The stores were just beginning to close for the evening as the two girls hurried along Seventh Avenue, Vivian trying to ignore her guilt as she thought of the note she had once again left for her sister. But they didn’t have long before Bea needed to be at the Nightingale, and the best time to catch one of the shopgirls from Howard’s was right after closing.
“And if he is?” Bea asked.
“Then I tell Honor. But she asked me to keep my ears open, not just stick close to Leo. Finding out something about the dead man seems like a good place to start, right? How can I know who might have been involved, or where to start looking at all, if I don’t know anything about him?”
“So you want to just stroll up and say…” Bea glanced at the traffic and, spotting an opening, dashed across the street. Vivian followed, ignoring the shouts that were hurled after her. “And say what?” Bea continued as they fell in step together once more. “‘Do you know anything about this fellow, he was shot dead in an alley, I’m trying to figure out who did it’?”
“Well, if you think that’ll work…” Vivian snorted at the glare she received. “No, of course not. I’m not trying to figure out who did it. All Honor asked me to do was fish for information.”
“It’s a hell of a favor to ask.”
“It is,” Vivian agreed. “You don’t have to come.”
“Sure I do,” Bea said, slanting an exasperated glance at her friend. “They might not tell me much, but they definitely wouldn’t tell you anything if you showed up all by your Irish self.”
“I’m grateful, you know,” Vivian said quietly.
“I know.” Bea sighed. “It seemed exciting when I was just listening for gossip. But this… it’s real, Viv.”
“Well, let’s pretend it’s still just exciting,” Vivian said, trying to put her own worries aside. “And no one has to know we had anything to do with it, right? It’s just ahead, by the way.” Vivian gestured toward the building a few storefronts down the street.
“I still can’t believe you touched the dead guy’s hat,” Bea muttered.
“It was probably the cleanest thing in that alley.”
The owner was just locking the front door, the stylish hat he wore an advertisement for his business, as they turned the corner. Walking briskly to avoid drawing attention, they went past him without looking up and turned into the alley behind the row of stores.
The two shopgirls were seated on overturned trash cans, smokingin the quickly fading light and trading jokes and complaints before they headed home for the night. They nodded in a friendly fashion as Bea approached, but fell silent when they saw Vivian behind her.
The younger one, who looked no more than sixteen, was dressed somberly, her legs crossed and one foot jiggling uneasily as she glanced at her companion. The older one was almost as stylishly dressed as Bea, her flannel coat carefully folded up around her waist so no dust or dirt would mar the powder-blue outside. She looked them up and down warily, frowning as her gaze lingered on Vivian.
“Need help with something?” she asked at last, grinding out the stub of her cigarette against the top of the trash can, then opening her purse to dig for another. Bea offered one of her own, which the girl took, though her wary eyes never left Vivian as she lit it.
Vivian nodded, glancing at Bea, who smiled. “My friend has a question she needs some help answering. Got a minute before you head home?”
“A question about hats?” the younger one asked, her voice surprisingly deep for such a small body. “That’s all we know about.”
“About someone who buys them,” Vivian said. “Willard Wilson? I know he shopped at your store at least once.”
The older girl blew out another stream of smoke. “We might have seen him come in a time or two. Why?”
“Do you know anything about him?” Vivian asked. She hesitated, seeing their shuttered expressions. “A friend of mine…”
“Had a run-in with him? Wants to marry him? Is thinking about becoming his fancy lady?” the younger girl asked, her husky voice sharp and accusatory. “Tell her he’s a nasty piece of work and to stay away.”
“Shut your mouth, Doris,” the older girl said, her pleasant smile an unsettling contrast to her sharp tone. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t even think like it. Mr. Wilson’s a society fellow. You’ll get both of us in trouble.”
“Not with him,” Vivian said quietly, feeling dazed by the exchange.She could have guessed Wilson was a society fellow from the sharp cut of his suit, but the mix of anger and fear rolling off the girl’s words caught her off guard. She exchanged a quick glance with Bea, whose eyes were wide with worry. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” The older shopgirl dropped her hand as she stared at them, not seeming to notice the cigarette that fell from her fingers. “You’re serious?”
“Yes,” said Bea quietly.
“How?” Doris demanded.
“Doris,” the older one snapped. “Don’t get mixed up in what ain’t your business.” She stood abruptly, gathering her things and gesturing for her companion to do the same. “If he’s dead, then good riddance. And don’t come asking us questions anymore. Come on, Doris, your brother’ll be wondering where you got to.”
“Thanks for your help,” Bea said quietly as the two shopgirls moved to leave.
