| |
The joint was jumping, the wail of the saxophone cutting through the cheerful chatter and blue clouds of cigarette smoke hanging over the Astoria Club. Helena sashayed toward us the moment we walked in, swathed in a slinky gown of shimmering silver. Long, drop earrings hung nearly to her shoulders. At first, I thought they were real rubies, but as she drew closer their shine gave them away. They were very good paste. Just how deep was she into this thing?
She thrust a highball glass at me, which I took gratefully. Gone was the tortured woman of earlier. In her place was a cool, calculated dame, worthy of a Marlene Dietrich role. Will the real Helena Fairfax please stand up?
She gave Chaz air kisses before showing us to the same table as before. She gave me a knowing look. “Good view of the band.”
I gave her a tight smile. I found this sudden shift in personality confusing. Was she, perhaps, embarrassed at revealing so much emotion earlier? “Divine.”
“Josette is about to come on.”
“Josette?” Chaz asked, his smooth tenor carrying easily over the noisy club.
“Josette Margaux, our singer,” Helena supplied. “Alfred discovered her in France. Charming girl. Very talented.” There was something hard and cold in her expression. A tightening around the eyes. “Much better than Coco Starr. She came with the band. American. Very brassy.”
How odd. She’d rhapsodized over Coco only the previous night. “I look forward to hearing Josette,” I said cheerfully, taking a sip of my highball. It was perfect.
“I’ll catch you later,” she said vaguely, drifting away to greet another couple who’d just entered.
“She’s a peculiar one, don’t you think?” I asked Chaz.
“All the inbreeding. You know how us upper crust sorts are.”
I snickered, being only vaguely related to the upper crust despite my title and ridiculous amount of brass. My people weren’t exactly common, but close enough to it. Not that it ever bothered Felix one wit. And I’ve found that money often talks louder than bloodlines, even among the ton. Especially if you’ve enough of a bloodline to brag about it.
The music paused, the lights dimmed, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Hale Davies tickled the ivories with a little flourish, dark gaze locked on mine. I felt myself flush in the most unladylike places.
Just then, a man stumbled through the front door. He was clearly drunk, staggering between the tables, slapping everyone on the back with forced bonhomie. He was in perhaps his early forties, handsome, but with a week chin.
“I recognize that man,” I said to Chaz. “Who is it?”
“Helena’s husband, Leo Fairfax,” Chaz muttered. “Quite the winner, eh?”
“Quite,” I said dryly. “He’s the man we saw outside the club last night, isn’t he?”
Chaz shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.” His tone was final. In fact, when Leo waved at him, Chaz pointedly turned his back.
Helena also made a point of ignoring her husband, even when he shouted at her across the room. The head waiter arrived and ushered him quickly toward the bar. I was half surprised Helena didn’t have bouncers throw him out.
I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Leo pushed away from the bar and sauntered toward us. “Chaz.” His words were as heavily slurred as they had been the previous night. “Old buddy. Long time. We’ve missed you.”
Chaz’s face was white, pinched. His fists were clenched. “Get away from me, Leo.”
“Come now,” Leo taunted. “We’re having a party tomorrow. You should come. Plenty for everyone.”
Chaz went from white to red. I was afraid he’d punch Leo in the face then and there. Granted, Leo deserved it, but I knew Chaz would hate drawing that sort of attention to himself. So I did the first thing that popped into my head. I faked a drunken stagger and trod on Leo’s instep with my heel, giving it an extra grind for good measure.
Leo let out a howl of pain and I tittered an apology, playing up the drunken idiot angle. Granted, I was a bit buzzed, but not near so far gone I couldn’t control myself.
Helena, the headwaiter at her side, came rushing over. “Is everything all right?”
“Get him away from me, Helena.” Chaz’s voice, usually so full of charm, was barely more than a snarl simmering with rage.
Helena nodded to the headwaiter, and the man gripped Leo’s arm, steering him away. “Come now, sir. I’ve called a cab for you.”
“Don’t need no cab,” Leo slurred.
“Of course not, sir.” The headwaiter managed to manhandle Leo out of the club and up the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry,” Helena said softly. Chaz ignored her, but I gave her a grateful smile.
And then from behind the stage curtains came a wisp of a thing. Hardly more than a girl, really, with shiny black hair cut short and smoothed down. Her skin was a dusky almost golden taupe, shimmering beneath the spotlight as if dusted with diamonds. Her wide eyes were heavily rimmed in kohl, drawn out into points in the Egyptian style. Her full lips were painted carnelian red, mesmerizing.
