"Head south," Hank said to break the overwhelming silence in the car. "We'll find a stretch where we can dump it in the water. Hopefully by the time it surfaces it'll have lost enough pieces that no one will be able to put its face back together."
"That's horrible."
"What did you expect me to do, Miss Ransom? If I let Johnson see that thing, it'll raise all kinds of questions nobody can answer."
"You can."
"Questions nobody really wants answered, then," Hank said irritably. "Do you want to be dropped off somewhere first? So you're not party to this?"
"Would it do any good? I wanted to call the police in the first place."
Hank leaned forward, draping his arms over the back of the front seat so he could gawk at Rosie. "And tell them what? You're having a run of bad luck and keep being obliged to kill people?"
"That's what I said," Jean murmured.
Hank gave her an approving look. "Thank God somebody here is sensible. How did she know you were the Redeemer, Miss Ra—"
"You might as well call me Rosie. Mr Vaughn."
Hank sat back suddenly enough that Rosie looked at him, surprised to see his jaw set as he frowned out the window. "I wasn't trying to deceive you, Mi—Rosie. And I'm not ashamed of being Harrison Vaughn's son. But when your father's an industrialist, people have certain expectations of you. Sure, it's too bad the Vaughn boy got shot up, but at least he can follow in his father's footsteps, right? Make a profit even if war cost him the life he wanted to have."
Rosie caught her breath on asking what life that was, and Hank continued unabated. "But then it turns out the son would rather take a clerk's job at the police station than take part in the family business, and people just don't understand that. He can afford it, sure, but someday, he'll go back home to where the money is. He's just playing around in the gutters for a while. When a soldier who really needs a job comes home, well, the Vaughn kid better know enough to get out of Dodge. No point in getting his hands dirty, never mind that there's a hell of a lot of dirt involved in making war machines. But that's different, when you're just the overseer. Can't help it if there's money to be made in killing people, right? Might as well make the money yourself. Somebody's gotta, after all."
Hank transferred his attention to Rosie, startling her with the intensity of his blue gaze. "But I came home tired of blood, Rosie. I'd rather my money wasn't stained with it either, if I can avoid it. So I noticed, yes, when Johnson didn't call me Vaughn the other night. I noticed I had a chance to not be Harrison Vaughn's son, for a while. My mistake was probably in imagining I could deceive myself into thinking the family name might not matter, not that I could trick you into thinking I was somebody else." He looked back out the window, apparently no longer interested in the conversation.
Rosie turned around and frowned out the side window, speechless for a long while. When she finally found something to say, she thought it might be too late, but there wouldn't ever be a better time, either. "I guess most of us are swimming in blood money, Hank. I guess that's the only reason I have—had—a job at all. I guess you can walk away from it if you want, but maybe instead you might think about seeing if you can wash all that money clean. Maybe it doesn't matter so much how you got it. Maybe what's important is what you do with it." She pressed her lips together and wrapped her arms around her ribs. "And I guess maybe I would've treated you differently if I'd known you were Harrison Vaughn's son, and I'm sorry about that, because it's not fair. Not any more than being talked down to because you're a woman is fair."
"Oh good," Jean muttered. "Now you can kiss and make up while I dump a demon into the river. Did you have somewhere in mind, Hank?"
"There's an abandoned quarry with water at the bottom, not much farther down the road. We should be able to weigh it down and drop it there." All the stiff offense left Hank's voice, leaving him sounding like he was discussing what to have for lunch after all, not hiding bodies. Rosie sank deeper into the Oldsmobile's bench seat, trying not to hide her face in her hands. Jean and Hank seemed suited for this kind of thing, but up until a few hours ago she'd never broken a law in her life. Well, a few days, if she counted shooting Goode, but that didn't hardly count. He hadn't been human, anyways.
"What do we do if somebody sees us out there?"
"Pretend we're making out," Hank said so blandly that Rosie twisted around to gape at him. He pulled a faint smile into place. "No?"
"Well, for one thing, there's three of us, mister!"
"I spent time in France," Hank said, still blandly. "Ever heard of a ménage à trois?"
Jean shot him a sharp look in the rear-view mirror, and Rosie, who hadn't, figured out enough to blush. Hank's smile turned into a grin, and Rosie kept her mouth shut the rest of the drive out to the quarry.
