In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (4 page)

He settled back in his chair. “I’ve been remiss. We were never introduced, and I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, really?” She thought she’d read him well. Even now he studied her features from face to form, as far as the table edge allowed, as if he liked what he saw. She squirmed, her aunt’s chilling words weighing on her mind. “When you said you wanted to get to know me better…”

“I meant just that. Getting to know you in what I hoped would be friendlier conversation than we’ve had so far. Nothing more. You might find this difficult to believe, but I’m not the sort to take advantage of casual acquaintances either.”

He looked and sounded sincere, his dark eyes undemanding, his deep voice gentle. She relaxed a fraction, allowing him a small smile. Maybe she was overreacting; this evening had been traumatic. “I’ll admit, my first impression of you was of a wealthy playboy or gigolo who makes the round of New York’s finest speakeasies twice a weekend and lives on a diet of dry martinis and gin.”

He fidgeted, glancing away. She guessed she’d hit the mark on one item, perhaps all of them.

“I take it dry martinis are your poison of preference?” he asked in a sociable manner.

“I don’t drink. My aunt’s a teetotaler—there’s never been a drop of liquor in the cabinets. Even cooking sherry. And except for sipping a glass of white wine and finding it awfully bitter, I’ve never tasted alcohol. I mentioned gin and dry martinis because that seems to be what all the wealthy, disreputable playboys drink. Like Nick Charles.”

“Ah.” He smiled. “Good ole Nick. So, you’re a gumshoe buff. I take it you’ve seen
The Thin Man
?”

“Since I lost my job, thanks to the economy, I don’t go to the theater anymore. I like to read, and Dashiell Hammett wrote the mystery as a book before it became a motion picture, you know,” she teased.

She couldn’t believe how easily they were conversing, when minutes ago she’d done all she could to dodge his questions, to dodge him. He had a way about him, a strange charisma that made her relax while at the same time her pulse raced. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel both calm and breathless at once.

“Is that what led you to travel?” he asked with that same quiet that invited a confidence. “Are you hoping to find work in another city?”

Angel blinked, surprised he so aptly read her dilemma. “Something like that.”

“What I don’t understand is why you would leave your family to look for work in another state. Are things that bad at home?”

Seeing the kindness in his eyes, she didn’t take offense at his question.

“Let’s just say I realized it was time I left my aunt’s charity and found a way to make a living.”

“So you took off in the night and stowed aboard a train. Don’t worry,” he quietly assured. “I won’t tell a soul. Why do you think I spoke up for you?”

She glanced around nervously. “Why did you? I wasn’t exactly nice.” She drew her brows together in concern. “Is it so obvious? I mean—
what I did
?” She mouthed the last three words.

He studied her until a flush warmed her face. “The porter isn’t going to care one way or the other as long as the fare is covered. Don’t worry about that. As to why, let’s just say I felt the urge to… help a damsel in distress.” He grinned.

At the memory of her parting shot, she lowered her eyes and shook her head in embarrassment.

“Though I’m not sure anyone who knows me would call me a knight. Maybe a black knight…”

At his wry, amused response, she swiftly raised her head.

“No, don’t look at me like that. Your virtue is safe. I have no intention of ‘luring you to become my floozy,’ I believe is how you put it?”

Rather than be insulted or injured by his light tone that gently teased, she found herself nervously laughing.

“I was a bit high-strung, but can you blame me? You pulled me into the car, one that had no other passengers, asked a lot of personal questions, told the steward to knock first, then told me you wanted to get to know me better. What’s a girl supposed to think?”

He chuckled, a dimple she’d never noticed flashing in his cheek. “Okay, maybe I was overfriendly. But I couldn’t get over the shock of running into you again in another strange twist of fate. It seemed… uncanny.”

She nodded, deciding to trust him with part of her dilemma since he’d guessed the truth about the rest and hadn’t turned her over to the authorities. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Sneaking aboard, I mean. I’ve never taken one red cent or even a stick of candy as a child. But tonight I acted before I thought.”

“I believe you.”

She studied him in confusion, having been sure she would need to persuade him. “Why? You don’t know me.”

“Let’s just say I have a hunch you’re the type of dame who’d never resort to such measures unless you were desperate. Again, don’t worry about them finding out.” He casually directed a thumb over his shoulder as he spoke. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I’ll pay you back, of course.” She didn’t like being indebted to anyone, especially not this man whose name she still didn’t know. “Give me an address where I should send the money, and I’ll reimburse you as soon as I find work.”

“There’s no need. It was nothing. I have plenty.” He grimaced, as if being wealthy actually displeased him.

“I insist.” She vainly searched through her purse. Feeling silly, she looked up. “It seems I’ll need to borrow a pen and something to write on, too.”

He eyed her a long moment. She wished she knew what was running through his mind.

“Tell you what. Let’s forget all about that, and let me try introducing myself again. We got off track the first time. Hopefully the conductor isn’t as lousy at steering this train as I am at managing a conversation.”

She smiled at his little joke.

“I’m Roland.”

“Angel.” He lifted his brows at her reply, and she added, “My name. A nickname I’ve grown used to. My full name is Angelica Mornay.”

“It suits you. Pretty name for a pretty dame.”

His casual compliment left her ill at ease, and she looked down, snapping her purse shut.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Before she could respond, the waiter returned to the table with their orders. “If there will be anything else, Mr. Piccoli, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Bring the lady a sandwich as well. I’m sure she must be hungry.”

