Twenty-Six

Saturday wasn't one of Vivian's shifts at the Nightingale. But she still put on her dancing shoes and her lipstick at nine o'clock. The wild feeling was still buzzing inside her, and she knew she couldn't sit at home. She needed to be with people. She needed to dance, and flirt, and pretend her time there could last forever.

And she needed to talk to Bea. She had one last idea to try.

She didn't arrive until after the night had started. When he saw her, the doorman started to swing the door open but stopped, frowning, with his eyes on Edison, who lurked a few steps behind her. He didn't say anything—he rarely opened his mouth if he didn't have to—but she could see his broad shoulders tense as he eyed the plainclothes cop and waited. Vivian didn't know whether the bruiser recognized him, or if he just recognized trouble when he saw it. Either way, he didn't look pleased.

"I'll dance 'til last call," Edison said easily, his own smile knife-edged. Vivian didn't like him any better after spending time with him.

Vivian wasn't surprised that he knew the club's password; he'd been there before, after all. But that didn't mean she liked it.

"He's part of the deal tonight," Vivian said when the doorman gave her a questioning look. "Don't worry, I won't stop you from throwing him out if he causes trouble."

"I've got a job anyway," Edison said, shrugging. "Precinct chief wants me to collect the milk money from your boss."

"You handle yourself, then," Vivian said dismissively as they went in. The hall was carpeted, and at the end of it, thick velvet curtains hung over the doorway. The heavy fabric swallowed up the sound of their footsteps. "And don't bother me."

"Just don't try to give me the slip again," Edison warned, stretching out one arm to block her way.

Vivian regarded him coolly. "It's not my job to make yours easy," she said, ducking under his arm before he could stop her and pushing through the curtains. She didn't wait for him to follow.

She didn't pause at the top of the steps as she usually did, either, to take in the Nightingale in full swing. She didn't want Edison to think she was giving him time to catch up.

Bea was on the bandstand, laughing in between verses as the trumpet player stood for a solo. Danny was behind the bar, leaning on his elbows to talk to a rowdy-looking trio of baby vamps in bright lipstick and brighter spangles.

Vivian didn't see anyone else she knew, but she didn't spend much time looking. Instead, she hurried down the steps and made a beeline for the dance floor. It took barely a moment for her to snag a partner, and only another moment until she was in his arms. When the song was done, she let him buy her a drink, ignoring the look Danny gave her from the other end of the bar, and then she was back on the floor with another partner for a Charleston, a quickstep, anything that would let her lose herself in music and heat and feet moving too fast for her to think.

She didn't stop until the band slowed the tempo for a waltz and she felt a gentle hand on her arm. Vivian stiffened but didn't turn around. She recognized that touch, the scent of vanilla and whiskey and spice that came with it.

"Danny's worried about you, pet," a soft voice murmured in her ear. "He thinks you're looking for trouble."

"And what do you think?" Vivian asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Honor was watching her carefully. "I think you want to escape, and this is the closest you can get," she said quietly. "I can't really blame you for that."

"Funny," Vivian said, her voice shaking as she turned around. Reality was catching up with her again, whether she wanted it to or not. "I've got plenty I can blame you for just now."

Honor flinched, and for a moment they stared at each other silently. Then she held out her hand. "Let's escape together, just for a little while."

Vivian didn't move, her eyes on Honor's outstretched hand. She knew she should say no. But she was still feeling reckless. What was one more bad decision? She took Honor's hand. "I know you love a waltz," she said. She wanted to sound flippant, but her voice caught on the words.

"I do," Honor said, and her voice was hoarse too. "Particularly with you."

Vivian swallowed. "Then we should probably steal one more before we run out of time."

Honor flinched again, and for a moment Vivian thought she would pull away. But she pulled Vivian toward her instead. Honor's lead was light and easy to follow, as always. She slid through the music like silk and poetry, holding her loosely and not too close, though Vivian couldn't say whether that was for Honor's sake or her own. Vivian closed her eyes, the wild feeling melting away until, for the briefest moment, there was only honesty between them.

