Page 67 of City of Liars

“One moment.” More clacking. “Carter, Carter. Yes, he’s in our catalog. Ah, yes…”

The woman reminded me of the sloth in Zootopia. “‘Ah, yes,’ what?”

There was a pause. When she spoke again, her tone was noticeably cooler. “Yes, we have your great-grandfather’s journals, Ms. Carter-Brentwood. Though you’ll need to make an appointment to see them.”

The world swam, and I had to drop my head between my knees. When I spoke, the words seemed to be coming from far away. “What do they look like? Do you have a picture?”

“Yes, there’s one in the database. They’re green. Monogrammed. Why do you⁠—”

I cut her off. “Do you have a journal from 1927? 1928?”

“Let me take a look.” A moment later, she said, “We have 1921 through 1926. Most of 1927, through October. But nothing after that.”

Nothing from when Ella had gone missing, in December 1927, through Charles’s death in 1931. Nothing that could’ve shed light on the ransom demand or implicated him in stealing Lily Dressler.

But the journals existed, just like in my dream. And Charles had begged me for forgiveness.

Maybe the missing ones were hidden somewhere. If not in Krista’s apartment, then in my grandmother’s attic in Wilmington, where many of the family papers were stored. Tucked away, where no one would stumble across them or give them a second thought.

I wanted to call Theo and tell him that the journals were real. That he wasn’t losing his mind. But he’d made his position clear. The last thing I was going to do was chase after him.

I didn’t need him to solve this, I told myself. As soon as I got home, I was going to search for my great-grandfather’s journals. If they held the answers I was after, and Theo could dig up the date of Lily’s disappearance to see if she and the girl who’d died of frostbite were a match, then he and I could wrap things up and move on.

No matter how much it hurt.

“Nice to meet you.” Diane Hayes’s grip was firm, her dirty-blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail that accentuated the birdlike, delicate bones of her face. She’d come to meet us straight from work and looked it.

I willed myself not to think about Theo, lounging in his chair across from me, leather jacket slung across the back. Every time I glanced at him, my eyes burned. I’d let him get to me. Let him hurt me. And I had no one to blame but myself.

We were at Le Pain Quotidien, near Washington Square. It had delectable quiches and pastries, but all I’d ordered was a cup of coffee. Between my earlier encounter with Theo and the conversation the three of us were about to have, I’d lost my appetite.

“I’m so curious to hear what you have to say,” Diane said, leaning forward. Her smile was open, inviting, and I relaxed a degree. “Ethan texted me after you called. He’s been a dear friend to our family. In fact, if it wasn’t for him, I doubt I could be much help to you at all.”

“What do you mean?” I tore a packet of sugar open and dumped it into my coffee, wishing I could spike it with Bailey’s instead.

“Oh, you know. He’s been interested in The Players’ history for years. When Grandma Maisie was still alive, he came around and talked to her. I guess it got her thinking, and that’s what made her tell us all the old stories.”

Theo took a sip of his own coffee—black, like his freaking soul. “You know about Ella Carter’s kidnapping, then?”

“Oh, yes. Grandma told us the whole story. She and her brother James lost their whole family on the boat over from Ireland. It was just the two of them, and they were really poor. He was lucky to get the job at The Players; I guess he’d had some terrible ones before then. As for Grandma, she worked at some fancy mansion over on 5th Avenue. Things seemed to be going great for them, until James got the idea that Grandma’s boss’s son was hitting on her.”

“And was he?” I asked, nudging my cup toward the edge of the table as the waitress came by with refills.

Diane’s cheerful expression turned grim. “He definitely was. I’ve got the DNA test results to prove it.”

Theo’s dark brows rose. “What do you mean?”

She stabbed at a cherry tomato like it had done something to deserve it. “When James suspected this guy was harassing Grandma, he wanted her to quit working at the mansion. But she refused. I guess she thought she could handle him. James, though—he felt responsible for her. And so he decided to come up with another way to make up for what she was earning as a maid. Unfortunately, it all went wrong.”

A chill ran through me. “We read an article saying he was in debt to the Mob,” I said, wrapping my fingers around my cup to keep them warm.

“That’s true. He owed them money, and they killed him. At least, that’s what my grandmother always assumed. It hurt her to talk about it. She loved him very much.” She pushed her plate away, her gaze troubled. “After what he did to your grandmother, I can understand how that would be hard to hear. His actions were unforgivable. But there are two sides to every story, and James’s life…it was a tragedy.”

My chair squeaked on the wooden floor as I leaned forward, my heart picking up speed. “So you know what happened? Did—did he take Grandma Ella?”

Diane tilted her head, like an inquisitive sparrow. “When he got into trouble with the Mob, he was desperate to find a way to pay them back. He knew Charles Carter from the club, knew Charles had a daughter. I guess he figured he’d take Ella, collect an anonymous ransom, pay off the Mob with enough left over to save Grandma Maisie from having to work for the Armstrongs, and everything would be fine. But it didn’t work out that way.”

Theo made a low sound, deep in his throat. “How did it work out, exactly?”