“I’ll keep you company on the way, if you don’t mind?”
Vivian couldn’t have said what they talked about as they caught the nearest streetcar and headed west and south past the park. She expected him to leave her at the station, but he insisted on accompanying her to the door of Bea’s building, just to be cautious.
“We still don’t know if someone might be keeping an eye on you,” he pointed out as they walked. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Sure,” Vivian agreed, not meeting his eyes, her fingers clenched around the paper. “But probably best that you don’t come up. Bea’s not really your biggest fan.”
“Still doesn’t trust me?”
Vivian made a face. “Can’t quite get past who your uncle is.”
“And what about you, Viv?” he asked, stopping on the sidewalk in front of Bea’s building and putting a hand on her arm. “Do you trust me yet?”
She didn’t want to answer flippantly, but after a moment she nodded. “I think so. I think I got there.”
There was a long pause, as though he were waiting for something else. “I sure am glad to hear that,” he said at last, giving her a smile and a quick kiss on the cheek.
The spot where his lips had brushed tingled. Vivian hoped she wasn’t blushing. There had been plenty of sparks between her and Leo not long ago, try as she might to ignore them. As he stepped back, she wanted to reach out and pull him closer, to bury her face against his jacket and pretend she was safe and cared for, that everything around her was simple.
But just at that moment, she couldn’t afford to be distracted by a handsome smile or a fella who smelled like sandalwood and wintergreen. She couldn’t afford the fantasy that anything was safe or easy. And she couldn’t afford to let him know what she was planning, because there was no way he would let her go without trying to stop her. Her fist tightened around the paper once more.
Leo tipped his head toward the building’s door. “Go on, get up there. I’m sure Bea could use a friend right now.”
It took her a beat to find her voice. “Yeah. Thanks again for lunch. I’ll see you around?”
“Count on it.” He waited for her to go inside the building.
Before the door closed behind her, she saw him give a quick glance around, an instinctive gesture from a man who was used to trouble following him. Then he set off down the street. Vivian took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs.
Bea was usually home alone this time of day, with her family members at work and school. She crossed her fingers that Alba was out, too.
She and Bea had a visit to make.
“Girls.” Dr. Harris stepped back from the door, looking surprised as he gestured for them to come inside. “This is unexpected. Is one of you sick? Is Alba all right?”
“We’re just fine,” Vivian said, her voice steady. Her hand was steady, too, as she pulled the snub-nosed revolver from her purse and pointed it right at him.
Dr. Harris’s eyes went wide, and he held up both hands in front of his chest as he took a quick, stumbling step back. “What—”
“I’m here for the dress,” Vivian said coldly. “It doesn’t belong to you, and it didn’t belong to me. And Bea—” She tilted her head toward her friend, who was standing just behind her, but she didn’t take her eyes off the doctor. “Bea is here for some answers.” She pulled the hammer back on the revolver. “So start talking.”
TWENTY-SIX
Dr. Harris stared at the two of them, Vivian with the gun pointed unwaveringly at him, Bea blocking his path toward the door. He licked his lips and tried to smile, but the expression got stuck halfway across his face, and all he could do was eye them with increasing fear. “I don’t… I’m really not sure what you’re talking about. What… dress, did you say? What answers? Can you please put that down, Vivian? There’s no cause for violence.” Another attempt at a smile. “I’m a man of medicine, not… not whatever it is you think is going on.”
“You’re a man of a lot of things, all right,” Bea said, tossing down the newspaper that Vivian had showed her. It was folded back to show the photo of the dead police officer.Sergeant Paul Harris,the article read. He smiled out of the page, looking remarkably like the man who was standing in front of them, glancing at the paper and then back at them with increasing horror. Further down on the page, A. Harris stared stoically at the camera in a line with P. Rossi, H. Gonzales, and G. Flannigan. “And apparently, so is the rest of your family. My condolences, by the way. You said your brother and father were caught up inmob business, didn’t you? And your brother died because of it? Looks like Sergeant P. Harris got in a little over his head.”
“See, when I saw Mrs. Kaminski’s candlesticks in a pawnshop, my first thought was that whoever was writing those letters had gotten sloppy,” Vivian said conversationally. “But when the pawnshop owner told me she had pawned them herself, I couldn’t figure it out. After all, you had told me she was worried about a letter that came in the mail, right? And then there she was, a death that looked like an accident, just like Pearlie, and the most valuable thing she owned missing. And then when the letter came for Florence… God Almighty, I was so scared I could barely think. But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Her free hand tightened into a fist, but the one holding the gun didn’t waver. He had threatened Florence. “You were a fast thinker that day to put it in my head that Mrs. Kaminski was another victim. Did you need the money the dress could bring in? Or did you just want me so scared that we’d stop trying to find out what happened to Pearlie?”
“Maybe both,” Bea said, when Dr. Harris kept his mouth firmly shut. “I thought fellas like him were supposed to take some kind of oath not to harm people. But it seems like he’s only out for himself.”
“I amnot,” Dr. Harris said at last, his voice rising angrily. He was shifting ever so slightly, as though trying to edge away from them, but Vivian turned to keep him squarely in her sight. “Do you have any idea how many people I’ve helped since I came here? But you think I did, what, just threatened and robbed the people around me? Just for the hell of it?”
“No,” Vivian said thoughtfully. “I’m guessing it had to do with your father and his gambling problem.”
“How did you—”
“Who did he need to pay off?”
