paregoric was a tincture of opium, because she knew that would frighten Maria. Sarah hated giving it to him, but it was the only way she knew to treat the diarrhea quickly. If she didn’t, the baby would die of dehydration.

“Please sit down, Maria. Pacing the floor won’t help, and you’re just exhausting yourself.”

Maria sat, but she didn’t relax. Her haunted eyes watched every step as Sarah walked the baby back and forth until the drug took hold and his cries quieted and finally ceased.

Instantly, Maria was on her feet. “Is he . . . ?”

“Sleeping,” Sarah said. “Now we need to talk.”

Frank couldn’t remember ever having a suspect start laughing in the middle of an interrogation—at least not one in his right mind.

“What’s so funny?” Frank growled.

Lorenzo wiped a tear from his eye and fought to get himself under control again. “You are. You think I did those things. I have never been to a dance house in my life.”

Frank felt the anger roiling in his chest. “Liar,” he snapped. “Antonio told us all about it.”

“Maybe, but he didn’t tell you I took him to the dance house,” Lorenzo assured him, still grinning. “And he didn’t tell you I knew Nainsi, because I didn’t. I never even saw her before Antonio brought her to our house after he married her.”

Frank wouldn’t call him a liar again. He knew when someone was telling the truth, and Lorenzo had the confidence of that behind his words. But Antonio had said . . .

He’d said that his brother took him to the dance house!

That’s it. He’d said his brother, and they’d assumed he meant his bachelor brother, Lorenzo.

Frank leaned back in his chair, sizing him up. “Are you saying Joe was the one who took Antonio to the dance houses?” he asked with interest.

Lorenzo sobered instantly. “I’m not saying anything except that it wasn’t me.”

Frank nodded sagely. “I see that. But my theory is still right. An Italian man got Nainsi pregnant, and then she tricked his brother into marrying her.”

Lorenzo flushed. “Joe would never do a thing like that.”

“Why not?” Frank asked curiously.

“Because . . . he’s married,” Lorenzo said uncertainly.

Frank nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he is. He’s married to Maria, but that didn’t stop him from going to dance houses with Antonio, did it? And it didn’t stop him from going to them by himself before that, either.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know anything about it. I only know my brother wouldn’t do what you say.”

“I guess he wouldn’t kill Nainsi either, because he wouldn’t care if she told his mother—and Maria—the truth about the baby.”

Frank watched Lorenzo putting the pieces together in his mind. Frank had been certain the killer would have kept his secret from the rest of the family, no matter who the killer was. If Lorenzo wasn’t the killer, he wouldn’t have known, but now he had to face the truth.

“Joe couldn’t kill anyone,” he said, but without much conviction.

“Were you awake when Joe and Antonio got home from the dance house the night Mrs. O’Hara was killed?”

“Night before last?” he asked.

Frank nodded.

“Yeah, I . . . I was awake. The baby was crying and woke me up. I saw my brothers come home.”

“I don’t suppose you noticed if either one of them had any blood on him?”

Lorenzo just glared back.

“Or if Joe went out again later?”

He crossed his arms over his chest in silent refusal to reply.

“Are you going to lock me up?”

Frank considered it. “No, I don’t think so. I think I’ll let you go home, Lorenzo. For now.”

“And Joe?”

Frank smiled. “No, I’m going to keep Joe for a while longer.”

“ Will the medicine make him better?” Maria asked when Sarah had put the baby down in his cradle.

“It should stop the diarrhea. Then we have to figure out what caused it and keep it from happening again.”

“I’ll make sure the milk is from a goat,” Maria promised fervently. “I will keep the bottles clean and boil them. I will do everything you say.”

Sarah’s heart ached for her. Maria was like a string that had been stretched too tightly, and Sarah feared the slightest little thing could make her snap. “Do you have any wine up here?” she asked conversationally.

“Wine? What for?”

“I want you to drink some. You need to calm down and rest, Maria. You must take care of yourself, or you won’t be any help to the baby.”

Maria absently brushed back a stray tendril of hair. “That is what Lorenzo says.”

“He’s right. Maria, I can’t promise you that the baby will get better. I warned you from the beginning that babies sometimes don’t do well when they’re fed from a bottle.”

