Chapter Nine
Two Days After the Murder
ETHEL ADAMS WAS set to perform at Festival Hall that evening, which meant, if they had any luck at all, she would be practicing there sometime in the morning.
Grace dressed in one of Lillie’s most expensive high-necked lace blouses and a veiled skirt, examining her reflection in the hazy, full-length mirror in the corner of the studio. She picked a hat with delicate purple flowers and plumes. Because she knew that money talked.
And even more importantly, money got other people to talk.
Theodore looked sharp as well, in his black satin hat and tailored suit. He had the high cheekbones of an aristocrat. He was so handsome, especially when he shed his perpetual look of scorn.
“Sleep well?” he asked as they passed through the fragrant sunken garden on the way to Festival Hall. He walked by her side but did not offer her his arm.
“As well as can be expected,” Grace said, breathing in the cloves mixed with the flowering fringe trees. In truth, she’d had awful dreams. Of Oliver in jail and Harriet in the morgue. Of Walt, reaching out for her with skeletal fingers.
The Cascades misted her skin as they climbed the palatial, curving steps toward the golden and teal dome of Festival Hall. She could hear a few distant chords of music from deep within the hall, but when she pulled on the doors, they held fast.
Locked.
“May I help you?” a smartly dressed attendant asked, striding toward them. He had on a dark uniform, a crisp white shirt and gloves, and a bow tie.
“We’re unable to attend the concert tonight,” Theo said briskly. “And were hoping to hear Miss Adams sing during her practice instead.”
The attendant chuffed at the brazenness of the request, about to turn them away. Until Theo brought out a wad of bills.
The attendant’s sneer turned into an obliging smile. “Right this way, sir,” he said.
“That’s right, I forgot,” Grace said under her breath. “Only the rich get to be impertinent.”
“Come now, Grace,” Theo said breezily. “You seem to do a pretty good job of it yourself.”
He held the door for her and she wrinkled her nose.
The sound of the door closing behind them ricocheted across the vaulted ceiling.
Grace tried not to gasp at the gleaming white walls of the grand, circular dome, empty of people but with seating for thousands.
She glimpsed the largest pipe organ she had ever seen.
Its ten thousand gleaming, golden pipes made her wish she had Walt at her side.
Walt loved music. He had loved the organ at their small church, and they had laughed at the petite, passionate woman who every Sunday had played it for all she was worth.
One time, they had snuck in when no one was there and played the organ as loud as they could, pretending to be Mrs. Penelope T.
Gottfried until their mother caught them.
Grace wondered if, with the acoustics of this place, playing an instrument like this at the height of its volume could blow out her eardrums.
Theo’s hand barely grazed her lower back as he ushered her toward the balcony, and an unexpected zing went up Grace’s spine.
They sank into the plush box seats above the stage, fading into the shadows.
“All of this is to be temporary?” she whispered, gaping in awe at the splendor of the hall.
“Life is temporary,” Theo said. “Might as well make it as beautiful as you can.”
Ethel Adams appeared on the stage dressed in a white gown and sat down at a grand piano. Three women joined her onstage, and a single man sat in the audience.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, directing the question to the man.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
“There’s someone I want to impress tonight. Let’s make sure he gets the best seat in the house.”
Grace exchanged a look with Theodore.
Then Ethel drew a breath and transformed it into a song that filled the room with something soft and velvet, something Grace could almost reach out and touch.
Ethel was surrounded by pots of flowering trees and the train of her dress spilled around her ankles in an iridescent oyster silk, like molten mother-of-pearl.
Draped banners swayed as the lights were adjusted behind her.
For the first time, Grace felt as though a song could melt in the air, wrap itself around her, and then gently tuck her in.
Theo leaned toward her. “I forgot to mention that my father made a call,” he whispered. “I can get us in to see Oliver.”
“When?” Grace asked.
“Tomorrow.”
She felt that pleasurable little zing again.
“Why are you doing all of this for Oliver?” she whispered. The fear of those zings made her voice come out sharper than she intended. “Playing along in his game with Harriet could have easily gotten the murder pinned on you.”
His jaw twitched. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“Then why?” she demanded. “Why are you being so good to him? Did he lend you money? Do you owe Oliver some sort of debt?”
