“Fascinating. I rarely have the chance to meet someone with such a unique calling.” Her voice was a purr. “Perhaps you would allow me to extend an invitation. This Sunday, my family is hosting a modest musical soirée at our residence. There will be music, conversation, and tasty tidbits.”
“No doubt it will be an elegant affair,” he hedged, glancing toward the back room. No sign of the gargoyle yet, but time was running out.
“Should you find yourself free, we would be delighted to see you. And, of course, if you feel the need for company, you are more than welcome to bring a friend whose company you trust.” She clicked open her handbag and rifled inside. “Let me give you one of my cards.”
He seized the opportunity before it could slip away.
“No need.” He yanked the ledger toward him and scoured the page. “Miss Gertrude Blount, 1409 East Aloha Street.”
And there, just above her name, was Olive Becket’s address.
He was back in the game.
He committed the address to memory, then lifted his head and gave Miss Blount his first genuine smile. The young woman’s cheeks flushed.
“My, you are a man of action.”
A slow, wet, menacing cough heralded Mrs. Chase’s return. Emil winked at Miss Blount and rotated the ledger back to its original spot. By the time the gargoyle had them in her sights, he was standing a few feet away from the counter, calmly flipping through what appeared to be a musical theory book for children.
Mrs. Chase clambered back onto her stool with a grunt, her bony hands gripping the edges like talons. “I’ll have the viola and the invoice delivered to your address this afternoon, Miss Blount.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Miss Blount said sweetly, and then, much louder, “Until next time.”
Emil waited for the bell above the door to stop clanging before he looked up. The gargoyle was back to staring.
“Was your hunt successful?”
In answer, she tilted her chin toward the packet on the counter before her. He set the theory book down and approached the counter. The packet was heavier than expected, and he opened it to find three cardboard sleeves inside, not one.
He raised his brows in question.
The gargoyle shrugged. “Have to clear out stock.”
Emil didn’t argue. He wasn’t dumb enough to burn a bridge he might need to cross again.
“What’s the damage?”
“Four fifty.”
“Four fifty?”
“Melba isn’t cheap, and neither is shellac. I only have a twelve inch, so that goes for three dollars. The others are older ten inchers, so I gave you a deal at seventy-five cents each.”
As if she were a damn saint.
Biting his tongue, he removed his wallet from his inner coat pocket and withdrew a crisp five-dollar bill. The till opened with a soft clink, and Mrs. Chase shoved it among the other wrinkled bills. Her fingers hovered over the neat row of coins, almost as if she were debating giving him his change at all. He held out an expectant hand. She plucked out two quarters, and the metal springs of the cash drawer wheezed shut.
“Thank you for your business. And remember—” Her cold grip wrapped around his as she pressed the coins into his palm. “Leave Miss Becket be.”
“She might be capable of more than you think.”
“Of course she is,” Mrs. Chase retorted. “That’s my point.”
What spell had Olive cast over the woman?
Shaking his head, he shoved the coins in his pocket, lifted the brown paper packet, and strode for the door. Once he was safely up the lopsided stairs and onto the sidewalk, he tucked the packet into the crook of his arm and lit a much-needed cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he squinted in the pale daylight, almost blinding after the darkness of the basement, and pondered his next steps.
He needed to take his mind off Olive Becket and put it on the case that would influence his business long-term. Surveillance would have to wait until tomorrow. For now, the real work awaited—starting with a visit to the public records office. With any luck, Harvey Gunn would prove an easier case to crack. He stubbed out his cigarette and walked resolutely toward the nearest streetcar.
