“The what, now?” Aycock slid his look from Alex to me, and I knew that look, that is-he-for-real aside that people did when they caught on that Alex wasn’t just quiet but neuro-divergent. Different, they might say.
Different from what,Dragnet? I willfightyou.
I folded my arms across my chest and dared Aycock to say a word wrong or insinuate anything.
“The, um, what, Mr. McPhee?” he said.
“The treasure,” Alex said. “The lost treasure of Al Capone.”
“Was there lost… treasure? In regards to Capone?” Aycock said.
“People seem to think so,” I said.
“And they think it’s in your pub,” Aycock said.
“They also think a ghost keeps watch over it,” I said. “She’s been awful noisy lately, so maybe someone’s getting close to finding it.”
Alex laughed.
I leaned back to let the sound wash over me, already smiling. Alex didn’t laugh that often, even though he could be really funny. When he found something to laugh about, when he smiled, it lifted his wholeface and warmed the room. As good as the spring sun after a long winter.
“What’s funny, Alex?” I said, before Aycock said it more rudely.
“Someone getting close to finding the treasure,” Alex said. “That’s funny.”
Aycock arched an eyebrow at me, but I wouldn’t play along. And I wouldn’t ruin Alex’s good time by telling him about the damage to the floor next door or point out that he might be making himself the prime suspect in a murder and a disappearance.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s funny.” But I wasn’t laughing.
ALEX AND I WAITED FORthe bus back to the pub in the open-sided shelter across the street. We’d taken a rideshare service over to the apartment, but frugality—Alex’s—and empty pockets—mine—prevailed on the trip back.
We hadn’t been able to search the apartment for the ring, not with the crime scene techs called back in, but Aycock had allowed me to take a scarf and mittens I’d found in a bin by the door. They were Joey’s. The scarf was long, blue, handmade. By his sister? A former girlfriend? If only he had stuck it out with her, he might still be alive.
The mittens were the color of heartbreak, gray. I made my hands into fists inside of them and stood with my back to the wind.
Missing rent money, missing ring. It all might as well be the lost treasure of Al Capone. They were myth, too, at this point. I would never see that money again, and I only hoped Heather would have her mother’s ring returned, somehow. I didn’t want to be a swear upon Joey’s family’s lips.
Well, maybe that was unavoidable. They’d definitely be talking about my nonsense for a long time. Joey was asong?
I held my head in my hands, warming my ears with his mittens. But Sachin had said—
“Take my hat,” Alex said.
“What? No, it’s okay,” I said. “Then you won’t have one.”
He pulled the beanie off his head. His hair whipped forward in the wind, and I saw a few strands of silver I’d never noticed before. He came over and pulled the hat down over my ears. “That’s how it works,” he said. “What song was that?”
Was I singing? I tugged the hat all the way down. “Something I’m working on?”
“Writing a song of your own,” he said. “Like Dolly Parton.”
“Just like,” I said, but then was reminded of saying the same thing to Sicily’s other mom. How had they really not located Marisa yet? If she would only reappear, that would be one less thing to accuse Alex of. One less thing for Sicily to worry about.
I looked over at Alex. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if he simply didn’t come home one day. But if Joey’s death went unsolved, if Marisa was never found… It might all come back to the pub. To Alex.
Even in mittens, scarf, hat, I shivered.
Alex edged closer to me, facing me so that his lumberjack shoulders blocked the wind. My breath was visible against his coat. I thought of the night I discovered Joey’s body, the animal scent coming off Alex. But we weren’t hugging people—maybe it was just the human smell of him I’d detected, unexpected because I never got this close to him. To anyone.
