Eighteen

"What?" Vivian demanded, her whisper as low as her friend's. "How do you know?"

The band was still playing, and Vivian could hear the laughter and stomping feet, the shouts from the bar. No one in there sounded like they expected a raid.

"There," Bea whispered, scooting closer to the doorway so she could peer in. Her dark eyes were wide and worried.

The risks of getting arrested were real, and if you didn't have money to pay off your bail and disappear from the system, they could be harsh. But the Nightingale had been raided before. The staff knew to bolt for the club's hidden exits and to take whoever they could with them. Honor, her bruisers, and whatever stacks of cash she had on hand would take care of the reasons behind the raid.

With her father's death, she'd have even more of that cash to draw on. Vivian shuddered, tucking that thought away to be examined later. She couldn't deal with it, not now.

She hesitated, then crept up behind Bea, who nodded her head toward the bar. "Plainclothes on the stool there," she murmured. "Three from the end."

The man was unremarkable, wearing a decent but unfussy suit, his hair slicked back and his hat on his lap. He had a glass of something in front of him, which he nursed without taking a drink, and from time to time he lifted his head to glance around, as though he was waiting for something or someone. "Danny spotted him. I'd just started my break, and he yanked me aside and sent me to get Honor." Bea took a deep breath. "He doesn't look like he's in a rush, but don't go back in there until—"

"Wait," Vivian said, putting a hand on her friend's elbow when Bea would have turned away. "I know him."

"You what?" Bea stared at her. "You palling around with cops now, Viv?"

"No, he…" Vivian swallowed. "He's the one who came with the commissioner." She racked her brain, trying to remember his name. "He knew Leo, too. I think there's a good chance he's not here for a raid."

"Viv, don't be an idiot, you don't—"

Vivian wasn't listening. She plunged back into the heat and noise of the dance hall, making a beeline for the police officer sitting uncomfortably on his stool. Behind her, she heard Bea growl something that didn't sound complimentary, then the quick tap of heeled shoes as her friend followed her.

Danny saw them coming toward him, and he shook his head sharply, his glare unmistakable. But Vivian ignored him as she slid onto the stool next to the man. His name came to her just as she sat down. "Levinsky."

He jumped, spinning around toward her, then relaxed when he saw who was there. "I'll be honest, I don't remember your name," he said. "Though maybe that's just as well. How are you enjoying your last week of freedom?"

It was said sympathetically, without any sarcasm or cruelty, but it still hit Vivian like a punch to the gut. Behind her, she heard Bea suck in a breath. On the other side of the bar, Danny looked like he was ready to leap over the counter and start swinging. He wasn't pouring drinks anymore, just watching to see what the cop would do, even though he kept his distance.

Vivian decided not to answer the question. "What are you drinking?"

Levinsky glanced down at his glass. "Honestly, I got no idea. I haven't even tried it yet, I just had to order something." He looked a little embarrassed. "I'm not much of… with the new baby, you know. I'm either working or at home."

Vivian gave him a smile, trying to pretend that her heart wasn't pounding. "Let me get you something good," she suggested, turning to Danny.

He was watching them; when Vivian caught his eye, he made the shape of a C with his hand against the counter, his eyebrows raised in question. Vivian nodded, but she crossed her fists low in front of her at the same time, pulling them apart in the club's sign for "safe." The exchange barely took half a second, and Vivian didn't think Levinsky had noticed. Then Danny was smiling too, friendly and unthreatening, as he gathered his ingredients with a flourish. A moment later, he was sliding a glass across the bar to Levinsky.

The cop gave it a wary glance. "What is it?"

"It's called a Corpse Reviver," Vivian said. "Just the thing to perk up a new dad." Over her shoulder, she heard Danny give a short laugh as he went back to work, though she knew that was mostly for show; he'd still be keeping an eye on Levinsky, even with Vivian letting him know that things were, at least for the moment, okay.

The cop took a tentative sip. "That's pretty good. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Vivian leaned one elbow against the bar. "Did the commissioner send you to check up on me?"

"Actually…" Levinsky glanced around, as if worried his boss might be lurking at the other end of the bar. "He doesn't know I'm here. I was hoping to run into your friend."