When she opened those red lips, the sound that spilled out was rich, throaty, magical. I blinked, stunned, as goose flesh rose on my arms. How could such a tiny thing produce such sound? It made me shiver right down to my toes.
“All of me. Why not take all of me? Can’t you see, I’m no good without you...” Josette crooned into the microphone. Her long fingers played with the stand, stroking it lightly, suggestively.
Behind her, the band played slow, meaningful, sexy. Almost against my will, my gaze slid toward the pianist. He wasn’t looking at me, instead he focused on his hands skimming over the keyboard. I toyed with asking Helena to introduce us, but that might raise her suspicions. Chaz could ask for an introduction without raising eyebrows, but I could imagine the mocking he’d give me if I suggested it.
As the last notes of the song died away, my attention was snagged by a commotion near the door. Alfred Musgrave had arrived looking none the worse for wear after his brush with death other than a sticking plaster on his forehead. A scrawny man hustled up, face pinched as if his shoes hurt. I recognized him as the man who’d overheard Musgrave and Helena’s argument. Musgrave pushed him away and barreled past as the band struck up the next song, something zippy and bright as champagne bubbles.
I watched as Musgrave disappeared through a door, half hidden by drapes, next to the bar and vaguely recalled the argument I’d overheard between him and Helena the previous night. Must be in regard to that audit he was talking about. Which reminded me that I should probably schedule an audit with my own business manager at some point in the near future. Not that there was anything amiss, but I liked to stay on top of things. “Never trust anyone with your money,” Lord R always told me. “You’ve got to keep an eye on it yourself.” And I planned to. I did not want to have to move in with Aunt Butty, much as I loved her. Nor did I want to run back to Chipping Poggs. Perish the thought.
“Chaz, are you sure the club is doing well?” I asked.
“Seems to be. Why do you ask?”
I cast another glance toward the door through which Musgrave had disappeared. “I overheard Musgrave telling Helena he wanted an audit.”
Chaz shrugged. “Don’t mean a thing, old bean. Audits happen in business all the time.”
“Yes, I know, it’s just... I don’t know. Something felt...off.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Now come on. We’re here to have fun!” Chaz grabbed my hand and dragged me out on the dance floor. After shaking our tail feathers for a couple of songs, Josette slipped away backstage while the band played on. I watched her walk, light and delicate, across the stage, envying her slim figure in that slinky dress.
A few minutes later, or at least I assumed it was a few minutes, she returned, hovering at the side of the stage as unobtrusively as possible. The sax player tapped the trumpeter and then left the stage to join Josette. They bent their heads together a moment before he disappeared backstage, leaving Josette to make her way to the bar.
A few moments later, the sax player returned clutching a cigarette and a lighter in one hand, the other thrust into the pocket of his black jacket. He strode across the dance floor and exited out the door leading to the front stairs. He looked more like a man on a mission than one headed for a smoke. Maybe he didn’t have much time. Curiouser and curiouser.
“What’s the time, Chaz?” I bellowed into his ear over the music.
“Quarter past one or so. Why?”
“I do believe it’s cocktail time.” I was feeling a pleasant buzz and didn’t want to risk it wearing off.
We’d just reached our table when there was a slight pause in the music. I heard a faint popping sound. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it at first. “Did you hear that?” I asked as I slid into the booth.
“Hear what, old bean?” Chaz asked, taking a seat.
I frowned, recalling where I’d heard it before. Felix and his friends off to hunt grouse. “It sounded like a gunshot, but very quiet. Muffled, perhaps.”
“’Fraid not. Probably a cork. Loads of champers in here, don’t you know.”
I glanced around. The barkeep was in the middle of shaking a cocktail. I couldn’t see anyone else with a fresh bottle of champagne. I shook off the odd feeling. Maybe he was right. Or maybe I was imagining things. Too many highballs. Or maybe not enough.
The waiter arrived with fresh drinks as the saxophonist reappeared looking a little jittery. I guess the ciggy hadn’t worked. He quickly took his place, rejoining the music as if nothing had happened. Was it just me, or were his hands shaking a bit?
The piece came to an end, and the master of ceremonies popped up on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back Josette Margaux.”
Josette left her drink at the bar and tripped lightly across the stage to take her place. She smiled at the audience, but I could have sworn she looked strained. She opened her mouth.
A piercing scream rent the air.