“Don’t worry about them. You keep your mouth shut. I’ll handle those two.”
“My lips are sealed, Miss Honoree. You never need to worry about me.”
“Thanks, Chester.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. Maximilian. Maximilian Chester. That’s my Christian name.”
As Maximilian tottered away, Honoree scanned the room, searching for Colethea and Hazel. She had to make sure they understood how to keep their mouths shut.
It didn’t take long to find them. Huddled in front of a cabinet of pots and pans, they were smoking cigarettes, wearing ratty fur coats, bright red lipstick, and an extra layer of dark eyeliner.
“Did you hear what happened?” Hazel said as Honoree approached.
“About the barkeep?” Honoree replied.
“It’s all over the Stroll,” Colethea chimed in.
“The minister at the chapel on Twenty-Second Street knew, too.”
Colethea frowned. “You go to church?”
“Hush up,” Hazel replied. “I do any number of things that are none of your beeswax.”
Colethea tugged on Honoree’s sleeve. “I hope nobody saw us last night.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to y’all about. Maximilian, the old waiter, had said the same thing.” Honoree pulled Hazel in close. “We shouldn’t mention our trip to the dressing room, and we left the cafe at three o’clock—if anyone asks.”
“Of course someone is gonna ask!” Colethea exclaimed. “A man’s dead. There will be questions.”
Hazel waved her cigarette. “Wait one minute. I understand about the stolen gin, but why lie about visiting the dressing room?” She flicked cigarette ashes on the floor. “We were long gone by the time the barkeep was shot.”
They were long gone, but not Honoree, she thought. She hunted in her purse for a pack of cigs. She was there when he died. “None of us were anywhere near the Dreamland when he was killed, but why risk getting caught up explaining things to the cops?”
“I ain’t afraid of no coppers,” Hazel declared. “What we did was no big deal.” Hazel had put out her cigarette and removed a pack of gum from her pocket. “Did you steal those bobbles? Is that why you want us to lie about the dressing room? You’re a thief?”
Honoree blew cigarette smoke at Hazel. “I’m not a thief. Cops twist things up—you say one thing—” She shrugs. “We don’t want Maximilian to get in trouble for getting us drunk.”
Hazel laughed. “We shouldn’t be working at a speakeasy during Prohibition if having a few snorts is a problem.”
“I don’t like coppers, neither,” Colethea said. “All this talk about what we drank and when we left makes it seem like we don’t care about a man’s death. The whole bloody mess is giving me palpitations.” She swallowed. “I still say we do like Honoree wants.”
Hazel sighed. “Fine. I won’t say nothin’.”
Honoree took Colethea’s hand. “Long as we stick together, everything will be fine.”
Hazel waved her pack of Wrigley’s Spearmint. “Y’all want a piece of gum?”
“I do,” said Colethea.
“First, I want both of you to swear.” Honoree looked from girl to girl. “We’ve gotta tell the same story.”
Hazel passed a stick of gum to Colethea. “All right. All right. I swear.”
Unwrapping her gum, Colethea nodded. “Me, too.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Honoree said. “I’ll take some of that gum now.”
CHAPTER 16