“But I’ll be very careful!”

“I know you will, but sometimes even that isn’t enough.

I still think it would be a good idea to find a woman to give him milk, to make sure he does as well as he can.”

She could actually feel Maria’s resistance to the idea of involving another woman in the care of the baby she’d come to love as her own. “Just tell me what to do to make him better,” she pleaded.

Sarah took Maria into the parlor and made her sit down on the sofa. Then she found some paper and a pencil and sat down beside her to write down instructions so Maria wouldn’t forget them. Maria sat perfectly still with her hands folded in her lap, but even so, the very air around her seemed to vibrate with tension. Mrs. Ellsworth would have said she was wound tighter than an eight-day clock.

“I’m adding some instructions for you, too, Maria,” Sarah said. “I want you to drink a glass of wine with each meal and one at bedtime.”

Maria managed a small smile. “I will be drunk. I’ll drop the baby.”

“I’ve seen women in your condition before, Maria,” Sarah said very seriously. “If you don’t get some rest and some relief, you’ll collapse. Then the family will have to take care of you and the baby. I know you don’t want to put a burden like that on them. They’re already short-handed without you helping in the restaurant.”

Tears formed in Maria’s dark eyes. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I thought having the baby would be so . . . so happy.”

Sarah took one of her hands. “When a baby is born, the father gives out cigars and drinks toasts and celebrates.

That’s because he doesn’t have to walk the floor all night with a screaming infant.”

Maria wiped a tear with her free hand. “I never thought of that.”

“And you also never expected Nainsi to die or mobs of angry men to come beating at your door or Mrs. O’Hara to be murdered or your husband to be dragged off to jail,” Sarah reminded her gently. “Any one of those things would be difficult to bear, and you’re bearing all of them, in addition to taking care of a demanding infant. You need to get some help.”

“Lorenzo helps,” she said defensively.

Sarah remembered their theory about Lorenzo’s unusual concern for the baby. “That’s strange, isn’t it? For a man to take such an interest in a baby, I mean.”

“Lorenzo is a good man.”

Sarah didn’t wince. “He must be to give up his evenings out to stay with you and the baby.”

Maria looked puzzled. “Lorenzo doesn’t go out in the evenings.”

Sarah had already opened her mouth to contradict her when she realized that Maria would know Lorenzo’s habits far better than she. “But I thought . . . I mean, he’s a bachelor and . . .” She hesitated, trying to find the right way to frame her question so it wouldn’t seem she knew more than she should. “I know Antonio met Nainsi at a dance house. I guess I just assumed that he and Lorenzo went out together.”

Maria shook her head. “Not Lorenzo. He doesn’t approve of places like that.”

“Oh,” Sarah said lamely, wondering if Malloy had found out this valuable piece of information yet. She realized that everything they had concluded about Lorenzo having seduced Nainsi might be wrong.

And if he hadn’t seduced Nainsi, then he wasn’t the baby’s father. But if he wasn’t, why was he so interested in the baby’s welfare?

“Are you finished with the instructions?” Maria asked.

“Uh, yes, I am,” Sarah said. She had just begun to explain them to her when they heard someone coming in from the outside stairway.

“ Why did you let him go?” Gino demanded when Lorenzo had left the interrogation room.

“Because he’s not our killer,” Frank said wearily.

“How can you be sure?”

“After you’ve been doing this for a while, you’ll be able to tell when most people are lying. There’s some who can fool you, but not many. People like the Ruoccos, who are ba-sically honest, can’t.”

“He didn’t tell you everything he knows, though,” Gino pointed out quite correctly.

“No, but he wasn’t going to say anything else voluntar-ily, and I didn’t see any point in roughing him up. If I need to ask him more questions, I know where to find him. He’s not going anywhere. Now let’s see what brother Joe has to say for himself.” Frank pushed himself out of the chair.

“Did Joe do it, then?” Gino asked hesitantly.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“But if Lorenzo didn’t, it has to be Joe, doesn’t it?”

Frank couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t forget Mrs. Ruocco.

Ugo is sure she did it.”

“But she’s a female,” the young man said dismissively.

