Thirty-Five
This time, when Bea let her in at the back door of the Buchanans' house, she didn't slink from hall to hall or peer around corners. She walked straight to Huxley Buchanan's study, Bea at her side. Vivian knew where she had left the letters, and she suspected that no one had done anything about them in the last two days.
She kept her head down in the room itself, though. Those memories were still too raw. And she had liked Huxley Buchanan in the few minutes she had known him, in spite of everything she had learned about him since.
"Is it there?" Bea asked from the doorway, where she was keeping an eye on the hall.
Vivian could hear a few voices in the distance, but none of them sounded like they were coming near. She didn't waste any time, though. Kneeling behind the desk, she let out a relieved breath when she found the drawer of letters still untouched. It made part of her simmer with anger—had the cops bothered to look through his things at all?—but there wasn't time for that.
It didn't take her more than a minute to find what she was looking for. Vivian read it through twice, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth, to make sure she had remembered it correctly. The letters from Honor's mother were there, too. She hesitated a moment, then pocketed those as well. There was no telling what Mrs. Buchanan or Corny would do if they found them. And if it was her mother, she'd have wanted to keep them. Honor could decide what to do with them herself.
Then she stood and walked to the sideboard, examining the different bottles, uncorking the cut-glass decanters and sniffing their contents.
Smiling, grimly satisfied, she joined Bea at the doorway. "Ready?"
Bea's lips kicked up at the corners. "Feels like a good day to quit this damn job."
"You're wasted here, anyway," Vivian agreed. "The only place you belong is on stage. Where do you think he is?"
"Still in bed, the lazy owl," Bea said, shaking her head. "But that probably works even better for you, doesn't it?"
They didn't bother knocking when they reached Corny Rokesby's bedroom, just walked right in. He was sitting up in bed, still in his pajamas, his red hair a mess around his head while he yawned his way through a cup of coffee. When they walked in, he jumped, then cursed loudly as it splashed all over his lap.
"Goddamn," he yelped. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Who are—" He broke off, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Vivian. "You."
"Me," she said, smiling as Bea closed the door behind them. "Hi again, Mr. Rokesby. Late night gambling? Or were you out with the Gold Coast Boys again?" She tossed his appointment book onto the bed as she spoke.
He glanced at it; when he looked back at her, his eyes were snapping with rage. "You know I could report you for stealing, don't you, you stupid bird?"
"You could," Vivian agreed calmly. Behind her, she heard the click of Bea turning the key in the lock. Rokesby started to look nervous. "But trust me, I'm doing you a favor when I say you don't want to have anyone else in on this conversation."
"And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms and drawing himself up, even as he was still sitting in bed with a lap full of hot coffee.
"Because I doubt you want them to know that you were poisoning your stepfather."
He threw himself out of bed, scattering the remainder of his breakfast tray across the coverlet. "Get out," he ordered, his voice rising to a squeak.
"Really?" Bea said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You didn't want to play it any cooler than that?"
"And you! You're fired!"
"You think she'd want to stay and work for you?" Vivian demanded. "Fella who gets his stepfather to have a drink with him each night, pretending like he wants to be friends. And the whole time he's just making sure he drinks a little arsenic every day, just waiting for him to get sicker and sicker."
"That's applesauce," Rokesby said, but she could see his hands shaking. "That's slander."
"And it sure is suspicious, don't you think, that the bottle of gin you gave him has somehow vanished from the sideboard in his study, just when the police might have needed to check it for arsenic?" Vivian continued relentlessly. "And he'd have known that you didn't like gin, so he wouldn't blink an eye that you didn't want to share it with him." She shook her head, turning to Bea. "Guess he thought he'd be getting more in the will. Bad bet, that one."
"Must have been a shock when it was read out," Bea agreed.
"You can't prove anything," Rokesby said defiantly. "Not that there's anything to prove. But like you said, the bottle of gin is gone. So." He crossed his arms, looking satisfied.
