“But you don’t know what the letter said?”
“Anna Rosenthal does not snoop in private papers. But there is something. Miriam asked me to keep it. Come.”
From a corner closet, Mrs. Rosenthal took a box down from the shelf. “Just after the men visited, your mother gives something to me. ‘Anna,’ she tells me, ‘hide this in your house. I will come later for it.’ But she never did.”
Mrs. Rosenthal opened the box and retrieved a cookie tin. “It’s right that you should have this now.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Rosenthal,” Sam said, taking the tin. It was all he could do not to rip off the lid right there. “Gosh, would ya look at the time? Golly, I wish we could stay longer, Mrs. Rosenthal, but we’ve got to get Lamb Chop here back to the radio station for her show.”
“But we’ll send you an invitation to the wedding,” Evie said cheerily as Sam edged her toward the door.
“You’ll come for Shabbos,” Mrs. Rosenthal called after them.
“We’ll Shabbos as much as possible,” Evie said as Sam practically dragged her from the apartment.
“How was I supposed to know Shabbos is the Jewish Sabbath?” Evie said as she and Sam boarded the nearly empty El back to Manhattan. “And it couldn’t hurt to invite her to a wedding that’ll never happen. Sam, is everything jake? You look like you just got off a roller coaster.”
“Evie, I didn’t know any of that about my mother,” Sam said as he watched the Bronx roll past the train’s windows.
Evie shook the tin gently. “I’m guessing it’s not cookies.”
Evie slid closer to Sam, who pried off the lid. Inside were two items: a file and an old photograph of a woman wearing a long plaid dress and holding a little boy’s hand.
“That’s my mother,” Sam said, staring at the sweet photo. “And that’s me.”
Evie giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked.
“You in short pants. And those are some chubby cheeks!”
“That’s enough of that,” Sam said, yanking the photograph away. He lifted the file, which was just a typed sheet. “Looks like a report.”
U.S. Department of Paranormal
Office B-130
New York, New York
Date: September 8, 1908
Name: Miriam Lubovitch
Race: Jewish
Age: 20
Country of Origin: Ukraine
Address: 122 Hester Street, New York, New York.
Subject has passed all tests. In good health.
Recommended candidate: Project Buffalo.
Across the bottom, the page was stamped: APPROVED.
Sam’s insides buzzed. “You know what I’m gonna ask, don’t you?”
Evie nodded. “A deal’s a deal.”
“You know, at times like these, I’d consider making an honest woman of you, future Mrs. Lloyd.”
“I said I’d read it. There’s no need to torture me, Sam.” Evie took the file between her palms and pressed down. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing flared. “Gee, I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t get a thing from this report. Honest, I can’t,” she said, feeling rather put out about it. For her to decide not to read an object was one thing. It was entirely another for a read to feel beyond her capabilities.
“Well, thanks for trying, anyway,” Sam said.
Evie examined the file again. “Office B-130. But there’s no address. That office could be anywhere.”
“I know.” Sam sighed. “Every time we get one answer it leaves us with twelve new questions.”
“What about your creepy man?”
“Do you mean my contact?”
Evie waved his words away. “Contact, creepy man…”
“Last time I saw him, he told me he thought he was being watched.”
“By whom? Gangsters?”
“Don’t know. He just told me to stay away. But this is too important. I gotta try.”
“Sam, did you ever think of asking a reporter to look into this story?”
“Are you crackers? Bring one of those shiny-suit-wearing newshounds into this?”
“But why not? Put one of those dogs on the scent! They’ll find the goods soon enough.”
“Nothing doing. I work alone. With occasional company,” he acknowledged. “But no reporters. Got it?”
Evie put her hands up. “Forget I mentioned it. Oh,” she said, wincing. “What a skull-banger.”
She rested her throbbing head against the train window as the El rattled through city canyons. The last rays of sunlight brightened rooftops and glinted off office windows, reluctant to say good-bye. Down below, the afternoon gloom bathed the bustling city streets in deepening shadows of loneliness. Sam laced his fingers through Evie’s and held fast. It was a small gesture, but Evie felt it everywhere at once.