Frank just shook his head in dismay.

Gino followed him next door to the room where Joe waited. He wasn’t as calm as Lorenzo had been or as panicked as Antonio. He did, however, look guilty as hell.

“We just had a nice little visit with your brother,” Frank reported, taking a seat opposite Joe.

“Did you lock him up?” Joe asked with concern.

“No, we let him go home.”

“Then you know we didn’t cause any trouble. Those two men came into our place and started fighting. We had to throw them out before they broke something or hurt somebody.”

“I told you, Joe. Those men are cops. We sent them in there to get you outside so we could bring you into the station for questioning.”

Joe frowned. He didn’t know what to make of it. “But we didn’t do anything wrong,” he insisted again.

“Someone did, though,” Frank pointed out. “Or Nainsi and her mother would still be alive.”

His confusion cleared instantly. “Why are you asking me about this? I already told you, I don’t know who killed Nainsi, and I don’t know who killed Mrs. O’Hara, either.”

“Where were you the other night, Joe?”

“I . . . I was out with Antonio,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Oh, yes, at a dance house,” Frank remembered. “At least that’s what Antonio said. That’s kind of funny, isn’t it? A married man going to dance houses?”

“I went along to make sure he didn’t get into trouble,”

he said defensively.

“Oh, that’s right,” Frank said. “Antonio said Maria ordered him out of the house because he was making her nervous.”

Joe nodded gratefully. “That’s right. She’s been very nervous since the baby came. She . . . Mama says she’s tired.”

“Joe, I found out some disturbing news about you.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“It’s about those dance houses,” Frank said as if he re-gretted having to bring up the subject. “We found out that even though you’re a married man, you were the one who started taking Antonio to them in the first place.”

Joe rubbed his hand over his face. “I . . . Well, we couldn’t let him go alone, could we? He’s too young. He might get into trouble.”

“So your mama decided you should go with him?” Frank asked skeptically.

“Oh, no . . . I mean, it was my duty. I’m the oldest son.”

“You’re also the married son,” Frank reminded him.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for Lorenzo to go with him?”

Joe made a helpless gesture, as if he were trying to snatch the correct response out of the air. “Lorenzo doesn’t like to go to places like that,” he finally said.

“So you decided you’d do your duty to help your innocent little brother go out and meet girls who are no better than they should be and get him drunk and see how many of these girls he could poke.”

“No!” Joe protested, although Frank knew he had described the situation accurately.

“Are you saying that’s not what happened?”

“Antonio is just a boy,” Joe tried. “He . . . he wants to have a good time.”

“What about you, Joe? Do you want to have a good time, too?”

“I . . . I guess.”

“What does Maria think about that?”

Joe felt on firmer ground here. “She knows her place. She doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“So she didn’t mind when you went out to the dance houses by yourself, either,” Frank said.

“By myself?” he echoed, as if he didn’t know what Frank was talking about.

“Yeah, you remember. You used to go out to the dance houses long before Antonio decided he wanted to start going along. That’s where you met Nainsi, wasn’t it?”

“I . . . I never met Nainsi there,” he said, but even Gino could see he was lying. The color was seeping from his face and his eyes were starting to look a little desperate.

“That’s not what her friends told us,” Frank lied. “They said she was seeing you way back in the spring.”

“They didn’t know that,” Joe insisted.

Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“Because . . . because they couldn’t,” he replied lamely.

“Now let me get this straight. Are you saying they didn’t know that you were seeing her?”

“Yes . . . No . . . I mean, I wasn’t seeing her at all.” Joe was starting to sweat.

“But you were, Joe. Don’t lie to us. You were seeing her on the sly. You told her not to tell her friends, but she did.

She couldn’t help bragging about the rich Italian man she was going to marry.”

“But I’m not rich!” Joe pointed out.

“Nainsi thought you were. She also thought you were single, so when she turned up pregnant, she was sure you’d marry her.”

“You’re wrong!” Joe tried.

“About what, Joe? Are you telling me Nainsi knew you were married?”

“No!”

“So you lied to her.”

“No! I didn’t lie. I . . . I didn’t even know her,” he said, but with less conviction than before.