"Leo?" Vivian asked, trying not to look too surprised. They had seemed like they knew each other, but not well enough for Levinsky to seek him out on anything but orders. Unless they had a closer relationship than she realized… Over Levinsky's shoulder, Bea caught her eye, looking wary. "He's got a job tonight, so I'm not sure when he'll turn up. Need me to deliver a message?"

"No…" Levinsky hesitated, turning his glass in nervous circles on the bar. The band was playing a bright quickstep, loud enough that it would be difficult for anyone sitting even a couple seats away to overhear them. Still, he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "Well, depends. I had news for him, about the Buchanan family. Which I guess means news for you, too."

Vivian took a slow breath. "And what's the cost of this news?"

Levinsky frowned, staring down into his glass. "I know how this game is supposed to work," he said quietly. "I've played it before when I have to. But it's not one I enjoy." He met her eyes. "I took this job for two reasons, you know. My family needed money. And I wanted to help people."

Vivian couldn't help the skeptical snort that escaped her, and she heard a similar scoff from Bea. Levinsky jumped, glanced back over his shoulder as if he'd just realized someone else was there. When he saw Bea, though, he relaxed.

"You got a nice set of pipes, kid," he said, giving her a quick smile.

"Thanks," she replied, taking the stool on his other side. "You got a na?ve way of looking at the world."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But you think catching a murderer doesn't help people?"

"Depends on whether that's what you and your boys do," Bea pointed out. "How likely do you think it is?"

Levinsky grimaced, then took a sip of his drink to cover the expression. "That really is good," he said, sounding surprised.

"He's known for it," Vivian said, tilting her head toward Danny, who was still keeping an eye on them. Even if Levinsky wasn't there for a raid, he could still cause trouble.

"I've heard." Levinsky nodded, studying Danny, then turning his scrutiny on her. Vivian wanted to squirm, but she met his gaze steadily, waiting to see what he'd decide. The cop sighed. "Like I said, I've played it when I have to. But we're gonna say this is me paying back a favor I owe, okay? Let's say it's because Mr. Green helped my dad out when he was going to lose his shop a few years back. And you're Leo's girl, yeah?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Vivian said quietly.

Levinsky just shrugged. "I don't know him much myself; he ain't been around, but he doesn't seem like the easiest fella to trust. But his dad's good people. And you…" He looked her up and down, then shrugged again. "Well, just say those Buchanans don't seem like they're telling us everything they could."

"Like what?" Vivian asked. He seemed like a decent enough guy, but she had a hard time believing everything he said.

Levinsky hesitated again, taking another drink to buy time, then seemed to make up his mind all in a rush. "The wife, Mrs. Buchanan," he said, lowering his voice. "She's got nothing to say about where she was all day. Says that it's nonsense to ask her for an alibi, as if she'd kill her own husband. But if she was somewhere harmless, why not just say so?"

Her own husband hadn't known where she was, Vivian remembered. There were plenty of reasons a woman might be running late for an appointment, of course—especially an appointment with someone she didn't consider an equal, someone like a dressmaker. But Levinsky was right—why not just say so?

He wasn't done, though. "And that stepson, Rokesby? He seems like a sly piece of work and then some. Getting in on his stepdad's business like that, and after just a few years of him being married to his mom?" He leaned forward, looking eager to share what he knew at last. "Plus, he says he was with friends that day, but he's given us four or five different names and says he can't remember which of them were around. And all of them have told us different things about what they were up to, so it sounds like the lot of them are just making it up."

"And no one's following up on that?" Bea demanded.

Levinsky shrugged. "We're looking into it, sure. One of the maids in his house said he keeps an appointment book, so we asked to see it. And he got real angry." Levinsky rolled his eyes. "Said we had no business asking the staff about his personal papers—and what else are the police supposed to do? He claimed that he never kept any such thing as an appointment book in his life. And then my pal Connors said he overheard the housekeeper sacking that poor girl who had mentioned it. For indi—whatsit—indiscretion, which apparently means not doing a good enough job keeping your mouth shut—even when someone got himself bumped off." Levinsky took a long drink and shook his head. "Connors says that's just what some folks are like, think they can make us all dance around them like puppets. But it seems damn fishy to me. If they've got nothing to hide, they can say so. And now that poor girl's out of a job."

