Chapter Ten #2
Vivian bit her lip. “Can you get a message to someone we know? Busy boss lady like her wouldn’t give me the time of day, but she might pay attention if it’s coming from you. And I want to talk to her.”
Thankfully, Honor understood right away without Vivian needing to say the name out loud. She didn’t think anyone was listening in, but she couldn’t be sure. “You said the note was signed H.”
“Yeah. It’s not a sure thing. But she might know something, one way or another.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The song ended with a single, lingering note from the piano. For a moment they stared at each other, not moving, neither of them sure what to say. Something like a possibility hung between them. Then Honor looked over Vivian’s shoulder and frowned. “Do I recognize that fella?”
The band swung into a bouncy Baltimore as she spoke, and the moment was broken. Her mind stumbling to catch up, like a missed step in a dance right when the tempo changes, Vivian turned to see where Honor was looking. She found herself frowning, too.
Abraham was standing near the bar, his hat in his hand as he looked around and his anxious expression making him stand out in a way no one in their right mind wanted to stand out at a speakeasy.
“That’s Bea’s fella,” Vivian said, a wave of worry hitting her. Forgetting about Honor for a moment, she dodged through the dancing couples to reach him as fast as she could. A couple of grumbles and more than one “Hey, watch it!” followed her, but she ignored them.
“Abraham,” she gasped when she reached him. “Is Bea okay?”
The look that met her didn’t make her worry any less.
“Hard to know,” he said, fidgeting with the brim of his hat as though he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
She had no idea, Vivian realized, whether Abraham drank or danced or even ventured out to where places like the Nightingale opened their doors.
He often drove the night shift in his cab, but that was all she knew.
“I stopped by after dinner to see her, and she asked me to drive her here. Said she needed to get out for a bit.” He nodded toward a corner table.
“She asked me to get drinks. But I’m worried about her. She should be home with her family.”
“Sometimes a girl needs a break from her family,” Vivian pointed out.
“Yeah, well.” Abraham fidgeted with the brim of his hat again, glancing around nervously before picking up the two cocktails that the bartender slid his way. “They’re worried about her. And so am I. Can you talk some sense into her?”
Vivian sighed. “No promises, but I can try.”
But she didn’t get a chance. When they reached the table, she found her friend chatting with another man. Vivian could tell by the tense set of her shoulders and the way one hand was tapping against the table that Bea was some kind of nervous or excited.
“Please, mister,” she was saying in an urgent whisper. “If you know something, please, you gotta tell me.”
“Everything okay?” Abraham asked, eyeing the other man warily.
Both of them jumped a little when they realized they had company.
The man stood, looking ready to move off, but Bea grabbed his sleeve.
“Mr. Guzman here knew my uncle,” she said, her voice light and casual, her expression anything but.
“He heard about Pearlie dying and came over to give his condolences.”
“Lived near him,” Mr. Guzman said, looking uncomfortable.
He was about the same age as Pearlie had been.
There were lines around his eyes but none on his forehead, and his hair had only a touch of silver at the temples.
“Started coming here because Pearlie mentioned it was a good time. Sorry again about your uncle, Songbird. But I’m due on the dance floor, so excuse me but—”
“But here’s the funny thing,” Bea continued, her eyes boring into Vivian’s. “Seems Mr. Guzman got a pretty odd letter a few weeks ago.”
“I got nothing to say about that,” Mr. Guzman said through clenched teeth. His chin tucked just the slightest bit toward his chest, and he shifted his weight, as though he was fighting the urge to step back.
“All right, he said no, so that’s that,” Abraham broke in, setting the drinks down so abruptly that they spilled a little. He shook his head, looking anxious. “Come on, Bea, we should get going. You need to—”
“You sure we can’t persuade you to give us a minute of your time?”
The group startled again when Honor spoke. None of them had noticed her approach the table. But where she stood, she easily blocked Mr. Guzman’s path back to the dance floor.
He stared at her, suddenly looking nervous. “Ms. Huxley. You planning to shake me down for something?”
“Just information,” Honor said smoothly, a dollar appearing between her fingers. She held it out to him. “And it’s not a shakedown, just a request. Sit down and have chat with me.”
“Oh?” He eyed the money, but instead of taking it he crossed his arms. He eyed them all warily. “I don’t much like talking to strangers these days.”
Vivian tried to look as unthreatening as possible.
She was used to watching dancers move; she could tell he was balanced on his toes, ready to flee at a single wrong word.
Something had him on edge for sure. “And we won’t take up much of your time, mister, I promise,” she said earnestly, giving him a small, hopeful smile.
“But it’s real important. Please? It’ll just take a minute. ”
Guzman looked her up and down, and his posture relaxed slightly. “All right, baby, since you asked so sweet. But make it quick.”
They all sat down again, crowded around the small round table, and he took a long drink, grimacing as he set down the glass and looked them over. “What do you want to know?”
“Those letters,” Bea said, leaning forward. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
Guzman let out a slow breath. “You didn’t hear nothing from me, little girl. You understand? But if your uncle got a letter, I’m guessing he ignored it, poor bastard. You can’t ignore one of those letters.”
Vivian’s heart sped up. “You got a letter?” she asked. “What did it say?”
“That someone knew I had a real pretty silver hairbrush, and if I didn’t want something bad to happen, I should leave it in a certain spot on a certain night and not ask any questions.