"Will you miss me?" she asked softly as the final bars of the waltz drew to an end. There was a breathless silence, then the band launched into a Baltimore and dancers scrambled for new partners. No singer, this time: Bea was on a break, so the brass could be as loud as they wanted. But Vivian barely heard any of it. She expected Honor to push back against the question, to insist that everything would be all right.

But Honor had never been one to ignore reality, even when it hurt. She raised her hand to brush the backs of her fingers against Vivian's cheek. "Every day, pet," she whispered. "I will miss you every day."

It ached to hear her say it, but it was a relief, to know that someone else saw the world that she saw and wasn't afraid to admit it. Honor might lie, but she didn't pretend.

Vivian took a deep breath and stepped away. "Thanks for the waltz," she said, just loudly enough to be heard over the music. "But I can't spend all night on the dance floor. I've got a few cards left to play."

Honor's hand had fallen back to her side; she nodded without protest. "Good luck, Vivian," she said, just as softly. She sounded as if she meant it.

Vivian was about to turn away but paused. "He was nice to me," she added. "Your dad, I mean." Once, she might have said it as part of a plan, something to get a rise from Honor. But tonight, she was still thinking of her conversation with Florence. She'd have wanted to know, if it had been her father. She'd have wanted to know anything about him at all. "He was worried that I wouldn't be warm enough doing my deliveries on foot. And…" She had forgotten, until that moment. "He mentioned you. Said he had a daughter who was a bit of a hellion. Said that if he'd been a better father, he'd have known that daughter more."

Honor had closed her eyes when Vivian mentioned her father, as if she was in pain. "Thank you," she said, nodding as she slowly opened them. "I'm glad to know that about him."

Vivian nodded, left with nothing else to say, or maybe too much to say to begin. She turned away without speaking again.

She'd wanted to lose herself on the dance floor for as long as possible. But Honor had broken that spell, and now it was time to find Bea.

Her friend was in the dressing room, shoes kicked off while she lay down on one of the room's small sofas, her long legs bent at the knees and the hem of her dress bunching around her thighs. Her eyes were closed, but they opened with a snap as Vivian entered. When she saw who it was, she scrambled into a seated position.

"Viv!" She started to say something else, then yawned. "How are you? I tried to come by today, but you weren't there. Did you… You don't look like you're jumping for joy over there. Did you not go to the lodge ball after all?"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that already feels so long ago." Vivian dropped onto the sofa next to Bea, letting her head fall back as she closed her eyes. "We went. Thanks for the dress, by the way. It didn't…" She winced. "It didn't make it back with me. So I owe you for that, too."

"It didn't—" Bea was staring at her when she opened her eyes. "What does that mean? Viv, what happened?"

Her eyes grew wide as Vivian talked, quickly and quietly, knowing they could be interrupted at any moment. Her summons from Mrs. Wilson, the ball, the gambling, her panicked run through the lodge. She didn't stop there, barreling on through confronting the commissioner, her growing dread as she realized that neither the wife nor stepson could have been the one to stab Buchanan.

"Leo's going to show up at some point tonight, and he's going to be mad as all hell when he finds out I went to talk to his uncle," Vivian added, dropping her head back again.

"Who cares?" Bea said fiercely. "You've got more important things to worry about."

"I know, but—" Vivian opened her eyes. Bea was one of the only people she would let see her afraid. "It ended up being useless anyway. And I don't want things to end with him angry at me over something useless."

"Who says anything is going to end?" Bea demanded.

Vivian's stomach clenched. She knew her friend meant well. But she needed people to stop pretending that everything was fine, to stop telling her she was wrong to be scared.

Vivian took a breath. "Bea, I've only got one more day. Assuming the commissioner doesn't change his mind and haul me in early. Things could be ending pretty damn soon."

