Twenty

"Like hell you will," Bea snapped for what felt like the hundredth time as she fixed her lipstick in the dressing room mirror, wearing only her step-in, stockings, and the red velvet heels she always wore to perform. "Viv, you can't ask her for another favor. Look what she already had you do!"

Vivian, seated on one of the couches, kept her gaze fixed on her hands, not wanting to meet Bea's eyes in the mirror. She had a good reason for looking down—she was fixing a split seam on the back of Bea's dress before she returned to the bandstand. But they both knew it was an excuse.

"Maybe, but odds are she'll have our answers. Or she can find them out," Vivian said, keeping her voice low. It was just them in the dressing room for the moment, but there was no saying when someone else might pop in. "That's gotta be worth it, right?"

"Maybe," Bea said, setting aside her lipstick and lighting a cigarette. She blew out an anxious stream of smoke. "Or maybe not. Depends on what she asks you to do next."

"Might not matter tonight anyway," Vivian said, tying off the thread and snipping it close before handing the dress back to Bea and packing her sewing things up. "I don't know when she's going to send someone for the letter." She stood, stretching out her back, and plucked the cigarette from Bea's fingers, taking a quick drag before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the dressing table. "I've got to get back out there, and you do too."

"Don't do it, Viv," Bea warned one more time as they opened the door to a wave of music and heat.

Vivian pretended not to hear, lifting two fingers in the barest wave as she dodged toward the corner of the bar where Leo was waiting, nursing a glass of Canadian whisky and paging through Corny Rokesby's appointment book.

It was half appointment book, half diary, and many of the entries were straightforward: dinner receptions that lasted all night (not enough Champagne Corny had noted next to that one in a wobbly, drunken scrawl), a week with friends at Great Neck (toasted Martin's last days of freedom with some excellent Scotch), time in his stepfather's office (boring but not too boring), regular family dinners (Mother complaining again).

But every so often events would be noted in initials or codes. Ds with GCBs appeared every few weeks. And XX appeared at irregular intervals with no pattern that they could see, accompanied by the appointment time and what looked like a string of random words, all of them different each time.

The most recent XX (rutabaga coat East River blue) had been at nine o'clock in the morning the day Huxley Buchanan was killed. The next XX (violet charmer snakebite gin), along with an HLMB, was happening the next night.

"Any luck?" Vivian asked.

"No," Leo muttered, one cheek slouching in the palm of his hand as he glared at the leather-bound book. "Who does this fella think he is, Al Capone?"

That made Vivian laugh, though there wasn't much humor in it. "God, let's hope not. Put that away for now. I don't want to risk anyone seeing it." She smoothed a few strands of his hair back into place. "And get on the dance floor. People will start to wonder if they see you sitting around looking grumpy."

Leo grumbled, but he tucked the notebook back inside his jacket. When she next spotted him, he was on the dance floor with a girl she didn't recognize. And just beyond them, checking in with Benny, was Honor. Vivian hesitated, then made up her mind quickly. She wanted to know what Honor could tell her about Corny Rokesby and what he might have wanted that night.

She was halfway there when Honor caught sight of her. A moment before, her hands had been tucked in her pockets, her limbs loose and relaxed as she finished her chat with Benny and turned to survey the crowd. But as soon as her gaze fell on Vivian, she tensed.

Vivian took a step toward her. Honor turned and walked out of the room without looking back.

Vivian stared after her. Honor had every reason to be acting strange. Her father had just died. And she didn't, in fact, owe Vivian anything—even if Vivian had hoped for more. Even if she wanted at least a few answers that she didn't have to struggle for on her own.

Vivian turned back to the bar, trying not to let herself worry, and discovered that she wasn't the only one struggling that night.

"Everything okay?" Danny asked her as he handed a drink to a man in a blue suit and paused for a breather.

"Swell," Vivian said, not really paying attention to her answer. Instead, she looked him over, not liking what she saw. His usual friendly smile had been in place all night, and his hands moved as fast as always as he mixed drinks and managed people. But there were dark circles of fatigue under his eyes that weren't usually there, and he sighed as he leaned against the bar, as if he were too tired to stay upright. "What about you, Danny-boy? Everything okay?"

"Swell," he said, smiling as he echoed her. It was a tired smile, but Vivian was relieved to see that it was genuine. "Just been busy recently, between here and the restaurant and taking care of Florence."

Vivian's stomach twisted. "Anything I should worry about?"

He shook his head. "You're the one who needs worrying about right now," he said. "She's just not feeling her best, is all. Can't be on her feet too long without getting dizzy. But Ma says it's all normal." He smiled again. "And she promised us babies are worth it."

