Part 21 (1/2)

”Tony Lupo,” Josh said. ”Head of some sort of gang from Mulberry Bend.”

”And he shot at Mollie?” Zac looked incredulous.

”So I'm told by Frankie Miller.”

”In G.o.d's name, why?”

Josh paused, choosing his words with some care, ”I suspect he might have been put up to it by Trenton Clifford.”

”Going after you, in other words, to get at me.”

”Possibly. Don't look like that. It's not your fault.”

”It is rather. I shouldn't have given Clifford any reason to think I might go along with-”

Josh dismissed the words with a gesture. ”No point in dwelling on that. Anyway, I know you don't credit my business with much, but I promise you it's going to be worth a fair bit someday soon. I believe Clifford's of the same opinion. He might have been seeking simply more leverage over me.”

”Look, I didn't mean to disparage-”

”I know. That's not why I'm here. I was thinking you might ask around. Perhaps some of your waterfront people might know something.”

Zac nodded. ”They might. And if they do,” he said quietly, ”what will it gain you?”

Josh stood up, pacing the office without the aid of his cane, coming down hard on the peg every other step, so each time he moved off the colorful Turkey rug there was the staccato beat of wood on wood. ”I want to know,” he said. ”I realize it won't change anything as far as Mollie and I . . . our future . . .” He saw Zac's sympathetic nod and knew Simon must have told him that Josh and Mollie would now be forever childless, ”but I want it nonetheless.”

”I'll make some inquiries. Give me a day or two.”

”Excellent. Thank you.” Josh lifted his topper and his cane from his brother's desk and started for the door, pausing just after he opened it. ”One other thing, probably not relevant. A while back a man came to see the flats at the St. Nicholas. Happens he also wore an eyepatch, and he gave his name as Anthony Wolfe. Lupo's Italian for wolf, so I thought maybe-”

”Good G.o.d.” Zac stood up and leaned forward supporting his weight on his knuckles. ”Anthony Wolfe, you say? With an eyepatch?”

Josh closed the door. ”You know him don't you?”

”Not exactly. I saw him. Once. At a meeting Clifford convened to get backers for his scheme.”

”Did you speak with him?”

”No, nothing like that. I didn't want anyone to know I was there. Told Clifford it would start talk about the stability of Devrey s.h.i.+pping. Actually, I didn't want it to look as if I was ready to partic.i.p.ate in his scheme. So . . .” Zac sounded a bit sheepish. ”I hid behind a screen.”

”Pity,” Josh said. ”You might know more if you spoke to him. As it is . . . Well, what did you think of him? Could it be the same man as came to look at the flats in the St. Nicholas?”

Zac shook his head. ”It's hard to credit it. He was slick, very well dressed. Well spoken. Not the sort to live in a place like your-Sorry, but you know what I mean.”

”I do.”

”And he certainly didn't strike me as an immigrant criminal.”

”I don't think,” Josh said, ”the two words necessarily go together.”

”No, of course not. But . . . The fellow at the meeting, I presumed he had money. Everyone appeared to have been invited for the purpose of forming a consortium. But thinking about it now, whenever Wolfe opened his mouth it turned out to help Clifford make one or another point.”

”So acting for Clifford somehow,” Josh said, his face darkening with anger. ”On both occasions.”

The next day the brothers went back to Fourteenth Street near Seventh Avenue, but though they prowled around for half an hour, there was no sign of Anthony Wolfe. Dead end. At least for the moment.

Josh might have spent longer on the problem had Eileen Brannigan not changed her advice and s.h.i.+fted his focus.

Eileen gave him lunch on University Place. It was, Josh noted, four weeks to the day since Mollie had lost the child. ”I take it,” she said, ”your wife remains unwell.”

She visited her niece three or four times a week; she was fully aware of the state of Mollie's health. Nonetheless, Josh decided to allow her to guide the conversation. ”Dr. Thomas says she is healing well, but that her spirits remain low.”

”And she still refuses to see you?”

Another thing he was sure she knew. ”She does not wish me to visit her sickroom, no.”

”That must be difficult for you.”

”It is.” He was about to say something about his affection for Mollie when Francie Wildwood popped into his head. He shook off the vision and blamed it on some vestigial aura emanating from the walls of this onetime brothel. He'd been married for less than a year and been entirely faithful. He fully intended to remain so. Besides, that's not what he'd meant. ”I would like to share her sorrow,” he said. ”It's mine as well, Aunt Eileen.”

She said nothing, only lay her hand over his. Joshua had the extraordinary feeling he might weep. He couldn't remember doing so since he was perhaps six. Not even when the farmer's wife was hacking at his leg with the cleaver she used on the carca.s.ses of her stuck pigs.

”More rhubarb pie, Joshua?”

”No, thank you, Aunt Eileen.”

She got up and carried the pie dish and the silver server to another table. By the time she returned to sit across from him, Joshua was composed. ”It's time,” Eileen said, ”you did something to bring Mollie out of herself.”

”You're the one who told me not to force the issue.”

”I did, Josh. Now I'm suggesting an alternative approach. She must do something other than sit in a chair in her room and brood. I was hoping you might think of some activity that requires her involvement.”

He would not demand her bed, but it struck Josh with sudden and remarkable force that he had not actually seen his wife, physically looked at her, since they came out of Mama Jack's in those tense and hurried moments after Miller came to get him. Nearly a month. That, coupled with Eileen's advice, brought him to the door of the bedroom they had once shared.

He knocked once, then went in. And knew at once that this was a new and somehow lesser Mollie. She had become someone different from the woman who got herself up in a remarkably revealing gown and flaunted her blooming figure before a crowd of people she'd never met. Only one leg, but he can get it over.

Mollie sat beside the window of her bedroom, hands folded in her lap, gazing out into Grand Street and, he'd warrant, seeing nothing of it.

”Leave us please, Tess. I'd like to speak with my wife.”

Tess gathered up her darning and disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind her. Mollie did not turn her head.

”It's a fine spring day,” Josh said. ”Would you perhaps like to go for a walk? Or a drive?”

”No, thank you.” Still not facing him. ”I prefer to stay where I am.”

He took the seat Tess had vacated. Mollie's profile had sharpened, a factor of how drawn she was. ”Dr. Thomas says you should be eating a bit more. And getting some fresh air.”