It should have been hard, Rosie thought later. Dumping a body should be hard. But the old rock quarry looked like it hadn't been visited in a decade, and Jean backed the Oldsmobile up to its lip like she'd been doing it her whole life. She wouldn't get out of the car, though, shaking her head violently when Rosie climbed out. "I can't look over that edge. I'll throw up. It's bad enough having the car this close. It makes me want to vomit already."
"Scared of heights?" Rosie asked in astonishment, and Jean gave her such a dark look, Rosie decided not to tease her. She hadn't imagined she would be the one helping to weigh down the demon's pockets, though, and muttered, "At least she's in coveralls, or we'd be tying rocks into her skirt." Hank looked at her and she said, "Women's clothes hardly ever have pockets. Why do you think we like wearing dungarees so much?"
"I thought it was because you knew how great you look in them."
A smile crept over Rosie's mouth. "That part doesn't hurt." Then, horrified, she realized that sounded like flirting—on both their parts!—and not just flirting, but doing so over a dead body. There had to be whole sections of Hell set aside just for that kind of thing. She bit her bottom lip, finished filling pockets, and with a thin wail, helped Hank pitch the demon's body over the edge of the cliff.
They didn't throw it quite hard enough, and it bounced off a narrow ledge before rolling down the quarry's side until it splashed into the lake. Rosie watched through her fingers, but Hank stood there, frowning down at it with a cool professionalism, until he finally nodded. "Hardly any bubbles, and no hint that it's coming up any time soon. Good. Let's get out of here. Does that bet on the burger still stand?"
Rosie, sick to her stomach, looked at him through her fingers. "Are you serious? You could eat?"
"One thing the Army teaches you is to always eat when somebody else is buying." They got back into the car, and Jean put it into gear with more force than necessary, getting them away from the cliff's edge as fast as she could. They were a good five miles out of the quarry again before she started to get her color back, and by the time they'd driven back into town, she said she could do with some lunch. Even Rosie, reluctantly, admitted to hunger, and not too much later conceded she would buy everybody's lunch, while Hank Vaughn leaned back in a red booth at Big Bob's and groaned over eating too much.
Bob came out of the kitchen to whip them up ice cream sundaes that he brought to the table himself, with a shake of his balding head at Hank. "Mostly it's the young pups who put those burgers away, and usually only after a game. I don't know if I oughta be horrified or impressed."
"If I eat that sundae, I'll be horrified," Hank said. "Is this the reward for eating too much? More food?"
"Nah. It's a break for a couple kids having a rough weekend. Sorry about Ruby, Jean. She was a good girl." Bob pressed his big hands against Rosie and Jean's shoulders for a moment, then ambled back to the kitchen, where his deep voice echoed comfortably off the walls as he called out orders.
Jean bit the inside of her cheek and didn't look up from her ice cream for a long time. Not that she ate any, any more than Rosie could right then. She just looked hard at it, eyes bright, until she finally dug the spoon deep into the ice cream bowl and came up with a giant bite that she shoveled into her mouth. A dribble of chocolate squirted from the corner of her mouth and her eyes popped, cheeks chipmunk-round. Rosie clapped a hand over her own mouth and giggled. Jean tried a smile around the huge bite of ice cream and more squirted free, until she grabbed a napkin to keep it all in as she laughed. She managed to swallow it, wiped her mouth, and whispered, "Ruby used to do that all the time to make me laugh," before pushing the sundae away and putting her head down on the table.
Rosie reached over to touch her hair, and Hank got up from the table. "I'll get the tab."
"No, I said I would."
"Hey." Hank gave her a faint smile. "Let me. At least I've still got a job. For a while, anyway."
"You have a strange way of comforting people, library man." From the way Hank's smile strengthened, Rosie figured he recognized she'd forgiven him, and he went off to pay the bill without any more argument from her. The diner had filled up while they were eating, lots of well-dressed women with children in their Sunday best, coming out for a treat after church. It made the joint comfortable, if not homey. It couldn't really be homey with the chrome highlights and red leather seats and gleaming white tables, and the black-and-white checked tile pattern on the floor would overwhelm any home kitchen with its size, but it felt like a good place. Friendly and safe, where, if everybody didn't know each other by name, they at least knew they were among like-minded folks.
Jean snaked a hand out to find a napkin without lifting her head, and sniffled and wiped her eyes at the table's edge, then sat up to take Rosie's attention away from the other diners. "I'm okay now," she said hoarsely, then shrugged. "You know. ‘Okay.'"
