He raised his eyebrows. “You want me to look it up?”
“Please,” Vivian said faintly.
“You think your friend’s fella stole those too?”
“No, I…” Vivian thought quickly. If Abraham, or whoever he was working for, was using the pawnshop as a way to move goods, then there might be a record of who had pawned the candlesticks. But she couldn’t tell the pawnbroker he might have taken stolen goods. If he thought there was a chance of getting in trouble with the law, he’d toss her out and cover his tracks as quickly as he could. “I think I know the girl who mighta had to pawn them. If they’re hers and she can’t buy them back in time, I’d want to get them for her. So they could stay in the family, you know?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“That’s what folks do for each other,” Vivian said, scowling before she remembered that she was asking for a favor. “I just don’t want to bring home the wrong pair if they’re not hers.”
He didn’t look quite as if he believed her, but after a moment he nodded and flipped to another page in the book. “Well, you’re in luck. Those ones are just for sale this week. And I remember the woman who pawned them.” He gestured with his hand, indicating someone who was a bit shorter than Vivian. “Old lady brought them in a fewmonths ago. Foreign name, but she spoke good English. Kaminski, or at least that’s what I wrote down. That your friend?”
Vivian shook her head slowly, stunned. “No… no, that’s not her.”
Florence had been right. Mrs. Kaminski had pawned the candlesticks herself, probably a while before she even got the letter that had upset her so much.
“You okay?” the pawnbroker asked, eyeing her uneasily as he wiped his brow with the red handkerchief again.
“’Course I am,” Vivian said, pulling herself together with an effort. She gave him a weak smile. “I’m always okay.”
“Good.” The pawnbroker slammed his book shut. “Then get the hell out of my store.”
Vivian was up to her elbows in soapy water, but her mind was still churning over what she had learned at the pawnshop. Beside her, Florence was humming quietly, while Mrs. Chin, busy at the stove, glanced over at them every so often, a frown on her face. Vivian wondered if that was mostly directed at Florence or if it encompassed her, too. But Mrs. Chin didn’t say anything, and Florence kept humming as she scrubbed, and Vivian still turned over half a dozen questions that she couldn’t answer.
If the candlesticks were already gone, what had the letter writer wanted? Had they just not known when they sent the letter? But then why would they kill the old woman with a gas leak to steal something they would have been able to see wasn’t there as soon as they entered the apartment? Did they just not know where it was kept?
And how did they find out their information, anyway?
“Viv, you gonna be ready to leave in half an hour?” Danny strolled into the kitchen, a towel over one shoulder as he dropped his tray and went to open the back door. A breeze snaked through the smokyroom, and Vivian took a deep breath. Even Mrs. Chin stopped work for a moment to fan herself with the brown paper that had been wrapped around a bunch of herbs.
“That’s up to your mother,” Vivian said, glancing at Mrs. Chin. “All right if I take off?”
“Yes… yes. You go get ready for your job,” she said, looking unhappy at the mention of the Nightingale. “We’re closing soon anyway. Your sister and I can finish up. You’re good girls, both of you,” she added, a little begrudgingly. “You do good work without complaining.”
“No chance of us complaining,” Florence laughed. “I think staying here is the best we’ve ever eaten. You’re a wonder at that stove, Mrs. Chin.” She tried to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand as she spoke, but ended up leaving a trail of soapy foam across her forehead.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Danny said, grinning as he pulled the towel off his shoulder and flicked the suds away with it.
Florence squealed and tried to push him away. “Where has that towel been?” she demanded, laughing. “Don’t you put it near my face!”
Grinning, Danny waggled it toward her once again. She responded by scooping up a handful of suds from the water and drawing her hand back, threatening to throw them at him. “Okay, okay!” he protested, laughing, holding his hands up as he backed away.
Vivian stared at them. Since when did her Florence, of all people, play and laugh?
“Get out of here,” Florence ordered, putting her nose in the air, though she couldn’t quite hide her smile. “I thought you had to get to work?”
“Sure do,” he agreed, leaning against the wall as he grinned at her. Not even glancing at Vivian, he asked, “Half an hour, Viv?”
“Sure,” she agreed, untying her apron, trying to ignore the hot, bitter feeling thrumming through her.
Had Florence completely forgotten why they were there? Howcould she flirt and laugh when Vivian had been putting herself in such danger, night after night, trying to keep them safe? She knew it wasn’t a fair thought; she had pushed her own troubles and worries down more than once with a dance or a drink at the Nightingale. She had often flirted with Danny to give her mood a lift when things were difficult or scary. She couldn’t blame her sister for doing the same. And Florencedidn’tknow how much danger Vivian had been putting herself in, because Vivian hadn’t told her.
But the bitterness was still there.
“A moment, Vivian Kelly.”
Mrs. Chin’s voice stopped her just at the door, and Vivian turned quickly back. The last person she wanted to offend was Danny’s mother, who had been so generous with them already. “Yes, ma’am?”
