“Levinsky,” he said slowly, climbing to his feet. The Leo she’d been fighting with a moment before was suddenly gone. This one was wary. “What brings you by tonight?”
Vivian spun around on her stool, her own heart speeding up. He couldn’t be there to—
No. He was alone, dressed in a regular suit. Vivian glanced around, wondering where Edison had got to and if he was curious why another cop was there, especially since he’d seen them talking to each other just that morning. But she couldn’t spot him, though she didn’t doubt he was there somewhere. After she’d given him the slip that afternoon, there was no way he’d be taking his eyes off her now. She turned back to Levinsky.
He fidgeted with his hat as he glanced between them, then around the room, as though making sure no one was close enough to overhear.Plenty of people were, but with the night in full swing and the band close by, no one was going to bother trying to listen in. Still, he took a step closer.
“Not here to talk to you, actually,” he said, nodding to Leo before turning to Vivian. “I thought I’d find you here. I wanted to tell you that I followed your tip. You were right about Mrs. Buchanan. She was with Morris that morning.”
Vivian let out a shaking breath. One more person was in the clear, and it wasn’t her. “Anything else?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
“Well, I went back to Buchanan’s house, like I said I would.”
“And?” Vivian asked hopefully.
Slowly, Levinsky shook his head. “I talked to everyone in the house. No one would say a word about a visitor that day,” he said, grimacing. “Which might mean that whoever it was, they know better than to stick their nose in his business. Or…” He trailed off.
Vivian took a deep breath. “Or?”
“Or you didn’t hear what you thought you heard. You said you fell asleep, right?” He shrugged. “Maybe you dreamed some of it.”
“I didn’t,” Vivian said fiercely.
“Then whoever it was, it’s someone the folks in that house don’t want to talk about.” He shrugged again. “Either way, I came up empty-handed. I’m sorry I—”
“Good evening, friend.”
The smooth voice, polite and firm and sharp with warning, made them all jump. Vivian shivered. It was the second time Honor had surprised her that night.
The Nightingale’s owner was leaning against the bar, looking Levinsky up and down. She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. And your colleague”—she tilted her head toward the other end of the bar, where Edison sat, watching them all—“already collected the milk money for the week. You’re welcome as a customer, of course. But you don’t seem to be drinking or dancing. So I’m curious what I can do for you this evening?”
Vivian didn’t know whether Honor had spotted the cop on her own—it was the sort of skill someone in her line of work learned—or whether Danny had remembered him and sent for her. But Levinsky clearly hadn’t expected to be noticed so fast. He took a step back, then straightened his shoulders and stepped forward again, clearing his throat.
“You’re the daughter,” he said, without bothering to explain whose daughter he meant. He didn’t need to. “Honor Huxley.”
“I am,” Honor said, just loud enough to be heard over the band. “Does that matter?”
“It might,” Levinsky said, placing his hat on the bar and resting one hand on it. He glanced pointedly at Vivian before he turned back to Honor. But for the life of her, Vivian couldn’t figure out what he was trying to tell her. “Got time to answer a few questions?”
Honor’s chin pulled back, her gaze growing harder. Vivian felt a chill snaking down her spine. What was going on? “Depends on what the questions are, Mister…?”
He gave her a considering look. “Levinsky,” he said at last. “Your father left you a substantial inheritance, and that after what I understand was a lifetime of pretty thorough neglect.” He shifted his weight as he spoke, his fidgeting done, his stance suddenly more aggressive. It was directed at Honor, Vivian was sure, a reminder that while they were in her domain, he was in control outside these walls.
“That doesn’t sound like a question to me,” Honor said, her voice giving away none of her thoughts. A muscle jumped in Levinsky’s jaw. “And I’ve already discussed my inheritance with a few of your colleagues.”
“That’s right,” Levinsky said, pulling a notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He flicked through several pages. “And you told them… Here it is. You told them that you hadn’t spoken to yourfather in years and were unaware that he’d changed his will. Is that correct?”
“That’s what I told them, yes,” Honor said, her voice even more expressionless than it had been a moment before. She was still leaning against the bar, a picture of casual poise. But she had gone very still, aside from her eyes, which cut so quickly toward Vivian and back to the cop in front of her that Vivian almost thought she had imagined the look.
The chill spread through Vivian’s chest. She didn’t remember Honor’s exact words, the night they had discussed her father. But she knew Honor had told her, with no uncertainty, that she had known about her inheritance.
There could be a good reason she had lied to the cops. Maybe she had misspoken. Maybe she had wanted to avoid trouble with Buchanan’s wife and stepson. Maybe she had just wanted to keep the cops from poking and prying into her business, into the Nightingale, into all the people who depended on her work and her protection. Maybe—
Levinsky wasn’t done. “I talked to a few other people who were in the room when your father’s will was read.”
“You can call him Mr. Buchanan to me,” Honor said with the barest hint of a smile. “He wasn’t much of a father.” She gestured at his notebook. “As I’m sure you’ve noted in there.”
“So it seems. But in that case—” Levinsky’s voice grew sharper. “Why did they think you didn’t seem too surprised by how he’d left things?”
