Vivian spread them out, then looked up to find Leo watching her, unmoving, a drink in each hand as though he had turned around and been surprised into forgetting what he was doing.
“Were you reading about Wilson?” she asked.
He shrugged awkwardly, clearly trying not to spill the drinks. “Forgot I left those out,” he said. Gesturing with one elbow, he added, “Why don’t you move them out of the way so I can sit? Just push them on the floor, it’s fine.”
Instead, Vivian gathered the papers into her lap so she could continue glancing through them. There were paragraphs in each one—relating to Wilson, his business, and his wife—that had been carefully circled in pencil. She narrowed her eyes. “What were you looking for?”
“Nothing really,” Leo said quickly. He handed her one of the drinks, then sighed as she set it on the floor so she could continue reading. “Actually, I was looking for something to help you.”
“Help me?” Vivian stared at him in surprise. “But you didn’t think I should be involved at all.”
“Well, I was worried about you, so I figured I’d help you solve your mystery as quickly as possible.” He shrugged. “But you told Honor you’re done, right? So we can think about something else.” He took a drink, then set his glass down and reached out to tug the stack of papers from her hands.
Vivian didn’t let go. “I’m not done, actually.”
He frowned. “With the papers?”
“With Wilson.” Vivian found herself speaking gently, as though she were afraid of upsetting him by admitting the truth—though he had no reason to be upset. Nothing she did, least of all her agreement with Honor, was any of his business.
And even though she told herself that she didn’t regret her choice at all, she still stumbled over her words as she added, “I talked with Honor. And she asked—and I agreed—and she was right, you know, I have to go back anyway to take Mrs. Wilson her dresses…” She trailed off. Leo had gone very still as she spoke. Both of them still gripped the stack of papers, as though it were the object of a tug-of-war between them, though neither had moved. “Anyway, I’m just going to keep my ears open. You know. See if I can learn anything more.”
Leo let go of the papers at last, picked up his glass, and drained half of it in one gulp. He didn’t move, but she could sense him pulling away from her. Just when she was wondering why the idea of her continuing to look into Wilson could upset him so much, he said, “I guess you’ve got your reasons for helping her out. Reasons that—” He glanced ather out of the corner of his eye, then looked away quickly. “Reasons I probably can’t compete with.”
Vivian sighed. She liked Leo, but she didn’t want to explain herself. Not her complicated feelings toward Honor, and definitely not her desperate attachment to the little back-alley speakeasy, one that would never make it into a society paper’s nightlife column but was the only place where she felt like herself. She chose her next words carefully. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He considered that. “So you’re saying you’re not… close to Honor Huxley?”
“I’m saying I’m helping her out with something she needs and in exchange…” Vivian hesitated, not sure she wanted to explain all her worries to him, especially the ones about Florence. “In exchange, she’s promised to share a little information that I need. And since she was right, I do have to go back to the Wilson place anyway…” Vivian realized she was repeating herself and trailed off with a shrug. “No reason not to see what I can find out.”
“That wasn’t a no,” Leo pointed out, his expression unreadable.
“That’s true,” Vivian agreed. “But it also wasn’t a yes. And like I said… I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Well then…” Leo slid closer, and Vivian thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he tucked himself against her shoulder and gestured at the papers. “Let’s see what we can find.”
“What?” She stared at him, confused.
“I said I wanted to help you wrap this up quickly. Still true. I don’t think it’s a good thing for you to be caught in the middle of. So let’s talk over what you know, and see what’s in here, and maybe we’ll figure something out.” He smiled at her surprise. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying two heads are better than one?”
“Sure,” Vivian said, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. “But when you invited me over here, I didn’t think it was because you wanted to talk about some dead guy.”
He laughed and leaned in to kiss her. The papers slid from Vivian’shands with a soft rush of sound, and she could have sworn she was melting as Leo’s hands traveled down her spine.
“About that dead guy?” he asked when he finally pulled away, his voice husky.
“It’s not like I’ve learned anything more than I last told you,” Vivian said, feeling breathless herself. “About going to the Wilson place.”
“Right.” Leo nodded. “And that bastard who sent those thugs after you, Roy something—”
“Carlton,” Vivian broke in. “But I don’t know for sure he was…” She trailed off at the look in Leo’s eye. “It was probably him, he was the only one who could have recognized me.”
“Roy Carlton,” Leo repeated, nodding. “Well, that’s something. We should see if he’s mentioned anywhere,” he added, gesturing at the papers now scattered across the floor and sofa.
“That’s a good idea,” Vivian said, bending down to gather them up. “Honor pointed out that just because you’re sweet on your boss’s wife doesn’t mean you have the nerve to do anything about it. So there needs to be some reason…” Her eyes were fixed on the paper in her hand. “Some reason…”
She lost the train of her sentence as she read the gossipy little column. It was just a couple inches on the society page, but the way it described Hattie Wilson jumped out at her.
Mrs. Willard Wilson was not in attendance, despite having been on the organizing committee for the gala event.A little bird whispered that perhaps she is suffering from that well-known complaint that so often afflicts young, newly wedded ladies… though of course any such speculation would be considered most crass by This Writer.
