Vivian shook her head. “Police called it a suicide. They still don’t know the bottle was poisoned.”
“Not a fan of the police, Miss Kelly?”
Vivian matched Mrs. Wilson’s cold, mocking tone when she replied, “Folks like me can’t pay the bribes you can, so they don’t tend to look the other way when they catch us doing something not strictly legal.”
Mrs. Wilson didn’t argue with that. “And was the recipient someone I know?”
“Friend of a friend,” Vivian said evasively, not willing to let the nameHenrybecome part of the conversation. “Fella who worked here, actually.”
“Was theHsupposed to be you, then?” Hattie asked, glancing at Honor.
“Could have been the idea,” Honor said, looking up from her glass and shrugging. “Not my writing, either, though. And not my style at all.”
“I thought maybe you’d know something about it,” Vivian continued, watching Hattie Wilson closely. “Seems like the fella was moonlighting for someone in your line of work and got himself smoked for his trouble.”
“Well, he didn’t work for me, and that note didn’t come from me.” Hattie’s smile was mocking. “If I wrote something like that, I’d sign my name.”
That, Vivian could believe. “But maybe you know someone who works like that. Someone who takes care of problems with a subtle hand. He thought it was a present for a job well done. Anyone in your line of business who might do a thing like that?”
“What was his name?”
Vivian hesitated. “Pearlie,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret it.
But Hattie only shrugged. “If you want my expert opinion, I doubt this came from whoever he was working for.”
“Why do you say that?” Honor asked, sipping her drink as if she didn’t much care about the answer.
“Because something this subtle”—she handed the paper back to Vivian—“doesn’t send a message. When people in my line of work punish someone, we want the rest of our boys to know about it. That’s how you keep people in line.”
“Kill many people, then?” Vivian asked, feeling sick and trying not to show it.
Hattie Wilson shrugged. “I prefer not to. Killing is messy. Killing means you owe the police a lot of money to keep it quiet.” She took another ladylike sip of her whiskey, then tapped the note. When she spoke next, it was with the condescending inflection of a much older sister who also believed she was much smarter. “I’ll give you a tip, Miss Kelly. Ask yourself what kind of message a death like this sends, then find out who would want to send it.”
She finished her drink and slid the empty glass across the desktop to Honor, who caught it easily. “I’m curious to see what you turn up.”
“Who says I’ll tell you anything more?” Vivian asked, taunting anddefiant. Mrs. Wilson made her nervous, and she never wanted the other woman to guess that.
Mrs. Wilson smiled, her voice cold and careless as a shrug. “I have my ways of finding out what I want to know. See you around, little girl. If you survive that long.”
“Is that a threat?” Vivian asked, her hands balling into fists. She glanced at Honor, who had set her glass down and was watching the exchange, her face impossible to read.
“Oh no, Miss Kelly.” Mrs. Wilson shrugged. “Just an observation. Girls who poke their noses into this kind of business take an awful risk. And I almost like you. I’d hate to see you end up a corpse in an alley.”
Vivian sucked in a breath. It was how Mrs. Wilson’s husband had died, and everyone in that room knew it.
“That’s probably enough,” Honor said before Vivian could reply, her voice so mild it made Vivian gape at her. She still stood on the other side of her desk, eyes on her whiskey glass as she swirled its contents in a circle. Lifting it to take a sip, she glanced up at Mrs. Wilson. “No need to get testy with each other.”
She didn’t look at Vivian as she spoke—didn’t show any emotion at all, in fact. Vivian felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. She had seen Honor jump to the defense of just about every other employee with far less cause. But she didn’t seem to mind the threats, or whatever they were, that Mrs. Wilson was casually tossing out. In fact, she looked like she had barely heard them.
“You’re probably right.” Mrs. Wilson shrugged again. “In any case, I’ve got a baby to get home to.” She smiled. “No need to see me out, Ms. Huxley. I remember the way just fine. And Miss Kelly?” She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and the small lift of her brows felt like a warning snaking its way down Vivian’s back. “I came here as a favor, yes, but also to tell you one other thing. If you ever let slip toanyone what you know about my sister, you will…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “Regret it.”
The understatement in her words would have been chilling, but that threat, at least, Vivian didn’t need to worry about. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said quietly, meaning it. “Your sister went through enough. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, and she doesn’t deserve people hounding and judging her for it now.”
Hattie studied her, as if trying to decide whether she was sincere. Then, without a word, she nodded and opened the door. Bruiser George and his slick-looking buddy were waiting just outside. Hattie motioned to them without speaking, and they fell in step behind her. She strode down the stairs without looking back.
Vivian stood in the doorway, waiting until they were firmly out of sight before slamming the door closed and rounding on Honor. “What the hell was that?” she demanded, stalking toward the desk. “How could you let her say that and juststandthere?”
Honor flinched. “What was I supposed to do, Vivian? She was here to talk to you.”
