Chapter 11: A Bird on the Lid

Matteo got me out of the ballroom before Salvatore reached us.

He walked me down a back corridor to the cloakroom and set me on a bench between the coat racks.

"Sit. Drink." He pushed a glass of water into my hands. "I'll deal with him."

"No," I said. "I want to hear it."

"Nora."

"He asked me a question. I'd like to answer it."

Matteo stood very still. There was a look on his face I couldn't name.

"I'll be at the door," he said at last.

Salvatore came in alone.

He shut the door behind him and stood with his back against it, breathing hard, an old man in a good suit.

"Forgive me," he said. "I frightened you."

"You didn't."

"That song." He stopped, and started again. "A woman I knew used to hum it. Twenty-eight years ago. She had a music box."

"Many people have music boxes."

"Not that one. It had a bird on the lid."

I looked down at the tin box in my coat pocket, with the faded painted bird on the lid.

My hand closed around it, and I didn't take it out.

"Where did you get yours?" he asked.

"It was with me."

"With you when?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," I said. "I've told you what I owe you, and I'm not going to give you my mother."

His face moved.

"Your mother," he said. "Nora, what was her name?"

"Ask Antonella. She's the one who knows everything."

He took one step toward me, and his left hand came up and stopped in the air.

I saw his fingers shaking.

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