Had Pearlie met whoever had killed him here at the Nightingale? Could that person be on the dance floor at that very moment?
Vivian was glad when her break finally came. A pretty fella in agray suit had been making eyes at her for the last hour, a smile on his face and an invitation in his eyes. She had smiled back, glad for the distraction and yearning to spend a few minutes losing herself in the music. As soon as she set down her tray, he ordered two glasses of champagne and turned her way, one in each hand.
But before he could reach her, a long-legged figure in sharp trousers and a crisp white shirt came between them.
Honor gave Vivian a smile. “Dance with me, pet.”
The band was just striking up a waltz. Honor loved a waltz, but Vivian knew that wasn’t really why she was asking. Still, she hesitated.
They had danced together only once, before Vivian knew that Honor had, both accidentally and deliberately, sent her into danger. Honor’d had her reasons, but knowing that still didn’t make Vivian trust her completely. Especially when she knew that Honor could do it again. And she would probably agree to it.
But Pearlie was dead, and there was no knowing if Bea was in danger because of it. Honor held out her hand, and Vivian took it.
The dreamlike feeling intensified as Honor’s other palm pressed against the small of Vivian’s back. Vivian took a slow breath, trying to find her mental feet, even as Honor swept her into the dance with a silky, confident lead. The slow, crooning melody made the air and Vivian shiver.
She met Honor’s eyes at last and was surprised to find the same hint of vulnerability there that she was feeling. “Feels like old times,” Honor murmured, her voice laced with regret.
They didn’t have old times. They had danced together only once, kissed only once after that. But Vivian knew exactly what she meant. Something about them fit together—or it would have fit, if they could trust each other.
Vivian shifted her weight back, just the smallest bit. She didn’t want to pull away, not in the middle of a dance. But she needed that breath of air between them to keep her mind steady. “Did Danny talk to you?”
Honor had felt the shift, and for a moment the look in her eyes was sad. But then her smile was back in place, dark lashes sweeping down as she sent a quick look to the left and right. No one was paying them any attention. She nodded. “I didn’t want anyone to see me take you back to the office, just in case they got curious. But if we’re on the dance floor, no one’s going to look twice if we’re whispering at each other. So. Tell me what happened.”
Vivian let herself sway close again, until her head was almost on Honor’s shoulder. Lifting her chin, her voice no louder than a murmur, Vivian told her everything she had learned, both at Pearlie’s place and at the coroner’s office. When she finished, Honor led them into a slow turn, Vivian spinning away for a brief moment only to find her way back into Honor’s arms. She wanted to rest her head on Honor’s shoulder, to breathe in the sweet, spicy scent of her perfume. But Honor didn’t pull her close again.
“And you’re going to help Beatrice find out about those letters? The ones the doctor told you about?”
Vivian nodded. “I promised her I would. I don’t want to, but she’s hurting so bad right now. And she’s scared. What if the folks Pearlie got involved with come after her family? What if they do something that tips that coroner off and he talks to the papers and—”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Honor said quietly. “Just tell me how I can help.”
Vivian’s feet slowed, and for a moment she was surprised enough to lose the rhythm of the dance. “Just like that? Because Pearlie worked here?”
“And Bea works here. And I look after my people.” Honor pulled her close again to murmur in her ear, “Including you, pet. I’ve got some trust to earn back.”
Vivian pulled back, far enough to look Honor in the eye. “I seem to remember not long ago you telling me that I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“And you shouldn’t have. Then.” Honor’s expression was deadly serious. “Things are different now.”
“Are they?” Vivian asked, her voice prickly. She knew better than to let her guard down around Honor, no matter how much she might want to.
For more than two bars of music, Honor was silent. Her eyes closed briefly, and when she opened them again, the regret was back. “I’d like them to be. But even if…” She hesitated. “Folks out there need to know that I look after my own. That’s part of what the Nightingale means. So. What can I do?”
Vivian bit her lip. “Can you get a message to someone we know? Busy boss lady like her wouldn’t give me the time of day, but she might pay attention if it’s coming from you. And I want to talk to her.”
Thankfully, Honor understood right away without Vivian needing to say the name out loud. She didn’t think anyone was listening in, but she couldn’t be sure. “You said the note was signedH.”
“Yeah. It’s not a sure thing. But she might know something, one way or another.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The song ended with a single, lingering note from the piano. For a moment they stared at each other, not moving, neither of them sure what to say. Something like a possibility hung between them. Then Honor looked over Vivian’s shoulder and frowned. “Do I recognize that fella?”
The band swung into a bouncy Baltimore as she spoke, and the moment was broken. Her mind stumbling to catch up, like a missed step in a dance right when the tempo changes, Vivian turned to see where Honor was looking. She found herself frowning, too.
Abraham was standing near the bar, his hat in his hand as he looked around and his anxious expression making him stand out in a way no one in their right mind wanted to stand out at a speakeasy.
“That’s Bea’s fella,” Vivian said, a wave of worry hitting her. Forgetting about Honor for a moment, she dodged through the dancing couples to reach him as fast as she could. A couple of grumbles and more than one “Hey, watch it!” followed her, but she ignored them.