Vivian laughed at that, but his words left a pinching ache in her chest that she couldn't shake off. She trusted Danny, and Mrs. Chin would have pounced instantly if there was anything really worrisome with Florence's pregnancy. But Florence was her sister. They'd always taken care of each other, even if they'd glared and complained while they did it. They'd spent every day of their lives together until Danny swept Florence into a new life.

Vivian would see her. Soon. She just had a few things to take care of first.

"Anyway." Danny rolled his shoulders to stretch them out as he stood upright once more. "You've been running your feet off, kitten, and Ellie just arrived. Take a break."

"Thanks, boss," Vivian said, sliding her tray onto the bar and taking one of the open stools. "Any chance of some bubbles while I do that?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll see if we have any bottles already open. I'm not opening a new one just for you."

"How about you open one for me, then?" a playful voice asked.

A pretty, pouting brunette dropped onto the stool next to Vivian, shimmying so that her fashionable dress scooted up a little more toward her knees. She gave them a smile as dazzling as the diamonds in her ears. "One glass for me and one for Viv, if you please."

Danny grinned back. "Coming right up, miss."

The girl turned to Vivian. "Well, hello, shellshock. You two were looking awful serious just a moment ago. Nothing that'll ruin the party, I hope?"

"Just talking shop," Vivian said, shrugging one shoulder. She smiled back. "Good to see you, Mags."

Behind the bar, Danny popped a cork on a new bottle of champagne, and Mags jumped a little, then laughed at herself. Her curly hair was pinned under to look like a fashionable bob, a style popular with girls who still wanted to look proper when they weren't out drinking and dancing. And Mags, Vivian knew, was every inch a well-behaved girl when she needed to be. Her parents were society folks, with their own uptown mansion and loads of servants. Vivian had delivered dresses there before; it had been a shock, the first time, to see Mags out of her glamorous nighttime persona and realize she was probably not more than seventeen years old. It had been even more of a shock for both of them to be confronted by the obvious gulf between their lives.

But they managed to forget that sort of thing when they were at the Nightingale. No one was being their real selves there—or they were being the real selves they couldn't show anywhere else. Pretending that Vivian didn't work with the girls who sewed Mags's expensive clothes was just how things were done. It irritated Vivian sometimes, but mostly she was grateful. She liked Mags, even if the girl was oblivious to the world outside her comfortable, wealthy cocoon. She was still a kid, she had time to learn.

"Cheers, doll," Mags said, lifting her glass and clinking it against Vivian's. "Here's to the party."

And in the meantime, she never minded buying a round.

She also never minded sharing a bit of gossip. Vivian's hands shook a little as the thought occurred to her, and she put her glass down quickly before Mags could notice. There was a decent chance she moved in the same circles Corny Rokesby did; she might have some idea what his strange notes meant.

And if Mags could help her out, Vivian wouldn't need to ask Hattie Wilson for another favor after all. It was worth a shot.

The band struck up a Charleston, and Mags cut a sideways look at Vivian. "You gonna ask me to dance?"

Vivian laughed, distracted for the moment from her nervous thoughts. It was well known in the Nightingale that Vivian could lead a Charleston as well as she could follow.

"Is that why you came over to say hi?" she asked. She was picky about her partners—a Charleston was no fun with someone who couldn't keep up—but Mags had light feet.

Mags shrugged, smiling. "I was hoping. Pickings of the male persuasion are slim on the ground tonight, so what's a girl to do?" When Vivian glanced around pointedly—there was no shortage of men that night—Mags laughed. "All right. What I mean is, you're a better dancer than most of them, and I know you won't get fresh. What do you say?"

"You got it, sweetheart," Vivian said, hopping down from her stool and holding out her hand. Mags downed the rest of her champagne with a quick gulp and took it, bouncing on her toes with anticipation. "Maybe when we're done kicking up our heels, you can help with a puzzle I've been trying to solve."

"Oh, I love a good brain-tickler," Mags said as they squirmed their way onto the crowded dance floor. "What's yours about?"

"Fella named Corny Rokesby. You know him?"

Mags's expression grew curious and a little sly. "I might. But first…"

Vivian gave Mags a spin with one hand, sliding the other around her waist in a loose hold and letting the movement pull them into the music. After that, they needed all their breath for dancing.

"Well, first, I just want you to appreciate that I'm not asking how you got this, because I am damn curious," Mags said, sipping a new glass of champagne as she leaned over Corny Rokesby's appointment book.

Showing it to her was a risk, and Leo hadn't hidden his disapproval when Vivian reclaimed the book from him. He hadn't protested, though Vivian suspected she'd get an earful from him if it turned out the girl couldn't help her after all. But Vivian trusted her instincts, and they were telling her that Mags wasn't the sort to rat out her friends. Especially when she turned a page and said, "He's not that nice, you know."

"Rokesby?" Vivian asked, scooting her chair closer. They were in a dark little corner where couples usually went to cuddle and drink if they weren't the sort to make their way to the back alley for more privacy. With the bandstand not far away, it was as private as a spot in the Nightingale could get.