"And you're going to use that day," Bea said, giving her a small shove. "You don't know that it was useless. That Levinsky fella said he was going to look for whoever it was that showed up to talk to Buchanan, yeah? Maybe he'll convince someone to start talking—"

"Bea." Vivian shook her head, laughing a little. "It's a hell of a day when you're telling me a cop is going to solve my problems."

"Well, maybe this'll be the time it happens!" Bea said as she stood. Stretching out her shoulders, she headed to her dressing table. "Come on," she added, meeting Vivian's eyes in the mirror as she bent forward to examine her makeup. "You can't give up, Viv."

"I never said I was giving up," Vivian said, sitting forward. She'd realized earlier, over her silent lunch with that cop Edison, that she'd missed something important. "That's why I'm here. I need to ask you something."

"Shoot," Bea said, reaching for her lipstick.

"The commissioner said that no one on the staff will admit that someone came by that morning, right?" Vivian said, her words coming quickly. "But I know at least one person saw him. I know one of the maids came to tell Buchanan that someone was waiting for him because I saw her. If I can talk to her…"

She didn't need to finish. Bea spun around, her lipstick clattering to the table unnoticed. "God, that's so simple. Of course you should talk to her. Did you get her name?"

"No," Vivian said, grimacing. "I know it wasn't Lena because she showed me in first. The one who came to get him was older. She was probably in her fifties, maybe coming up on sixty. And most folks don't stick out that kind of work that long, right?"

"Viv—"

"So I'm betting she was the only one that age in that house, other than maybe the housekeeper. I mean, it's hard to say how old she was for sure, because work like that'll wear you out fast. But if we can—"

"Viv."

Vivian broke off. Bea was staring at her. "What is it?"

"There's no one that age working in that house."

For a moment, Vivian's mind went blank. "That doesn't make any sense," she said, shaking her head. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Half the people barely look old enough to be out of school. There's no one north of forty except the housekeeper."

For a moment, nothing felt real, as though Vivian was floating when she expected to be standing on solid ground. "But I saw her."

"She must have quit," Bea said slowly. "Remember, they kept losing people? They hired me so fast because someone else had quit the day before. It must have been her."

Vivian let out a breath. "Do you think she left because her boss was killed?" she asked slowly. "Or because…"

"Or because she'd seen whoever it was and wanted to get out of there," Bea said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Jesus." She'd picked up her lighter from the dressing table without seeming to notice what she was doing, flicking it open and closed with nervous energy.

Vivian rubbed at her temples. She needed a drink or a dance. She needed something to go her way, just one thing, anything, would be enough. "Bea, I think I need—" She broke off as Bea yawned so big that it made her hands shake, the lighter nearly falling from her fingers. Vivian frowned. "Are you okay? You look dead on your feet."

Bea gave her a dirty look. "Gee, thanks," she said, but her sarcasm was undercut by another yawn. She shook her head. "It's just the working two jobs, is all. I think I'm going to quit tomorrow. Mama needs me home with the kids more than we need the extra dough." Glancing at the lighter in her hands, she let out a gusty sigh and turned to search for her cigarette case.

Vivian hesitated. But if ever there was a time to ask for a selfish favor, this was it. "Can you wait one more day? I need to get back into that house."

Bea met Vivian's eyes in the mirror, looking wary. "What for?"

"Because they'll have records, right? People keep that sort of thing about who works for them. And I know she did work there. So maybe I can find, I don't know." Vivian shrugged, feeling overwhelmed. She'd been so certain talking to the maid was the key to getting herself off the hook. Now, she was worried that tracking her down would lead to even more trouble. But she had to try. Didn't she? "Maybe it'll say where she lives, or where else she's worked? Something. Anything."

"Viv, it was already a big risk sneaking you in there once," Bea said. She was still and serious now, no more fidgeting with her lighter or lipstick. "We got lucky that time. The odds of us getting lucky again…" She shook her head. "If you get caught, they'll take that as proof you're guilty. And I'll probably be headed for the lockup right along with you."

