Hattie glanced at the box on the table. “Which I do appreciate. ButI’m not one to waste an opportunity. And…” She smiled. “It never hurts to have a girl like you in my debt.”
“Here, I thought the red one would look best on you.”
Vivian took the slinky dress from Bea, running her fingers appreciatively across the silk before she folded it carefully and wrapped it in brown paper. “Thanks a million, Bea.”
“Happy to help.” Bea was smiling, but she looked nervous. “And it’s okay if you make an alteration or two. Gotta look swell tonight, right?”
“That’s the goal,” Vivian agreed, though her mind was a thousand miles away when she said it. The lodge ball was in just a few hours. And hopefully, hopefully, she’d be able to find out what Corny Rokesby was up to, what he had been up to the morning his stepfather had died.
Because if it hadn’t been him, and if it hadn’t been Huxley Buchanan’s wife or business partners who wanted him dead…
“Bea,” Vivian asked before she could stop herself. “You’ve known Honor for a long time now, yeah?”
“Sure,” Bea said, sounding wary. One hand traced absent circles over the rough wood of the table where they sat, and she didn’t quite meet Vivian’s eyes. “Ever since I started working at the Nightingale.”
“Do you think she could kill someone?” The words came out barely louder than a whisper. The silence in the room was painful. It was the closest they had ever come to the night neither of them wanted to talk about. Vivian stared at her friend, and Bea stared at her hands.
“I think anyone could,” she said, lifting her eyes at last. “You or me. Florence.” She swallowed. “Honor. But we’d need a damn good reason to do it.”
Vivian nodded as she gathered up her package. “Thanks again for the dress,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Bea tried to smile and failed. “Good luck.”
TWENTY-TWO
“Holy moly, Viv, don’t you look smashing,” Mags said, giving Vivian’s borrowed gown a look up and down. Vivian, feeling self-conscious, resisted the urge to touch the rhinestones at her ears or the feathered headband that was pinned across her forehead. Mags gave Leo an equally approving glance, smiling sideways at him as she slid into the cab’s back seat. “I’ve seen you around, I think, from time to time? Making puppy eyes at Viv and wowing on the dance floor. I always thought you looked like a swell time.”
Leo, dressed to the nines in what Vivian was sure was a custom-made suit and matching hat, gave her a wink. “I am, sweetheart.”
Mags laughed. “Lordy lord, I’m guessing you have your hands full with this one, don’t you?” she said, rolling her eyes at Vivian. Vivian couldn’t tell what she was wearing, but it couldn’t be a gown—it was short enough to be hidden under an elegant little coat. Mags leaned forward to give the cabdriver the address for their destination.
Vivian frowned as Mags flopped back against the seat with a happy sigh. “I thought the place was in Harlem?”
“It is,” Mags said, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. “But we’re heading somewhere else, first, to change and meet up with our ride for the evening.”
Vivian stared at her in confusion. “Change?”
Mags strode up to the front of the pretty brownstone and leaned on the buzzer. The houses were only three stories tall in this part of the city, and slender rather than hulking, but the glimpse of elegant furnishings and soaring ceilings that Vivian could see through the bow window still shouted the wealth of whoever lived there. She tugged nervously at the shoulders of her borrowed gown—she’d had time for a few alterations, so at least it fit well—wondering who exactly Mags was taking them to meet. She only relaxed a little when Leo took her hand and squeezed it.
But when the door swung open, Vivian found herself staring at a familiar, sandy-haired face. “Jimmy?” she demanded, too stunned to be polite.
Pretty Jimmy Allen beamed at them. “God almighty, doll, you look smashing,” he said, echoing Mags’s compliment without knowing it. He gestured broadly to welcome them inside. “Come on in. I take it Mags didn’t tell you who got your tickets, then?”
“No, she didn’t,” Vivian said, hovering awkwardly in the hall as Jimmy closed the door behind them.
“Didn’t want you to cut out the middleman,” Mags laughed, pausing only to plant a quick kiss in the air next to Jimmy’s cheek before she snatched up a black bag that was waiting in the hall for her and clattered up the stairs.
Vivian had found out months ago that Jimmy and Mags both belonged to the part of New York that had houses on the Upper East Side, mansions on Long Island, and old family businesses funded by even older money. But she’d never seen him outside the Nightingale,where distinctions like that didn’t matter so much. Even once she had become part of the staff instead of a customer, Jimmy had still always treated her like a pal, dragging her onto the floor when she was available to kick up her heels for the Charleston, or treating her to a cocktail on her nights off. Unlike most of his friends, though, Jimmy never tried to get frisky with her or any of the girls he danced with. Vivian knew why—he had once described himself to her, only a little coyly, asnot the marrying type. But even in the underground world of the Nightingale, he always seemed to prefer to keep his private life private, away from the eyes of any friends or neighbors who might cross his path.
Even the trust of a shared secret, though, was not quite enough to set her at ease as he ushered her into his small but opulent sitting room, where light danced off a crystal chandelier. Vivian was almost afraid to sit down, but Leo, always at ease no matter where he found himself, was already happily accepting the offer of a drink and a seat.
“And what’s your name, tall-dark-and-handsome?” Jimmy asked as he poured their cocktails. He wore a beautiful brocade robe—was it silk?—over loose trousers, and Vivian couldn’t say for certain whether he had a shirt on under it. Was he not coming with them? “Or are we skipping those kinds of formalities tonight?”
“Leo,” he replied easily, lifting his glass in a small toast. “Thanks for arranging things.”
“My pleasure,” Jimmy said, handing a drink to Vivian as well, as she perched uneasily on the edge of a wingback chair. “I’m just glad Mags found someone to keep an eye on her tonight. She got plenty pouty when I first said I wouldn’t take her along.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Vivian asked, taking a sip. The liquor was top-shelf, but she didn’t want to get tipsy. Not when she was going to need to keep her eyes and ears open all night.
