She walked through the invisible perfume of their words, folding her article beneath her arm, and climbed onto the trolley, exiting at the stop nearest the Four Courts jail building.
Her ears turned pink when she entered the prison and saw that even the guard manning the front desk was reading her article, though he was trying to pretend that he wasn’t.
Grace found herself in the same windowless room she had been in before, waiting for Oliver. Her shoes clicked against the tile. The room smelled like loneliness, sterile and gray. She drew a breath when the guard brought Oliver in handcuffed.
His eyes looked hollow, like endless mirrors. His skin was drab, as though he’d not seen the sun in months, though it had really been only a matter of days—and she knew the prisoners were taken outside to exercise in the courtyard, even though it was in full view of the gallows. She longed to take his face in her hands. To tease each other and hear him laugh again.
He eyed her dark funereal clothing and the corner of his mouth twitched downward.
“They’re burying the woman I love today,” he said softly, “and I cannot be there.”
“I will go in your stead,” she said.
“I dream about her,” he said. “I dreamed of her last night. She was dancing and laughing.”
Grace had known he would be in agony today, sitting helplessly in his cell while they buried the person he had wanted to spend his life growing old with.
She unfolded her article and pushed it across the table. His face flickered with surprise.
For a moment, there was almost the hint of a smile on his lips.
He picked up the article and read it hungrily.
His face had changed by the time he looked up again. He’d shed years like layers.
“You’re fearless, Grace Covington,” he said. “I always knew you were formidable.”
She flushed, embarrassed. “Come, now, Oliver. You’ll give me a big head.”
“It’s true. I’ve seen you face things that would make others cower, including two major cities’ high societies and my own mother. But this—you’re a lionheart.”
Instead of brushing him off, she let his words go down deep into the soil of her heart, where they might take root. She brought out her notebook. “I’m still just getting started. Can you help me? I have a few more questions.”
“Anything,” he said.
“Where was Harriet living until recently? What was her last known address?”
The color came back into his face as he gave her Harriet’s address, the name of her roommate and a description of the girl. “Her roommate is Caroline,” he said. “Caroline Locke.”
“I’ll plan to speak with her today at the funeral,” Grace said. “See if I can find out anything the police might have missed.”
“Good.” Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose, a strange look crossing his face.
“What is it?” Grace asked.
Oliver hesitated. “Just… watch carefully today at the funeral. I’ve read that guilty people tend to insert themselves into the investigation. They want to appear helpful, but really, they’re just waiting to strike next.”
Grace felt the slightest chill curl around her heart at his warning.
Who had been helping her the most in this investigation?
“I’ll be looking,” she promised.
Then she kissed his cheek and made her way to the church.
The First Lutheran church was a towering brick Gothic building flush with sprays of fresh lilies and tolling bells. Black-clad mourners spilled down the front steps as the sun limned the stained-glass panels above two large, iron-strapped doors. Grace slipped into the line filled with Harriet’s family, friends, and fans. There were voyeurs, people who had come for the spectacle. Reporters. Other actresses and people from Harriet’s theater company. Grace spotted Ethel, draped in a black veil.
Inside the church, Grace took a seat in the pew beside Lillie, who had purposefully sat apart from her parents. The church smelled like a mix of must and heady roses, and Harriet’s casket was draped with a white pall. Lillie was rigid, staring straight ahead as the pastor performed the service. Late-morning sunshine shone through the stained glass, its colors melting in jewel tones along the walls and floor. It was jarringly cheerful amid the congregation’s stark black.
