Twenty-Four

Two Days Left

Vivian tried to slip out for work the next morning without waking Leo up. But he lifted his head when she tripped over the burlesque costume, which she had left in an unhappy pile next to her bed after yanking it off the night before.

"Why are you up already?" he asked, yawning. "Isn't it Saturday?"

"Working deliveries today," she said softly, hoping he'd just go back to sleep. She wasn't in the mood for company. With one foot, she shoved the beautiful tangle of silk and spangles under her bed. "You should go back to sleep."

"Nah, I'll get home then," he said through another yawn, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, then dragged himself to his feet. "If you're headed to the washroom, bring back some water? I'm going to keel over without coffee."

He made enough for both of them, and Vivian nodded her thanks when he handed her a mug. But she didn't say anything, and he didn't either.

That was good. She didn't want to talk about what happened between them the night before. It hadn't been a fight. It had been… She didn't know what to call it, or which one of them it had come from. But the careful way they were watching each other this morning felt like stepping on a puddle that should have been frozen over, only to feel cracks growing beneath her feet. If she moved, if he spoke, she didn't know if they would stop or spread, and she didn't want to risk finding out.

She wanted to believe that, whatever it was, they'd fix it once the Buchanan mess was sorted out. But after last night, after realizing Rokesby couldn't be the one they were looking for, it was getting harder to convince herself that it would get sorted out at all. She wondered if Leo was realizing the same thing.

Vivian rinsed out their mugs and left them in the basin. "I've gotta get to work."

Leo nodded, scooping up his coat and hat. He was still in his suit from the night before, still smelling of smoke and gin and cologne. "Lead the way."

The streetcar he needed was on her way to Miss Ethel's; it made sense for them to walk together. The silence hung between them as they walked, and Vivian didn't want to be the one to break it. But she couldn't help glancing at his face, only to find him stealing anxious looks at her too. Their eyes collided, and he looked quickly away. For a moment, Vivian felt so alone that she couldn't breathe. She wanted to turn away and leave him there. Instead, she took a deep breath and reached for his hand.

She could feel the way he tensed, and she thought he would pull away. But then his fingers relaxed, sliding between hers as they stopped next to the streetcar platform. Vivian wanted to close her eyes, to sink against him, to convince herself that she didn't have to be alone.

That was when she saw the man in the blue suit leaning against a lamppost across the street. He was holding a newspaper, his head tilted down as if he was reading. But even from that distance, Vivian could feel the weight of his stare.

She had seen him before. She had seen him nearly every day that week.

In spite of the sunny morning, Vivian felt cold, a prickle of uneasy comprehension slithering down her spine. Her fingers tightened on Leo's. "He's been following me."

Leo frowned. "What? Who's been—" He saw where she was looking and glanced over his shoulder, then cursed, turning so that his body blocked her from the man's view.

Vivian dropped his hand and stepped around him so she could see the man again. She stared at him openly, coldly enough that he stopped pretending to read his paper and stared right back at her. He tipped his hat, and even from that distance, she could feel the mockery in the gesture. Vivian clenched her jaw, anger suddenly replacing the uneasiness. "He's a cop, isn't he? The commissioner is having me followed." When she glanced back at Leo, he didn't look surprised. She sucked in a breath. "You knew."

He glanced at the man, then nodded. "I guessed, at least. He'd want to make sure you didn't skip town."

"And you didn't say anything?" Vivian demanded.

He sighed, and she could see a muscle clench in his own jaw. "What would the point have been, Viv?" he asked, his voice coming out bitter. "What should I have done, asked him to stop? Promise him you weren't going anywhere and he should believe me because we're family? He'd just get angry, and nothing's worth that."

Vivian stared at him. "Nothing?"

Leo winced. "That's not what I meant," he said through gritted teeth.

They stared at each other without speaking. It was only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. Vivian could feel the cracks in the ice growing. "You could have told me," she said at last. She didn't know if she was being unreasonable or not, but the thought of someone following her for days, watching where she went and who she talked to, seeing Leo stay with her each night and leave in the morning… She felt ill.

"Well, next time I will," Leo said, giving her a smile that looked like too much work.

She knew it was supposed to be a joke, but Vivian didn't laugh. Instead, she glared over his shoulder once more at the plainclothes cop. "And I'll tell him where he can stick his watching me," she ground out.

"Viv, you go talk to that fella, you'll only make more trouble. It's just a few more days—"

"Not him," Vivian said, breathing heavily. She felt as if she'd been running, even though they hadn't moved in minutes. "Your uncle."

