Cole adjusted his bowtie for the fifteenth time since arriving at McKees Rocks Christian Church. Family and friends of the bride and groom filled the cedar pews. On the platform, the minister rocked on his heels, humming “O Perfect Love.” Mom, fidgeting with the buttons adorning her sleeve, sat beside Sterling’s mother, just in from Virginia. The woman shined brighter than the emerald brooch pinned to her collar, a gift from Sterling’s late father.
From the lowest step, Cole craned his neck and peered through the glass window behind him, grimacing at the outside view.
No Elissa.
Had he told her the wrong time? What if her father had another episode? He rubbed his brow, heat coursing his veins.
“What have you to be nervous about?” Sterling stood on the top step, his large frame stuffed into a tuxedo making him resemble an Italian crime boss more than a groom. “I’m the one getting hitched.”
“I’m happy for you, cousin.” Cole smiled. “Though I can’t help but pity Sophie.”
Sterling chuckled.
Yep, his cousin’s mood scaled higher than the steeple. A contented smirk replaced Sterling’s routine, chiseled scowl. His narrowed eyes widened in expectation of seeing his future wife.
Yearning birthed in Cole. A bride. A family. Maybe a curly-haired daughter who mirrored her mother. He scanned the crowd again for any sign of Elissa. His chest deflated. Where could she be?
The organ’s steel pipes belted the fanfare to “The Wedding March,” and every pew creaked as guests turned in their seats. Attendants opened the wooden double-doors. Candles flickered. Sterling sucked in a sharp breath.
Nothing.
The organist crumpled her brow and replayed the fanfare. Sterling shifted behind him.
A messenger boy dashed through the doorway, sprinting down the aisle toward the minister. The child, puffing his cheeks with heavy breaths, handed the minister the telegram, but Sterling intercepted it. Cole’s cousin tore it open, and his face hardened like the stone cross behind him.
“What’s wrong?” Cole stepped closer and eyed the telegram before it crinkled in Sterling’s iron grasp.
I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.
His cousin glowered at the door the messenger boy retreated through, his nostrils flaring, masking his hurt with anger like when he’d been younger.
“Go find her. I’ll take care of everything here.” Cole placed a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, and the gesture seemed to snap him out of the daze. Sterling gave a tight nod and strode out the back, leaving a confused mass of people in his wake.
Cole moved to the center step. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming, but there won’t be a wedding today.”
Gasps and murmurs echoed off the wood-paneled walls.
Wherever Elissa was, Cole sure hoped she was having a better time than he.
Of all the bad choices Elissa ever had made, this could be the worst. But what other option had she? She adjusted her faux pearl headband and stepped into The Steel Fountain Club. The bouncer at the door hadn’t required a passcode or even a membership number. Purchasing passes into speakeasies for a high price had been on the rise lately, but no, all she had to do was slip the man some cash and follow the white painted arrows to the correct doors.
Pathetic.
Prohibition seemed valid only on paper.
The fringe of her dress tickled her knees with every step into the smoke-thickened club. Jeffrey had said he’d be here tonight, Wednesday, and she hoped he’d kept his word. The telegram in her purse forced this extreme action.
Slot machines lined the paisley-papered walls. Couples littered the dance floor, and Pittsburgh scotch soiled the fancy linens. A band gathered in the corner. Some musicians sat on stools, while others stood, swaying to the jazz melody. She gulped and willed her legs not to wobble like chilled marmalade.
She took in the vast area, perusing the plush red sofas and several tables. Approaching her from the right side of the room with a grin as thick as the cosmetics lining her eyes, Jeffrey Shelby captured the attention of every female within a twenty-foot radius.
“I see you came for me after all.” His dark eyes focused on her.
She gnawed her bottom lip, tasting the grit of her lipstick. “Evening, Mr. Shelby.”
With a wry smile, he tapped her nose, the drink in his hand swishing with the movement. “I thought we decided that you’d call me Jeffrey. Or Jeff, if you want to be more personal.”
The rattle from the roulette table mixed with gleeful murmurs.
“I came to see if you’d remembered any more information for my women’s club. The deadline is soon.” Sooner than he knew. Four days and she needed to have an article on Father’s desk and hopefully a sound plan to save the paper.
He laughed and grabbed her hand. Oh, the relief of wearing elbow-length gloves. She’d rather his oily fingers mar the satin than caress her skin.
“Is that really why you came here?” His gaze raked her body. “You look temptingly stunning to be concerned about a stuffy women’s club.”