Frank slapped the table as he had with Lorenzo. Joe yelped in surprise.

“Stop lying, Joe. You’re making me angry. You knew Nainsi, didn’t you?”

“I . . . Yes, I did, but I never—”

“And you seduced her with a promise of marriage.”

Frank was almost shouting.

“I never promised her anything!”

“And when she threatened to cause trouble, you took your little brother so she could get her hooks into him.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did, Joe. You took your little brother and gave him to your mistress—”

“No!”

“And you let him think your bastard was his—”

“Stop!” He clapped his hands over his ears, but Frank grabbed his arms and forced them away.

“And you let him marry her, but it was all lies, Joe. You ruined your brother’s life with your lies!”

“No, no! It wasn’t me! It was all Maria’s idea!”

14

Maria jumped up to go see who had come in, and Sarah followed, stopping in the doorway. Maria had found Lorenzo in the hall, and Sarah felt a frisson of alarm. Why was he here?

“Lorenzo,” Maria said with what sounded like relief.

“You are back.”

“They let me go,” he said simply. “The baby?”

As if he’d given the fatal pluck to the taut string holding Maria together, she gave an incoherent cry, threw herself against his chest and began to sob. His arms came around her instantly, holding her to him. His hands moved gently over her back, both comforting and caressing, and Sarah watched mesmerized as his face contorted with what looked like pain.

She remembered yesterday, when she had sobbed against Malloy’s chest. His hands had moved on her the way Lorenzo’s moved on Maria—tenderly, possessively. Had his face been like that, too, twisted with the agony of a desire he could not fulfill? Suddenly, Lorenzo’s interest in helping Maria with the baby was crystal clear.

Sarah must have gasped aloud because Lorenzo’s eyes flew open, and he saw her standing in the doorway. Rage replaced whatever emotions he had been feeling.

“What’s she doing here?” he demanded, disentangling himself from Maria and setting her away from him discreetly.

“Maria sent for me,” Sarah defended herself. “The baby was sick.”

“How dare you show your face here after what you’ve done?” His own face was scarlet, but whether from anger only or because he felt shame at what she’d seen, she couldn’t tell.

Maria was scrubbing the tears from her face with the back of her hand and trying to catch her breath. “Mama gave permission,” she informed him. “The baby is sick. What else could I do?”

“You could send for a doctor,” Lorenzo said impatiently.

“A doctor wouldn’t care if he lived or died,” Maria argued.

“And she would?” he challenged, gesturing dismissively at Sarah.

“Yes.”

Her confidence set him aback, but he didn’t contradict her. Sarah could see the inner battle between pride and honor and his feelings for his brother’s wife. Maria won. He glanced around. “Where is the baby?”

“Sleeping,” Maria said. “She gave him some medicine.”

He glared at Sarah, as if he resented the fact that she’d helped. “Then she can leave now.”

Sarah was only too happy to oblige. Why had Malloy let him go? He must have discovered that Lorenzo wasn’t Nainsi’s lover. “I just need to give Maria the medicine and some instructions for the next few days.”

“Good,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out some money. “Here, this is for your medicine . . . and for your time.” He thrust it into her hand, then headed down the hall toward the interior stairway.

He’d intended to make her feel inferior, and he’d suc-ceeded in making her furious.

“He is upset,” Maria said apologetically. “There was a fight in the restaurant, and he was taken by the police this afternoon.”

Sarah didn’t think that justified his being rude to her, but then she remembered Joe had been taken with him. “I wonder if your husband came back with him.” How odd Maria hadn’t even asked about him.

Maria shrugged, as if she didn’t care. “Did Lorenzo give you enough money for the medicine?” she asked.

Sarah looked down at her palm. “Yes, more than enough.”

“Then tell me what I must do.”

“ What do you mean, it was Maria’s idea?” Frank asked, glaring intently at Joe.

Joe’s gaze flitted wildly around the room, as if he were desperately trying to find a way to escape. Frank slapped the table again to get his attention.

“Joe! What was Maria’s idea?”

“She said . . . she said we couldn’t let the baby go.”

Frank stared at him incredulously. “You told her the baby was yours?”