"Hmm. Not sure about that." Vivian glanced down at the letter, as though reading through it again. "I know a medical examiner who'd be happy to share some information about arsenic poisoning. And this letter your stepdad kept about your gift sure looks suspicious when it's paired with that missing bottle."
"That's still not enough to take to the police," Rokesby said, but he sounded less sure of himself.
"I never said I was going to the police."
Something in her voice finally got through to him; he paled and took a step backward, stumbling into his nightstand and having to catch his balance against the bedpost. "Then what…"
Vivian smiled as she handed Bea the letter. "It's so much worse, isn't it, to think what people would say if they found out? The speculation. The whispers. Maybe even a column on it in the paper. They wouldn't use your name, but everyone would know who they meant." She paused. "Just imagine what your mother would think. Your friends. His business partners."
His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape. At last, he swallowed visibly and turned back to her. "What do you want?"
Vivian pulled out the letter Honor had helped write. "I want you to sign this."
"And then you'll give that back to me?" he asked, gesturing toward the paper Bea held.
Vivian laughed at him. "No, I'll hang on to that. But as long as you hold up your end of things, I can promise you it won't see the light of day."
"And why should I trust you?"
Her voice grew hard. "Because unlike you, I'm not a murderer."
"I didn't kill him," Rokesby protested. "They caught—" He broke off as she raised her brows at him. She could see his jaw clench, but he nodded. "All right. What am I signing?"
"Are you sure this is how you want to use it?" Bea asked once they were outside, leaving the Buchanan house behind as quickly as possible. "You know she's dangerous."
"I know." Vivian held her hat on her head as they dodged across the street, ignoring the angry honking of a cab. "But I think it'll be worth it." She didn't say it would be safe. They both knew there was no way to predict that.
Bea didn't look happy about it, but she nodded. "Well, I hope you don't mind if I hightail it home instead of coming with you."
"Smart of you," Vivian agreed. Before Bea could take off, though, Vivian caught her arm. "Thank you. For everything. For taking that job and…" She shrugged helplessly. "I owe you."
"You've done the same," Bea said quietly. "Or close enough, anyway. Things are square between us, Viv." She pursed her lips, then added wryly, "Except that you still owe me a dress."
That made Vivian laugh. "I'll sew you a new one myself," she promised. "See you tonight."
She didn't have far to go once Bea left. Fifth Avenue was crowded with mansions and, after a year of deliveries, she knew her way around them.
No one blinked an eye at her when she said she was checking on an order. Vivian waited in the kitchen, feeling like the letter in her pocket would burn a hole straight through her coat. Her fingers tapped an anxious beat against one thigh until a maid finally motioned for her to follow.
Hattie Wilson was seated behind her desk, reading through a stack of papers. But she laid them aside, elbows on the desk and her chin resting lightly on her fingers, as she regarded Vivian. "Thank you, Annie," she said to the maid. "You may go. Close the door."
Vivian tried not to shiver as the latch clicked. She didn't think she needed to be afraid. But it was impossible not to be unnerved by that steely gaze, framed by Hattie's doll-like face.
"I hope you're not here to be a nuisance, Miss Kelly," Hattie said at last. "I'd hate to have to ruin the lovely turn your week has taken."
"Actually, I'm here to make your week a whole lot better too," Vivian said. The flicker of interest in Hattie's face felt immensely satisfying. Vivian pulled out the letter Corny Rokesby had signed and laid it on the desk.
Hattie gave her a considering look, lips pursing slightly as she took her time picking up the paper, making it clear that she was still the one in control. But her cool demeanor cracked, just for a moment, when she picked up the letter and read through it. Her lips parted slightly, and a slow smile spread across her face.
When she looked up at last, though, Vivian could see satisfaction and wariness warring in her expression. "Corny Rokesby is signing his shares and his seat on the board over to me."
"He is," Vivian agreed, taking a seat at last, pleased when Mrs. Wilson didn't protest.
"Explain."
Vivian shrugged. "I found out a little something about Mr. Rokesby this week, something he doesn't want to become public. So long as I'm hanging on to the proof, you get his share in the company. Which means you've got yourself sixty percent of a helpful little import business." She smiled. "Are you going to say thank you?"
