“I’m usually quiet.”
“Not when Miss Dolly and Archie are out of town. No one around to bother us tonight.”
“Around or not,” Virginia quipped as she darned a pair of stockings, “I do what I want to no matter who’s watching.”
Edna Mae ran a stitch and yanked the needle and thread into the air. “I was talking to Honoree. Besides, got a mind to—”
“To what?” Virginia asked sharply. “You got no business asking Honoree why she ain’t talking. She doesn’t need you giving her a talking to.”
“Both of you stop jabbering.” Honoree couldn’t handle either one of their opinions. “You’re giving me a headache. And I’m going home early to get away from all this noise.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Virginia jerked to her feet. “If anyone gets to leave, it should be me.”
“Neither one of you is leaving. If you do, I’ll—I’ll tell on you,” Edna Mae said weakly.
Honoree shoved the rest of her things into her shopping bag. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.”
She marched up the steps, but Bessie ran into her.
“What’s wrong with you, girl?” Honoree asked, holding her shoulders to keep her still. She looked a mess, hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes the size of cake pans. “Catch your breath and tell me what’s going on?”
Gasping for breath, she nodded and blinked. “Ezekiel and Dewey.” She sputtered and coughed. “You gotta stop ’em. Stop ’em before one of ’em gets killed.”
Edna Mae sighed wearily. “How is Honoree gonna stop two grown men from killing each other? Let ’em kill each other. Two less fools for us to deal with.”
“Hush, Edna Mae,” said Virginia from the bottom step. “Go on, Bessie. Talk to us, child. Is Crazy Pete around? Should we call the cops?”
“Oh Lord, no cops.” Honoree immediately thought of Officer MacDonald and his questions about Ezekiel. “Let’s find out what’s going on first before we call the cops. Calm down, Bessie. Men are always arguing about something.”
“It ain’t that.” Trembling, Bessie seized hold of Honoree’s shoulders. “Dewey has a .38 Colt revolver behind the bar, and Mr. Bailey ain’t got no weapon I can see. Except for his fists.”
“I never knew Dewey kept anything other than a baseball bat behind the bar,” Edna Mae said.
“Are you sure?” Honoree asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right. All right,” Honoree said. “I don’t know what I can do or say, but—”
“Somebody gotta do something.” Bessie’s hands dropped to her side, but her face was twisted with fear. “And that something better happen in a hurry or one of ’em is gonna be dead.”
* * *
Honoree ran up the stairwell into the storage room with Bessie on her heels but stopped when she reached the door, cracking it open to take a peek.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and there were no customers, no musicians, no cooks in the cafe—just Dewey and Ezekiel, and a room full of crates to be unloaded.
Ezekiel was at the end of the bar, square-shouldered with his body puffed up like a barrel made of muscle and rage. On the other side, Dewey’s hand hovered over the Colt revolver resting below bar level, meaning Ezekiel had no idea Dewey had a weapon within reach.
She turned to Bessie, cowering behind her. “You stay right here and don’t come out no matter what. You hear me?”
Bessie nodded, but her eyes were saucers. Honoree understood her fear and thought about walking away, but what if she could do something to stop Ezekiel and Dewey from fighting or killing each other?
“Listen, Bessie. You keep still. I mean it. Open your mouth and promise me that you’ll keep quiet and not move.”
Bessie moistened her lips. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, I promise, Honoree. I ain’t moving an inch.”
“Good.” Honoree walked out of the storage room toward Ezekiel, greeting Dewey with a smile and a nod. “How’s it going?”
