Chapter Ten
TEN
It felt strange to walk to the Nightingale alone.
Most nights, Vivian had Bea beside her, coats over their dancing dresses even in the summer, so no one stopped to wonder, or maybe ask where they were headed so late, all dolled up.
They couldn’t afford a cab, not every night, so they walked.
Bea, focused and determined, would stride exactly where she needed to go, confident, brisk, and careful, always careful, watching the alleys and shadows and doorways for anyone who might turn into trouble for two girls walking at night.
But Vivian’s eyes and steps always lingered, taking in the pools of golden light under the streetlamps, the shop doors barred and bolted for the night, the glimpses of night sky peeking between the buildings where no stars could be found.
Sometimes there were sounds of laughter floating from windows, thrown open to catch whatever breeze might be stirring the heavy city air.
Sometimes there were strains of jazz or blues rolling out of a carelessly opened door, behind the buildings or back in the alleys, hidden but waiting if you knew where to find it.
There were nights Vivian longed to go wandering, to cross the grid of streets to where mansions stood shoulder to shoulder, each trying to outdo each other with light and splendor and drama.
She wanted to know what it was like to live that way, without worry or fear or anyone to tell you what you couldn’t do.
The Nightingale was waiting. And she could find those things there, even if it was only for a few stolen moments on the dance floor.
But it still felt strange to walk alone. With Pearlie’s death, the streets that for a while had felt safe were full of shadows again, spots where unknown bodies slumped, drunk or asleep or just too tired to stay on their feet, where strangers lingered and called out to passing girls.
Vivian glanced at the sky, black and purple without a star to be seen, heavy and sultry with the summer heat. She checked the change in her purse and, before she could talk herself out of it, she flagged down a cab.
The band was in a mellow mood that night, brassy and slow to match the heat outside. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, cheeks and chests pressed close to each other, lovers and strangers and friends carrying each other through the smoky, boozy rhythm.
Vivian was glad. In her current mood, she didn’t think she could take the manic rush of energy that came with a Charleston night.
She had already forgotten one order and delivered a bottle of champagne to the wrong table, a mistake that could have come out of her pay.
Luckily for her, the accidental recipients had been decent enough to point out the error instead of just drinking it before she realized she’d gotten it wrong.
“What’s wrong, kitten?” Danny asked as she came rushing back for the cocktails she had left waiting on the bar. Instead of his regular killer smile, he gave her a worried look. “Your head’s all the way up in the clouds tonight.”
“Thinking about Bea,” she said. It was a true enough answer, even if it was the easy version, no explanations necessary.
At least, there wouldn’t have been with anyone but Danny.
But he rarely took anything at face value.
He put down the bottle he had been about to pour from.
“You find anything out?” he asked, throwing a towel over his shoulder and leaning forward, his voice dropping to just above a murmur. “Anything Hux should know?”
Vivian lifted her tray in a smooth motion, the six glasses on it barely shivering. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It ain’t good.”
Danny nodded slowly. Making up his mind, he called out to the other bartender. “You got it handled for a minute? Have to go find the boss lady.”
“I’m on it.”
Danny smiled as he came around the bar, an easy grin to show anyone who might be watching that everything was normal, there was nothing to worry about.
“Go on, kitten. Those fellas are going to get rowdy if they have to wait any longer for their drinks, and it’s too damn hot to be breaking up a fight tonight.
” He gave Vivian a gentle nudge between her shoulder blades. “Hux’ll find you when she’s ready.”
Vivian did her best to focus on work, but every time her eyes strayed to the bandstand where Bea should have been singing, or the spot by the bar where Pearlie should have been standing, her thoughts jumped back to the coroner’s face when he told her what was in that bottle.
She felt disoriented and unstable, like she was in a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any moment, knowing something that no one else there did.
The Nightingale had its regulars, same as any other place, and by this point she knew most of them.
But over the hours of any given night, two or three dozen strangers might whisper the password at the door, pull aside the velvet curtains that kept the sound of the band from sneaking out, and make their way down the steps into the crowd.
