“You could,” Vivian agreed calmly. Behind her, she heard the click of Bea turning the key in the lock. Rokesby started to look nervous. “But trust me, I’m doing you a favor when I say you don’t want to have anyone else in on this conversation.”
“And why is that?” he asked, crossing his arms and drawing himself up, even as he was still sitting in bed with a lap full of hot coffee.
“Because I doubt you want them to know that you were poisoning your stepfather.”
He threw himself out of bed, scattering the remainder of his breakfast tray across the coverlet. “Get out,” he ordered, his voice rising to a squeak.
“Really?” Bea said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t want to play it any cooler than that?”
“And you! You’re fired!”
“You think she’d want to stay and work for you?” Vivian demanded. “Fella who gets his stepfather to have a drink with him each night, pretending like he wants to be friends. And the whole time he’s just making sure he drinks a little arsenic every day, just waiting for him to get sicker and sicker.”
“That’s applesauce,” Rokesby said, but she could see his hands shaking. “That’s slander.”
“And it sure is suspicious, don’t you think, that the bottle of gin you gave him has somehow vanished from the sideboard in his study, just when the police might have needed to check it for arsenic?” Vivian continued relentlessly. “And he’d have known that you didn’t like gin, so he wouldn’t blink an eye that you didn’t want to share it with him.” She shook her head, turning to Bea. “Guess he thought he’d be getting more in the will. Bad bet, that one.”
“Must have been a shock when it was read out,” Bea agreed.
“You can’t prove anything,” Rokesby said defiantly. “Not that there’sanything to prove. But like you said, the bottle of gin is gone. So.” He crossed his arms, looking satisfied.
“Hmm. Not sure about that.” Vivian glanced down at the letter, as though reading through it again. “I know a medical examiner who’d be happy to share some information about arsenic poisoning. And this letter your stepdad kept about your gift sure looks suspicious when it’s paired with that missing bottle.”
“That’s still not enough to take to the police,” Rokesby said, but he sounded less sure of himself.
“I never said I was going to the police.”
Something in her voice finally got through to him; he paled and took a step backward, stumbling into his nightstand and having to catch his balance against the bedpost. “Then what…”
Vivian smiled as she handed Bea the letter. “It’s so much worse, isn’t it, to think what people would say if they found out? The speculation. The whispers. Maybe even a column on it in the paper. They wouldn’t use your name, but everyone would know who they meant.” She paused. “Just imagine what your mother would think. Your friends. His business partners.”
His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape. At last, he swallowed visibly and turned back to her. “What do you want?”
Vivian pulled out the letter Honor had helped write. “I want you to sign this.”
“And then you’ll give that back to me?” he asked, gesturing toward the paper Bea held.
Vivian laughed at him. “No, I’ll hang on to that. But as long as you hold up your end of things, I can promise you it won’t see the light of day.”
“And why should I trust you?”
Her voice grew hard. “Because unlike you, I’m not a murderer.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Rokesby protested. “They caught—” He broke off as she raised her brows at him. She could see his jaw clench, but he nodded. “All right. What am I signing?”
“Are you sure this is how you want to use it?” Bea asked once they were outside, leaving the Buchanan house behind as quickly as possible. “You know she’s dangerous.”
“I know.” Vivian held her hat on her head as they dodged across the street, ignoring the angry honking of a cab. “But I think it’ll be worth it.” She didn’t say it would be safe. They both knew there was no way to predict that.
Bea didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I hightail it home instead of coming with you.”
“Smart of you,” Vivian agreed. Before Bea could take off, though, Vivian caught her arm. “Thank you. For everything. For taking that job and…” She shrugged helplessly. “I owe you.”
“You’ve done the same,” Bea said quietly. “Or close enough, anyway. Things are square between us, Viv.” She pursed her lips, then added wryly, “Except that you still owe me a dress.”
That made Vivian laugh. “I’ll sew you a new one myself,” she promised. “See you tonight.”
She didn’t have far to go once Bea left. Fifth Avenue was crowded with mansions and, after a year of deliveries, she knew her way around them.