It took Vivian a moment to realize he had finished when the flood of words finally came to an end. "So what are you going to do about it?" she demanded, remembering Corny Rokesby cornering her in the alley—had it only been a couple nights ago? It felt like half a lifetime. It made all too much sense, now, why he had wanted to talk to Honor.

And it seemed damned suspicious that he had. To find out what she knew about the will? To try and scare her off of claiming whatever inheritance she had coming? And with him hiding things from the police…

Levinsky sighed and took another drink. "Just having suspicions isn't enough to pin anything on the Buchanans. We need proof, and we need time, and neither is looking likely right now. Not with reporters sniffing around, getting people riled up and clamoring for quick answers."

"I saw it in the papers," Bea said quietly. "They're making a real stink about it."

"It's the sort of thing that catches attention," Levinsky agreed.

"Haven't they found anything else?" Vivian asked. "Buchanan had a business meeting right before he died. What about his partners?"

Levinsky frowned. "That Whitcomb fella was at the office all day, half a dozen people saw him there. The other one…" He shook his head. "We're still looking into it."

Vivian wanted to ask him about the poison. But she didn't know how to bring it up without getting Dr. Norris in trouble. "What about anything… strange? About how he died? Do they think more than one person might've been involved?"

He gave her a dry look. "Right now they think you were involved. I don't know how much they'll look beyond that. So… good luck, I guess." He stood, tucking his hat under his arm. "I'm off. Baby's up at all hours still, and Maud'll be expecting me home soon to give her a break. Tell your fella I stopped by, will you? And…" He shrugged. "Whatever else you want to tell him. It's a hell of a mess you've got yourself in. Hope you can pull through."

"Thanks for your help," Vivian said quietly. "I know you didn't have to do that."

"Long as you don't go telling my boss, I should be okay." He gave her a tired smile, looking for a moment like a young, exhausted father who was just trying to do the right thing.

Vivian was starting to suspect that was exactly what he was. "Boy or girl?" she asked impulsively, putting a hand on his arm.

He gave her a surprised look. "Girl," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Rebecca Maud."

"Congrats," Vivian said, meaning it. "Hope she figures out her sleeping soon."

"Don't we all." But he was smiling as he headed for the stairs.

They watched him until he disappeared toward the front door, and then Bea let out a heavy sigh, dropping her chin into her cupped hands. "Lord almighty, Viv. You sure meet some interesting folks." Her dry tone said that interesting was the mildest word she could come up with. "How much you think you can trust him?"

"Enough," Vivian said. "I think. Leo seemed on… well, not friendly terms, but some kind of terms with him. And it was a decent thing for him to come here. God knows he didn't have to."

"It was decent if he was telling the truth," Bea said skeptically. "It was decent if he was here to help you and not because he was playing some other game for his boss. You don't know for sure."

"Gotta be some fellas on the police force that want to help people, right?" Vivian pointed out as Danny slid a tray onto the bar and started filling it up with drinks. "Stands to reason."

"Sure," Bea said, though she didn't sound convinced. She glanced over her shoulder and hopped to her feet. "Mr. Smith is sending his death glare my way. I've gotta scoot on up to the bandstand." She frowned. "You'll be all right?"

"Absolutely," Vivian said, giving her friend a sunny smile that didn't make Bea's frown go away. "See you after last call?"

"Count on it."

When Vivian turned back to the bar, Danny was watching her. "You making friends with cops now, Viv?" When she shrugged, he laughed. "It's not a bad idea, you know. Honor's on friendly terms with a lot of them. That one spooked me pretty bad, though, showing up on his own like that. I thought we were getting raided for sure."

"Not yet, anyway," Vivian said quietly, thinking of the commissioner casually revealing that he knew exactly where she worked.

Danny smiled comfortingly. "But if they like you, they look out for you."

"And in our line of work, we can use the looking out," Vivian said, taking the tray as he added the final drink, her mind darting back to Corny Rokesby. What was he trying to hide? "Where's this one going?"