"I know," Vivian said, not looking away. She knew it was a risk. And Bea knew why she was asking. There was nothing else to say. She waited for her friend's decision, sweat trickling down her spine even though her hands were cold.

At last Bea sighed and flicked open her cigarette case. Pulling one out, she lit it and took a drag. Vivian could see her hands shaking. "All right," she said, very quickly, as though agreeing before she talked herself out of it. "The funeral's tomorrow, so most folks'll be out of the house for the morning. Be at the back door at nine o'clock. We should have time to search for…" She shrugged, blowing out a stream of smoke. "For whatever we can get our hands on."

Vivian let out the breath she had been holding. "Thank you."

"Just don't get caught," Bea said, grabbing the ashtray to stub her cigarette out. "I really don't want to end up in the slammer."

"Me neither," Vivian said with a trembling laugh as Bea headed for the door.

She paused, one hand on the knob, and sighed. "It'll be okay. We'll be in and out, just like last time, yeah?"

"In and out," Vivian agreed, nodding. "Now get back on that bandstand or Mr. Smith'll be having kittens."

That made Bea smile. "I'd pay to see that, cool customer like him. Come on. Get yourself a drink. You look like you need it."

She did need it. And she needed it even more once she saw who was waiting for her at the bar, pacing back and forth while Danny cast grumpy looks in his direction and the other customers gave him plenty of space. As soon as he caught sight of her, Leo fell still, one hand braced on the bar, the other a fist crumpling the brim of his hat.

"I told you not to talk to him," he said as soon as she was close enough. His voice was quiet, but his anger was clear.

Vivian sighed, sinking down onto the stool. "How'd you find out?"

"He told me," Leo bit off. "I had a job for him today, and he had the cop I was working with bring me in after just so he could go off at me. And he's a treat when he's angry, let me tell you. My favorite part was him saying that if I couldn't get my girl under control, he'd have to remind me who mattered in this city, because it's sure as hell not people like us."

Vivian sighed again. "I'm sorry I made things rough for you."

"Viv, you idiot, it's not me I'm worried about," Leo snapped. He looked like an alley cat, bristling and ready for a fight. "He gets angry enough, he takes it out on you, or—"

"He's already planning to arrest me, Leo. I've got a day left of freedom. One. Day." She bit the words off, bitterly glad to see him flinch. "What did I have to lose?"

"Or maybe he gets angry enough, and he comes after my dad," Leo said, his voice starting to rise. "Or my dad's friends, or our old neighbors down on Bowery. Did you even stop to think of that?"

"I don't want to fight, Leo," she said, feeling suddenly tired. She would have kept her voice to a whisper, but no one would be able to hear them over the band anyway. She propped one elbow on the bar and leaned her head into her hand. "Can we just let it go? Please?"

"Just let it go?" he said, pushing at his own temples with his fingertips. Neither of them wanted to look at the other. "Viv, you told me you wouldn't—"

"I never said I wouldn't," Vivian pointed out. When he opened his mouth to argue, she sighed. "What did you expect me to do?"

The fight went out of him, like a Coney Island balloon deflating at the end of the day. He dropped onto the stool next to her. "Okay." He blew out a breath. "Okay. You're right. Let's just—" He broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed on something over her shoulder.

Vivian, suddenly nervous about what he'd been about to say, would have demanded that he finish. But Leo wasn't paying attention anymore.

"Levinsky," he said slowly, climbing to his feet. The Leo she'd been fighting with a moment before was suddenly gone. This one was wary. "What brings you by tonight?"

Vivian spun around on her stool, her own heart speeding up. He couldn't be there to—

No. He was alone, dressed in a regular suit. Vivian glanced around, wondering where Edison had got to and if he was curious why another cop was there, especially since he'd seen them talking to each other just that morning. But she couldn't spot him, though she didn't doubt he was there somewhere. After she'd given him the slip that afternoon, there was no way he'd be taking his eyes off her now. She turned back to Levinsky.

