“I’m Joe Caravello. Like Joe Petrosino, you know?”He’d puffed out his chest, squaring his shoulders. When she hadn’t responded to his posturing, he added,“Don’t tell me you don’t know Joe. Best cop in the city. First Italian detective on the force.”
Lauren had smiled and shook his hand.“And I’m Lauren Westlake. Like Lawrence Westlake. Only I’m smaller than him and a girl.”She hadn’t expected the skinny boy with black hair and green eyes to recognize her father’s name, but she had enjoyed saying it together with hers like that. Lauren and Lawrence. Anyone could tell she’d been named for him. She’d been proud of that, and she’d hoped he’d been proud of her, too.
“Obviously, they didn’t stay strangers for long.” Elsa speared another perfectly cubed piece of her waffle, somehow managing to grin and chew at the same time.
“We saw each other at the Met quite a bit after that. He always knew where to find me—the Egyptian rooms.”
“And so, I ask again why you’re not seeing him today,” Ivy pressed.
“Because unlike my father, I have no plans to work on Thanksgiving.”
“Good for you,” Elsa said. “Speaking of work, are you considering Uncle Lawrence’s offer to go on that expedition with him?”
Digging her spoon into a section of grapefruit, Lauren excavated a chunk and let its citrus flavor burst upon her tongue. “I already told him I wouldn’t go. At first, I doubted there was any such expedition scheduled. But if he was lying to me about that, he lied to the richest people in Manhattan, too. He and another board member gave a presentation about the upcoming dig during the gala.”
“You don’t think he’s really lying about that, do you?” Elsa asked.
Lauren folded the napkin in her lap. “Not anymore.” She’d read the pamphlets about the trip and even pulled two board members aside to question them. Their answers satisfied. “But that doesn’t mean I’m signing up.”
“It does sound like a wonderful opportunity,” Ivy said. “There’s time to change your mind if you want to.”
In some ways, Ivy and Elsa were two peas in a pod. They worked in adjacent institutions on Central Park West, with only 77th Street between them, and walked to work together every day. They’d met, in fact, when taking their lunch breaks in the same spot in Central Park. Both being extroverts, it had been easy for them to strike up a conversation that led to Ivy’s moving in.
But on the subject of Lawrence Westlake, they differed. Where Ivy maintained a determined optimism, Elsa wouldn’t push. She knew too well how he’d hurt Lauren.
Elsa checked her watch. “Speaking of time, we better shake a leg.”
A few minutes later, Lauren, Elsa, and Ivy exited the elevator on the main floor and crossed the lobby. A whoosh of cold air splashed Lauren’s face as the Beresford doorman held open the door, ushering them onto the sidewalk.
“Lauren.”
She turned at the sound of her name. “Joe!”
He wasn’t in uniform today. A herringbone newsboy cap matched his brown leather coat, and the green in his plaid scarf, his eyes. His subtle smile swept through her.
———
It took Joe a moment to realize Lauren wasn’t alone. He nodded to the two ladies flanking her. The blonde with glasses he recognized as her cousin when he noticed the limp. The other young woman wore a fuzzy grey hat over a sleek black bob. They gaped at him. “Your roommates?” He’d left Lauren’s apartment before they’d come home Monday night.
“And dear friends. Ivy Malone and, you may remember, Elsa Reisner. This is Joe.”
“Pleasure.” He shook their mittened hands, adding, “Nice to see you again, Elsa.”
“Mutual, I’m sure.” She gave him a cheeky grin.
A breeze ruffled the fur on Lauren’s collar. She wound a scarf around her neck and tied it below her chin. “We were about to get spots for the parade.”
“Coincidentally, so was I. You happen to live along the route.”
“Berries. Let’s go.” Elsa looped her arm firmly through Ivy’s and took off marching down the sidewalk. “Try and keep up,” she tossed over one shoulder with a smile.
Lauren chuckled, then looked up at Joe while adjusting her cloche. “Aren’t you taking the day off?”
“Does it look like I’m working?”
“Every time I see you it’s because you are.”
It had taken a while on Monday night to finally get around to why he’d come to her apartment in the first place. He’d wanted to update her on his progress—or rather, lack of it—connecting with the leads he’d gained at the gala. He needed her help. Which she’d promised to provide as soon as Thanksgiving week was behind them.