"Mm-hmm." Mags nodded, head still bent over the book. She wrinkled her nose. "He's a cold fish, you know? He doesn't like talking to people. Awful secretive, too. He was at a party that Mother and Dad hosted last month, and I tried asking him about the night the Von Hilsens were robbed, but he didn't want to say a word about it!"

Vivian leaned forward. Had Corny Rokesby been involved in something illegal? "What's the story about this robbery?"

"You don't know?" Mags looked shocked. "Golly, I thought everyone in the city would have heard! The Von Hilsens were throwing a party that got robbed." She glanced up, eyes wide and excited. "You honestly didn't hear anything about it?"

"I mighta heard something," Vivian said slowly, frowning. "Everyone got knocked out with chloroform in the punch, right? And when they came to, all their jewelry and things were gone?"

"That's about the shape of it," Mags said, giggling. "Can you imagine? And they never found out who did it. Mr. Von Hilsen sacked all their servants, just to be safe."

"And you think Rokesby might have been involved?" Vivian asked, trying not to dwell on the thought of all those folks losing their jobs for a crime they probably had nothing to do with.

"Him?" Mags looked shocked. "Golly, no. I mean, he was robbed along with the rest of them! I just wanted to get the scoop on what happened. But Corny won't say anything if you ask him about himself, and who doesn't like talking about himself? He's a funny one. I wouldn't mind knowing what he gets up to." She looked up, smiling slyly again. "You never know when it'll be useful to know what people get up to."

Vivian snorted. She couldn't argue with that. But she gestured to the book, hoping to get Mags back on task. She didn't like sitting there with something stolen on the table right in front of them, even if there was almost no chance anyone else would guess what it was. "Anything catch your eye?"

Mags snorted. "Well, I can guess that one," she said, pointing to one instance of Ds with GCBs. She lowered her voice, eager once more to share her gossip. "The GCBs are probably the Gold Coast Boys. They throw the most amazing parties every few months, rotating between different houses. Usually whoever actually owns the house is abroad or something like that, because things get… Well, from what I've heard, they get awfully wild."

"And those nights were some of their parties?" Vivian asked.

"Might've been. I'm still too young to get invited." Mags shrugged. "But if Corny Rokesby was, he wouldn't turn that down. The Gold Coast Boys are connected to everyone who matters."

"How do you know that if you don't know for sure who they are?"

Mags smirked, shaking her head. "Everyone knows that," she said. There was an edge of pity to her voice that made Vivian's cheeks feel hot. "And even if it's not actually true, what matters is that everyone thinks it is."

"Sure, of course," Vivian said, trying not to sound too embarrassed. This was why she'd asked Mags for help. She didn't know that world, and Mags did. And anyway, there was nothing about the Gold Coast Boys the week that Huxley Buchanan had been killed. "What about those double exes?"

Mags wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "I've got no idea what those mean. Are those poems next to them? Odd, if they are. But I'm pretty sure…" She leaned forward, her voice dropping, even though the music more than covered their conversation. "I'm pretty sure that HLMB is a Hamilton Lodge masquerade ball. Because there's one tomorrow night."

"Hamilton Lodge?" Vivian asked in disbelief. "You're joking, right?"

Mags shrugged again. "I don't know what else it could be."

Hamilton Lodge was a fraternal lodge up in Harlem. Vivian didn't know much about it, but she had heard of the masquerade and civic balls thrown around the city. Glamorous and scandalous, they were attended by thousands of people and written up in all the papers.

And while it was hard to picture a man like Rokesby somewhere glamorous or scandalous, a civic ball would be the perfect spot for something shady and secret. Especially because, from what she knew about them, guests at the balls came from all walks of life, so long as they could afford a ticket—or knew someone who could afford it for them.

For a moment Vivian felt like she would lift out of her seat with excitement. Then her heart sank. If a ball was happening tomorrow night, tickets would have been sold weeks ago. And there was no chance of getting in without one.

"Mags," she said, not really hoping but needing to ask anyway. "I don't suppose you have tickets to the lodge ball tomorrow?"

Mags sighed, chin dropping into her palm. "Golly, don't I wish. I've never been, and I hear they're a smashing good time." She sat up straight suddenly. "Would you take me with you?"

"Mags, I just asked you for tickets," Vivian reminded her impatiently. "How'm I supposed to take you when I can't get in myself?"

"I can get us tickets," Mags said eagerly. "I know who always gets extras. It's just he's refused to take me with him. Says he doesn't want to be stuck babysitting all night." She made a face. "I'm not that much of a kid, you know."