"Atta girl." Rosie squeezed her hand, then dropped her voice. "I forget if I said thank you for saving my life, so … thank you."
"You did," Jean said with another sniffle. "You can say it again a few more times, though."
"Thank you thank you thank you—" Rosie kept going until Jean giggled again and Hank came back to the table to peer at Rosie curiously. Her last thanks petered out into a breathless wheeze and she got up to say, "Thank you, too. For lunch."
"You're welcome. Look, if you want to run me home, I'll get out of your hair—"
"Out of our hair?" Rosie asked. "Are you crazy, mister? I think we need to be in each other's hair. Have you gone to see Pearl today? We need to bring her groceries. More than peanut butter and jelly, anyways."
Jean asked, "Who's Pearl?" as Hank shook his head, and they all headed for the door. Hank and Rosie exchanged glances as Hank held the door for them, the girls ducking under his arm, and neither of them answered until they were in the car.
"Pearl is the other girl who was there on Friday night," Rosie said carefully. "She was sick with Goode's blood and I … well, I guess I Redeemed her. Hank didn't think it could even be done, but she's not sick anymore. Or dead."
Jean put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. She just sat there, in fact, then said in a low, dangerous voice, "What do you mean, the other girl? What was she doing there? Was she helping him? Rosie, is Ruby dead because of her?"
"No." Rosie swallowed. "Ruby is dead because Goode was a monster. Pearl was just another girl in trouble because of him, Jean. A different kind of trouble, but it would've killed her just as dead."
Jean gave her a flat look. "You're splitting hairs, aren't you?"
Rosie thinned her lips, then glanced away and nodded. "Yeah. But it's still not Pearl's fault, Jean. You said yourself Ruby was all dazzled by Goode. Pearl couldn't have done that. It was all him. She did try to … lure … me to him. And I guess it worked, but it wasn't the same. Ruby and the other girls, they were already besotted with him. Pearl brought me to him because I was asking questions. She didn't get Ruby killed, Jean. Just Goode did that."
Jean twisted to look hard at Hank, who nodded. "She's right, Miss Diaz. Pearl was another victim. She just got lucky that Rosie was there and able to save her from Goode. She got lucky Rosie insisted on trying. I would've just …" He shook his head. "Let's just say if I'd had a piece of rebar handy, it would've ended differently."
"I don't think I want to meet this girl," Jean said in measured tones. "How about I bring you two back to Hank's place, and then you can get his car and go do whatever it is you need to do."
"My parents' place," Hank said, but Rosie nodded and Jean drove the Oldsmobile back through the increasingly attractive streets until they'd reached the Vaughn estate again.
Mrs Vaughn appeared in the huge house's double front doors as if she'd been waiting for them since they left, and came lightly down the steps to open her arms like she'd embrace all of them even before they got out of the car. "Do come in," she offered. "I'm sure you lovely young women have a great deal of social activity to keep you busy, but I would so appreciate just a little of your time. Oh, you must come in too, please, Jean. You mustn't just run off. Five minutes, and I'll make you a cup of tea."
"You mean Bertha will make us tea," Hank said as he got out of the car and held Jean's door for her. Mrs Vaughn shrugged agreeably, and Jean cast Rosie a frustrated glance before reluctantly emerging from the car. Rosie got out before Hank could get to her door, and Mrs Vaughn clucked at him for ungentlemanly behavior.
"It's all right," Rosie told her. "He got lunch. I can handle a car door."
"Oh, you did!" Mrs Vaughn's disapproval fell away into a delighted smile for her son. "Thank you, darling. I knew you remembered your manners, somewhere under all that crusty police business. Five minutes," she promised Jean a second time, and escorted them into a foyer that stopped both the girls in their tracks. Rosie breathed, "Golly," and Hank crinkled his face in something barely shy of a wince, muttering, "It's something, isn't it."
"Golly, I guess so." The foyer rose three stories, overlooked by curving stairs that led to balconies separating into two distinct wings of the house. A dark-skinned Negro maid with her hair in a bun carried linens up to the top left balcony and disappeared down a hall. Afternoon sunlight chased her a little way and fell down the balconies, creating shadows and streaks of brightness that didn't dare highlight dust in the air, not in this house. Rosie thought the balconies must be carpeted, because the maid's footsteps had been silent, but the stairs and the foyer floor looked like caramel-swirled marble. An impressionist painting of a woman with a parasol hung on the foyer wall, with orange lilies offering color beneath it. Rosie let out a breath of laughter and turned to Hank's mother. "I think I need to go home and change into something fancier to come any farther in, Mrs Vaughn. Gosh, this is beautiful!"
