“Thank you very much for the box,” Malone interrupted. He handed the woman another dollar for her trouble. She made the sign of the cross and shot another dirty look at Dani and ushered them up the stairs with her new pan.
“We don’t need to do this right here,” Malone said when they were back in the car. “But we might as well see if these things were really hers at all.”
Malone handed Dani the nightgown, and she balled it up in her hands and stilled, the way he’d almost become accustomed to. A moment later, her cheeks grew flushed.
“What?” Malone grunted. “You’re blushing.”
“It’s hers.”
“How do you know?”
“She must have worn it near her last day. It hasn’t been laundered.” She paused. “She likes how Willie calls her Roses. Not Rose, but Roses, like she is a whole bouquet.”
“All right. That’s good.” But that didn’t explain Dani’s warm cheeks and glassy eyes.
Her voice dropped, almost like she was hearing Rose Wallace in her head. Even the cadence of her words sounded like someone else.
“He makes better love than any man she’s ever been with, and he only has one arm. He makes her feel good. If she could make love all the time, she would. It’s after the loving that Willie gets mean. Never during and never before.”
Malone took the nightgown from her hands and put it back in the box. Her eyes cleared slightly, and she frowned.
“What?” she asked him. “Isn’t this helpful?”
“Let’s go,” he said, terse, and closed the box. She would have to tell him more about the nightgown, but he didn’t think he could listen to her talk about “making love all the time” in that breathy voice without losing his mind. Dani would have to see what else remained in the fibers of the cloth later. Without him.
The building at 3205 Carnegie, where Flo Polillo had resided, was the same color, the same shape, and the same condition as the one Rose had lived in, but two girls sat on the stoop playing with their dolls, making the place seem a little less ominous, even though the building sat right on the edge of the Roaring Third, a part of town known for its depravity and despair. The girls were clean and cared for, though their clothes were plain and a little too small.
When they rang the bell and knocked on the door, nobody responded.
“Excuse me,” Dani asked the girls, “do you live here?”
“Mother went upstairs,” the older girl said. “Mrs. Brewster’s having a baby. We’re listening for the cry.” She pointed up at the open window just right of the entrance.
Malone turned around and headed back down the stairs, not wanting any part of that, but Dani hung back.
“What’s your doll’s name?” he heard her say.
“Louisa.” The little girl said it with a lisp, making it Lew-ee-tha.
“That’s a very nice name. And what a beautiful dress that is,” Dani said.
“My dolly’s name is Genevieve,” the older girl inserted. “I don’t like it much. But I didn’t name her.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Can I hold them?” Dani asked. Malone checked his pocket watch. If they hurried, he might still be able to swing by Hart Manufacturing. It was late in the day, but if Steve Jeziorski was working a swing, he might catch him. He turned back to the front steps where Dani had taken a seat by the girls. She was holding the dolls and straightening their clothes, her head bowed. He groaned.
“Genevieve is a special name,” she said, and her voice sounded pained.
“Why?” the older girl asked.
“Because it was Miss Polillo’s middle name.”
“You knew Mith Polillo?” the little girl with the lisp asked, dumbfounded.
Dani nodded, but Malone wasn’t sure she’d heard. Her hands had stilled.
“Dani?” he called, unnerved.
“It is one of a collection,” she said slowly.
“Mith Polillo had loth of dollth,” the little girl said.
“Mother let us have them,” the older girl said, a note of fear in her voice, like she thought Dani might be there to claim them.
“That’s good,” Dani said. “She would have wanted you to have them.” She handed the dolls back to the two girls, who stared at her, wide-eyed. Dani dug in her pockets and pulled out a few pennies and set them on the stairs.
“Thank you for letting me hold them for a minute,” she said. She descended the stairs briskly and moved past him, her heels clicking and her hands fisted. She climbed into the car without a word. Malone followed, slid behind the wheel, and pulled away from Carnegie before darting a look at her face. He sighed. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, though she was trying desperately to control them.