He fidgeted with his hat as he glanced between them, then around the room, as though making sure no one was close enough to overhear. Plenty of people were, but with the night in full swing and the band close by, no one was going to bother trying to listen in. Still, he took a step closer.

"Not here to talk to you, actually," he said, nodding to Leo before turning to Vivian. "I thought I'd find you here. I wanted to tell you that I followed your tip. You were right about Mrs. Buchanan. She was with Morris that morning."

Vivian let out a shaking breath. One more person was in the clear, and it wasn't her. "Anything else?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt.

"Well, I went back to Buchanan's house, like I said I would."

"And?" Vivian asked hopefully.

Slowly, Levinsky shook his head. "I talked to everyone in the house. No one would say a word about a visitor that day," he said, grimacing. "Which might mean that whoever it was, they know better than to stick their nose in his business. Or…" He trailed off.

Vivian took a deep breath. "Or?"

"Or you didn't hear what you thought you heard. You said you fell asleep, right?" He shrugged. "Maybe you dreamed some of it."

"I didn't," Vivian said fiercely.

"Then whoever it was, it's someone the folks in that house don't want to talk about." He shrugged again. "Either way, I came up empty-handed. I'm sorry I—"

"Good evening, friend."

The smooth voice, polite and firm and sharp with warning, made them all jump. Vivian shivered. It was the second time Honor had surprised her that night.

The Nightingale's owner was leaning against the bar, looking Levinsky up and down. She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. And your colleague"—she tilted her head toward the other end of the bar, where Edison sat, watching them all—"already collected the milk money for the week. You're welcome as a customer, of course. But you don't seem to be drinking or dancing. So I'm curious what I can do for you this evening?"

Vivian didn't know whether Honor had spotted the cop on her own—it was the sort of skill someone in her line of work learned—or whether Danny had remembered him and sent for her. But Levinsky clearly hadn't expected to be noticed so fast. He took a step back, then straightened his shoulders and stepped forward again, clearing his throat.

"You're the daughter," he said, without bothering to explain whose daughter he meant. He didn't need to. "Honor Huxley."

"I am," Honor said, just loud enough to be heard over the band. "Does that matter?"

"It might," Levinsky said, placing his hat on the bar and resting one hand on it. He glanced pointedly at Vivian before he turned back to Honor. But for the life of her, Vivian couldn't figure out what he was trying to tell her. "Got time to answer a few questions?"

Honor's chin pulled back, her gaze growing harder. Vivian felt a chill snaking down her spine. What was going on? "Depends on what the questions are, Mister…?"

He gave her a considering look. "Levinsky," he said at last. "Your father left you a substantial inheritance, and that after what I understand was a lifetime of pretty thorough neglect." He shifted his weight as he spoke, his fidgeting done, his stance suddenly more aggressive. It was directed at Honor, Vivian was sure, a reminder that while they were in her domain, he was in control outside these walls.

"That doesn't sound like a question to me," Honor said, her voice giving away none of her thoughts. A muscle jumped in Levinsky's jaw. "And I've already discussed my inheritance with a few of your colleagues."

"That's right," Levinsky said, pulling a notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He flicked through several pages. "And you told them… Here it is. You told them that you hadn't spoken to your father in years and were unaware that he'd changed his will. Is that correct?"

"That's what I told them, yes," Honor said, her voice even more expressionless than it had been a moment before. She was still leaning against the bar, a picture of casual poise. But she had gone very still, aside from her eyes, which cut so quickly toward Vivian and back to the cop in front of her that Vivian almost thought she had imagined the look.

The chill spread through Vivian's chest. She didn't remember Honor's exact words, the night they had discussed her father. But she knew Honor had told her, with no uncertainty, that she had known about her inheritance.