"It's kind of you to say so. Please, come in. The sitting room is this way. Oh, dear, the living room. I never will learn to use those American phrases."
"You shouldn't," Rosie said with a smile. "It's more fun to hear rooms called what other people call them than the same-old-same-old that we use all the time."
"You're playing it up, Mum," Hank murmured as he passed Mrs Vaughn on the way to the living room, and she followed him with a fond smile.
"He's right, you know. I am. But it's so rarely that I get to meet his friends, and I feel that I ought to do my best to offer some of that old-world pizzazz."
"I thought the British were supposed to be very reserved." Even Jean seemed reluctantly charmed by Mrs Vaughn, whose eyes sparkled as she tucked her arms through both the girls'.
"Perhaps Americans have rubbed off on me more than I care to acknowledge, then. I have lived here a long time, after all."
"How long is that?" Jean asked.
"Oh, dear, I couldn't say without betraying my age, could I? Is it enough to admit that Hank was born here?" Mrs Vaughn smiled again as color crept up Jean's cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, Mrs Vaughn."
"No, no, not at all. Oh, Hank, you've asked Bertha for the tea, good lad. Girls, please do sit down?" Mrs Vaughn escorted them down two steps into a deep living room with a bold diamond-patterned rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Big couches and armchairs would have overwhelmed any house Rosie knew well, but fit right in to the over-sized room. The ceiling rose to ten feet or so, not all the way to the house's roof, but the sunken floor made it feel like it went that high. Rosie sat in one of the armchairs and gazed upward in silent astonishment. Crystal light fixtures caught the sunlight and gleamed, casting bright shadows around the room. She followed them around with her gaze until she found herself looking out the windows at a view of a far more extensive yard than Rosie had seen, coming up the drive. "Gosh, I could live here forever without getting tired of that view!"
"You should see it at night, when it's lit up with the garden lights," Mrs Vaughn said with another smile, then brought her hands together in something to refined to be a clap, but still expressed enthusiasm. "Oh, you must see it at night, and we have the perfect excuse. Hank, you must bring the girls to the gala Tuesday evening. A little soiree for charity, nothing too much, although between you and I, Daniel Franklin will be there. He's only just finished filming his latest movie—oh, what was it called, Hank?"
Hank muttered, "Mom," in embarrassment, and Mrs Vaughn's expression filled with mock dismay.
"Oh, dear, I've horrified him and he's punishing me by using that dreadful American Mom," which she said with such a long O it sounded nasal and made both Rosie and Jean smile. "Uncertain Stars, that's it. Errol had intended to play the role, but there was all that terrible business with that young woman. Fortunately, Daniel was able to step in. Anyway, he's a delightful man, so very handsome, and single too. I simply must have the opportunity to introduce you. The party is themed, of course. ‘The Way We Were.' A perfect chance to dress like it's the Roaring Twenties, or the glamorous thirties, before things changed so much with the war. Do you darling girls have beaus? You must. Soldiers home from the war?"
Rosie exchanged a glance with Jean, who looked down with the air of someone determined not to be drawn into the conversation. A wry smile curved one side of Rosie's mouth as she looked back at Mrs Vaughn. "No, ma'am. No one home from war yet."
"Then Hank can escort you," Mrs Vaughn said in delight. "You will come to the party, won't you? Of course you will. Oh, you must be looking forward to your soldier coming home, Rosie. It will be a relief, won't it? To put all this unpleasantness behind you. The business at the factory, and all the strain of being a working woman. I don't know how I would manage in your position."
"But Hank said you were a nurse in the Great War," Rosie said with slow astonishment. "An independent woman, yourself. How can you not imagine carrying on that way?"
Mrs Vaughn laughed. "With Harry to take care of me? Goodness, dear, why would I want to? Oh, Bertha, there you are. Is that coffee I smell? Hank, I asked for—oh, you Americans. And you brought tea for me, didn't you, Bertha? Thank you."
The maid, a small, light-skinned Negro woman with a downcast gaze and a polite smile, nodded to Mrs Vaughn and poured tea and coffee for everyone before quietly leaving the room. Rosie picked her coffee cup up, looking after the maid. "I've never even met anybody who had staff before."