"No."

She turned to stare at him. "No?" She wasn't surprised that he didn't like the idea. But she was outraged that he thought he could tell her what to do.

"It's a bad idea, and you know it," he said, dropping his voice. He glanced around, looking uneasy, and stepped closer to her. "He's not my uncle. He's made that clear. And you showing up to yell at him will just… it's going to make things worse."

"I'm not just going to waltz in there and throw a fit," Vivian said, stung. "What about the arsenic? What about the fella Buchanan was meeting with? There's things that don't add up, and your lawyer friend said the best way to help myself was to give them someone else to suspect. We can at least try to do that, right?"

"Vivian." Her name came out like a sigh. "They're probably already looking at those things. Which means they'll find something, right? There's still time."

"Not that much," Vivian said, shaking her head. "And that Levinsky said—"

"You can stick it out a few more days, can't you?" he asked, reaching for her hand without letting her finish. "We stay away from him, and then it'll all be over and done."

"Don't." She couldn't tell if he was just trying to distract her or if he really believed it, but she had seen the panic in his eyes when she mentioned his uncle. She wanted to push him away, to make him say which scared him more: the thought of losing her or the thought of angering the family that didn't want him anyway. She took a deep breath, shivering as the wind picked up, the sky growing dim as a mass of clouds hid the sun from view. "I'm not just going to sit around waiting. I have to do something."

"Of course we'll do something. Nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"

"You don't know that," she said sharply, pulling back. The cold air caught her breath, bitter in her throat and her lungs, and there was nothing sweet words or gentle touches could do to change that. "Don't keep pretending like this isn't real. It's happening."

"I know that, Viv—"

"Then act like it!" Her voice was nearly a shout, and she glanced around nervously, wrapping her arms around her own body as though she could protect herself from the curious stares directed her way. More quietly, she added, "I'm so scared I can't think straight, and you're talking like there's nothing to worry about at all."

"I won't let there be anything to worry about," he insisted, his voice gentle again as he pulled her into his arms. Vivian let him, her body still stiff and distant. All she could think about was the cop across the street watching them. "I won't let anything happen to you. We'll figure it out, just…" He sighed. "Don't go talk to the commissioner, okay? Trust me, it's better you don't get him thinking about you any more than he already is. We'll just focus on finding out what we can." He pressed his lips against her temple. "We'll turn up something, okay?"

"Yeah," Vivian said softly. "We'll turn up something."

She waited at the streetcar stop until Leo was out of sight, then waited a few more minutes just to be sure. As soon as she was confident that he was gone, she took a deep breath and headed across the street. The cop in the blue suit tucked his paper under his arm, watching her through narrow eyes as she walked up to him.

"Having a nice morning, pal?" she asked. She wanted to sound unconcerned, but her hands were shaking, and she was pretty sure her voice was too.

The cop looked her over. He was younger than she expected, with hair slicked back under his hat and the smell of starch clinging to him. But he didn't look like a kid who was brand new on the job. "Not too bad," he said. "You heading home now? You could always invite me in for a cup of coffee if you are. It'd be the neighborly thing to do."

"Shame we aren't neighbors, then," Vivian said through a too-sweet smile. "You're not the only one working today, so you can look forward to running your feet off after me. Or…"

He only waited a few seconds before he demanded, "Or?"

"Or you tell me where I can find your boss on a Saturday morning."

He snorted. "Not likely, kid. He doesn't want to talk to you."

"But I want to talk to him," Vivian said softly. She didn't have time for games. Not anymore. "I already know where he lives."

The cop raised his brows. "I hope that wasn't a threat."

"I'm not that dumb," Vivian said. "I'm just letting you know that I'm heading there either way. So you can go with me and make sure I get to see him, nice and quiet, or I go anyway and make a big scene trying to get in. I can guess which he'd prefer."

The cop gave her a considering look, and Vivian held her breath, wondering if he would just get annoyed and arrest her right there. But at last he nodded. "Whistle us up a cab, then, kid. We should be able to catch him before he's done with his coffee."

"Miss Kelly."

The commissioner was indeed having his coffee, at the desk in his office while he read through the morning paper. Apparently, he worked on Saturdays too. Vivian rubbed her palms nervously against her skirt, then clasped them in front of her.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"

The cop in the blue suit hadn't come in with her. Vivian couldn't blame him for that. The commissioner terrified her, too. But she was already in his office, doing exactly what Leo had told her not to do. She took the seat across from him without being invited and leaned forward, her hands palm down on the surface of the desk.

