“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she sobbed. “I did not dream it would be like this.”
“Of course not, but you’re doing very well at being a mother, Maria.”
“I want a baby of my own,” she said, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. “I always want one, as long as I live, but it does not come. Then Nainsi marries Antonio. She is a foolish girl, but I am happy for her. I am happy to have a baby in the house. I think I will help her take care of her baby and play with it. He will love his Zia Maria more than anyone.
But I did not want her to die!”
She started sobbing again, and Sarah murmured words of comfort. “Of course you didn’t, but it was very generous of you to take him. Not many women would, under the circumstances.”
“What else can I do?” she asked between sobs. “I cannot let that woman have him, and . . . and he is my only chance to have a baby of my own.”
“Oh, Maria, you shouldn’t give up hope yet,” Sarah said kindly. “You’re still young, and—”
“No, it will not happen for me,” she insisted. When she looked up at Sarah, the tears had stopped and her eyes were dark with anger. “Joe, he . . . he does not come to me anymore. I will never have a child . . . except for this one.”
Sarah’s heart ached for Maria’s humiliating secret pain, and for the circumstances that had caused her to reveal it to a stranger.
“If he’s going to be your son, you should find a name for him,” Sarah said in an effort to distract her from her unpleasant thoughts.
It worked. The anger drained from her face. “A name,”
she echoed in wonder. “I didn’t think of that.”
“You can’t call him ‘baby’ forever,” Sarah said with a smile. “Is there someone you’d like to name him after?”
She considered for a moment. “Maybe,” she said with a touch of irony, “we should name him for his father.”
Gino Donatelli was much too cheerful for Frank’s taste. Frank couldn’t even remember being that young and excited about working on his first big case. Maybe he never had been. Gino, however, was taking great pleasure in having been selected to assist Frank with the mysteries of Little Italy.
They’d met at a coffee shop a safe distance from Little Italy, where they wouldn’t encounter any of Ugo Ruocco’s crew.
“As soon as Commissioner Roosevelt assigned me to this case, I started asking around about the Ruocco boys,” Gino was saying.
“And you found out they’re good Catholic boys who never got into any trouble and who respect their mother,” Frank guessed.
“How did you know?” Gino asked in surprised.
Frank sighed. “Did you find out anything useful?”
“Well, everybody knows that Mrs. Ruocco and her brother-in-law don’t get along too well. They even say . . .”
He glanced around to make sure nobody was listening, then leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “They say he makes her pay protection money just like everybody else.”
Frank swore in surprise. “I guess that would explain why she doesn’t like him.”
“He gets along good with the rest of the family, though,”
Gino added. “Ugo never had any kids of his own, so he dotes on his niece and nephews. He spoils Valentina rotten, and he’s always getting the boys out of trouble, starting with ten years ago when Joe and Lorenzo knocked over a pushcart. A bunch of Jews chased them through the streets until they ran into Ugo’s saloon. So now whenever they have a problem, they go to Zio Ugo, and he takes care of it.”
“And we know Joe and Antonio went straight to Ugo the night Nainsi’s baby was born.” Frank rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d thought he had trouble when it looked like one of the Ruocco family members had killed the girl. If Ugo had sent one of his henchmen, they’d never solve the case.
“We’re going to have to visit the Ruoccos and find out exactly what happened the night the girl was killed.”
“Right now?” Donatelli asked hopefully.
“No. We’ll wait until they’re too busy to object.”
7
Maria had washed her face and regained her com-posure. She’d seemed a bit embarrassed about her earlier outburst, but she quickly recovered and began to ply Sarah with questions about caring for the baby. While they talked, Maria picked up a half-finished baby shirt and absently started stitching on it.
Sarah was beginning to think she ought to at least mention that she should be going home when they heard someone running up the stairs. The light footsteps clattered down the hall as Maria jumped up to caution whoever was coming to be quiet.
“You will wake the baby,” she warned Valentina, who stopped dead at the sight of Maria and Sarah in the parlor doorway.
“I don’t care if I do wake him,” Valentina informed them.
“I hate that baby. I wish it had never been born!”
“You are a wicked girl,” Maria replied in a tone that told Sarah she’d said those words many times before. “Why are you running in the house? You are too old to act like a child.”
“I’m trying to get away from all the yelling downstairs,”
she said petulantly. “Everybody’s screaming at everybody else, and it’s making my head hurt.”
“Who is screaming?” Maria asked with a frown.
“Zio Ugo and Mama and Joe and Lorenzo. Zio was so mad at them that he forgot to bring me a present. He always brings me a present!” she added in outrage.
“Why are they arguing?”
Valentina’s young face twisted into an ugly smile. “About you. And that baby. Zio wants to throw it in the river!”
Maria made a strangled sound in her throat and grabbed Valentina by the shoulders. “Liar!” she cried, forgetting her own admonition about waking the baby. “You should burn in hell!”
“That’s what he said!” Valentina insisted, and Maria gave her a violent shake.
Valentina tried to twist free, but Maria shook her again, making her teeth snap together.
“Lorenzo won’t let him, though,” the girl quickly admitted, frightened now. “That’s why they’re fighting. Lorenzo and Joe, they said you were keeping it.”
