“Nothing,” I lied, trying to push down the panic so it didn’t show in my eyes or my voice. “It’s just an old circus playbill.”
“But why would she—”
“There’s a pile of them inside. Maybe she didn’t notice the date was old.”
The girl with the auburn hair stepped forward and thrust out her hand, palm open. “Let me see that.”
I folded it back in quarters and stuffed it in my trousers pocket. “Think I’ll keep it safe for the police instead.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“We all saw you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. “We’ll tell the police you stole evidence.”
I licked my lips and thought fast. “You should probably be considering your alibis instead.” I narrowed my eyes and looked at each of them in turn, so they wouldn’t miss the implication.
The brunette girl gasped. “Are you saying . . . one of us did this?”
I could almost laugh. I doubted anyone in this bunch had ever been accused of anything in their lives. Guilty, maybe, but never accused.
“It wasn’t one of us.” Fitzroy thrust his pointer finger in my direction. “It was one of your people.”
I stared at him, struggling to keep my expression smooth. My grip tightened on the letter with Marion’s name on it in my pocket.
“Who do you think it was?” Rockefeller said, touching Fitzroy’s sleeve.
“Yeah, who?” I said. Frank moved closer beside me.
“It was that . . . that boy singer in there!” Fitzroy said, his gaze hopping from face to face. “That boy in the dress! He killed her, I know it!”
Shit. Fitzroy had seen Marion argue with Arimentha half an hour—or less—before she died, and he wasn’t going to forget it.
“How do you know it was him?” Rockefeller said.
“The only reason she came back in the club was to talk to him.” Fitzroy rocked up on his toes, looking agitated. “I tried to tell her not to go. I saw his face when he threatened her! I knew he was dangerous, and I told her—”
“He threatened her?” Rockefeller said. “What did he say?”
“He told her to never come back here.” Fitzroy hugged his raccoon coat tighter around him. “Or he’d make her regret it.”
I tried not to show the shock on my face. I’d seen Marion’s anger for myself, had heard him say through the dressing room door that she was never returning to the club. But Marion couldn’t have done this to her, not even if he threatened it. He couldn’t have killed someone and left her out in this courtyard in the cold, with the damp already settling on her skin. No.
“If you thought he was so dangerous,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “then why didn’t you come back inside with her?”
Fitzroy ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. “I . . . I was looking for a cab. I thought she’d give up on this silly errand and come back out.”
“But she never returned,” Rockefeller said, looking soberly down at the girl’s body. “Someone, maybe this female impersonator, brought her out on that balcony and pushed her over.”
Fitzroy looked stricken. “I should’ve taken her home. This whole night is a mistake. I should’ve—”
“Don’t cast blame where it doesn’t belong, old bean.” Rockefeller reached an arm around Fitzroy’s quaking shoulders and gave him a manly embrace. “We’ll call the police now. They’ll sort everything out.”
I looked at Frank, my heart beating fast and my thoughts spinning faster. I didn’t even have time to make a joke about Rockefeller saying “old bean.” What happened if we let them call the police now? Fitzroy’s story looked bad for Marion—the whole scenario did—and that auburn-haired girl wasn’t going to let the note thing drop. Others in the club could’ve heard Marion threaten that girl, and the whole place had seen Marion disappear for half an hour between sets. Plenty of time to shove a girl off a balcony, especially one conveniently located right down the hall from his dressing room.
Shit, shit, shit. The cops would arrest him for sure. Not to mention what would happen to the rest of us. Cal’s hefty bribes kept the cops out of our hair most of the time, but the presence of a potential murder victim—especially a rich one—might make them feel obliged to arrest everybody who’d served alcohol, plus any of the customers they could lay their hands on. I was supposed to keep this place and these people safe while Cal was gone. Letting them get beaten up or thrown in jail was the dead opposite of that.
I looked down at Arimentha’s eyes, at her face that had been beautiful and alive an hour before. I certainly didn’t keep her safe.
But I’d be damned if I let Marion meet the same fate.
“You’re right,” I said, standing taller, hoping I looked and sounded authoritative enough to keep the Uptowners in line. “I’ll call the cops now. There’s a telephone inside. You five stay here with the—with, um . . .”
“Arimentha,” the auburn-haired girl said through clenched teeth.
“Yeah. Her. And no funny business out here.” I pointed at each of the rich kids. “Don’t touch her.”
“But—” the brunette said.
“Don’t touch her, I said! And don’t go anywhere. The cops will need to talk to you when they get here.” I bent and scooped up Arimentha’s beaded handbag in one swift motion. Marion’s photograph was in there. The last thing we needed was the cops finding that. “And I’ll take this inside so you don’t get any funny ideas about tampering with the evidence.”
“Hey!” Fitzroy said.
“I don’t know about that,” Rockefeller said.
“Don’t worry.” I was already backing away. “I’ll put it in the lockbox until the police arrive. Just wait here.”
I grabbed Frank’s sleeve and tugged him with me back into the club.
“I don’t trust her,” the auburn-haired girl hissed to her friends as we turned away.
“And you shouldn’t,” I muttered under my breath.
If I had anything to do with it, these swells would be waiting on the cops for a long time.
* * *
Sure, I was going to call the cops. But first, I had to get Marion out of there. And second, I had to protect my people.
I sent Frank to the front door to start quietly shuttling out the customers nearest to it. Marion stood by the piano, slightly out of the spotlight, with Lewis’s gray suit jacket draped across his shoulders. The band behind him half-heartedly played a dance tune, but nobody was dancing. Everybody was murmuring, waiting for news.