Chapter 10: The Memo

The house in Chevy Chase was empty when we got there on Sunday.

Luciano's men had picked the lock before dawn.

They stood in the hall with their hands in their pockets and their eyes on the walls.

Marianne had left in a hurry.

Closet doors hung open, and a drawer lay upside down on the bedroom floor.

The tea mug from Tuesday was still in the sink.

"She took cash and her passport," the underboss said.

"No jewelry.

"She expects to be back."

"Or she expects to be bought back," Luciano said.

I wasn't listening.

I had walked past the kitchen and the stairs and down the hall to the room at the end.

Lila's door had a paper sunflower on it, curling at the corners.

I put my hand on it and it swung open.

The bed was unmade.

Her old desk lay under a pile of coats, and a stuffed rabbit sat on the pillow with one ear gone.

The smell hit me before I could brace for it, her shampoo and the dust of her.

I sat down on the floor, because my legs gave out.

Luciano did not say anything.

He stood in the doorway for a long time.

Then he sat down on the carpet beside me, a foot away, with his back against the bed.

His shoulder had to hurt.

He sat there anyway.

"We had a dollhouse," I said finally.

"Dad built it.

"The chimney comes off.

"When we were little we hid notes in there, so Marianne would never find them."

"Did Lila know you still remembered?"

"I never thought she'd use it."

I crawled across the carpet to the far wall.

The dollhouse sat on the bottom shelf with its tiny shutters and its blue roof.

I lifted off the little brick chimney.

The dust on the shingles under it was disturbed.

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