“I had to! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Frank could think of a lot of options, none of which involved telling his wife he’d gotten a girl pregnant, but it was too late to point any of them out to Joe. Frank glanced at Gino. The young man’s jaw was hanging open, so Frank gave him a glare, silently warning him to shut his mouth and keep it shut.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Frank said, letting his voice express only curiosity now. “You met Nainsi at a dance house and got her pregnant.”

“I didn’t mean to, but . . . She wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Are you saying she came after you?” Frank asked skeptically.

Joe had the grace to look ashamed. “She liked me. She wanted to get married. I told her she was too young, but she . . . she still wanted to.”

“You could’ve told her you were already married,” Frank reminded him.

Joe’s expression was pained. “She was pretty . . . and fun.”

“So you didn’t tell her because you wanted to keep poking her,” Frank said with contempt.

“She wanted it! She told me she did,” he insisted.

“Or maybe she just wanted to get a baby so you’d have to marry her,” Frank suggested. “And then she did. What did you say when she told you, Joe?”

Joe rubbed his sleeve across his damp forehead. “I told her I couldn’t get married. I told her my mother wouldn’t allow me to marry an Irish girl.”

“But she kept bothering you, didn’t she?” Frank guessed.

“Maybe she even came to the restaurant.”

Joe’s eyes widened in surprise that he had figured this out. “I didn’t think she knew who I was, but she found out somehow. She came by one day, and Maria saw her. I sent her away, but Maria knew. She always finds out everything. I thought she’d be mad at me, but she was only mad because I had given a baby to this girl instead of to her.”

Frank thought that sounded strange, but he didn’t say so.

“So Maria was only worried about the baby?”

“She said it was our family. She said we couldn’t let strangers raise it.”

Frank resisted the urge to glance at Gino. He’d said Italians were devoted to their families, but even so, this seemed a bit much. “So you suggested that Antonio could marry the girl.”

“No, no, I didn’t know what to do. It was Maria. She said Antonio was too young to know anything, and we could trick him. She said he would think the baby was his, and he would marry Nainsi. Then the baby would be in our family, and we could take care of it. She said it was the right thing to do.”

Just when Frank thought he was beginning to understand women a little, something like this happened. “So you’re claiming it was Maria’s idea for you to take Antonio to the dance house and . . . Did Nainsi know all this? Did she know you were going to trick Antonio into marrying her?”

Joe swallowed and rubbed a hand across his mouth.

“I . . . Yes, she . . . I had to tell her! She had to . . . to make him think the baby was his.”

Frank didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “And she just went along with it?”

“She was scared . . . because of the baby. She needed to get married soon. But she . . . she didn’t like it,” he admitted.

“I’m sure she didn’t,” Frank said. “But she went along with it anyway.”

Joe seemed to shrink into himself. “She said . . . she said she liked the revenge of having my baby under Maria’s nose.”

Now that was the only part of the story that sounded reasonable to Frank. “And what did Maria think about it once Nainsi was living in your house?”

“Oh, she was happy about the baby,” Joe assured him hastily. “And she was nice to Nainsi. Maria is a good woman.”

Nobody was that good, Frank thought. If Nainsi wanted revenge, what did Maria want? “You must’ve been nervous when your mother figured out Antonio wasn’t the baby’s father and wanted to throw Nainsi and the baby out.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let her do that, but I couldn’t tell her the truth, either. That’s why I went to Zio Ugo. I thought he could help.”

“But he couldn’t.”

“At first he just laughed at Antonio for being a fool. After Antonio passed out, I told him everything, about the baby and how we’d tricked Antonio. Then Ugo slapped me for doing such a thing to my brother and said I deserved to lose my son.”

“Why didn’t you just tell your mother the truth?” Frank asked reasonably.

Joe gaped at him, horrified. “I committed adultery, got another woman with child, and tricked my brother into marrying her. She would kill me!”

Frank didn’t know whether he was exaggerating or not.

Knowing Patrizia Ruocco, anything was possible, though.

“So you killed Nainsi to save yourself.”

“No! I didn’t kill her! I told you that before. I was with Antonio and Ugo that night!”

“But Nainsi was still alive when you and Antonio came home.”

