Things were good just now. Easy. Straightforward. She didn’t need to go making them complicated by wondering what sort of possibilities Leo Green represented.
“All right,” he agreed before she could protest the kiss. “But just because I’ve missed you. Now, let’s see how good you are at sneaking past my landlady.”
“Leo, huh?”
The unhappy note in Bea’s voice was impossible to miss.
“Say what you want about his work for his uncle, it does give him some helpful ins,” Vivian said, unpacking the bag of food from the automat. There was no one there to eat it at the moment, but she needed something to do with her hands.
She wasn’t the only neighbor who had brought food, either. An entire chicken pie sat on the table, still steaming, next to a bag of apples. Other neighbors had stopped by to see that the Henrys were fed for the day before promising to bring meals in the days to come; without an icebox, keeping too much food fresh would be too difficult.
Another time, Vivian might have pointed out that it was unfair for Bea to stay sour at Leo but give Honor a pass. But that wasn’t quite true: Bea knew Honor, knew why the Nightingale’s owner had acted the way she had. She had reasons to trust her boss, even if she knew Honor could be untrustworthy. Bea and Leo didn’t have that kind of history. And anyway, even if Vivian had wanted to have that argument, this certainly wasn’t the day for it. “Can you think of another way to get a second look?”
Bea grimaced, glancing over her shoulder. But no one else was inthe apartment. Her mother was at work, and her brothers and sister were at school. They’d be back soon, and it was Bea’s task to get them settled and fed before Mrs. Henry got home. On normal days, Bea would kiss everyone good night and head to her job at the Nightingale not long after that, and Mrs. Henry would wait up after the kids had gone to bed, sewing or reading or just praying until all her children were safe under her roof once more. But this wasn’t a normal week. Bea had nowhere to go, and she paced around the room like a cat in a cage.
“Mama wanted me to stop by Pearlie’s today to pick up some of his papers,” Bea said, looking a little lost as she glanced around the room. “She wants to see if there’s anyone in Baltimore who needs to know he’s…” She trailed off, biting her lip. “Anyway, I need to be back before the kids are home. They’ll need me to get their dinner.”
“Well, we’ve got that covered,” Vivian pointed out gently, pulling an entire apple pie out of the bag and setting it in the center of the table. “And we’ve got an hour or so. As long as your mother’s not home before us, we should be in the clear. If you’re sure you’re up to it?”
Bea hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s get it over with. Leo’s waiting for us?”
“Have you told your mother you don’t think it’s a suicide?” Vivian asked as they made their way downstairs, stepping wide to miss the spot with the broken tread halfway down the flight. “What did she say?”
Bea shook her head. “Not yet. Not until I can prove something. Pearlie wasn’t her brother, but she’s still…” Bea stopped mid-stair, pulling in a shuddering breath and dropping her forehead against the wall. Vivian took her friend’s hand, and Bea squeezed it like it was a lifeline. “She’s having a hard enough time now, between managing her own self and trying to explain things to Baby. The boys are old enough that they get it, they’re sad but they’re not confused. But Baby…”
Bea shook her head again, and Vivian caught a glimpse of something wet on her friend’s cheek before Bea brushed it angrily away. Vivian didn’t say anything. One thing they had in common was hating to let anyone see them cry. Bea gave her hand a final squeeze and straightend up. “Anyway,” she continued. “I don’t want to say anything until I know it for sure.”
Leo was waiting for them outside, watching the door, hands in his pockets while he leaned against a streetlamp and whistled. When he saw them emerge, he stopped whistling, took his hands out of his pockets, and pulled off his hat.
“Beatrice,” he said, his voice more somber than Vivian would have expected. “I’m sorry to hear about your uncle.”
Bea eyed him, clearly surprised by the gesture but unwilling to let it change her mind about him. “Did you know him?” she asked coldly.
“No,” Leo said, unoffended. “Saw him a time or two at the Nightingale. But I know losing family’s hard.”
He said it with sympathy, but Vivian heard a roughness to the words. Leo had once mentioned that his father lived on Long Island, and she was pretty sure he had been telling the truth. But beyond that, she knew little about his family. He was estranged from his mother’s relatives, except his tenuous connection to his uncle the commissioner, but she didn’t know anything about where his father’s family was or what kind of relationship he had with them or even whether his mother was still alive. That had never struck her as odd before—folks who met over a cocktail and a dance in a jazz club didn’t tend to share more about their lives than they had to. And Leo held his secrets close to his chest. But now she found herself wondering who he had lost, and when, and how.
“Appreciate it,” Bea said. “But you’re still going to make me prove he didn’t do it himself, aren’t you?”
“You don’t have to prove it,” Leo said. “But if I’m going to ask the medical examiner to do me a favor, I need to be able to tell him why.”
Vivian watched them, her eyes darting from one face to the other. But Bea only sighed. “Come on, then.” She turned and started walking, hershoulders tense and her stride so brisk it looked like she might collapse if she stopped moving. She didn’t turn to see if they would follow.
Vivian glanced at Leo, not bothering to hide her worry. He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before following Bea, with Vivian bringing up the rear.
“It’s not much to look at,” Bea said quietly as she looked around Pearlie’s onetime home. There was only one room; like the building where Vivian lived, the shared washroom was out in the hallway. A large iron bedframe was pushed up against one wall, made up for the summer with lightweight sheets that had been tossed back over the footboard to air it out, presumably after Pearlie’s body had been taken away. In the center of the room was a heavy wooden table, dented and nicked by the many families that had likely used it over the years, and one wall was taken up with a stove, washbasin, and cupboard.
But in spite of the sparse furniture, the room was cluttered in a way that felt cozy and lived in. Books were piled on the floor and table, and a basket at the foot of the bed held blankets waiting for when the weather turned cold. Vivian felt an ache in her chest, thinking of the winter that Pearlie wouldn’t be there to see, and she turned quickly, looking for something else for her eyes to rest on. There was a typewriter sitting on the table, and on the wall hung three photographs, faces in shades of gray smiling out of the frames.
Vivian stepped closer to look at them. Two were groups of people, but one showed two men. One of them was Pearlie, younger than when Vivian had known him but still broad-shouldered and tall, with a playful lift to one eyebrow. The other man was a little older, sharply dressed and with a wide, gentle smile, one arm around Pearlie and one holding a little girl with an enormous bow in her hair.
“My father.”
Vivian jumped; she hadn’t heard Bea come up next to her. Her friend was staring at the photograph with hungry, sad eyes. “We hadn’t seen Pearlie since my father died until he turned up here at the beginning of the summer. I was so happy that he came to find us. We don’t have much left in the way of family, and ever since…” She cleared her throat. “He had a lot of fun stories about Dad from when they were growing up. Left Baby and the boys in stitches every night after dinner. Me too,” she added in a whisper.
“And that’s you?” Vivian asked quietly. The little girl smiled sunnily at the camera, her head resting contentedly on her father’s shoulder.
Bea nodded without saying anything.
