The Address in Her Pocket

Edward took the girl into a small sitting room beside the ballroom.

He asked a waiter to bring soup, bread, and warm milk. Then he asked the officer to remain nearby while they found the adult responsible for her.

Vivian followed them.

“Edward, you’re upset. Anyone could have bought that necklace.”

“The clasp is broken,” the girl said.

Both adults looked at her.

“Mama kept it in a little box. She said fixing it cost too much.”

Edward remembered buying the necklace for Caroline’s eighteenth birthday. He could not reconcile its value with the child’s wet shoes.

“What’s your name?”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy, who brought you here tonight?”

“Mrs. Alvarez. She’s working in the kitchen.”

“And does she know you’re in here?”

Lucy shook her head.

“I was supposed to stay on the chair.”

Edward sent the waiter to find Mrs. Alvarez.

Lucy watched him tear a roll in half and place it beside her soup.

“Can I eat it now?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

He nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

Mrs. Alvarez arrived still wearing her catering apron. She stopped in the doorway, relief giving way to alarm.

“Lucy. I told you to wait.”

“I saw his picture.”

Lucy pointed at Edward.

Mrs. Alvarez closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitmore. Her mother rented the apartment next to mine. She passed away on Monday. I’ve been staying with Lucy while the family services worker sorts things out. I couldn’t find anyone to watch her tonight, and I couldn’t afford to lose this shift.”

Edward drew out a chair for her.

“Tell me about her mother.”

“Caroline Bennett. She worked at the alterations shop on Mercer Street.”

Bennett had been Edward’s first wife’s maiden name.

He sat down slowly.

Lucy reached into her coat pocket and produced a folded envelope, softened at the corners.

“Mama said Mrs. Alvarez should help me send this. But your picture was outside, so I thought I could give it to you.”

On the front was his name and office address.

The handwriting was Caroline’s.

The capital E leaned slightly forward. The last stroke of the W curled beneath the word.

He had birthday cards upstairs in his study written in that hand.

Vivian moved closer.

“Let me see.”

Edward kept the envelope.

“Why?”

“To help you.”

For the first time that evening, Lucy looked directly at her.

“You came to our apartment.”

Mrs. Alvarez turned.

Vivian gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

“No, sweetheart. You’re confused.”

“You had a red umbrella. You told Mama she had to stop writing.”

Edward looked up from the envelope.

“Vivian?”

His wife reached for the door handle.

“I’m going to call our lawyer.”