The shock of hearing his name struck Angel like an unexpected dousing of icy water; she couldn’t think to respond or refuse. A kaleidoscope of startling facts twisted inside her mind, making her dizzy.

Roland Piccoli! Grandson of the notorious gangster Vittorio Piccoli… who dispensed with his enemies as casually as she dispensed with a pair of damaged stockings. No wonder he seemed familiar when she saw him at her aunt’s! His face had been plastered in the society pages a month ago, a blushing debutante on his arm, who the article had said was his fiancée. And Angel had run across his path, not once but twice….

Walking twice into the path of a killer.

He seemed not to notice her horror as he spoke with the waiter.

The curiosity she had shoved aside earlier raced to the forefront of her memory in a blaze of enlightenment: the cars, all of them crowded, full of smoke. The car she shared with him, empty of passengers, no smoke. Even decorated, she realized now, and differently than the others! She didn’t know much about trains or fares or the cars in which passengers rode, but with sudden and certain knowledge, she knew she’d found her way into his private car.

Of all the foolish, dangerous moves she could make, this was the worst!

The Piccoli family owned gambling houses and nightclubs in all of New York City. At the soda fountain, she occasionally overheard the men she served talk with each other in awed, fear-filled conversation about the Piccolis’ latest manner of doing “business” or “collecting” a debt. Those owing money suddenly disappeared or were found washed up by the river.

She couldn’t imagine that this grandson of one of the worst crime bosses in the Big Apple, seated across from her and now staring at her with narrowed eyes, would lower himself to sit in a crowded, public dining car. The steward and all his entourage would probably fall over themselves in their readiness to please him by serving him dinner in his private car.

So why was he here?

The answer was obvious.

And now she, too, owed him a debt.

The car felt suddenly close, smothering her, and she desperately sucked in air. Hurriedly she stood, knocking into the table and spilling her coffee on the pristine cloth. Her chair almost flew backward, hitting the wall. The thought of the lifeblood his family just as easily spilled with horrifying regularity and without remorse made her scramble a step backward in retreat. Perhaps it wasn’t her blood he would seek in payment for the favor of his silence, if she should refuse his wishes, or even her money as the reimbursement. But it didn’t take her two guesses to figure out what he did want, despite his claim to the contrary. His gentle, sympathetic manner was all a seduction; once again in her life she’d been easy to deceive.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Except that her voice sounded too high-pitched to convince him of that. “I… need to find the lavatory.”

“I can’t help you. I don’t leave my family’s private car often.”

Of course he didn’t.

“But I felt like company tonight and decided to eat at my table. Little did I know I’d entertain such charming company.”

His table. Of course! Now she understood his earlier words.

Managing a flip response, though she had no idea what she said, she pretended nonchalance and walked away from his table, toward her luggage, toward the exit, toward freedom….

She wanted to scream bloody murder and run.

Angel darted a look over her shoulder. The immediate threat to her life still sat with his back to her. She grabbed her luggage and hurried out. At last, finding the lavatory, she managed to get both herself and the luggage inside the cramped area. She doused her face with water, trying to steady her nerves. Her fingers trembled as she let the cold liquid run through them, then patted her cheeks and turned off the faucet.

Of all the dumb luck. To find herself sharing a car and a table opposite a man with a family as dangerous as Al Capone. Not sharing a car. Sharing his car. His private car. And his table!

But what else could she expect? She had broken the law in stowing aboard, and Nettie’s warning words of “
those who do evil, reap evil
“ reverberated in her mind. She had entered the world of crime tonight; was it any wonder the first man to greet her would be a criminal?

If she believed in a God who cared, she would go to Him and plead for help out of this mess. Too long Angel had walked alone, learning from childhood that no one cared, except maybe one. “Nettie,” she whispered, looking into the mirror, “I wish you were here with your wise advice.” Her friend would probably quote scripture, but that usually comforted Angel rather than made her angry.

Once again the solution was up to her. And she had to think of something fast. She couldn’t hole herself away forever.

Shutting her eyes to her pale image, she groaned. She must keep her distance, allow no more unforeseen meetings. But how? With little room to hide, if he pursued her, he would find her. He had the entire staff at his beck and call, whereas she had no one to give her aid.

A swift knock made her heart give a painful jump.
Relax, Angel, it’s a public room after all.

Breathing in deeply, she exited. The mother and child she’d seen on the platform stood in the corridor. The woman eyed Angel toting her luggage with a curious nod. The boy tugged on his mother’s coat.

“Please, Mama. I wanna go to the cawnival. Can’t we go to Grampa’s later?”

“We can go to your grandfather’s now, and if you’re very good, perhaps I’ll take you to the carnival when we return,” the obviously harried mother replied.

“But what if it’s not there anymore?”

“Hush, Timmy, and be a good boy. If we don’t visit your grandfather first, we’ll not have one thin dime to do anything.”

“Will Grampa give us a dime?”

His mother smiled sadly. “I hope he’ll give us more than that.” She smiled at Angel, almost apologetically. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”

“I…” Angel swallowed, glancing at the boy and then in the direction of the dining car, several cars away.

“I won’t be but a moment,” the woman assured.

Angel nodded.

Once the woman closed the door behind her, Angel offered the child an uncertain smile. “Your name is Timmy?” He looked about four.

He nodded in an exaggerated motion, his big brown eyes wide under his tweed cap.

“Did you say something about a carnival, Timmy?”