“They had no mercy, none. I was locked in a room in the back of the spice shop. That’s what kept me going hour to hour, trying to take my mind off the pain by figuring out what spices I could identify by smell. Until my nose became too bloody to breathe through.”
She couldn’t imagine the terror. “Your father must’ve known where you were. Couldn’t he tell the cops?”
“Kalai controlled the neighborhood, and he controlled my father. When it came to a choice between the club or his son, my father chose the club. But Kalai loved me better than that in his own way. He wanted his men to punish me, but he didn’t want them to actually kill me. Once he figured I had learned my lesson, he released me to my father with a warning to leave town. That same evening, my father took me to the bus depot and sent me across the country, to my brother. By then, my mind wasn’t right.
“After a few months, I pulled myself together. I sent Darby a letter, explaining what had happened to me, and asked her to join me. Esme wrote back and told me that Darby had died, that she was living at the hotel now and I should move on.”
“Did she tell you what happened, about the accident?”
He didn’t respond to the question. “What do you know?”
Rose had to be careful; he’d been through enough. “We think there was some kind of skirmish up on the terrace. We don’t know exactly what happened, but we think Esme got slashed badly on the face, and Darby fell to her death. From that letter, along with some other pieces of evidence, we assume Esme took on Darby’s identity.”
“That way she’d avoid Kalai looking for her.”
Rose nodded.
“They were the same size, had similar builds,” recalled Sam. “Strange, to think she could get away with it for so many years.”
“The letter you received must’ve given you quite a shock.”
“It did. I had imagined her going to the club and my father telling her I’d gone away and wouldn’t be coming back, not giving her any further details. The thought made me sick. So I was thrilled when I got a letter back with the Barbizon Hotel on the return address. I was sure this would be a new beginning for us. The news of Darby’s death hit me hard. I never forgot her, or what we might have done together.” He took a long sip of his drink. “Esme said never to contact her again; that much was easy.”
“Do you think Darby slashed Esme with a knife?”
Sam shook his head. “She wasn’t like that. Only if she was being attacked. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense to me.”
So many unanswered questions. And in the meantime, Sam and Darby’s love had been subsumed by something dark and ugly.
“Well, I’m glad we were able to talk, as it helps us understand most of what happened,” said Rose.
Outside, they said their good-byes and Rose and Jason promised to stay in touch.
Sam held Rose’s hand tightly in his. “It was all so long ago, but what’s funny is I still dream of Darby. Just last night, in fact, I dreamed of her. That she was singing at the club and it was as if she was only singing to me. That’s what it was like, watching her. Like you were the only man in the world.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
New York City, 2016
Rose asked Jason to help her move her things to Maddy’s after their talk with Sam; she didn’t want to wait until morning. As they climbed the back stairs for the last time, she was hit by a wave of nostalgia. She was connected to the building like no other in Manhattan, even her West Village studio, even the town house she’d grown up in. Knowing that hundreds of women had walked the halls—it was a history she was pleased to have been part of, even if it was only for a few months.
She opened the door to the fourth-floor hallway. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Of course.”
She put the key into the lock and opened the door.
The figure of a woman stood less than two feet away.
Rose jumped backward and let out a screech.
Esme.
Her figure was cast into silhouette by a bright light behind her, making her seem more like a dark ghost instead of a human being. When she spoke, her scratchy voice echoed in the small hallway. “Well, well, well. Looks like Goldilocks has