Maria thrust the girl aside and fairly ran down the hallway to the stairs. Sarah stared after her helplessly. This was none of her business, and she certainly couldn’t do anything to help. She turned back to Valentina, who was rubbing her arms where Maria had grabbed her.
“Would your uncle really kill the baby?” she asked.
“How should I know? It’s just a little bastard. It doesn’t belong to anybody here.”
“He belongs to Maria now,” Sarah said.
“I don’t care if he does or not. He’s a lot of trouble, and he makes too much noise, and Zio Ugo never forgot to bring me a present before he came along.”
She really was a wicked girl, Sarah decided.
They both heard a tiny mewling sound coming from Maria’s bedroom.
Valentina made a disgusted sound and stalked off to her own bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Sarah went to see about the baby.
He lay in his cradle, staring intently at the flowers on the wallpaper, and Sarah watched him for a few long moments. Few newborns were even attractive. The birth process usually left them with temporarily misshapen heads, and immaturity made their features indistinct. This baby was among the fortunate ones, however. Perhaps because he was so chubby and had such thick curly hair, he looked like a tiny cherub.
As she watched him lying contentedly, an idea formed in her mind. She went to the pile of baby clothes that Nainsi and Maria had prepared and found a bright yellow gown with satin ribbon ties. Then she picked the baby up and started to change him. A few minutes later, she donned her cloak, picked up her medical bag with one hand while holding the baby tucked in her other arm and started down the stairs.
She could hear the raised voices and knew the argument was still going on. The words were in Italian, but she could tell from th
e tone of them that Ugo was trying to prevail.
When she reached the bottom of the steps, she drew a forti-fying breath and pushed the door open.
Her sudden appearance had the happy effect of silencing everyone in the dining room. The unhappy consequence was that everyone’s attention immediately turned to her. They weren’t pleased about being interrupted, and when they saw who the intruder was, they were even less pleased. Sarah had a fleeting memory of Malloy’s warning that Ugo Ruocco would kill his own mother. Then she forced her face into an apologetic smile.
“Excuse me for intruding, but I really need to be going,” she said. Then she looked at Maria. “The baby woke up, and I didn’t want to leave him alone upstairs so I brought him down.”
She lifted her arm slightly, displaying him to his best advantage. She’d fluffed his curls with her fingers and the yellow gown was darling. He was still gazing around in wide-eyed wonder at this new and fascinating world. Then, as if he were aware of her plan and had waited until everyone was staring at him, he smiled with all the sweet innocence of a newborn.
Mrs. Ruocco made a small sound, and Maria swooped in to claim him, taking him from Sarah with loving hands and cradling him to her chest protectively.
“I saw that little gown, and I couldn’t resist trying it on him,” Sarah confessed.
“I made it,” Maria said with a touch of pride and more than a touch of possessiveness. She looked up defiantly at Ugo. “For my son.”
One of the boys said something in Italian and walked over to stand with Maria, but to Sarah’s surprise, it was Lorenzo, not Joe. Only after Lorenzo glared at him did Joe join his brother beside Maria, shamefaced but presenting a united front.
Mrs. Ruocco still stood on the far side of the room, her face twisted in anger. She said something to Ugo in challenge, and Sarah didn’t need to speak the language to understand that she was daring Ugo to tear his family apart.
Sarah watched his broad face flood with rage, but he threw up his hands in surrender as a curse exploded from his lips. He pointed a finger at Mrs. Ruocco and gave her some sort of warning, then turned to leave, but he paused for a moment when Sarah came into his line of vision. His eyes narrowed with hatred, and Sarah couldn’t stop the frisson of fear that tingled up her spine before he completed his turn and stalked out of the restaurant. A phalanx of his minions closed around him as he strode down the street.
Only then did Sarah realize she’d been holding her breath, and she let it out in a whoosh.
“Grazie,” Maria said, looking up in gratitude—at Lorenzo.
He didn’t reply. He just gave his brother a look that spoke of how disappointed he was that Joe hadn’t jumped to his wife’s defense. Joe looked down at Maria, but she was fussing with the baby and didn’t spare him a glance.
“I really must be going,” Sarah repeated. “Maria, if you need anything, send for me.”
“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, thank you so much for coming,”
Maria said earnestly. “I will never forget you!”
“Remember to make sure the bottles are clean and boiled each time you use them. I’ll stop in and check on you in a few days, if I don’t hear from you before that.”
“Wait,” Mrs. Ruocco said. “You will take some cannoli with you.”
After a few more minutes spent wrapping the cannoli and thanking Sarah again and again, they finally let her go.
By then customers had started arriving for supper, and Sarah had to work her way through the crowd gathering at the door to get out into the street.
She couldn’t help glancing around to make sure Ugo Ruocco wasn’t waiting for her outside, but she saw no sign of him. She did see a few young men loitering on the corner, smoking cigarettes and eyeing everyone who walked by with suspicion. They would be more of Ugo’s men, set to guard the restaurant from another invasion of Irish hoodlums.