“Your low opinion of me never ceases to amaze.”
She turned toward the stage, not looking at him. “It just seems an awful amount of effort for someone you haven’t even known a year.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flush a little.
“I’m not in the habit of making friends easily or quickly,” he said.
“I know well what it’s like to be used for my name and fortune or mocked behind my back for the way I look.
” He flushed deeper, turning so that the birthmark was fully visible.
“But Oliver was immediately my friend. He made other friends for me. He made my entering society in St. Louis so effortless. I may not have the gift of easily making friends, but I do have the gift of loyalty.” He clenched his jaw, his profile limned in the light.
And she thought of how alike they were, in some ways.
Oliver had done the same for her. Instead of shunning her as an outsider, he had always brought her into the fold. Made her feel like she was wanted.
“So perhaps you’re right,” Theodore said. “Perhaps I am repaying a debt. But I like to think of it as more that I care. And when I care”—his eyes met hers, and something twinged inside of her—“I care to the depths of myself.”
Her gloved hand grazed his and she immediately pulled it back. Hints of attraction were out of the question. This was all just a marriage of convenience. No, not that word. A business arrangement of convenience.
She turned over the thoughts in her head, playing with her pocketbook in her lap. Dear Oliver was always generous. Always willing to bring in people to the inner circle. But perhaps he had gone too far with Harriet.
Perhaps bringing her into the elite inner circle had gotten her killed.
When the next song ended, they made their way down the stairs to intercept Ethel as she took a break.
Ethel startled a little to see them approach, but quickly recovered.
“Ah. We meet again, Gretchen,” Ethel said, eyeing them with suspicion.
“Grace,” Grace corrected. “And this is my friend, Mr. Theodore Parker. You might remember him from the Luchow-Faust the other night, as well.”
“Not to be rude, but I didn’t realize we were opening rehearsals up to the public,” Ethel said. She arched an eyebrow.
“We had to pull a few strings,” Grace said.
“That desperate to hear me sing?” Ethel asked.
“And we were hoping to speak to you about something. Privately.”
Ethel held their gaze. Then inhaled.
“Is it about Harriet Forbes?” she asked quietly.
Grace took that as an invitation to plunge ahead. “You might have seen that Oliver Carter was arrested on suspicion of Harriet’s murder.” She swallowed. “I’m Oliver’s cousin. He didn’t do this.”
“I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.” Ethel’s eyes darted toward the man doing the sound check, and he began striding toward them.
“You were there that night Harriet died.”
“And I’ve already told the police everything I know.”
“But there was another night I’d like to ask you about. Please.”
It wasn’t merely Grace’s imagination that Ethel’s eyes looked bruised and hollow.
The makeup couldn’t quite hide it, now that they were this close.
She hadn’t been sleeping. If Grace were a betting woman, she would say that Harriet’s death had impacted her.
But the question remained—was it out of grief or guilt?
Theodore shot Grace a wordless look that she was learning to interpret. He was offering to pull out his wallet again. But she didn’t want to have to rely on his cash and connections at every turn. And Grace could tell that this was a woman who could not be bought. This time, it would be up to her.
“Listen. I don’t have anything to offer you, I know that,” Grace said quickly as the man approached them.
“I have no money. No connections to help your career. All I can do is appeal to your better nature. An innocent man is being held. A man I love as dearly as a brother. If you had information that could set him free, would you give it?”
Ethel sighed. She held up a hand to keep the approaching man at bay. “Fine. My backup singers are practicing this song. You have three minutes until they’re done.”
One of them hit a wrong note and Ethel turned to glare at her.
“Or perhaps four,” she said sardonically.
Grace pulled out her notebook. “That night we first met at the Luchow-Faust,” she said quickly.
“You and Harriet both performed, and Sam Whitcomb mentioned that someone important was there. A talent manager, looking for someone’s career to invest in.
” She spoke quickly, but she was watching Ethel’s reaction the whole time.
Ethel remained impassive, her face not betraying a single twitch.
But she was an actress, after all, Grace reminded herself.
Grace continued: “When Harriet exited the stage, she was approached by a man who wished to speak to her.”
“Yes,” Ethel said slowly. “I saw that.”
Grace’s pulse sped up. “Did you recognize the man?”
Ethel shook her head. “I did not.”