The musicians played off each other, laughing out loud at times. The sax player riffed on a theme that the pianist then took up, and Malcolm all the while kept up a fast beat, the bass drum underlining each turn of phrase. Malcolm’s face was ecstatic with joy, and Rose’s eyes filled just watching him.
As the musicians took their bows, she reached out and touched Jason’s arm. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“I am, too.” She wiped away her tears. “Sorry I’m so emotional.”
“Please, you don’t have to be sorry about anything.”
The crowd began to filter out, but Rose and Jason ordered another round. They waited until the musicians reappeared, mingling with those who’d stayed. The stragglers all knew one another, and there was much handshaking and backslapping.
“There’s Malcolm.” He was walking toward an older man seated at a table in the back corner.
Jason and Rose weaved their way over. Jason spoke first. “I hate to interrupt, Mr. Buckley, but we wanted to say hello.”
Malcolm’s eyes registered confusion.
“We spoke at your apartment a couple of weeks ago, about the story for WordMerge,” offered Rose.
Malcolm nodded but didn’t say anything.
She continued on. “Anyway, the story’s been killed, unfortunately, but we wanted to thank you for your time. We heard you were performing and had to come. You were terrific.”
“Well, I appreciate that.”
The other man slammed his hand down on the table and they all jumped. “What story? You need all the publicity you can get, old man.”
Rose explained. “It wasn’t about music, really, more about something that happened back in 1952 at the Barbizon Hotel for Women.”
The other man stared at her with cloudy eyes. “The Barbizon?”
Malcolm touched his arm. “Now, don’t get all excited.” He turned to Jason and Rose. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Sam Buckley.”
Rose stared, trying to match the man’s lined face and thinning gray hair with the image she had in her head of Sam as a young man. He was thinner than his brother, as if he’d been ever so slightly deflated. The purple dress shirt he wore was crisp and pressed but one size too large. His strong features hadn’t been softened by age, his chin charmingly dimpled.
“You’re Sam. And you’re in town,” Rose managed to stammer out.
“I am indeed, on both counts.”
“We’ve been looking for you,” said Jason. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“We thought you were unreachable,” added Rose, looking over at Malcolm.
“Now, who told you that?”
Malcolm crossed his arms. “His stepdaughter, Jessica, had been taking care of him out in San Francisco, and last year she got transferred to New York and brought him along. My brother’s been through a lot, and I didn’t think he’d be interested in your questions.”
“What questions? For God’s sake, I can still hear what you say, little brother. I’ve got glaucoma. I’m not deaf.” Sam picked up the cane resting against his chair and banged it on the floor a couple of times. “My sight’s not what it used to be, but I can smack you with this cane easy. I’m going back to California if you think I’m such a fragile flower.”
“Fine; talk, then. I’ll leave the three of you to it.”
Malcolm got up and was immediately surrounded by well-wishers.
Sam smiled. “My brother is protective of me. What’s this story about, exactly?”
Rose filled him in on the background, about meeting her mysterious neighbor and the interviews with the women of the fourth floor.
“But the woman disappeared before I could interview her.”
“Who?”
Rose got the impression he was testing her. “Esme, who we think assumed Darby McLaughlin’s identity after the fall on the roof.”
He stiffened. “And how do you know about that?”
“We saw the letter you wrote to her; she saved your reply.”
“She showed it to you?”
Jason stepped in. “We’ve also seen the book of spices. It’s phenomenal, and we were wondering what you ended up doing out West, if you were able to put your recipes to use.”
“The book of spices. I can’t believe it’s still around.” He scratched his jaw. “I showed up at my brother’s hotel room, on the run, and tried to forget about that damn book. Got a job in a Vietnamese restaurant and eventually married the owner’s daughter, a widow. Not a bad life, until she passed away and my eyes started to go. But Jessica takes good care of me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We found the book intriguing, to say the least.”
“Well, thanks. It’s funny to think Esme’s saved it all these years. I figured she’d tossed it in the trash.”
“Maybe you can meet her, and she’ll give it back to you. It is yours, after all.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to stir up trouble. I have nothing to say to her.” A fleeting look of pain crossed his face.
Rose threw a warning glance to Jason. “We don’t want to upset you in any way, Mr. Buckley. But we know about Mr. Kalai and the drug ring; we were hoping you could fill us in on some of the details we’re missing.”
“You want to know what happened that day?”
“Well, we don’t want to pressure you. But yes, we’d love to get your perspective. To try to put the pieces together.”
Malcolm returned to the table. “We’ve got to go, Sam.”
Rose pressed her card into Sam’s hand. “My cell number is on there; feel free to call anytime you want to talk.”
“I’ll think about it.” He reached for his cane and stood. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.”
The two men shuffled out of the club.
Rose and Jason took the elevator down to the ground level and walked out into the night. She grabbed him by the arm and pointed. Malcolm and Sam stood by the line of taxis, arguing. Sam spoke rapidly, but he was too far away to be understood.
“He wants to talk to us. We should go to him.”
Jason sighed. “No. Let them work it out; we don’t need to cause any more problems than we already have.”
She couldn’t resist. She ran over and touched his arm. “Sam, let’s go get a drink; there’s a pub across the street. Please.”
Malcolm leaned into Sam. “I’m telling you, you’ve got to watch what you say.”
“Please, Sam. One drink.”
“One drink,” he agreed. “Maybe it’s time to let go of some ghosts.”
Malcolm pulled Rose aside as they crossed the street. “Take it easy on him, that’s all I ask. He was a mess when he turned up in San Francisco all those years ago. His life was going one way, and then it suddenly took a sharp turn. It took him a long time to recover.”
Rose nodded. “I understand, believe me. We won’t push him.”
They sat at a table in the back of the empty bar, where Frank Sinatra crooned gently over the sound system.
Sam sat next to Malcolm and began to speak, staring out over their shoulders and into the past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
New York City, 2016
Darby and I had fallen hard for each other by then,” said Sam. “Or at least I had fallen hard for her. She was a combination of smart and innocent, not like most of the girls who hung around at the club.”
“I heard a recording of Darby and Esme,” said Rose. “Darby did the harmonies, but it was gorgeous.”
“Darby’s voice was pure as snow. You see, when she sang, it wasn’t about showmanship or glitter but about the song and the words. You were captivated when she opened her mouth. And she had no idea. Sometimes she’d put herself down, like she was some dowdy girl from the Midwest, but she was much more than that.”