MacDonald placed his cap on his head. “I trust I’ll see you soon, Ms. Dalcour.”
* * *
Honoree telephoned the auto body shop from a nearby diner. Jeremiah picked up the line. Ezekiel had gone to Miss Hattie’s, something he didn’t usually do in the middle of the day, but he’d received a message and left. Twenty minutes later, Honoree walked into Miss Hattie’s.
The speakeasy was empty except for Ezekiel—and Dewey, shelving bottles of hooch behind the bar. Ezekiel sat on the other end of the room at a table near the stage, smoking a cigarette and stacking silver coins.
“Do you have another cig?” she asked when she reached him, although there was a pack in her purse.
He held up his hand. “I got this one from Dewey.”
“You two kiss and make up?”
“I don’t give a flying leap about Dewey Graves.” Ezekiel glanced across the room at the bar and then extended the cigarette to Honoree. “He can’t hear us. You wanna drag or not?”
She took the cig and inhaled. A pleasant burn filled her lungs and spread across her chest. “Thanks.” She reached over the table to give him back what was left of the smoke.
“Keep it. You look like you need it more than me.”
“How would you know?”
“I was there last night.”
“I was there, too, and what happened—happened to me. And I don’t look that bad.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, you look lovely.” His focus returned to the coins on the table. “I don’t believe Gallo recognized you, but a friend is helping me find out.”
The sound of Gallo’s name brought back the fear from the night before, and she dug the toe of her shoe into the sawdust. “This friend who called you—you trust him?”
“I trust him, and you should, too.” Ezekiel arranged the coins into a new stack. “The same man told me you were at the Dreamland Cafe the night Houdini was killed.”
Honoree sat erect in her chair. “Tell me his name.”
“Maximilian.”
“Maximilian Chester?” She should’ve guessed. Each time she came across him, his kindness, whether that first night at the Dreamland Cafe or Lil’s parties, should’ve been a giveaway. “Does he play the piano?”
“He does play, and he’s a longtime friend of my mother’s family.” Ezekiel fingered the coins. “He met you once when you were six or seven and said it would be tough to forget your eyes or your name. He always called you the prettiest girl.”
“Did he also see the man who killed Houdini?”
Ezekiel’s shoulders sagged on a long, heavy sigh. The bluntness of her question chilled the air between them.
“No. He left the balcony after finishing a smoke and was in the hallway when he heard the gunfire. He rushed downstairs and saw you hightailing toward the exit. He got out of there fast, too, but then telephoned me.”
“He’s been watching over me.” She wished her stomach didn’t feel so queasy, but she had to tell Ezekiel about the copper. “I went to the police station to tell them who killed Houdini.” She waited for an outburst, but there was no surprise, no flash of temper, no shouting, no slamming his fist. Ezekiel shoved a coin aside with a fingertip.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said. “I asked you to give me a few days, but you still can’t bring yourself to trust me. Why?” Ezekiel splayed his fingers, the skin over his knuckles pulled tight. “Don’t bother. I know the answer.” Ezekiel searched his pockets. “You sure you don’t have any cigarettes? Rather not ask Dewey for another.”
She reached into her purse and passed him her pack. He lit two and handed one to her.
“I didn’t tell him Gallo’s name. I simply mentioned a white man who worked for Capone.”
“What’s the officer’s name?”
“MacDonald.”
“What did he say?”
