As we neared Shotgun City, however, my anxiety began to build. Hans drove down the main street, and I saw posters with Lily’s picture nailed to every building. My heart quickened. I prayed my premonition was true, and that she was alive and safe somewhere. When we passed the café where I had lost Lily the first time, I felt sick. No matter, I thought; this time I have come to find her, and find her I will.

Hans parked the car in front of the Kearney Hotel and jumped out. I followed him as he hurried in through the front door. As if expecting us, Kearney was there to greet us.

“Any news?” Hans and I said in unison.

Kearney shook his head. “Not yet. We have searched everywhere we can think of and there’s still no sign of her. Francine is beside herself, and Aidan—well—poor Aidan is inconsolable.”

I spoke up. “I’d like to take you up on your offer of a job, Mr. Kearney. I intend to stay here and help in the search for Lily, but I need to earn some money to pay my way.”

Kearney raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this, Miss Sweeney? Aidan O’Hanlon is staying here at the hotel and you would most likely cross paths. . . .”

He let the rest of his words drift off. I knew what he was getting at. He knew I had run away from Aidan once and thought I was likely to do so again. Well, he was wrong.

“It is of no matter to me that Aidan O’Hanlon is staying here,” I said firmly. “My only concern is Lily.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hans smiling.

Mr. Kearney bowed. “In that case I shall be delighted to take you on, Miss Sweeney. I have a room available at a reasonable rate. After you have settled in, we can discuss the terms of your employment. And by the way please call me Shane.”

The room was belowstairs, small and sparsely furnished, with only a half window above the ground through which I could see the feet of passersby. I sighed. It was nothing like the lovely, airy rooms where I’d slept in the last couple of years. I was surprised how quickly I’d grown used to them. If I’d seen this room when I first came to America, I’d have been over the moon. It was a thousand times better than the cottage attic, and it was far away from Ma’s sharp tongue.

I unpacked my belongings, smoothed down my dress and went back up to the ground floor. Mr. Kearney, as he always seemed to be, was engaged in an intense conversation with a tall, grizzled man with a face like a weasel and darting, nervous eyes. An unsavory customer if ever I saw one.