“Nobody.” His answer to her question had told her enough. To salvage the conversation, she added, “His wife wrote a cookery book.”

“Ah, I see.” Her father relaxed, comfortable with this line of inquiry. “I’m sure he’s a fine fellow. Now, where on earth is the brandy?”

***

Mr. Ellerbee scanned the page of copy Cassie had written about Mrs. Walker’s success. When he finished, he looked up at Cassie. “Well done, Miss Woods. Right at the desired length, as usual. I’ll get it over to the copyeditors right away.”

“And it will run in tomorrow’s edition?”

“I believe so. Unless we need to cut for space. But it’s been a rather slow news week.”

“Wonderful. About the article, I mean, not the news.”

“Right.”

Cassie stood awkwardly and hurried out. Mr. Ellerbee hadn’t caught the clue she had slipped into the book review to aid her investigation. A phrase casually inserted at the beginning: “Mrs. Walker, née Tiatelli.” A phrase designed to put whoever was paying attention on notice that Cassie Woods was on the case.

She smiled to herself as she settled back at her desk.

***

The first result came the next morning, when she received an urgent note from Mr. Greene after he had read the morning’s paper.

Miss Woods—

I read your article this morning and see you failed to mention Mrs. Walker’s disappearance. I did, however, note your inclusion of Mrs. Walker’s maiden name. I don’t know who told you about that, but I assure you it has nothing to do with the current situation. I demand you cease and desist and stay away from my client in the future.

Mr. Greene, Esq.

A hand rapped on Cassie’s desk. Startled, she looked up from contemplating the letter. Mr. Powolski, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, stood over her.

“Sorry to interrupt your daydreams, little darling,” he sneered. “Boss wants you to write a piece up about the latest trends from Paris to fill space for tomorrow’s paper.” He dropped an illustrated French magazine on her desk.

“Thank you,” she said dryly as she dragged the magazine toward her.

Powolski walked away without another word.

Cassie flipped through the pages, trying to concentrate on coming up with three hundred words on necklines and puffed sleeves, but her mind couldn’t focus for long before returning to Mrs. Walker’s case. She didn’t need Mr. Greene’s permission to investigate. The very fact that he had warned her off further inquiries must mean there was something to discover. There must be other people to interview and find out what was going on. Except, how did one make contact with a secretive crime family? She couldn’t exactly look them up in the society pages…But perhaps the city directory would have something.

She got up and purposefully strode to the copy kept for the reporters. She slid her finger down the Ts until she found a garment factory called Tiatelli’s. A front, possibly. Unrelated, perhaps.

But it was worth a shot. She gazed at her desk on the other side of the bustling room. Since Ellerbee needed the fashion article for the morning edition, she had to finish it in the next few hours. She sighed. The Tiatellis would have to wait just a little bit longer.

***

When Cassie arrived at the factory’s address late that afternoon, the quiet surprised her. At this time of day, a garment factory should be noisy, machines running and girls tending to their work. The factory was a small building on a side street, but still. Something was off.

A man walked out and leaned against the doorjamb. He slowly lit a cigarette, watching her the whole time. It looked suspicious to stand in the street staring back, so Cassie forced her feet into motion. As she neared him, she saw the man had a long, jagged scar crossing one cheek.

Before she reached him, a group of men walking casually down the street surrounded her, dragging her along with them. When they reached an alley, one of the men grabbed her elbow and shoved her down the narrow passage. The rest stood behind her, blocking the exit.

“What are you—” She halted as a man emerged from the shadows. He strode toward her, hands in his pockets. A slice of light fell across his eyes.

She relaxed.

“Detective O’Neill. What on earth is going on? Your men—”

“My men just saved you, Miss Woods. You don’t want to draw the attention of one of the Tiatelli henchmen.” He took another step closer. She smelled a faint waft of cologne. “I thought I told you not to interfere in my investigation.”

“I’m not interfering—”

“What do you call waltzing into the middle of my stakeout, then?”

She gulped and looked at the men, five of them besides O’Neill, all plainclothes, all glowering at her. She straightened to her full height, so she was taller than two or three of them.

“I thought you weren’t concerned with the disappearance of Mrs. Walker.”

“I don’t want you to be concerned with the disappearance of Mrs. Walker. We’ve been tracking the Tiatellis for two years now, and we’re so close to catching the head honcho in the act, I can’t have some woman messing it up.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“Miss Woods. I will gladly have one these men escort you home. Now should it be Mr. Ruiz—” he pointed to a pleasant-looking man who tipped his hat to her—“or Mr. Keller?” He indicated a rough, muscled man who grunted at her. “Your choice. As long as you make a decision now.”

“I can find my own way home, thank you very much.” She pushed through the men and hurried down the alley the opposite way they had come.

As she turned onto the next street, footsteps hurried to catch up to her. She sped up, not wanting either of those dreadful men to be seen walking her home. A moment later, she stopped short as a man darted in front of her and stopped, causing her to nearly run into his chest.

She looked up—not something she often did with men—to see Mr. O’Neill’s green eyes peering down at her.

“Allow me to accompany you home, then. We can’t do any more work today any way, thanks to your performance.”

“Mr. O’Neill, I’m quite capable—”

“I’m not a brute, Miss Woods. Just a man trying to do his job.”

“That’s all I’m trying to do as well.”

“Is it? I saw your article this morning. Recipes, was it? Not exactly hard-hitting stuff.”

Cassie frowned. “That was a filler piece.”

“Of course it was.” He turned, and they started walking sedately side-by-side down the sidewalk.

She glanced at his profile but looked away quickly when he returned her gaze. Instead, she focused on navigating through the crowd. She kept her elbows tight to her sides, an unnecessary precaution since O’Neill made no attempt to take her arm.

After a long silence, she asked, “Where are you from, Mr. O’Neill?”

“Dublin. Why?”