"I might," Hattie said. She held out her hand. "I assume you have this proof on you? I'd like to see it."
"I'm sure you would," Vivian said, not moving. "But that'll stay between me and Mr. Rokesby. Call it insurance."
"Smart girl." Hattie's smile grew thoughtful as she read through the letter again. "I don't see your name on here, Miss Kelly. Why is that? Surely you'd have preferred to have the shares signed over to you."
Vivian snorted. "I live in the real world, thanks. No one would buy it, and I don't need cops sniffing around trying to figure out what the game is. But no one will blink an eye at you. At least not too much." She stood. "You're welcome."
Hattie set the paper down, resting her hands flat on the desk on either side of it. She was watching Vivian with more wariness, more respect, than she ever had before. "Why?" she asked. "Why help me out?"
"Because." Vivian went to the mirror that stood in one corner. She took her time smoothing down her hair and settling her hat at just the right angle before turning back to Mrs. Wilson. She smiled. "This time you'll be the one who owes me a favor. And I'll collect when I'm good and ready."
"You made it out in one piece," Honor murmured when she found Vivian that night, waiting at the bar for Danny to hand her a tray of drinks. "It was a hell of a risk to take, you know."
Vivian shrugged. "She'd have been an idiot not to accept, even if she doesn't like owing me."
"I meant going to see Rokesby," Honor said, leaning one elbow on the bar. To most people there, she would have looked perfectly at ease. But Vivian could see the wariness in her expression, as though she expected to be told to take a hike at any moment. "There was no way to know how he would react, and you spent enough time tangling with the cops this week. I'd have thought…" She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I wish you hadn't chanced it again so soon."
It had been a risk. But she'd been determined to take it, determined, at last, to be the one in control. She hadn't explained any of that to Honor, just told her what she needed and waited. Honor hadn't hesitated before agreeing.
"Why'd you help me, then?" Vivian asked, genuinely curious.
For a moment, she thought Honor wouldn't answer. "Because you asked me to. And if I want you to trust me again, that means I start by trusting you," Honor said at last. "Because I'm sorry. I know it's not enough. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"It's not like you got out of this unhurt either," Vivian said, watching her hands as she ran one finger along the edge of the bar. "I do know that. Your mother…"
"It's not the same," Honor said. "I've got a lot of work to do to earn your forgiveness. This was as good a place as any to start."
Vivian picked up her tray, newly filled and ready to be taken to a rowdy table of college boys. The cocktail glasses shivered against each other, though the sound of them was lost in the music, and she turned to look Honor full in the face at last. "You can't," she said.
Honor's chin moved, the barest flinch. She was good at hiding how she was feeling. But Vivian saw it. She wondered what Honor had been like as a child. Occasionally criminal, she had said. But that had been about what she did, not who she was.
Had Honor also spent years dreaming of a family that would want her, find her, take her away from the life she hated? Did she also watch everyone around her, waiting for the moment when they would leave and she would be alone again, fending for herself?
Vivian took a deep breath. "But I might decide to forgive you anyway," she said as she turned away. "One day. Maybe. No promises, though."
When Vivian made it back to the bar, Honor was gone. She closed her eyes and leaned against it, reminding herself that she was safe. That she'd wake up in the morning and would still be safe. It was hard to believe, but she was getting there.
"Vivian!"
She opened her eyes when she heard Danny hollering her name, expecting to be handed another round of drinks. Instead, he was grinning at her, holding out a towel. "We could use an extra set of hands back here. Up for it, kitten? Nightingale needs you!"
Vivian glanced around. They really were in the weeds tonight, and the new bartender was barely keeping up. Regulars and strangers alike were crowding at the bar, and they shouted jokes and encouragement at her while Danny waited expectantly.
Vivian felt a giddy laugh rising in her chest. She was getting there, and she was home.
"You know me," she said, smiling at the crowd. "I'm always up for a challenge."