“Got what?” Jazzi asked.
“Addresses. Margaret moved around from year to year.”
“Can you tell me about that or is that a no-no for discussion too?”
Should she tell Jazzi and let her help? They seemed to bond when they did research. And it wasn’t getting Jazzi involved in the investigation per se.
Daisy explained, “I had a photo of Margaret Vaughn. Jonas found out from a friend where the photo was taken—Chelsea Market.”
“I’ve heard of that place. It’s fabulous. It’s in Manhattan, right? There’s shopping, food, and an office building too, I think.”
“That’s it,” Daisy said. “We think Margaret lived near it in the years before she met Rowan. After I asked, he looked through her old income tax forms to find out what her addresses were back then. He sent me a list of five of them. Do you want to help me check out if they’re near the Market?”
“Sure. I’ll feed Pepper and Marjoram. Do you want to get a snack to hold us over until we finish?”
Daisy had realized often over the past year that Jazzi was no longer a child but a maturing young woman. “How about carrot salad, farmer’s cheese, and some of those multigrain crackers that Tessa baked?”
“With that as a snack, I won’t need tacos.”
“You’ll be hungry for tacos. Looking up addresses is hard work.”
Jazzi gave Daisy a smile that told her she was probably right.
Daisy smiled back, thinking that this day had just turned around.
* * *
The Amtrak train that Daisy had picked up in Lancaster the following day zoomed on its way to New York City. It had been a long time since she’d been on a train. As this one clacked against the tracks, she tried to read. It was impossible. She thought about texting Jonas, then decided against it. She wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what she was doing. Apparently, he was consumed by what Zeke had told him. She couldn’t blame him for that, but she wondered where it left the two of them. An outsider might say what had happened with Brenda was in the past. Her relationship with Jonas was the present. So true. Yet she knew that the past could dog them whether they wanted it to or not.
Jonas had once believed in Brenda’s loyalty. And love. He’d first learned she’d betrayed him the night she’d told him she was pregnant. That night she’d also told him she’d had her IUD removed. She wanted a family . . . with him. They’d argued and, as Philadelphia PD partners, they’d headed to their shift together. After all, they had a murder suspect to question. When they’d arrived at the location where the suspect was holed up, he’d ambushed them. He shot and killed Brenda. While Jonas had tried to save her, the suspect had shot Jonas too.
Jonas’s shoulder—the way it stiffened up and he had to work it to keep it agile—was a daily reminder of what had happened that night. As if he needed one. He’d lost his lover and his child.
His child. That’s what he’d thought.
Now his paternity was in question. And Jonas was in turmoil.
Yes, she was right not telling him about this trip. It might lead to nothing. It might lead to something. She wasn’t in any danger. All she was doing was looking into Margaret’s background. She and Jazzi had worked finding the address closest to Chelsea Market. Rowan’s list had guided them. Only one address had made sense.
To Daisy’s surprise, as well as Jazzi’s, they’d used several search engines as well as address look-up sites. They hadn’t been able to find a viable phone number for the address. They had used Google Images and Zillow, finding that Margaret’s former address was a four-story, multimillion-dollar town house! Someone with that kind of money might do anything in their power to keep their phone number off the Internet. Today, she was going to find out who lived there . . . and whether or not they’d known Margaret.
After Daisy exited the train on a busy Thursday, she didn’t let the people or the city distract her. It would have been so easy to people-watch, to take a walk and shop, to stop at a bistro for a latte and a croissant. But she wasn’t in New York on a pleasure trip, and she intended to head home as soon as she could.
She’d brought enough cash to take as many cab rides as necessary. Fares could be expensive. Her money was hidden in a zipper compartment in her fanny pack, which was buckled close to her body. She wore it under her jacket, zippered up to her neck to keep her warm . . . and also to protect her identification, credit card, and cash. She was no fool when it came to New York City. She’d read about all the touristy things a tourist shouldn’t do. She’d read about the safety measures a tourist should take.
She hailed a cab that dropped her off at an intersection a quarter block from the town house. She didn’t ask the cabbie to wait because she might want to explore a bit. Her main fear was that no one would be home. However, if no one was, she could try to talk to neighbors.
Daisy walked along West 11th Street, finding a row of single-family town houses. Trees bare of leaves now lined the sidewalk. She reached the address she’d memorized and remembered the description of this particular town house. It was built in 1899, a Greek Revival. It was nineteen feet wide with antique brick. Ironwork graced the windows and outer border of the property. When she’d looked up the address on Zillow for more details, she’d read that hardwood flooring inside was cherry. She also knew there were three bedrooms and three baths. Cherrywood paneling also adorned the kitchen. One of the town house’s best features, in her mind, was the five working fireplaces. The master suite with a bathroom was on the
