“Please meet Mr. Tony Gallo,” Archie was saying. “Tony. This is the beautiful, extraordinary Honoree Dalcour.”
Pretend. Pretend to be shy. Pretend to be overcome by humility, not by fear and confusion.She kept her head down. In case the truth showed on her face. It was clear she had seen him, had watched him murder a man.
Panic had locked her up in a hard shell. It hurt to breathe—the smile on her lips was a frozen gash filled with broken glass.
“Mr. Gallo,” she said, her lungs burning as her stomach twisted into knots.
“A pleasure to meet you. You’re a fine dancer and pretty as a button, too.” Tony Gallo touched her arm. “Have we met before?”
Now she might scream. “I don’t believe so, sir.”
“You don’t know this girl, Mr. Gallo.” Archie pinched her on the cheek. “I’m not sure I know her, acting all sweet and quiet. Usually she can’t stop yammering. You must make her nervous.”
Ezekiel filled a coupe with champagne. “Are you thirsty?” There was a coolness about him. Honoree sensed he didn’t like Archie’s familiarity, or the attention Gallo was giving her. With these two men at his table, why in Christ’s name had he invited her to join them?
She gulped down the drink, the bubbles stinging her nose.
“What do you think, Mr. Gallo?” Archie grinned like a rabid dog. “Is she spiffy enough for your party?”
Ezekiel placed his elbows on the table, propping his chin on his knuckles. “What party?” The glare he dealt Archie was deadly.
“Mr. Gallo is throwing a party at the Plantation Cafe on New Year’s Eve and looking for some extra girls to perform.” Archie grabbed the champagne bottle and filled Gallo’s glass. “That’s why we wanted her to join us. So that we could extend an invitation.”
Gallo laughed. “Coming from Capone, this is more than an invite. Think of it as a command performance.” He winked at her. “By a marquee star.” Gallo eased back in the chair. “For a New Year’s Eve party for my boss, Al Capone. You’re a real doll, sugar—prettiest colored girl I seen in ages. Archie said you were an up-and-comer and would be flattered to entertain Mr. Capone.”
Honoree stopped staring at her coupe of champagne and looked at Ezekiel. Archie had no right to offer her up like prime rib.
She gulped her drink, and Ezekiel refilled her glass.
“A party for Mr. Capone sounds swell.” It hurt to breathe, to swallow, to think. “Sorry, guys, but I have another show.”
She went to stand, but her knees were water. She touched the edge of the table, using it as a pulley to help her from falling, but she didn’t hit the ground. Ezekiel held her chair out and, in a gentlemanly flourish, had taken her forearm. No one realized she was coming undone.
“You haven’t said thank you to Mr. Gallo,” Archie said. “Where’s your manners, Honoree?”
“Of course, Mr. Gallo. It would be the cat’s meow to dance for Mr. Capone.” She gave them a closed-mouth grin. “I am sorry to rush off. I have quite the costume to wiggle into before the next show.”
“We’ll be right here,” Archie said. “Waiting.”
She smiled a broad, sweeping smile without making eye contact with any of the men.
A pivot and a strut across the dining hall, and without glancing over her shoulder, she sensed every pair of eyes at Ezekiel’s table watching her. She spun on her heel, waved a light, cheery showgirl wave and disappeared behind the curtain.
* * *
Honoree rested the back of her head against the wall. Her hands and feet were numb, her eyeballs ached. If she stayed still for a minute, just one minute, she could make it to the dressing room, crawl under the makeup table, and stop breathing.
She stood, trying not to be afraid, and opened her eyes.
“Honoree, what just happened?”
Ezekiel’s face was a mask of worry she wanted to trust. If only she could rest her head against his chest, feel his arms wrap around her, push aside the fear, the panic, and the numbness. But what if he was the cause of the danger that surrounded her?
“Excuse me. Get out of my way.” She headed for the staircase, but she couldn’t walk away without asking. She whirled around. “Why did you invite me to that table with that man sitting right there?” Her voice had risen, but the screeching startled her. She placed a hand on her chest to slow down the gunfire going off behind her rib cage. “Did you know, damn it.”
His blue-black eyes softened with concern. “Did I know what?”
“Gallo is the man who shot Houdini.”