There could be a good reason she had lied to the cops. Maybe she had misspoken. Maybe she had wanted to avoid trouble with Buchanan's wife and stepson. Maybe she had just wanted to keep the cops from poking and prying into her business, into the Nightingale, into all the people who depended on her work and her protection. Maybe—

Levinsky wasn't done. "I talked to a few other people who were in the room when your father's will was read."

"You can call him Mr. Buchanan to me," Honor said with the barest hint of a smile. "He wasn't much of a father." She gestured at his notebook. "As I'm sure you've noted in there."

"So it seems. But in that case—" Levinsky's voice grew sharper. "Why did they think you didn't seem too surprised by how he'd left things?"

Honor lifted her brows. "Being surprised and showing surprise are two different things. I imagine you have to keep a pretty tight rein on things in your line of work. It's the same in mine."

"Hm." Levinsky narrowed his eyes. "So you were surprised?"

"That's what I said."

"Did you?" he asked. But he didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "You must have some theory, then, as to why he did that, after half a lifetime of pretending his bastard children didn't exist."

If she was offended, Honor didn't show it. "I do, which, again, your colleagues have already asked me about." She tilted her head to one side, her expression growing a little mocking. "Didn't they share their notes with you?"

Vivian could tell what she was doing, making him dance in circles, making him defensive and uncomfortable. She bit her lip, torn between loyalty and suspicion and hoping no one could see the conflict on her face.

She didn't want to tell Levinsky that Honor was lying. Her fingers clenched around the seat of her stool. People like her didn't rat each other out. But she wanted, so badly, to know why Honor had done it.

"You've built quite a business here, Ms. Huxley," Levinsky said, leaning pointedly on the title. "In certain circles, you might even be considered a powerful woman. The sort that ordinary folks need to watch their step around."

Vivian's hands clenched tighter, the wooden edge of the stool painful against her palms. She had known what he was getting at. She just hadn't wanted to admit it to herself.

"I'm flattered you think so," Honor replied, standing up straight at last. "But I'm just an ordinary businesswoman."

"Far from ordinary," Levinsky said dryly, looking her up and down. It was clear he didn't mean it as a compliment.

"But still a businesswoman, which means I don't have time to sit around chatting, pleasant though this conversation has been." This time, Honor didn't bother to hide her sarcasm. "Some of us have work to do."

"How much do you have to pay each week to keep this place open?" Levinsky asked as she started to leave. "Must be a pretty penny."

"You can check the numbers next time you're the one sent to collect," Honor said, not bothering to turn back. "Have a drink on me, Mr. Levinsky. And then get out. I don't need you messing with my customers tonight. Or my staff."

Levinsky glanced at Vivian and Leo once they were alone. "How good a liar is she?" he asked, flipping his notebook closed and tucking it back into his jacket.

The best,Vivian wanted to admit. "I don't know," she said out loud.

Levinsky sighed. "Well, she's sticking to her story, if nothing else. Let me know if you turn up anything about her, though," he added. "She's damned suspicious, as far as I can tell, even if no one else at the station seems to think so."

"I don't know that I have much time left to keep an eye on anyone," Vivian said, choking a bit on the words. She wanted to go after Honor. But she felt glued to her seat. She didn't look at Leo, but she could feel his eyes on her.

"Well, do what you can." Levinsky replaced his hat on his head. He nodded at them. "See you around."

They were silent once he was gone, but Vivian could feel Leo's eyes on her.

"Viv—" he began.

She cut him off. "I have to go. I'll be right back."

"Don't do this to yourself. She won't—"

Vivian wasn't listening, already off her stool and heading for the back stairs and Honor's office. She didn't even make it that far.

Honor was at the bottom of the stairs, in deep discussion with Benny and Saul, while she pulled on her coat. When she saw Vivian, she paused, meeting her eyes. Then she kept going, settling her coat and retrieving the hat that Benny was holding out to her.

"Got it?" she asked.

