“It matters if he’s the one threatening my sister!” Vivian finally yelled.
Bea stared at her. “What the hell does that mean?”
Vivian felt like she couldn’t breathe. How much should she share? Bea knew her too well. If something was threatening her sister, Vivian would do anything to fix it. She hadn’t hesitated to send Leo to Bellevue to keep Florence safe, even though she knew her friend wouldn’t want her to. And she knew what Bea would say to that, so she had kept Florence’s letter a secret.
But if Abraham was behind the letters, then Bea could be in danger, too. And avoiding her friend’s anger paled in importance to keeping her safe.
All that flashed through her mind quick as an electric light flipped on in a dark room.
She met Bea’s eyes. “We disappeared yesterday because I had to get Florence somewhere safe. She got one of those letters.”
“She got… Why didn’t you tell me?” Bea’s eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. “What did you do?”
“I tried to get the coroner to tell the police,” Vivian said quietly. There was no use trying to hide it anymore. “Or a journalist, or someone.”
“I told you—”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Vivian said simply. “But I’d do it again. She’s my sister.”
Bea let out a slow, shaky breath, the kind that said she was keeping a tight rein on her temper. Vivian flinched, but she didn’t back down. “But now you think it’s Abraham?” Bea said, her voice sharp as static that would jump at the next touch. “What in God’s name gives you the right—” She broke off, taking another deep breath. There were tears in her eyes again, but this time she ignored them. “Do you thinkI wouldn’t have the sense to notice if my fella was going around trying to bump people off? Including my own uncle?”
“I didn’t say he was the one responsible for hurting anyone,” Vivian pointed out. “But he’s involved somehow. I know it.”
“How?” Bea snapped.
“Your necklace.” Vivian felt sick as she said it, as she watched her friend’s face, but it was too much of a coincidence to look past. She nodded at the pretty gold locket. “It’s got a rose carved on it.”
“So?”
“So that’s exactly what Mr. Guzman said his neighbors had to give up. A gold locket with a rose etched on it. How many of those do you think are lying around the city?”
“There’s a lot of people in New York, Viv. Stands to reason there’s a lot of jewelry too.”
“Did you ask Abraham where he got it?” Vivian asked quietly.
“Did I ask—Of course not.” Bea jaw and fists were both clenched. “Abraham likes giving presents. He does it all the time.”
“And where does he get the money for them?”
“He has a job!” Bea yelled, losing the battle to control her temper. A clatter of toppling pots from the neighbors reminded them both how thin the walls were, and Bea lowered her voice. “He works like a dog, and that means that sometimes he can afford to buy me something pretty. I don’t care if you don’t like it. You know how hard it is to find a nice fella, so why’re you trying to ruin this?” The hurt in her words made Vivian want to take it all back, but she couldn’t. Not if there was any chance she was right. When she didn’t answer, Bea’s expression grew cold. “I hate to say it, Viv, but jealousy’s not a cute look on you.”
Vivian felt as if she’d been slapped. It was a struggle to keep her voice even. “Just ask him, Bea. That’s all I’m saying. You can yell at me all you want afterward, but just ask him.”
The two of them stared at each other. Finally, Bea gave a single jerky nod. “I will, just to prove that you’re wrong.”
Vivian smiled weakly. “I’d love to be wrong, believe me.”
“You are,” Bea snapped, spinning on her heel. The slam of the door behind her made the walls shake.
Vivian sighed, rubbing her eyes, then pressing her fingers against them so hard she saw stars. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for days. But she and Florence had to be at work, smiling, tidy, and unremarkably on time, in just a couple hours.
The money from Honor was back in Chinatown, but the cash box under Florence’s bed had enough in it for a few cab rides. Vivian shoved a small bundle of bills in her pocket and began to hunt around for her hairbrush.
She had the cab drop her off several blocks from where she wanted to be, then dodged down an alley, listening for the sound of footsteps or any other indication that someone might be following her. Peering around the corner, back the way she had just come, she scanned the crowd. No one, as far as she could tell. Still, she wasn’t about to take any chances with Florence’s safety. Skirting a stinking pile of trash and the rancid puddle that had gathered beneath it, she ducked down a second alley, before emerging and dashing across the street between two cars. The drivers honked and yelled, but she was already past, quick footsteps carrying her through another alley where she ducked under countless lines of laundry before emerging on Spring Street.
The restaurant was just ahead.
The bell at the door tinkled when she opened it, and a few heads turned in her direction when she walked in. The room wasn’t crowded. It was early in the day, after all, and this part of the city was a lot like the one where Vivian lived: anyone who could work did, keeping food on the table and the landlords at bay.
