He peeled the cost of the hat and coat from a money clip in his breast pocket and handed it to her as they stepped back into the shop.
“If you are inclined to give clothes away, or you need something for yourself, please feel free to take from the items we . . . collect.” “Collect” was an imprecise word for what she did, but Malone had helped her twice since the storm, and he had earned whatever she could offer him.
“I might do that. Thank you.”
“I will go again tomorrow, first thing after breakfast if you are . . . free.” She almost laughed at that. What a pathetic outing. “And please don’t feel obligated. I am only telling you because you insisted I do.”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
He tipped his new hat, thanked her for the assistance with his clothes, and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the dirty checkered hat still clasped in his hand.
At dinner, Malone was back to staring morosely at his plate, hardly commenting, barely listening. He was preoccupied, and Dani thought it might have something to do with that checkered cap.
“We listen to the Cleveland Orchestra from Severance Hall every Thursday evening. You must join us, Mr. Malone,” Lenka insisted, pulling him from his introspection.
“Maybe Mr. Malone does not care for the symphony, Lenka,” Zuzana said. “Many don’t. It is a refined taste. The Irish tend to like bagpipes.”
“Nonsense. Who is your favorite composer, Mr. Malone?”
Malone was silent for a moment, and Dani thought for sure he would excuse himself.
“I heard Sergei Rachmaninoff at the Lyric Opera House in Baltimore a few years ago,” he said quietly. “It was wonderful.”
Lenka crowed and clapped her hands like a child, and Dani found herself beaming.
“He is Dani’s favorite,” Lenka exclaimed. “She says his music makes her feel crazed.”
“His Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini is the most beautiful music I have ever heard,” Dani said, trying not to gush. “Except perhaps his Adagio sostenuto.”
“He premiered his Rhapsody that evening. I might have to agree with you,” Malone said, and Dani could not contain herself.
“I heard him first on the Victrola when I was a girl,” she breathed, remembering. “It must not have been long before . . . before I came here. It was a new recording. Mother played it for us. Daddy was there too. The music was so wonderful, that when it was done we all clapped, and Daddy lifted Mother up, right off the bench, and kissed her.”
Malone was watching her, his droopy eyes kind.
“You know how I feel about that man being mentioned in this house,” Zuzana said, popping the happy memory like a pin to a balloon, and Dani was instantly bereft, the joyful spot of color destroyed.
Malone put down his fork, his gaze narrowing on Zuzana.
“George Flanagan did not kill himself or his wife. I am certain of that,” Malone said evenly. “Whatever else he was, whatever else he did, he did not do that.”
“This is a private, family concern, Mr. Malone. Please do not interfere,” Zuzana clipped.
“Mr. Malone worked on the case, and he thinks it was a mob hit,” Dani said, doing her best to keep her voice even.
“That is not what we were told,” Zuzana said, her jowls quivering.
Malone held Zuzana’s gaze with calm candor. “I know.”
“They were madly in love,” Lenka said, caving first. If Vera had been present, she would have been as outraged as Zuzana. Vera had sworn never to let George Flanagan’s name cross her lips.
“I don’t believe it,” Zuzana snapped.
“Your belief is not required for something to be true,” Malone said. His eyes returned to his plate, and he resumed eating.
“I am weary of your company. So I’ll bid you all good night.” Zuzana stood from the table and stomped out, her cane rapping the wood floor much harder than necessary.
“I suppose we’ll be doing the dishes without Madame Zuzana this evening.” Lenka smiled, unconcerned. “Tell us more, Mr. Malone. Surely you have many things you enjoy. Things that make you feel crazed. Blissful.”
Malone looked at Lenka like he had inadvertently walked into the ladies’ powder room.
“I felt blissful today,” Dani said, compelled to rescue him from Lenka.
“You must tell us,” Lenka insisted.
“I ate a perfect apple,” Dani said. “It wasn’t too hard and it wasn’t too soft. It had a lovely crunch and the juice was both sweet and tart.”