"I want to know why you won't just leave me alone. If you've looked into Buchanan's life at all, you know I never met him before. You've got nothing to connect me to him aside from bad timing."

"It seems that way, yes," the commissioner agreed, taking a sip from his coffee.

The agreement, stated so simply and quickly, caught Vivian off guard. For a moment she just stared at him, not remembering what she had planned to say next. "If you know it wasn't me, then why do you still have your guys following me?" she demanded at last.

The commissioner sighed, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. "Dear girl, it's not that simple. My position is precarious, like that of any other man who's attained some measure of power in this city. Mr. Buchanan's death was violent, and ugly, and now it's not just the press clamoring for a good story. The public want answers. The politicians who control who sits here"—he tapped the arms of his chair—"want answers. It's my job to make people in this city feel safe. Which means that, in this instance, it's my job to give them what they demand."

"Don't they demand that you not blame people for crimes they didn't do?"

"And can you prove you did not commit this one?"

Vivian gritted her teeth. She had no proof, any more than he did, and they both knew it. "You could prove that someone else did it," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm.

He turned a page of his paper, already looking bored. "Unfortunately, those inquiries have turned up only dead ends. So whether I think you're telling the truth or not won't, in the end, matter. Within a few days, I will be required to produce a killer. And at the moment, you are the most satisfying suspect available."

"But what about the other fella?" Vivian demanded, darting to her feet without really realizing what she was doing. "The one who met with Buchanan that day? Isn't he more likely to have snuffed Buchanan than someone like me?"

The commissioner sighed; he almost sounded like he was disappointed in her. "Young lady, if you continue to make up stories, it won't go well for you in court."

Vivian stared at him. "Make up… What are you talking about? I was sitting right there when the maid came and…" She trailed off as he watched her impassively. "You have no idea who he was, do you? Did you even try to find him?"

He sighed again, then took another drink of his coffee. The gesture made Vivian think of Buchanan, chatty and a little tipsy, drinking his own coffee as he worried about her being warm enough outside. She bit her cheek hard, forcing the memories to stop there. She didn't want to picture what had come next.

The commissioner, if he noticed her distress, didn't comment on it. Instead, he shook his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was sharp. "We looked into your story. It was easy enough to disprove. None of the servants came to summon Buchanan for a business meeting, because no one called at the house during that time." He took in her disbelief without a flicker of change in his own expression. "I can't guess what a girl like you might know about a trial, though I imagine you know a criminal or two." His lip curled a little as he spoke. "But, as I said, making up stories will not help your case when you're sitting in front of a jury. I suggest you abandon that line of misdirection."

"It's not…" Vivian's breathing was coming faster. "It's not misdirection. A maid came and told him… and he walked out…" Maybe Leo had been right, and she shouldn't have come. "Who told you no one came to the house? Whoever it was, they were lying."

"Are you claiming that everyone in that house is a liar?" His brows rose. "Because they all told the exact same story. You were the only person who arrived from the time Mrs. Buchanan and her son departed until the police got there."

"That's not true," Vivian insisted with a whimper, but he was already standing, clearly done with her.

"Your week is almost up, Miss Kelly, so I will no doubt see you in two days. In the meantime, say your good-byes to whoever you must. That sister of yours, perhaps. Or that girl who sings in illegal places." His smile was cold. "For now, I will have my office to myself again. Or must I summon one of my men to take you out?"

Vivian took a step backward. Her whole body was shaking. She wanted to shake him, too. She wanted to say something that would make him feel as lost as she felt. She wanted to run as far away from the city as she could.

But he had mentioned Florence, and now he was talking about Bea too. She knew the reminder wasn't an accident.

"I'll go," she said, staring directly at him. She wouldn't let him see her afraid. "But it's not over. Not yet."

He didn't even notice; he was already leaning back in his chair, shaking the pages of his newspaper to smooth them out. "Tell yourself whatever you like," he said, not looking up. "It won't make a difference to me."

When she reached the street, she stopped, her feet drifting into stillness almost on their own. She stared around her at the city waking up, knowing she needed to get to work but not able, yet, to make herself move. Across the street, she could see her shadow in the blue suit waiting. Apparently, he had wanted to be far away from the commissioner when she stormed into his office.

If no one had come to the house… it didn't make sense. Someone had to be lying. The meeting had happened, otherwise Buchanan would never have left the sitting room. Surely they could see that?

But at the same time, part of Vivian wanted it to be true. If no one but her had come to the house, it meant Honor couldn't have been there. She couldn't have killed her father. She couldn't be letting Vivian take the fall.

