“Oh hell,” Vivian said again, even more soundlessly this time.
Florence was going to kill her.
Leo had rolled enough away that she could stand; still half-asleep, Vivian hauled herself upright without waking him. Her bag, shoes, coat, and stockings were jumbled together in a pile just a few steps away; she pulled on her coat and stuffed the stockings in its pockets rather than wasting time putting them back on.
The papers they had been looking at were still scattered across the floor. Vivian hesitated, checking the clock sitting by the stove. Six in the morning. She could afford to take a few more minutes. She gathered up as many as she could carry, shuffling them into a pile as quietly as possible, then paused to smile down at Leo. He frowned a little in his sleep, two grumpy lines creasing the skin between his eyebrows. She thought about bending down to kiss them away, seeing them fade as he blinked awake to find her leaning over him.
But he was just as likely to be the sort who woke up swinging if he was startled. And anyway, she needed to hurry home. Her sister would have noticed she didn’t come back last night—again—so there was no telling what kind of fight was waiting for her. Giving Leo’s sleeping frown one last smile, Vivian tucked the papers under her arm, picked up her shoes and bag, and tiptoed out.
She didn’t put the shoes on until she had successfully crept past the landlady’s door and made it to the nearly empty street, the city just getting on with the business of waking up for the week.
But in spite of her good mood and the quiet morning hour, she still glanced over her shoulder, watching for someone following her or hands that might reach out to grab her. Shivering a little, Vivian weighed her options and the change in her purse, then went to catch the nearest streetcar.
Vivian had done a lot of successful sneaking in and out of buildings in the last few days. This time, it was the newspapers that gave her away.
She was standing with her weight on her toes as she eased the door of her home shut behind her, trying to creep in as silently as possible. But as the latch clicked, the papers shifted, escaping from under her elbow and rushing toward the floor even as she jumped to catch them.
The soft crinkle and swoosh of their fall might not have been a problem, but the clatter of the chair she collided with was.
Vivian saw it falling too late. She stumbled forward, trying to catch it, and ended up tumbling down with it.
She was still on the floor when Florence burst out of the bedroom, an old Smith & Wesson in her hand and pointed straight at Vivian.
The sisters both froze, staring at each other.
Florence moved first, lowering the gun and bursting into angry tears. “Where were you?”
“What the hell are you doing with that?” Vivian countered, stumbling to her feet and hauling the fallen chair with her. She had to resist the urge to put it between her and her sister. Instead, she clung to it with white knuckles. “Do you even have any idea how to use it?”
As suddenly as they had come, Florence’s tears were gone, replaced with blazing fury. “I’m not an idiot, thank you. Where were you last night? And what were you thinking, sneaking in like a criminal?”
“You have a gun?” Vivian was sure she needed to be apologizing for something, but she couldn’t make it happen. Florence was upset, and angry, and all that was probably justified. But Vivian’s mind couldn’t move past the sight of her sister, modest nightgown buttoned up to her neck and her hair in a long braid down her back, with a gun in her hand. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Flo, since when do you have a gun? And how did I not know?”
“I bought it as soon as you started going out to those jazz clubs,” Florence said, her voice shaking even as she gathered herself into something that resembled calm. “I wanted to be ready in case men started following you home, or strangers turned up here asking for money or favors or the good Lord alone knows what else.”
“Why do you keep thinking I’ll get mixed up in something criminal?” Vivian demanded, hurt.
“Youaremixed up in something criminal,” Florence snapped, her calm facade fraying. “That’s what those places are, Vivian,they’re illegal.It’s only a matter of time before that follows you home.”
“I’m not mixed up in anything, Flo,” Vivian said, but her mind went to Wilson’s dead body as she said it, and she knew that she didn’t sound convincing. Trying not to think of how easily Honor had convinced her to keep going—it was for Florence, after all, she reminded herself angrily—she shook her head emphatically. “I’m not.”
“And what about that?” Florence demanded, gesturing at the bandage still wrapped around Vivian’s hand. She was still holding the gun, though, and both sisters winced as the barrel swung up once more. Looking a little ill, Florence set it down abruptly on the table. But she clearly would not be deterred. “What happened to your hand?”
“That was just an accident. A glass that broke,” Vivian insisted.
“Really? An accident that just happened the same night youwent to jail?” Florence snorted with disbelief, crossing her arms. It didn’t look belligerent—if anything, she looked as though she were desperate to hold herself together. But the guilt that swamped Vivian was quickly brushed aside as her sister demanded, “Well, then, where were you last night?”
Vivian ground her teeth, all too aware of the stockings in her pockets. “I told you, I had a date.”
“All night? Vivian, what are you involved with?”
“For God’s sake, Flo, a man! I’m involved with a man. That’s what a date is.” Defensive, she gestured at the gun on the table. “And I know full well we don’t have the money to buy something like that on the up and up, so don’t go playing high and mighty with me, thanks. You’re growing a little too shady yourself to be throwing the first stone here.”
Florence hissed in a breath, and the sisters glared at each other without speaking until Vivian was sure she could hear the angry thumps of her own heart. At last, Florence put her chin in the air and sighed.“Since I’m up, I guess I might as well make breakfast. I assume you need something to eat after whatever bootleg poison you were drinking last night?”
As far as olive branches went, it was a weak one, and Vivian wasn’t ready to accept it. “I was drinking the good stuff last night, thanks.”
She could see Florence stiffen, but her sister only nodded. “You’re going back to bed?”