“How do you know that?” Joe asked in surprise.

“Because you made too much noise when you came in, and she shouted at you to be quiet.”

Joe frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“Oh, I think you do, Joe. I think that reminded you she was lying in the room across the hall, and you went over there, and you put a pillow over her face, and you held it there while she struggled and fought, and you kept holding it there until she stopped fighting and stopped breathing and she was dead.”

Joe just stared at him, completely baffled. “But I didn’t even go upstairs that night.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t go upstairs that night?”

“I was drunk. Antonio was drunk. I got him as far as the second floor parlor sofa, and I left him there. He didn’t want to sleep in the bed with Nainsi, and I didn’t want to go upstairs where she was either, so I went into Lorenzo’s room and got in bed with him.”

“You didn’t go upstairs to the third floor at all that night?” Frank asked with a frown.

“No, Lorenzo will tell you. He pushed me out of bed and made me sleep on the floor. He said I stunk of whisky.”

Frank clearly remembered Maria’s account. She’d said Nainsi was still alive when Joe got home, because she’d called out when he woke her up by making noise. She’d said Joe had slept beside her the rest of the night. Frank thought she’d been giving Joe an alibi.

But Joe didn’t need one.

*

*

*

Sarah had finished her explanations and answered all of Maria’s questions. As eager as she was to escape the Ruocco house, she hated leaving Maria alone. The poor woman seemed as fragile as glass.

“You have to promise to take care of yourself, Maria,”

Sarah said.

“I will,” Maria replied, but the promise held no conviction.

“I mean it. Remember what I said about you getting sick. You have to eat three good meals a day and sleep as much as you can.”

“I will be fine. The baby will be fine,” Maria said, although her words sounded more like a plea than an assurance.

Sarah sighed in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, she began to close up her medical bag. Malloy should know what she’d learned about Lorenzo not going to the dance houses and about his true feelings for Maria. She wasn’t sure of the significance, but she knew he needed all the information about the family that he could get. If he’d decided Lorenzo wasn’t the killer—and he must have if he’d let Lorenzo go—then who else was left?

“The baby should sleep for a while,” Sarah said when she was ready to leave, “because of the paregoric.”

“But I’ll wake him if he sleeps too long, like you said,”

she promised earnestly.

Sarah patted her shoulder. “I know you’ll take good care of him, Maria. Have you decided on a name for him yet?”

she asked in an effort to be more positive.

Maria smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Yes,” she said. “I am going to name him Joseph.”

“Joseph,” Sarah echoed uncertainly. “After . . . after Jesus’ father,” she tried.

“The Virgin Mother’s husband,” Maria corrected her.

“No, that is not why.”

Maria was still smiling, her face twisted into a expression that made Sarah’s skin crawl. She’d seen that smile on her face before, but when? Then she remembered. It was the last time they’d been talking about a name for the baby. What had she said then? Sarah couldn’t remember.

“After your husband then?” Sarah guessed.

“Yes, but not Giuseppe. The baby is American. He needs an American name.”

Sarah thought Maria was asking for trouble. “Will Mrs.

Ruocco let you name the baby after Joe?”

“She has nothing to say about it. He is my baby.”

Sarah was sure Mrs. Ruocco would have plenty to say about it, but she decided not to mention that to Maria. In fact, she decided not to say anything else of importance to Maria at all. She looked so odd, and her eyes suddenly seemed over-bright. Just like they had before, the last time she’d been asking about the baby’s name. What had Maria said then?

Something about the baby’s father.

That she should name the baby after his father!

Sarah’s blood seemed to stop in her veins. But Joe couldn’t be the baby’s father, could he?

“Mrs. Brandt, why are you looking at me like that?”

Maria asked, although she didn’t seem too concerned.

If Joe was the baby’s father, how would Maria know?

Maybe Nainsi had told her, or maybe Joe had confessed. It didn’t really matter, but that’s why she was going to name the baby after him, as some sort of revenge. “I just . . . I should be going now. I’ve probably over-stayed my welcome.” She needed to tell Malloy about Joe right away.

“I’m going to have the priest baptize him,” Maria was saying.

