“That’s no longer any of your concern,” Grace said. “As you made soveryclear last night.”
Grace pushed past her.
“Would you be so good as to fetch me a drink, Mr. Allred?” she said to Earnest.
“What will it be?” Earnest said, though he seemed almost distracted. “The Dubonnet your cousin likes so well these days? A champagne?”
“A Dr Pepper, please,” she said.
She crooked her head at Oliver. Without a word, he led her out onto the dance floor, looking jovial. They fell into their old steps, just as they had done when she was ten years old.
“I’m glad you’re here, cousin,” he said.
“Me too,” she said. She glanced away. This was her moment alone with Oliver, apart from Harriet, and yet she was not at all looking forward to what she needed to say.
There was something off-kilter about tonight. The flickering of lights casting shadows, the fragrant white flowers floating in bowls. The dark glass floor was disorienting, a pit of darkness that could swallow them.
“You look like you ate something sour,” he said.
“That’s because I’m gathering my courage to say something unpleasant,” she said.
“Surely it can wait, then,” Oliver said, glancing over his shoulder. “It seems untoward to bring anything like that into such a beautiful evening.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. She remembered the first time he dipped her, pretending to drop her, and how sorry he’d been when she’d grown teary. He had hugged her tight to his young, bony body. Reassured her that of course, he would never let her fall.
Now they waltzed around the black floor, the lights reflecting in it like stars floating atop a sea of ink.
“I saw Harriet this morning, when I was waiting for you,” she said. “She went into the Tunnels and met with someone.”
Oliver’s steps faltered just slightly. Anyone watching wouldn’t have even noticed before he slipped right back into the rhythm.
“You’re sure it was her?” he asked. His jaw tightened. “You might have been mistaken.”
“I’m certain. I followed her to be sure. I wouldn’t mention it otherwise.”
Oliver sighed heavily, his eyes looking heavenward. Then he scanned the ballroom, thinking.
“Did she… purchase anything?” he asked.
Grace gave a helpless shrug. “I couldn’t tell. All I saw was her speaking to someone.”
“So you have no real proof of anything?” he asked. His voice had a sharp undercurrent of hope.
She shook her head. It was all circumstantial, and yet none of it looked good.
“There’s something else—” she said, ignoring Aunt Clove’s glare. She braced herself as Oliver spun her, determined to be out with all of it. “The night of Earnest’s crash, when you went to the hospital with Lillie, I saw a man approach Harriet. He seemed… angry about someone who owed him money, and she needed to pass along a message.”
“Did you ask her about it?” he asked.
“I did. She claimed not to know him.”
Oliver dipped her. “Then perhaps we should take Harriet at her word,” he whispered in her ear.
Grace sighed as he righted her. Her head was beginning to pound a little. “You know that I, out of anyone, wishes it weren’t true,” she said, feeling a little dizzy. “I just wanted you to know. Whatever you decide, whatever you do, I’ll support you.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re my blood.”
He sighed. “I appreciate that you always tell me the truth. Even when I don’t want to hear it.”
Grace nodded. “What will you do now?”
