“Do you really think . . . ?”
“Right now, I only hope,” Malloy admitted. “Maybe the father is married. Maybe Mrs. O’Hara told this Brigit what the Ruoccos suspected. Maybe he didn’t want Nainsi to tell anybody who he was.”
“That’s a good story, but do you think it’s likely?”
“No,” Malloy admitted, “but it would be a lot more convenient if the killer isn’t related to Ugo Ruocco.”
When Malloy left, Sarah joined Mrs. Ellsworth and the girls upstairs while they waited for the pudding to steam. They were starting to think about lunch when the doorbell rang again. This time she found Lorenzo Ruocco on her doorstep.
He looked as if he’d rather be standing in front of a speeding train, but he whipped off his cap politely. “Mrs.
Brandt, I’m sorry to bother, but Maria, she asks that you come.”
Although Sarah was surprised, she couldn’t help feeling a little stir of excitement at the prospect of going back to the Ruoccos’ house. “What’s wrong?”
“The baby, he cried all night. Mama says she will give him to that Irish woman if he doesn’t stop, and Maria . . .
Mrs. Brandt, you must come. Maria will go crazy if she loses the baby!” He looked positively desperate.
“Of course I’ll come,” Sarah said. Malloy had warned her about getting involved with the case, but she wouldn’t really be investigating. They wanted her there in her profes-sional capacity. If she happened to find out something useful that led to Nainsi’s killer, even Malloy couldn’t complain.
As quickly as she could, she gathered her things and bid the girls good-bye. When she came back into the front room, she found Mrs. Ellsworth comforting Lorenzo.
“They say that a baby who cries long will live long,” she was saying. He nodded politely and solemnly, although he didn’t look comforted.
“Aggie, you be good for Maeve and Mrs. Ellsworth,”
Sarah told the child. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Aggie pretended to pout again, but Sarah tickled her and made her smile and gave her a parting kiss.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “We’ll even save you some of the pudding.”
Still, Sarah felt the same regret she always felt over leaving Aggie.
Lorenzo was more considerate than his brother had been and slowed his pace to match hers. Sarah had no trouble keeping up with him, even though he was just as anxious to get back as Joe had been to get her there the other day to deliver Nainsi’s baby.
“I can understand why your mother would be so upset. A baby’s cry is the most disturbing sound in the world,” Sarah said conversationally. She wasn’t sure what she could find out from Lorenzo, but she’d try to get him talking anyway.
“That’s so people won’t be able to ignore it and will do whatever they can to make the baby stop.”
Lorenzo almost smiled. “We couldn’t ignore him last night.”
“I’m sure he kept everyone awake.”
“Maria took him downstairs so they could sleep,” he said.
“But you didn’t sleep,” she guessed. The shadows under his eyes betrayed him.
He shrugged, embarrassed. “She . . . she needed help.”
“Not many men would sit up with a screaming baby,”
Sarah observed, meaning it as a compliment.
He did smile this time, sheepishly, and made a small, helpless gesture.
Sarah smiled back. Lorenzo wasn’t the first grown man to be captivated by an infant. He hardly seemed the type, but as Malloy had said, Italians were very fond of children.
“Could he be sick? The baby, I mean,” he asked, growing solemn again.
“Maybe it’s the milk. I warned Maria that some babies don’t do well when they’re fed from a bottle.”
“He cannot die,” Lorenzo said gravely. “Maria would. . . .
Just tell me what you need, and I will do it, but he cannot die.”
Sarah had no answer for that. She could make no promises, and she didn’t think Lorenzo’s efforts would make much difference. A wet nurse would be the best solution, of course, but even if they could find one and could afford her services, would Mrs. Ruocco allow it? Surely not for a baby she despised.
When they reached the restaurant, they found it doing bustling business with people coming in for their noon meals.
Lorenzo took her around to the alley and up the rear staircase to avoid the crowd. This was the staircase Malloy had told her about, the one they had used to carry Nainsi’s body out. The wooden steps had been enclosed so they were protected from the weather. An intruder could have climbed them without worrying about being seen, either going or coming. Malloy was right, anyone could have gotten into the house.
Halfway up the stairs, she could hear the baby crying.
Poor little thing.
Maria must have heard them coming. She was waiting for them in the hallway when Lorenzo opened the door.
“Mrs. Brandt, you must help,” she cried over the baby’s screams. She held him in both arms and was swinging him back and forth in a futile attempt to calm him.
Sarah could see Maria was on the verge of hysteria. Her eyes were bloodshot and so shadowed they looked bruised.
Sarah started crooning meaningless phrases of reassurance to her while she quickly set down her medical bag, shed her cape and thrust it at Lorenzo. Then she took the baby from Maria’s arms.
The sudden shift startled him into silence for a moment, and he looked up at her in surprise. “There, now,” she said softly. “You must be tired of crying.”
He whimpered but didn’t start screaming again. Sarah knew that sometimes just being held by someone calm could quiet a hysterical infant.
“Have you tried feeding him?” Sarah asked.
“He ate no more than an hour ago. Then he started screaming. I tried offering him more, but he wouldn’t take it.”
She’d been right, it was probably the milk. “Lorenzo, would you go out and try to find some goat’s milk?”
“Goat’s milk?” he echoed stupidly.
“Yes, some babies don’t do well on cow’s milk, and goat’s milk seems to be easier on their stomachs. You said you’d do anything to help,” she reminded him gently.
“Oh, yes, of course. I will. I will get it,” he said, handing Sarah’s cloak to Maria and heading back down the stairs.
Maria pushed the door shut behind him. Sarah noticed she didn’t lock it.
“Will that help?” Maria asked, her voice taut with exhaustion and fear.
“It might,” was all Sarah could promise. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll try something else.” The baby was starting to fuss again, screwing up his face for a full-fledged scream. “In the meantime, could you fix a hot water bottle? A small one to hold on his tummy?”
While Sarah walked the baby and let him suck on her finger, Maria went and found a small glass bottle, filled it with warm water, and wrapped it in a diaper.
The hot water bottle seemed to relieve some of the baby’s discomfort, and Sarah continued to walk with him. She made Maria sit down, but the poor woman couldn’t relax. She perched on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up the instant the baby might need something. After a while, the child finally fell into a fitful sleep, and Sarah laid him in his cradle, which Maria had put in the bedroom across from the room where Nainsi had died.
Maria gave a shuddering sigh and fought back tears. “He must stop crying. Mama doesn’t want him here, and if he cries all the time . . .” She bit back a sob.
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said, patting her shoulder. “And I want you to get some rest, too. Lorenzo said you were awake all night, and you look it.”
Maria automatically touched a hand to her hair as if to check the validity of Sarah’s assessment. “Lorenzo was with me,” she said, as if that had somehow made a sleepless night less of a sacrifice.
“He’s a good man,” Sarah said. “Not many men would tolerate a screaming infant all night.”
