“Well, don’t you know how to find a fun time, honey,” Mags laughed, looking Leo up and down. Vivian was tickled to see his neck turn red with embarrassment.
“Hey now,” the blond giant protested, pulling Mags’s attention back to him. She laughed and let him lead her away, raising her glass to Vivian in a toast.
“Who was that?” Leo asked, clearing his throat and still looking red around the ears.
“Just a friend,” Vivian said. “A friend who apparently thinks you look like a good time.”
“She’s not wrong,” he said, grinning briefly before taking a long drink. “Well, if you won’t tell me who your friend is, are you going to answer my other question?”
“Question?” Vivian asked vaguely, their earlier conversation driven from her mind as she thought about Mags’s absent fellow. Which was more likely, that the charmer smiling at her had something to do with Wilson’s death? Or that the surly Roy, who had been there the night Wilson died and had apparently been acting oddly enough to fall outwith Mags just a few hours later, was involved? If she wanted to pay back Honor’s favor and keep the Nightingale safe, which direction should she really be looking?
The Nightingale wasn’t the right place to think it over. The band was in full swing, and bodies crowded the dance floor. Mags and her fellow were tucked into one corner, her body wrapped around his. Bea was nowhere in sight, though Vivian was sure her friend was supposed to be working that night, and Danny was shouting to his fellow bartender, though the sound of his voice was lost in the noise of the dance hall.
“It’s hot as hell in here,” she sighed, snagging Leo’s hat from under his arm and using it to fan herself. “What question am I supposed to be answering?”
“What favor Honor Huxley asked you to do,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the sound of the trumpet.
“Nothing really,” she lied. “She claimed it was out of the goodness of her heart, but I think that just means she’ll call it in down the line.”
Leo frowned. “That sounds risky.”
“Not if I stay on her good side.” Vivian hesitated, then pressed recklessly forward, deciding that surprise was a reasonable tactic to try. “Hey, you know a fellow named Wilson?” she asked, stepping close so she could be heard above the music. “Willard Wilson?”
She watched him carefully as she asked, looking for any flicker of guilt or knowledge. But Leo’s face gave nothing away. “Don’t think so. Why, he owe you money?”
“That would be swell,” Vivian said, not really answering. “Maybe I could pay Honor back and be done with the whole thing. Oh well.”
Leo, still frowning, started to respond, but whatever he might have said was drowned out as the trumpet player stood for a solo. In spite of the heat, Vivian shivered as she looked toward the band. For a moment, the trumpet took her back to that night—the sound of the music, the cool night air, the stench of trash and death in the alley. And Wilson, slumped on the ground in his expensive suit.
Vivian stared down at her hands, still holding Leo’s hat, which had fallen still as she thought. His expensive suit and…
She glanced up to find Leo still watching her, his eyes concerned. “What is it?” he asked.
Vivian reached out and settled the hat back on his head, tilting it at a jaunty angle while he eyed her in puzzled amusement. “Nothing.” She felt one corner of her lips inching up in a satisfied smirk. “Just had an idea, is all.” Her smile grew as she heard the brass start to swing their way into a Charleston beat. “Come on. I want another dance.”
THIRTEEN
So, let me see if I’ve got this right,” Bea said, glancing sideways to watch Vivian’s face as they made their way down the sidewalk. “You want to… investigate the man’s hat?”
Vivian caught her own hat just before the wind yanked it off her head, then winced as the motion pulled on her aching palm. With her hand still injured, she had begged off work at Miss Ethel’s shop one more day.
“Though if you’re not back tomorrow, Miss Kelly, there are plenty of girls who would be happy to take your place,” the dressmaker had said coldly.
Avoiding Florence’s worried glance, Vivian had left the shop and set out toward Seventh Avenue. The streets along the way were crowded with shop assistants and laborers heading out for the day. Heaped trash spilled out of alleys, the smell competing with the aromas rising from family-run restaurants and breakfast joints. Crowded tenement buildings stretched toward the glaring sky; on the street level below, shopkeepers set out bundles of fabric, piles of cheese, shoes, books, and anything else a person might want to purchase.
It had been easy to find Howard’s on Seventh, its front display filled with bespoke hats whose prices she didn’t want to imagine. Through the window she had seen two Black shopgirls behind the counter, their hair pinned severely back and their faces turned silently toward the floor as they wrapped an order for a customer.
The customer was chatting with a fourth person, a man in an impeccable suit who Vivian guessed was the owner. He gestured broadly as the two men laughed together, then pulled two cigars from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered them to the customer. The second man took an appreciative sniff before tucking them away.
The whole place oozed masculine energy and wealth, and Vivian knew there was no way she could waltz through the front door and start asking questions.
No, she needed to head around back. And she would do better if she could convince Bea to help.
“That’s the idea,” Vivian replied. “A name is a start but not much to go on by itself. I saw the name of his tailor on his hat that night, so I want to see what I can find out about him there.”
“You’re just trying to prove your new fella had nothing to do with this mess,” Bea said.
“I’m trying to find out anything I can,” Vivian countered, not wanting to admit that her friend might have a point. Judging by the skeptical sniff she received in response, though, Bea wasn’t fooled. Vivian sighed. “Sure, Leo’s fun, all right? And he’s a swell dancer. I’d rather not find out that he’s mixed up in…” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “Something like this.”