Vivian so badly wanted that to be true.

"What are you doing here?"

Vivian jumped, her hands rising into defensive fists as she spun around. The voice hadn't been familiar, but the face was. Levinsky stood next to her, clearly just arriving for work in uniform and with what looked like a lunch pail in his hand.

Across the street, she saw the cop in the blue suit stand up—he had been leaning against the wall of a bakery—then settle back down when he realized she was talking with another cop.

"Levinsky," she said, slowly lowering her fists. Vivian didn't bother to keep the bile from her voice or her expression. "Coming to have a word with that nasty piece of work you call a boss? Maybe he'll tell you to arrest a church full of nuns. I bet you'd do it, too. Whatever he says, doesn't matter if anyone's guilty. Isn't that right?"

He didn't interrupt until she was done. "Guessing you were here for a chat with the commissioner, then?" he asked. Vivian, still breathing heavily, jerked her chin in a quick nod. Levinsky grimaced. "Not the nicest way to start the day."

"No," Vivian bit off. "It wasn't."

"You don't sound like you're having a great week."

Vivian wanted to yell at him. But his tone was so wry and sympathetic, it deflated the anger she was trying to hold on to. "I guess you could say I'm not," she said, with a laugh that had tears in it. She had no reason to trust him, and every reason not to. But he'd seemed genuine enough at the Nightingale, and she wanted to believe what he'd said about trying to help people. God knew she needed help.

"How much do you know about my case?" she asked slowly, watching Levinsky's face. "You heard what I told the cops who arrested me, about someone meeting with Buchanan?"

"Oh, that," he said, nodding. To her relief, he still looked sympathetic. "And the servants said no one did."

"Commissioner called me a liar," Vivian said, her hands clenching into fists once more. "And I guess it looks that way. But I'm not. Which means someone else is."

"And you want me to do something about it?" he guessed. She couldn't tell, from the way he asked the question, what he thought of that idea.

Vivian met his eyes steadily, though her stomach was turning over. She'd never asked a cop for help before. "You said you cared about helping people. I'm people. And something here doesn't add up. If one of his business partners is hiding something, or paid off the servants…"

Levinsky sighed, taking off his hat to run his fingers through his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes. Vivian remembered what he'd said about his new baby at home. "Couldn't have been the partners," he said, settling the hat back on his head and letting out a slow breath. Before Vivian could protest, he tugged her into a shadowed corner between two buildings. "I told you the one, Whitcomb, he was at the office, right? Well, we talked to Mr. Morris's servants. Apparently, they don't like him much, so they were happy to spill the beans on him. He was at home that morning. With his mistress. Couldn't have been him either."

Morris. Vivian had forgotten the names of Buchanan's partners until that moment. And she was willing to bet that Hattie Wilson's Mr. Morris, and his scandalous letter, weren't unrelated.

His scandalous letter that was signed E.

"Can I give you a tip?" she asked slowly, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Levinsky nodded warily. "Go back to talk to his servants again. And take a picture of Mrs. Buchanan with you."

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "What makes you think—"

"I hear things," Vivian said. "Can you find out? If it was her, she couldn't have been the one to do it either. But maybe one of the partners hired someone, or one of Buchanan's servants knows… Someone was there that morning."

Levinsky nodded at last. "All right, I can look into it." One corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smile. "And I can pay special attention to that lousy stepson of his. My gut says there's something fishy about that one."

Vivian bit her lip, trying to decide how much to share. But Levinsky noticed the gesture, small though it was. "What else do you know?" he demanded. When Vivian hesitated, he scowled at her. "If you want my help, you don't hold out on me."

She couldn't really argue with that. "He's got his secrets, and he lied about that appointment book for sure. But he couldn't have been there when Buchanan died." She gave him a brief rundown of Corny Rokesby's gambling.

"So he did need money," Levinsky said, looking thoughtful when she was done.

"Yeah, but didn't you hear me?" Vivian said impatiently. "He couldn't have stabbed the poor bastard."

"There's that." Levinsky frowned, then nodded and gave her a little push toward the street. "All right, get going. I've got my own day to suffer through, and I know where to find you if I learn anything. Just keep your head down, okay? Don't make trouble you don't need to."

"Sure thing," Vivian agreed, not meaning a word of it. She didn't have time to keep her head down. "I gotta go to work anyway."

Levinsky gave her a skeptical look, but he didn't call her a liar to her face. She was grateful for that. Once in a day was enough.

She turned her steps toward Miss Ethel's shop, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see her shadow in the blue suit fall into step, half a block behind her.