"Oh, only two for the house, and the cook, of course. And the gardener and the driver, not that Harry ever lets anyone drive him around," Mrs Vaughn said. "You Americans have driving in your blood, I think."
"Well, we did invent the car. Here's to Mr Ford." Rosie lifted her coffee cup an inch or two, then sipped the hot liquid. "Say, this is really good. I wish I'd told Bertha so."
"Anyone can make a good cup of coffee if they have quality beans." Mrs Vaughn dismissed the topic with a sniff. "Now, do you girls have costumes for the gala? Oh, dear, you wouldn't, would you? You'd have been children in the twenties and hardly more than that in the thirties, wouldn't you? Well, I'll just have something sent over. It won't be any trouble."
Rosie hesitated, a thought striking her as she glanced first at Hank, then at his mother again. "Mrs Vaughn, we couldn't impose—"
"Nonsense. There will be dozens of stuffy old people here. A little youth will lighten things up and ensure Hank enjoys himself. You must invite a few other friends as well. Young ladies, to get the older gentlemen onto the dance floor and make them happy to write some checks for charity."
"Irene would be thrilled," Jean murmured. Rosie shot her a dirty look, but Mrs Vaughn smiled.
"Indeed, invite your friend Irene. Please do, girls. Does she have a solider coming home?"
"No, ma'am. She only wishes she does."
"Then a party will be just what she needs. You just call me tomorrow morning with all your measurements, girls, and I'll get you sorted out. It should be lovely, girls. A chance at some old-fashioned romance. I wish you girls could remember what it was like before the Great War. Things were so much more peaceful then, with everyone having such a settled sense of place. Of course, I was very young myself, but I hope so much the world will calm back down to how it was. Perhaps a soiree like this will help people to remember, and help us to return to that happier time as we recover from this terrible war."
"But …" Rosie set her coffee cup aside, gazing at Hank's mother in astonishment all over again. "But women didn't even have the vote then, Mrs Vaughn. At least not in America. I don't know about England," she admitted.
"Oh, it came in stages at home, from just before the end of the war up through the twenties, but really, my dear, with a home to take care of and a husband to care for you, what real need is there for such nonsense? I hate to think of women getting involved in politics. It's just not appropriate."
"But you were a nurse," Rosie repeated. She sought first Jean, then Hank's, eyes for support, and found them both studiously examining their coffee. Traitors, she thought, and turned her attention back to Mrs Vaughn. "You must think education is good for women, if you were a nurse. And if education is, why not politics? Why not anything a man can do? We've sure as heck proven ourselves working in the factories! In your own husband's factories!"
"Oh, dear." Mrs Vaughn smiled gently at Rosie. "You're a real modern girl, aren't you, Rosie? Well, I admire that. I just hope it doesn't break your heart. Hank will pick you up at seven on Tuesday, won't you, Hank? Very good. Now, if you'll excuse me, girls, I'm afraid I have some old-fashioned household business to attend to. Oh, yes, even on a Sunday. A woman's work never ends." She rose with a smile, leaving Rosie and Jean to scramble to their feet and say goodbye.
Hank kissed his mother's cheek, then turned an apologetic expression on the girls once Mrs Vaughn had left the room. "I'm sorry about Mum. You don't have to come to the party. It really will be full of dull old men and their pinch-faced wives."
"And Daniel Franklin," Jean said. "Irene's got a crush on him like you wouldn't believe. If she misses the chance to meet him, she'll never forgive us."
Rosie wrinkled her nose at Jean. "Whose side are you on?"
"Irene's," Jean said with a brief smile. "And a party might be good for me too. I feel like I better keep busy or I'll just fall apart forever."
"Aw, honey." Rosie slipped her arm around Jean's waist. "Come on, it's been a crazy day. Why don't we go home?"
"What about Pearl?" Hank's voice dropped to secrecy levels and Rosie stomped her foot.
"Oh, darn it. All right, Pearl and then home."
"Forget it, Rosie. I'll see to Pearl. You head back with Jean. Rest up and I'll come by later so we can finish yesterday's conversation."
"Yeah." Rosie pursed her lips. "Wait a second. Senator Haas was visiting? That was the family thing you couldn't get out of?" Hank shrugged one shoulder and Rosie huffed at the strangeness of it all. "I guess that's how the other half lives. All right, library man. Next time I see you, I expect you to tell me how to save the world."