As she walked down Mulberry Street, she gave a moment’s thought to stopping at the mission, but she’d already been away from home all day. She missed Aggie, and the thought of having supper with her tonight was much too inviting. She had just crossed Prince Street, within a block of Police Headquarters, when she saw a familiar face in the crowd approaching her.
“Mrs. Brandt,” Frank Malloy said with just a trace of cen-sure. He glanced up at the direction from which she’d come and frowned. “I don’t suppose you were delivering a baby in Little Italy today.”
Sarah tried to look innocent. “As a matter of fact, Maria Ruocco sent for me. The baby wasn’t doing well. He’d been crying all night.”
People making their way down the sidewalk were jostling the pair and muttering impatiently since they were blocking progress. Malloy took her arm and led her to a doorway where they’d be less of an obstacle.
“Sarah,” he said, the frustration thick in his voice. “I told you not to go down there. You could’ve told them to call a doctor if the baby was sick.”
“He wasn’t sick,” Sarah said, sympathetic to his concern but knowing she was justified. “Besides, if I’d told them to call a doctor, I wouldn’t have found out anything that might help you find Nainsi’s killer.”
“And did you?” he challenged.
“I’m not sure yet. But if I didn’t this time, I can find out next time I visit. You’ll just have to tell me what you need to know.”
Few people were as ungrateful as Frank Malloy, Sarah observed. Instead of thanking her, he looked like he might cheerfully strangle her. Fortunately, he wasn’t likely to do so on a public street. “Where are you going now?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Home to have supper with Aggie.”
“Then you’d better get going before I decide to lock you up for your own safety.”
“I’m fine, Malloy,” she assured him. “No one is interested in me.”
“Unless you start meddling in other people’s business, and then they’ll be very interested in you. Ugo Ruocco doesn’t care who your father is or how many times you’ve dined with the Astors. If he thinks you’re a nuisance, he’ll have you killed.”
“I’m not a nuisance,” she protested. He looked like he was ready to argue the point, so she added, “You should know that he’s got some of his men posted down by the restaurant. If any Irish boys try to start trouble again, they’ll be ready for them this time.”
Malloy sighed. “Go home, Sarah, and stay there.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found out today?”
He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Not right now.
Right now, I want you to go home.”
Sarah took pity on him and went, giving him a cheerful little wave which he ignored. Perhaps it was just as well he didn’t want to meet with her tonight. She needed some time to think about everything she’d seen and heard at the Ruoccos house today. Maybe if she took some time to remember everything, she’d figure out what would be really helpful.
After sending Sarah on her way, Frank met Gino Donatelli on the corner nearest Mama’s Restaurant, as they had previously arranged.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Frank warned him.
He sobered instantly. “I didn’t realize—”
“And stop thinking this is fun. It’s not fun,” Frank added sourly. “I know it’s your first big case, and you’re thinking about finding the killer and being a big man, but nothing good ever comes of murder.”
“But punishing the killer—” he tried.
“Doesn’t bring the victim back to life,” Frank reminded him. “You can’t fix something like that. Punishing the killer might keep him from killing somebody else. It might even make another person think twice about taking somebody else’s life, but the dead person is still dead. There’s no justice for that, and sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes what?” Gino prodded when Frank hesitated.
“Sometimes punishing the killer makes innocent people suffer.”
Gino frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if you put a man in jail o
r execute him, he might have a family that’s left to starve . . . or worse. Half the children living on the streets have a father in jail and a mother who died after selling herself too many times. Now do you still feel like grinning?”
“No, sir,” Gino replied, properly chastened.
“Good. We’re going to visit the Ruoccos. Your job is to translate if they say anything in Italian and to help me make sure they answer all my questions.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Gino followed him respectfully for the short distance to Mama’s Restaurant. Frank noticed the young men loitering on the street corners. Sarah was right, they’d make sure the Irish didn’t get very far if they tried to start another riot.
None of them would meet Frank’s gaze, and he walked into Mama’s unchallenged, with Gino on his heels.
The aroma of garlic and tomatoes washed over them, making Frank’s stomach clench with longing. The dining room was starting to fill up, and Frank saw Joe and Lorenzo moving through the room with trays held aloft, delivering plates heaped with mouth-watering food to the diners.
“Looks like we came at a bad time,” Gino observed.
“They’re all busy.”
“That’s good,” Frank pointed out. “The rest of the family won’t have time to interfere when we question our suspects.”
When Joe’s tray was empty, he looked over to see who had come in. The welcoming smile froze on his handsome face.
He called something to Lorenzo, who frowned when he saw the cops. Lorenzo hurried back into the kitchen as Joe made his way across the room to meet them.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“We’ve got a few questions for some members of your family,” Frank said.
“It’s suppertime. We are very busy. Come back tomorrow.”
“We don’t want to come back tomorrow. We want to ask our questions right now,” Frank informed him with a glare that drained the antagonism right out of him. “Where’s Antonio?”
“In . . . in the kitchen,” Joe admitted reluctantly. “He’s helping Mama.”
“Tell him we need to see him.” Frank glanced around the noisy room. “And we’ll need someplace private to talk to him, unless you want everybody here to know what we’re asking him about.”
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