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I’m not really sure what I’m expecting to find when I knock on the door, but I step out of the cab with a sense of purpose.
A young girl answers the door. Long blonde hair runs down her sides. She’s probably not even eighteen years old.
“Hi, I’m looking for Rosa,” I say, hoping if I just straight up ask for her that will work.
It doesn’t.
“Nobody here by that name.”
“Can you tell me who lives here?”
The girl at the door appears afraid, like she doesn’t want me here and has many secrets to tell. “Just me and my mother.” She glances with her blue eyes over her shoulder.
She’s lying.
I don’t know what it is, but I can tell she’s lying. “Is your mother here?”
“She’s at work.”
“Can you have her call me when she gets home?” I pull out a piece of paper and pen and scribble my number on it. “Please, it’s important.”
The girl takes the scrap of paper, hesitantly, and slams the door shut.
That was not a win in my book.
As I hail another cab to head into Harlem, I wonder to myself why Rosa would call me from a house in Brooklyn. Why she lived there, and if she still knows the woman who lives there now.
Chapter 15
Sophia
* * *
When I arrive in Harlem, the sun’s already high in the sky. It’s probably not even noon yet, but I can smell the bread they’re baking at the Gallo Baked Goods Bakery from across the street. I decide to grab a little something to eat as I sniff around to see if Eddie is at the property.
A man like Eddie doesn’t appear like the kind of guy who sits at his bakery all day, but who knows.
When I walk inside, I’m accosted by the smell of sugary treats and dense bread. It all smells so good, and I can feel my stomach come alive. I don’t see Eddie anywhere, but when I step up to the counter to order, he comes out from the back.
He notices me right away. He points, his eyebrows raising and a smile on his face. “Hey, you’re that…” He can’t place me.
“Hi, Sophia,” I tell him.
“Sophia, yes. You were at the gala last weekend.”
I nod. “Yes, with my husband, Dean Maddox.” He’s putting it all together quickly, so I don’t mind helping him along. And who knows, maybe dropping Dean’s name will get me closer to my goal.
“I heard you have some amazing pastries.”
He points at me. “You need to try our Sfogliatella. It’s to die for.” He smiles and I can see why some women might find him handsome.
“I can’t wait,” I tell him, not having had a Sfogliatella in a long time.
“Here you go.”
“This looks amazing.” I take the thin-layered pastry he hands me and take a bite, enjoying the orange-flavored ricotta filling. “It tastes even better.”
He leans on the counter. “The secret is in the dough. We use the best.”
“My grandmother used to make this back home. She’d put creamy custard and whip cream inside.”
“Ah, we have another one in the springtime with candied peels.”
“I’ll have to come back this spring.”
He smiles. “I’d like that.” He says nothing else, and the moment has totally gotten weird.
I blush, pretending to be flattered. I take another bite of the pastry to fill the silence and then I say, “Do you spend a lot of time uptown?”
He nods. “I heard you and your husband have been going to Humphrey’s parties.”
I can see where this conversation is going, but I don’t want to stop just yet. I want to push him a little bit, let him think he can have his chance with me to see if he’s ever seen Bishop at these parties. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Go out to the street, take a left, and I’ll meet you in the alley.”
I nod with a smile.
When I meet up with Eddie in the back alley of his bakery, I remember the knife on my thigh. Sure, I’m not expecting any trouble, but you never know. It’s not the best of neighborhoods, and this guy is supposedly a friend of Bishop’s.
“So, can I expect to see you at his party this weekend?”
I lean against the building. “I should be there.”
Eddie licks his lips and I nearly convulse. This conversation is already giving me the heebie-jeebies. “I’m already getting excited.”
I smile. “How long have you been going to these things?”
He shrugs, his brown eyes closing as he does. “I don’t know. Years. Many years.”
“I bet you’ve met a ton of people through that many years.”
He shrugs again, this time not as exaggerated. “Yes, I s’pose so.”
“Ever hear of someone named Blackstone?”
He stiffens, his eyes narrowing a bit. Then he resumes his laid-back posture. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
Liar.
“Oh, ok. Just wondering.” Now I need a reason why I’d mention him. “Heard some of the other women talking once.”