“I’m sure that will be very nice,” Sarah said inanely, moving toward the doorway. If Joe was the baby’s father, he had an excellent reason for wanting Nainsi dead. “I really should be going. You know what to do for the baby. Just follow my instructions.”

“Do you think Joe should be his godfather?” Maria asked, following her.

Out in the hallway, Sarah tried to decide which route to take. If she went down the inside stairs, she might meet the other Ruoccos. The outside stairs would be quicker, and she could escape unnoticed.

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I think,” Sarah said, forcing a polite smile. “That’s something the family will have to decide.”

“No, I am the one to decide, Mrs. Brandt,” Maria said in a tone Sarah had never heard her use before. “No one will tell me what to do with my baby.”

Sarah looked at her in surprise. Her dark eyes fairly glittered, and Sarah realized she’d been right to be worried about her. She looked as if the bonds holding her tethered to reality were quickly fraying. “Of course not,” Sarah assured her quickly. “You were very generous to insist on keeping him, and you have every right to make these decisions.”

“No one will tell me what to do with my baby,” Maria repeated meaningfully. “Not even you.”

Now Sarah began to feel alarm. If Maria decided to ignore her instructions . . . “I’m only trying to help you, Maria, but if you don’t trust my advice, please consult another nurse or a doctor. I won’t be offended.”

“I won’t give him to another woman,” she said. “I’m his mother now.”

For a moment, Sarah didn’t know what she was talking about, and then she recalled Maria’s objection to finding a wet nurse. “I never meant you should give him to another woman,” Sarah assured her. “I was just—” She caught herself. Maria wasn’t thinking rationally, so reasoning with her was a waste of time. “I know you’ll do what’s best for him,”

she said instead. “I must go now.”

Sarah chose the outside stairs. She had to find Malloy and figure out what to do before Maria had a complete break-down. Maria followed her, seeing her out like a good host-ess. Ordinarily, Sarah would have told her to send for her if she needed anything, but she didn’t think Maria would appreciate such an offer.

Sarah opened the door and looked over her shoulder at Maria. “Good-bye,” she said and quickly stepped into the stairwell. Only when she’d taken the first step did Maria’s expression register: pure, molten hatred.

Shocked, Sarah turned back just in time to see Maria lunging toward her. Sarah threw herself against the wall and out of the way just as Maria’s body would have slammed into hers. Someone screamed as Maria’s momentum carried her headlong down the steps.

Instinctively, Sarah reached out to catch her, but she was too late. Maria’s body tumbled and twisted and struck the first landing with a sickening thud. The landing slowed her impetus, and Maria’s body slid down only a few more steps and stopped.

Somewhere, Sarah’s mind realized that Maria had tried to kill her, but she would deal with that later. Now, she hurried down to the landing to see if she could help. As if from a great distance, she heard people shouting, and as she reached Maria’s crumpled form, someone started running up the stairs from below.

Leaving Joe alone, Frank took Gino into the room where they’d questioned Lorenzo earlier.

“He’s gotta be lying,” Gino said. “He was Nainsi’s lover, and the girl was going to tell his mother the baby was his so Mrs. Ruocco wouldn’t throw her out.”

“He does have a good reason for wanting her dead, but why would he make up a story about sleeping in Lorenzo’s room?”

“Because he knows his brother will lie for him.”

“He wife would lie for him, too,” Frank pointed out. “In fact, she already did. She told us he was with her all night and couldn’t have killed Nainsi. Why would he tell us a different story?”

Gino frowned as he concentrated on getting it right. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. He only needs one alibi.”

“That’s right. He only needs one, and if he didn’t kill Nainsi, then one of the stories is true,” Frank informed him.

“We need to figure out which one.”

“How can we?”

“It’s not hard. Which story did we hear first?”

“The one Maria told us.”

“And what does her story prove?”

Gino thought about it for a minute. “That Nainsi was alive when Antonio and Joe came home from Ugo’s place.

That Joe was nearby, close enough to slip over and smother her if he wanted to.”

“Maria said he never got up the rest of the night, though,”

Frank reminded him.

“If she was asleep, how could she be sure?” Gino asked reasonably. He was starting to catch on.