And they could be anyone: factory workers or debutants, politicians or mobsters.
Had Pearlie met whoever had killed him here at the Nightingale? Could that person be on the dance floor at that very moment?
Vivian was glad when her break finally came.
A pretty fella in a gray suit had been making eyes at her for the last hour, a smile on his face and an invitation in his eyes.
She had smiled back, glad for the distraction and yearning to spend a few minutes losing herself in the music.
As soon as she set down her tray, he ordered two glasses of champagne and turned her way, one in each hand.
But before he could reach her, a long-legged figure in sharp trousers and a crisp white shirt came between them.
Honor gave Vivian a smile. “Dance with me, pet.”
The band was just striking up a waltz. Honor loved a waltz, but Vivian knew that wasn’t really why she was asking. Still, she hesitated.
They had danced together only once, before Vivian knew that Honor had, both accidentally and deliberately, sent her into danger.
Honor’d had her reasons, but knowing that still didn’t make Vivian trust her completely.
Especially when she knew that Honor could do it again. And she would probably agree to it.
But Pearlie was dead, and there was no knowing if Bea was in danger because of it. Honor held out her hand, and Vivian took it.
The dreamlike feeling intensified as Honor’s other palm pressed against the small of Vivian’s back. Vivian took a slow breath, trying to find her mental feet, even as Honor swept her into the dance with a silky, confident lead. The slow, crooning melody made the air and Vivian shiver.
She met Honor’s eyes at last and was surprised to find the same hint of vulnerability there that she was feeling. “Feels like old times,” Honor murmured, her voice laced with regret.
They didn’t have old times. They had danced together only once, kissed only once after that. But Vivian knew exactly what she meant. Something about them fit together—or it would have fit, if they could trust each other.
Vivian shifted her weight back, just the smallest bit. She didn’t want to pull away, not in the middle of a dance. But she needed that breath of air between them to keep her mind steady. “Did Danny talk to you?”
Honor had felt the shift, and for a moment the look in her eyes was sad.
But then her smile was back in place, dark lashes sweeping down as she sent a quick look to the left and right.
No one was paying them any attention. She nodded.
“I didn’t want anyone to see me take you back to the office, just in case they got curious.
But if we’re on the dance floor, no one’s going to look twice if we’re whispering at each other. So. Tell me what happened.”
Vivian let herself sway close again, until her head was almost on Honor’s shoulder.
Lifting her chin, her voice no louder than a murmur, Vivian told her everything she had learned, both at Pearlie’s place and at the coroner’s office.
When she finished, Honor led them into a slow turn, Vivian spinning away for a brief moment only to find her way back into Honor’s arms. She wanted to rest her head on Honor’s shoulder, to breathe in the sweet, spicy scent of her perfume. But Honor didn’t pull her close again.
“And you’re going to help Beatrice find out about those letters? The ones the doctor told you about?”
Vivian nodded. “I promised her I would. I don’t want to, but she’s hurting so bad right now. And she’s scared. What if the folks Pearlie got involved with come after her family? What if they do something that tips that coroner off and he talks to the papers and—”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Honor said quietly. “Just tell me how I can help.”
Vivian’s feet slowed, and for a moment she was surprised enough to lose the rhythm of the dance. “Just like that? Because Pearlie worked here?”
“And Bea works here. And I look after my people.” Honor pulled her close again to murmur in her ear, “Including you, pet. I’ve got some trust to earn back.”
Vivian pulled back, far enough to look Honor in the eye. “I seem to remember not long ago you telling me that I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“And you shouldn’t have. Then.” Honor’s expression was deadly serious. “Things are different now.”
“Are they?” Vivian asked, her voice prickly. She knew better than to let her guard down around Honor, no matter how much she might want to.
For more than two bars of music, Honor was silent. Her eyes closed briefly, and when she opened them again, the regret was back. “I’d like them to be. But even if…” She hesitated. “Folks out there need to know that I look after my own. That’s part of what the Nightingale means. So. What can I do?”