"Pretty Jimmy and his pals in the corner," Danny said, nodding toward the cluster of well-dressed young men who were flashing smiles and cash in equal measure. "And then hop on back here. It's going to be a busy night."

He wasn't wrong, and Vivian was glad to spend the next few hours running her feet off. It didn't leave her much time for worrying about things like whether Levinsky was telling the truth or why Buchanan's family didn't want to talk to the police. She took her break right when they were playing a Charleston, and Pretty Jimmy Allen, whose friends were either making eyes at the girls on the dance floor or had disappeared into dark corners with them, snagged an arm around her waist and begged her for a dance. He had a smooth, easy lead, even if he wasn't the flashiest dancer, and Vivian was happy to lose herself in the music for as long as it lasted.

When the song ended, she and Jimmy were both breathless, and he grinned at her. "I'm glad your Ms. Huxley lets her girls take a spin on their breaks," he said, leaning over to brush a kiss against her cheek. "Dance floor wouldn't be the same without you, baby doll. I think someone else is hoping for a turn."

With a playful wink, he disappeared back into the crowd, looking for a new partner as the band started up a Baltimore beat. Vivian turned to see who he had been talking about and froze.

"George," she said, her voice flat and cold. "What do you want?"

Bruiser George grinned at her. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, girlie?"

They weren't friends. Wiry and weaselly, with a mouth that was always twisted into a leer and hands that liked to hurt people, he didn't have any friends as far as Vivian could tell.

She didn't reply, just waited. His eyes narrowed, and he held out his hand. "Let's go for a spin, all nice and normal-like, and I'll tell you why the boss lady sent me."

"Not damned likely," Vivian said softly. She didn't want to attract any more attention by starting an argument in the middle of the dance floor. But she was even more certain that she didn't want to let him touch her. "I'll buy you a drink, and you're lucky to get that much here."

George scowled but followed her to the bar without argument.

Vivian led him to the side where Danny wasn't working. She wanted to find out what George was there to say and send him on his way, not risk someone starting a fight. When George ordered his drink and said with breezy confidence that she would be paying for it, she received a worried look from the bartender. He knew trouble when he saw it, even if he was too new to recognize it by name.

"I'm good for it," she said, giving him a nod. "And he won't be staying long." Up onstage, Bea was belting out "Everybody Loves My Baby," sweet and fast, with the trumpet playing counterpoint.

"What does Mrs. Wilson want?" Vivian asked quietly as George took a long, satisfied drink. Hattie Wilson was the only "boss lady" in Bruiser George's life. "It had better not be anything to do with this place or anyone in it."

George smirked. "No need to show your claws, little cat. I'm not here for anything too messy or nasty. Just a little favor is all. You'll be making a delivery tomorrow to a Mrs. Morris. Boss lady wants you to retrieve a letter of Mr. Morris's. It'll be somewhere in his bedroom—they keep separate ones, right next to each other with a sitting room in between—and not in his study or office. You'll know it because the stationery says Swan's Point."

Vivian didn't ask how he knew about another couple's bedrooms; it wasn't hard to picture Hattie gathering details about the lives and homes of the city's wealthy families. But at the rest of George's statement, Vivian felt the same sort of cold that she'd felt after Eddie drove straight to her front door. "And how does Mrs. Wilson know where I'll be making deliveries? Usually I don't even know that until I get to work."

George just laughed. "You think you're the only one who owes the boss a little favor?"

"That's not a little favor," Vivian said sharply. "I could get arrested for prowling around someone's house stealing their things. Not interested, thanks. Tell her to come up with something else."

She would have turned away, but Bruiser George caught her wrist. He was smaller than his buddy Eddie, but still bigger than Vivian. "Don't be stupid, girlie, or the boss'll get angry," he said, soft and menacing. "You owe her. Just do what you're told, nice and quiet and no one the wiser, and you won't need to worry about anything."

Vivian stared into George's eyes, hating every inch of him. "Fine," she said, deliberately even, and just as deliberately not pulling her hand away. She wouldn't let him see how scared he made her. "Swan's Point, you said?"