” His mouth twisted bitterly. “It was the only valuable thing I had. My mother brought it with her when she first crossed the border. And now I got nothing of hers left.”
“And you did what the letter said?” Honor asked, her brows rising in surprise.
“Goddamn right I did. After what happened to the folks the floor below me? I don’t have a death wish. It might have been a family treasure, but that’s no good to me if I’m dead.”
“What do you mean?” Vivian demanded. “What happened to your neighbors?”
“And where does the poison come in?” Honor added.
Guzman hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind all in a rush.
Speaking so quietly that they had to lean forward to hear him, he murmured, “They got a letter before I did, and they ignored it. The day after they were supposed to leave their valuables, someone sent a package addressed to their kids. There was a box of rat poison in it.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Abraham bit off. Bea reached for his hand, her own eyes fixed on Guzman; Abraham took it and pressed it against his mouth.
Vivian was too terrified to say anything; her breath felt like it was tangled in her throat.
“Were the little ones all right?” Honor asked.
“They were. But the threat was clear. Another letter arrived that day, and they did exactly what it said. So yeah, I handed over that hairbrush.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about your uncle, Songbird. But if he got one of those letters, you should just do what it says.”
“Do you still have yours?” Vivian asked. “So we know what to look for?”
He shook his head. “I burned it. Didn’t want that sticking around in my life.”
“You didn’t want to take it to the police?” Vivian asked, not because she thought the answer would be yes—it clearly wasn’t—but because she wanted to know what he would say.
“They tried that,” he said shortly. “My neighbors. They didn’t have the letter, but they told the cops what had happened after that poison arrived. Want to know what they said?”
“No,” Abraham said, looking queasy. Vivian didn’t blame him. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.
“Yes,” Bea said quietly.
“They said that if they couldn’t keep dangerous substances away from their kids, the little ones would be taken away.
Police don’t care about someone trying to steal from poor folks, because they don’t think poor folks have anything worth stealing.
So no, I didn’t try to go to them. I just left the damn thing where I was supposed to. And you should do the same.”
Bea stood up abruptly, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. “I need to find out if Pearlie got one of those letters,” she said. “I can’t remember seeing anything in his papers. I need to go. Right now.”
Abraham had jumped to his feet. “I’ll take you, baby,” he said quickly, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. “It’s going to be okay.”
Bea cast a look at Vivian. “Will you—”
“Of course. First thing in the morning, I’ll come tell you anything else we find out,” Vivian said. “Go, it’s okay.”
Mr. Guzman watched them leave, shaking his head. “Poor kid,” he said. Downing the rest of his drink and standing up, he cast a quick look at Honor. “Was that all?”
“Not quite.” She was watching him closely. “So you just left the hairbrush and that was it?” Honor asked. There was a note of skepticism in her voice, verging on suspicion, and Vivian turned to look at her in surprise. But Honor was watching Guzman. “Nothing else?”
Honor was good at reading people. She had to be, in her line of work, had to be able to tell when someone was lying or holding information back from her. Vivian didn’t know what had tipped her off this time, but Guzman’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Vivian thought that he would walk away.
Then he let out a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. “No. You’re sharp, lady. That wasn’t it. I hid. I wanted to spot whoever was coming to pick it up and beat them to a pulp.”
“What happened?”
“Whoever it was got to me first. I heard someone behind me, and before I could turn around they had bashed me over the back of the head. I was out cold. Woke up at least an hour later. Someone had taken my shoes, and I got sick every time I walked up the stairs for a week.” His mouth twisted bitterly.
“Had to spend three dollars I couldn’t afford on new shoes, on top of everything else. ”
“You know anyone else who got one?” Vivian asked. He was almost done talking to them, she could tell, and she couldn’t blame him for it. Just thinking about what had happened to him and his neighbors made her shudder. “Anyone else you gave that advice to?”
He shrugged. “Word gets around about something like this, especially after a few months of it happening.”
“Months?” Vivian breathed, exchanging a quick, shocked glance with Honor. But Guzman wasn’t done. In spite of his hesitation, it seemed like he was relieved to be talking about the whole thing.
“There were a few people next street over. Anyone who didn’t pay up right away got a can of poison in the mail.
One fella even woke up to find someone had come up the fire escape and left it inside his window.
There’s probably folks out there who know of more, if you could get them to talk. But I doubt they will.”
“What did your neighbors have to hand over?” Honor asked.
He shrugged. “Gold locket with a rose on it. Pretty thing. Probably worth a tidy little bit. But not worth more than their kids’ lives. Like I said, just do what the letter says. And that’s all I’ve got to say about it. So I’ll take that cash now.” He held out his hand.
When Honor pulled out another two bills for an even three dollars, his eyes widened in surprise. He nodded his thanks as he took it. “Thanks for your help, mister,” Honor said.
“Yeah. Do me a favor, and don’t drag me into this again. And tell your songbird sorry again about Pearlie,” he added as he turned away. “Poor bastard. Shoulda just paid up when he got that letter.”
Once he was gone—he made a beeline for the stairs—Vivian and Honor stared at each other. “Do you think,” Vivian said slowly, “if he comes here, and he knew Pearlie … do you think whoever is writing these letters has something to do with the Nightingale after all?”
“I hope not,” Honor replied quietly, her eyes hard as she stared past Vivian’s shoulder, her expression closed off. “But it looks like I need to do that favor for you sooner rather than later if we want to learn anything more.”