"'Course not," Vivian said. She'd have said whatever she thought she needed to get those tickets. But it seemed true enough to her—she'd had no idea how old Mags really was when she first met her. Though maybe that was just the confidence of someone who wore real diamonds and knew her daddy would always pay her bail money. "Do you really think your friend would help us out?" Vivian hesitated. "How much do tickets cost?"

Mags gave her a shrewd look. "How 'bout you do me a favor and take me with you so my pal doesn't say no. And I get the tickets all sorted out. What do you say?"

It was an easier favor than the others that had crossed Vivian's path in the last few days. "You've got a deal."

"Peachy." Mags grinned, lifting her glass in another toast. "Now, any idea why that handsome bartender of yours is looking daggers in this direction?"

"Because my break is long past done," Vivian said, closing the notebook and tucking it under her arm to return to Leo. "Where should we meet you tomorrow night?"

"We?" Mags frowned. "How many tickets do you need?"

"Let's say three, if you can?" Vivian said. "One for each of us, plus I'll bring a fella?"

"Oh sure, that'll be fine. How about you and your fella swing by my parents' house tomorrow night, around nine? Just pull over across the street and flash your lights twice so I know it's you."

"Will do." Vivian stood, stretching out her back. "Thanks, Mags. You're a swell girl."

"I sure am," Mags said cheerfully, already scanning the crowd for her next partner. "And Viv? You'll want to wear something grand. Folks go all out at these things."

Bruiser George didn't turn up until half an hour before last call. The band was winding down, giving anyone who wanted it a chance to find a new friend and persuade them onto the floor before the night ended. Dancers were pressed cheek to cheek, bare necks and arms glowing with perspiration while their tired feet slid along the floor. Vivian was gathering half-empty glasses from a table when she spotted George across the room. For a moment, in spite of the sweet love song that filled the air, Vivian tasted bile in the back of her throat.

She hadn't realized, until that moment, that she was so afraid of him.

But she wouldn't let him see it. When he caught her eye over the heads of the dancers, Vivian didn't look away. If a dog was trained to attack, they'd only jump faster if they could smell your fear. He raised his brows in a silent question, and Vivian jerked her chin, pointing to his left. Leo had just spotted him from a table by the dance floor, where he'd been nursing a gin cocktail so he wouldn't stand out too much while he waited.

With any luck, now that she didn't need to ask for Hattie's help, Leo would hand over the letter and that would be the end of it. Vivian waited until she was sure they had seen each other, then turned away.

That was when she spotted Honor by the dance floor. She'd been busy with a couple that Vivian thought she recognized, which probably meant they were people who got their photos in the society pages from time to time. But they were heading to the dance floor, and Honor was standing with narrow eyes and tense shoulders, watching Bruiser George make his way down the stairs and toward Leo.

Vivian stopped next to Honor. "He's not here to make trouble."

Honor didn't jump; she didn't let herself show that kind of surprise. But Vivian saw the quick movement of her eyes, darting toward Vivian to see who had spoken, before she turned. Vivian frowned. It had been gone almost too quickly to see, but for a moment, she had looked stricken—maybe even guilty. It was an expression she'd never seen on Honor's face before.

"Oh?" Honor asked, cutting her eyes back to where Leo and George were chatting, bodies turned just enough away from the crowd that it was almost impossible to spot the moment that the letter changed hands unless you knew what you were looking for.

"I owed his boss a favor, remember?" Vivian said, hoping she had imagined that flash of guilt. "Leo's making a delivery for me so I don't have to deal with him."

Honor nodded, her face as impassive as though the news meant nothing to her. She was already turning away, as quickly as if she couldn't wait to put distance between them.

Vivian took a step back, stung. She had come over as a favor, so Honor wouldn't worry about Bruiser George's presence at the club that night. She might as well have saved herself the effort. She was about to storm off when Honor turned to look directly at her for the first time. "Are you okay?"

Her concern sounded genuine, and it made an achy knot clench inside Vivian's chest. She wanted to tell Honor what had been happening. But she was too proud for that. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"As long as you're not—" Honor's hand rose; for a moment, it looked as though she would brush her fingers against Vivian's cheek, or maybe smooth back the dark curtain of hair that had fallen in front of her ear. Vivian tensed, too caught by surprise to pull away. But Honor noticed the flinch and dropped her hand.

Vivian sighed, tired of things feeling so strained between them. Desperate to think of something to say, she started with the first thing that came to mind. "Hey, any chance you know a thing or two about the Ham—"

But Honor was already walking away. "You're supposed to be working," she called over her shoulder. "And so am I."

The heat of the dance hall couldn't stop the chill that slithered its way down Vivian's spine. For a moment, as Honor had turned away, Vivian had seen that same stricken look flash across her face.

Vivian watched her go, trying not to remember Hattie Wilson's taunting smile in the back seat of the car. Instead, she took a deep breath and headed toward the bar. She had a shift to finish. And then she had to ask if she could borrow a dress.