“I confess I have a curious nature.” Too curious. Would she be able to encourage him to speak openly? Maybe even admit to the accusation listed in the telegram? She inhaled a ragged breath and lowered her mascaraed lashes for a long blink.
“I’m fond of those kinds of natures.” He sipped his drink, gaze locked on hers over his glass. “By the way, since you’re calling me Jeff, it seems unfair to refer to you as Miss Freedy. How am I to address you?”
“Elissa?” A deep voice trickled over her shoulder.
She turned.
Adam.
Her gut sank lower than the three flights of stairs she’d descended to enter this place.
“Ah, Elissa, is it? Lovely name. Fitting.” Jeff clapped Adam on the shoulder and lifted a dark brow. “And how are you acquainted with this gentleman?”
“I … uh …” This wasn’t how the evening was supposed to unfold. What was Adam doing at a speakeasy, looking mighty comfortable breaking the law, sipping his wine? “We’ve known each other since we were young.”
Adam stepped closer. “What are you doing here? And looking so … so modern?” He spoke low in her ear and then pulled away to study her face.
She huffed. Elissa had combed her closet until she’d discovered a dress fit for raising the hemline and adding heavy amounts of fringe. What Adam had called modern, she called a tiresome endeavor. She shot the Review columnist a warning glare. At least she hoped it was one. Judging by Adam’s smirk and the lazy way he eyed her, she feared he misunderstood.
Jeffrey observed the exchange with a bemused expression. Perhaps she should go home. Her strategy was failing, and the only way it could worsen would be if—
“I worked for her father.” A waiter passed by, and Adam set his empty glass on the tray. “Before I got a job at the Dispatch.”
Elissa’s jaw slackened. “What? Since when?”
He straightened his suit jacket. “I leave for New York Monday. Care to join me?” The charming smile returned with the bonus of his dimples.
“So you’re in the newspaper industry?” Jeffrey asked the question to both of them, but his penetrating glare sharpened on Elissa.
Adam laughed. “Her father owns the Review. Elissa’s heart and soul is that paper.”
Her gaze darted toward the exit. Now if only her legs weren’t frozen stiff.
“The women’s club, huh? I applaud your efforts, love.” He lifted his glass in a toast.
The iron fist which had clenched her heart reached up and grabbed her throat, choking her from replying.
“Elissa, are you okay?” Adam looked between them. “What’s going on?”
“This little scout is on the hunt for a story. Sorry your boyfriend had to ruin the ruse. We could’ve had fun.”
A muscle ticked in Adam’s cheek. “That’s not the way you speak to a lady, Shelby.”
“Lady? Maybe I should see how far she would go to get her scoop.” Jeffrey grabbed her wrist and planted a kiss full on her lips.
She yanked back and slapped him, her measly glove lessening the impact.
“Don’t touch her again.” Adam shrugged off his jacket. “Or you’ll have to answer to me.”
A wicked smile crested Jeffrey’s lips, and he widened his stance.
Elissa stepped between them. “Maybe I should just call Doris Green.”
The spark of rage in Jeffrey’s eyes extinguished into surprise. “What?”
“The popular Ziegfeld Follies’ actress.” Her smirk held an edge of glee. “Or should I address her as Mrs. Shelby?”
His earlobes reddened. “How did you—”
“I’m a good little scout.” She adjusted her glove, her fingers barely tingling from making contact with his arrogant face. “It’s been reported that Doris recently visited Pittsburgh. I’ve also spoken with a witness who saw you and your wife arguing in front of the very building your father would be murdered in hours later.”
“That’s a lie!” His harsh tone garnered looks from other imbibers. “I was nowhere near the place.”
“Just like that pipe is an old family heirloom.”
His eyes darkened at her words.
“When it happens to be the honeymoon perk at Maple Grove Lodge.” Her brows rose in a knowing arch. “The landlord confirmed your visit with Doris from the last weekend of December.”
Jeffrey started toward Elissa, but Adam shifted in front of her and shoved him back. “I told you not to touch her.”
“Woman, if you print that junk in your lousy paper, you’ll be sorry.” Spittle flew with his warning, his breaths heaving. He pointed a finger at her. “I’ll see to it. I have many friends. Many.”
Her heart raced at his threats. The rage in his dark eyes strengthened her case against him. This man was impulsive, deceiving, and possibly murderous. She stepped behind Adam, and her gaze snagged on a man in the corner, watching her. The intruder who’d wielded a knife at Shelby’s office. Elissa’s gut twisted.
Whistles pierced from the entrance, and uniformed men stormed in, billy clubs in hand. Federal agents.