Chapter 4 - THE ADDRESS
The photograph felt heavy in Tom’s hand. I traced the edge of the paper, my mind racing. My mother had made that quilt for me when I was born. She kept it folded at the bottom of her cedar chest.
“Amelia, are you sure?” Tom asked, his eyes searching my face.
“I’m positive,” I said. “But I was born thirty years ago. This photo is printed on new photo paper. It’s recent. And Leo took it?”
“Leo had a daughter?” Nico asked, looking at Tom.
“No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Leo wasn’t married. He didn’t have any kids.”
Celeste took advantage of our confusion. While we were staring at the photograph, she bolted. She pushed through the swinging kitchen doors, her heels clicking frantically against the tile.
“Stop her!” Nico barked at his security men.
They rushed into the kitchen, but seconds later, we heard the heavy metal slam of the alley door. She was gone.
Nico turned to Tom. “What is the address on the back of that photo?”
Tom flipped it over. “442 Elm Street. Apartment 3B.”
“That’s on the Southside,” Nico said. “Near the old development site.”
I untied my server’s apron and let it fall to the floor. I didn’t care about my job anymore. I didn’t care about the unfinished dessert. All I cared about was why my fiancé’s dead brother had a picture of a baby wrapped in my family’s quilt.
“We have to go,” I told Tom.
“I’ll drive you,” Nico offered, pulling his keys from his pocket.
“Mr. Caruso, with all due respect, this is family business,” Tom said cautiously.
“Your brother died on my property, Tom,” Nico replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Richard Harrington lied to me. Celeste is running. This is my business now, too.”
We piled into the back of Nico’s black SUV. The city blurred past the windows as the rain started to fall, slicking the streets in a dangerous sheen. Tom held my hand tightly.
When we reached 442 Elm Street, it was a rundown brick building with a flickering streetlight out front.
We climbed the narrow, creaking stairs to the third floor. The hallway smelled of old cabbage and damp carpet. We stopped in front of 3B.
Tom knocked. No answer.
He knocked harder. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
The door across the hall cracked open. An elderly woman peeked out, a chain lock keeping the door secure.
“You looking for the girl?” she croaked.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Is she here?”
“She left in a hurry about twenty minutes ago,” the old woman said. “Right after she got off the phone with that fancy lady who pays her rent. Said she had to catch a train.”
“What fancy lady?” Tom asked.
“The one with the blonde hair and the expensive coats,” the woman said. “Celeste.”
My stomach dropped. Celeste had called her right after she fled the restaurant.
“Did you see the baby?” I asked, holding up the photograph.
May you like
The old woman squinted at the picture, then shook her head slowly.
“Honey, there ain't no baby in that apartment. That girl who lives there is nineteen years old. And she looks exactly like you.”