"There's a good girl," he said, smiling. "She'll be in touch once you've got—"

"Vivian."

The voice cut through their conversation, raised just enough above the music for them to hear it. Vivian whipped her head up to see Leo pushing his way across the dance floor, his eyes dark with fury and locked on where George's fingers still gripped her wrist.

George sighed, but he didn't stop smiling as he dropped her arm at last. "See you around, girlie." He nodded to her with exaggerated politeness and headed toward the back door.

Leo reached her only moments later. "Are you okay?" he demanded, catching her upper arms as he looked her over, head to toe. "Wasn't that one of Mrs. Wilson's boys?"

"I'm fine, and yes, but don't make a scene, okay? There's nothing too—"

She hissed as one of Leo's hands met her wrist. There were angry red marks where George had held her. Vivian grimaced, but it wasn't bad enough to leave bruises. She would have happily ignored it. But then a finger caught her under the chin, lifting her gaze until she was looking at Leo. He leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips, one so at odds with the murderous look in his eyes that it made her feel cold all over.

"I'm going to kill him," Leo whispered, and turned to head for the back door.

"No." Vivian lurched after him, catching his arm and leaning all her weight back to bring him to a stop.

"I'll send him back to his boss in goddamn pieces—"

"Please, Leo, just let him go, okay?"

Leo's head whipped around, the glare he gave her as fierce as the one he had directed at George's retreating back. It almost startled her into letting go of his arm—she'd seen Leo angry before, even seen him in a fight. But he'd rarely turned a look like that on her. "Like hell, Viv, you can't let a fella like him get away with—"

"No," she snapped, still barely above a whisper. "I know just as much about dealing with a fella like him as you do, thanks. And right now, what I know is that I've only got a few days to outrun a charge for murder, and his boss knows it. So what do you think she's going to do if I make her angry? If you send one of her boys back in pieces?"

"He hurt you," Leo said.

The anger in his expression hadn't disappeared, and his voice was hard as jagged glass. All around them, the dancers dipped and swayed their way across the floor while Bea crooned a love song from the bandstand. A group of men and women jostled past them to get to the bar, none of them giving Leo or Vivian a second glance. At the door, Bruiser George had stopped to look back through the crowd, and he smiled when he saw Vivian holding Leo back from following him.

Leo saw it, and his hands clenched into fists as though he were longing to throw a punch. "I'm not going to let him get away with that."

"Yes, you are," Vivian said. She didn't let go of his arm. "You're going to calm the hell down and stop trying to start a fight."

A muscle jumped in Leo's jaw. "I'm just trying to look out for you."

"You keep saying you want to help me, Leo, but you can't do that if you don't listen," Vivian pleaded. She knew he meant well—Leo always meant well. But that wouldn't do her any good if he made an enemy of Hattie Wilson and her boys. Over Leo's shoulder, she nodded at Bruiser George, hoping he would get the message and leave. To her relief, he gave his hat a mocking tip and disappeared into the hall. Vivian looked back at Leo. "I'm telling you right now what I need. Are you going to do it or not?"

At last, she felt him stop straining against her grip. "Whatever you say," Leo agreed through gritted teeth. Vivian could hear the anger still simmering below his words. She hoped none of it was directed at her. "What did he want?"

"I owe Mrs. Wilson a favor." She wanted to rub at her wrist but resisted. If Leo saw her do that, he would just get all riled up again. "And that you can help me out with, because I think it's going to be a two-person job."

That got his attention; Leo finally stopped glaring after George and turned to look at her. "What kind of job?"

Vivian glanced around, feeling exposed. Her break should have been long since finished, and someone might start looking around to see where she'd got to if she stayed tucked in the corner any longer. "I need to get back to work. But if you're still—" She swallowed, hating that she could feel her face heating, even though her embarrassment seemed stupid in the face of everything else. "If you're still planning to spend the night, I can tell you then, and we'll come up with a plan."

Leo sighed. "If I'm still welcome, then, yes. Count me in. But when all this is done," he added, "if I see Bruiser George again, I'm going to smash his face in."

Vivian let out a shaky laugh. "When all this is done, be my guest."