“Right, so she could be lying about that part, at least.

Now, if Joe’s telling the truth, what does that prove?”

“That he wasn’t even near Nainsi from the time they left for Ugo’s until after she was killed.”

“But why didn’t he just tell us Nainsi was alive when he came home, and he was in bed with his wife all night, if that’s the truth?”

“Because . . .” Gino’s face brightened with understanding. “Because it’s not the truth. He told us what he really did that night.”

“Then why did Maria lie?”

He thought for another minute. “To protect her husband.”

Frank shook his head. “Donatelli, people sometimes lie to protect other people, but most of the time they lie to protect themselves.”

Lorenzo came racing up the steps, taking them two and three at a time, until he reached Maria’s crumpled body.

“What happened?” he demanded of Sarah.

“She fell,” Sarah said quite truthfully. “I tried to catch her, but . . .”

He wasn’t listening. “Maria, can you hear me?”

Antonio and Mrs. Ruocco were close behind him, both yelling questions.

“Maria fell down the stairs,” Lorenzo said, his voice both angry and anguished.

Maria groaned.

“Maria, can you hear me?” he asked again, taking her hand.

“Get her inside,” Mrs. Ruocco cried.

“Be careful,” Sarah warned. “She might have broken bones.”

“Antonio, go get doctor,” Mrs. Ruocco said, sending the boy racing back down the stairs.

Lorenzo kept trying to get Maria to respond, and finally her eyes fluttered open. “What . . . ?”

“You fell down the stairs,” Lorenzo said. “Where are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” she murmured.

Sarah descended the few remaining stairs to the landing.

“Let me check her over before you move her.” She knelt, and Maria’s dazed eyes focused on her. Sarah saw a flicker of fear.

“It’s all right,” Sarah said reassuringly. “Let me know if anything hurts.”

Quickly, she felt Maria’s limbs and discovered a badly wrenched knee and an apparently broken arm. Lorenzo lifted her as gently as he could, carried her into Mrs. Ruocco’s bedroom on the second floor and laid her on the bed. She was moaning softly and cradling her broken arm. Was Sarah the only one who saw the adoration shining naked in Lorenzo’s eyes as he gazed down at her?

“What you do on steps?” Mrs. Ruocco asked, oblivious of her son’s devotion to his brother’s wife. “You never look, you only hurry, hurry!”

“Is she all right?” Valentina asked from the bedroom doorway.

No one answered her. Lorenzo just stared at Maria helplessly while Mrs. Ruocco continued to berate her for being so careless as to nearly kill herself.

“Valentina, would you get a nightdress for Maria and bring it down?” Sarah asked.

For once the girl obeyed without complaint, probably grateful for something to take her away. Sarah began removing Maria’s shoes.

“Lorenzo, would you step out?” Sarah asked. “We need to get her undressed so the doctor can examine her.”

“Will she be all right?” he asked, his desperation painful to behold. He’d apparently forgotten his animosity toward Sarah.

“We won’t know for certain until she’s been examined,”

Sarah said, taking him by the arm and directing him to the door.

“She pushed me.”

Everyone looked toward where Maria lay on the bed. She was staring at Sarah with the same loathing as when she’d lunged for her on the stairs.

“She pushed me down the stairs,” Maria said deliberately, pointing at Sarah with her good arm.

Lorenzo and Mrs. Ruocco turned to Sarah in horror, but before anyone could speak, they heard someone calling from downstairs. To Sarah’s great relief, it was Frank Malloy.

“She tried to kill you?” Malloy fairly shouted at Sarah. They were sitting at one of the tables down in the empty restaurant. Sarah had told him everything that had happened from the time she arrived at the Ruocco house earlier in the day until he’d come storming in a little while before.

“She’s not in her right mind, Malloy,” Sarah pointed out.

“Crazy or not, you’d be just as dead!” he pointed out right back.

“Well, she didn’t kill me, so there’s no sense in getting upset now.”

Malloy looked like he might explode, but he managed to swallow down his frustration. After a few moments of struggle, he asked, “Is she going to live?”

“She didn’t seem to be too seriously hurt, but she might have internal injuries that don’t show up right away.”