“Someone left a paper on the bench by the entrance. I assumed you picked it up, to save a dollar.”
Berron and I looked at each other. “No…” I said.
“Ah, well,” she said, turning away to examine another expensive box of dead flowers. “Someone will pick it up soon enough.”
“Good luck with Daniel’s roses,” I said. “Excuse us, will you?”
“Au revoir,” Victorine said, without looking.
I dragged Berron away.
“What’s the rush?” he said.
“What if it’s your sister’s paper?”
“So?”
“Maybe there’s a clue!”
We reached the bench and Berron scooped up the paper. He unfolded it and handed me half. We sat side by side, and the scent of apple mixed with newsprint rose as we flipped pages.
“I’ve got something,” he said, pulling out a sheet. A large piece had been torn from it. “Get your copy and see what's on this page.”
I quickly unfolded mine and found the page. What my copy had, and the other did not, was a photograph of the Statue of Liberty illustrating an article about a local protest.
“The Statue of Liberty?” Berron said. “But she can’t get there—it’s outside the barrier.”
“Battery Park,” I said. “Anyone she asks will say Battery Park. That’s where the tours depart from.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Victorine stood before us, her dark sunglasses and silk scarf in place, a large, fancy-looking Venus et Fleur bag in her hand.
“Do you have your car?” I said.
“Why?” The word was long, drawn-out, laced with a century of suspicion and a less-than-charitable view on human nature in general.
“We need a ride to Battery Park.”
16
Victorinedroppedusoffon South Street along the edge of Battery Park. Trees rose from the interior, marking the distance with crowns of green, yellow, and flame. We passed the usual sidewalk vendors and entered the park itself on a path that curved around trees and beds of plants. A salty wind blew off the harbor and made fallen leaves tumble past.
“She’s here,” Berron said.
“How do you know?”
“How do you know when the bread’s done?”
A small building shaped like the crown of a pointed silver seashell rose on our right. Inside, glowing shapes dipped and swirled, and faint, dreamy music carried on the harbor breeze. “What’s that?” I said.
“SeaGlass Carousel. Never been on it?”
“Not sure I’d fit on the kiddie carousel.”
The path branched to the left and right, but we continued straight toward the blue water of the harbor. In between the trees, old-fashioned lamp posts rose, and beyond them, a tall ship bobbed at anchor. Further down, a more modern ferry from the Statue of Liberty released its passengers onto the promenade.
“I don’t see her,” I said.
We both turned slowly, scanning the broad walkway.