"Crystal clear, boss," Benny said, nodding. Saul gave her a small salute, two fingers at his temple.

Honor dismissed them both with a flick of her fingers, then turned toward the back door, the one that led into the alley and the tangle of streets that would take her away from the Nightingale.

"Where are you going?" Vivian demanded, grabbing Honor's wrist before she could reach the door.

"I have a few things to do tonight," Honor replied, her voice cold as she pulled her arm away. "That a problem for you?"

"I thought you had a business to run?" Vivian said recklessly. "That's what you told that cop, wasn't it?"

"Danny's here," Honor said, her red lips pressed together in a tight line. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. Then she shook her head. "He knows how to look after things. And Benny and Saul will make sure there's no trouble."

"Honor—" Vivian hated the way her voice cracked on the word.

Honor didn't look at her. "Time for me to go, pet."

"Honor."

But she was out the back door and gone. Vivian didn't follow after her.

When she returned to the dance hall, Leo was still sitting at the bar. He looked relieved when she reappeared, though his relief faded into worry as he watched her. She stopped next to him, bracing her hands on the bar as she took a deep breath.

Take me away,Vivian wanted to tell him. "Dance with me," she said out loud, trying to give him a smile. "I could use a distraction."

"Sure thing. Give me just a minute." He looked relieved by the simple, normal request, standing and giving her a wink before he headed for the bandstand.

Vivian turned back to the bar, watching without really seeing as Danny, halfway down the room, shook up a couple of gin cocktails while bending his ear toward Saul, who was muttering something too quiet to be heard by anyone else. Danny nodded, pouring out the drinks as Saul disappeared. He must have felt her eyes on him, though, because once he was done, he wiped his hands and came to lean on the bar across from her. "What is it, kitten?"

The gentle question made Vivian want to cry. She swallowed back the urge. She had one more day. A lot could happen in a day.

"Danny-boy, what's Honor been up to recently?" she asked instead. "This week. It seems like she hasn't been around much, some days. She been busy?"

He didn't ask why she wanted to know, though she could tell from his expression that he was curious. Vivian held her breath, wondering if he would answer. Danny and Honor were a team. They were always on each other's side, more than anyone else in the Nightingale.

Would he tell her if he knew? There was Florence now, and God knew her heart would break if anything happened to her little sister. But would loving Florence be enough to outweigh what he owed Honor?

"She's been busy, for sure," he said slowly. "Out, some nights. I've been in charge here a lot." He shrugged. "Had to do inventory myself most days. She's been hard to pin down."

"What about last Monday? Was she around for inventory then?" Vivian asked. She could barely get the words out. She desperately wanted an answer. And she didn't want it at all.

Danny frowned, running the cloth over the bar slowly. "I don't know," he said at last. When he looked up at her, Vivian knew he understood what the question really meant. It made her heart want to break, that he was answering her at all. Florence had won out. "I don't think she was, though."

Vivian felt like she couldn't breathe. Why hadn't she thought to ask him before?

Because she hadn't wanted to believe it, ever since that conversation in the car with Hattie Wilson. She still didn't want to. She was still sure there had to be another explanation, anything else. Anything that meant Honor hadn't lied to her, hadn't set her up, hadn't been willing to let her take the fall.

A touch on her shoulder made her jump to her feet, every nerve on edge. She spun around to find Leo standing there. Up on the bandstand, they had just slid into the opening bars of "Charleston Charlie," fast and fun. Around them, couples were heading toward the floor.

"I thought you might like a fast one," Leo said, glancing between her and Danny. "Everything okay?"

Danny opened his mouth to reply, but Vivian got there first. "Everything's peachy," she said, tucking the pain in her chest down as far as she could. If all she thought about was the music, she didn't have to admit that her heart felt like it was breaking. "That's exactly what I want right now."

Leo looked like he wanted to ask more, and she could feel him looking past her at Danny. But she didn't give him a chance, grabbing his hand and hauling him toward the dance floor.