“I’m not coming up. I gotta scoot to Ward’s place. All that legal stuff.”
Oh, the irony. He cared to be upstanding with his rental properties yet ran a whiskey dive. “At three a.m.? Strange time to be going to an attorney’s house.”
He lifted his hand, and she shrank against the door. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?
“You make me feel like a heel when you cower like that.” Carson rested his hand on her knee. “I told you I wouldn’t hit you again.”
Because he regretted it? Or because her ears had rung for two days and she had sung poorly? A dull ache stretched behind her eyes.
“Besides, I think I overcompensated with that string of rocks around your wrist.”
“Yeah, guess so.”
“Did you know I got that when Ward and I went to Belmont Stakes? Went to check out a new trainer for Thundering Gallop and came back with a genuine Tiffany’s.”
“It’s beautiful, Cars.”
“So are you.” He hooked an arm around her and smiled. “I’ll be here tomorrow around seven to pick you up. We’ll have dinner at the club.”
“I’ll be ready.”
He gathered her closer and kissed her. The taste of alcohol on his lips soured her stomach. She could never become immune to that putrid odor—memories speared her every time.
She waved as Carson drove away and then walked to the flight of stairs leading to her apartment.
A realization hit her like ice water in the face. “Rats. My bag.” She glared at empty hands. “No bag. No key.”
Too late to hail down Carson. His car disappeared into the night’s blackness. She scrunched her nose. Had she brought it in the car? No. Must be in her dressing room.
Was Artie still at the club? She groaned. No choice but to check. All that stress to keep from being unguarded, to avoid walking alone, and yet here she was. Her stomach twisted in a hundred corkscrews. She hustled down the street, passing Winston’s Drugstore and several other shops, all dark and locked tight.
Sporadic drops of moisture, which had teased her face earlier, returned, but this time they allowed no mercy, showering fat beads of rain.
“Why?” She shook her fists at the sky that had been blanketed gray all day. Figured it’d wait until now to come spitting down. She slipped her arms out of her jacket sleeves and pulled the collar over her head, her makeshift umbrella tunneling her vision. Three more blocks.
A car horn blared. She flinched. A taxi pulled up beside her, spraying her ankles.
“Need a ride?”
“I’ve got no money.” She ducked under a barbershop awning.
“Where ya headed?”
Rain cascaded off the thinned canopy, a watery sheet, misting her. “Harold Avenue.”
“Harold Avenue. The Kelly Club, by any chance?” Understanding registered in his tone as the orange circle of his lighted cigar bobbed with his words.
“Yeah.” She huffed and adjusted her grip on her overcoat. The longer she remained chatting with the cabby, the less of a chance she’d find anyone at the club.
He jerked a thumb to the rear of the car. “Well, jump in.”
She took a step toward him, then stilled. Offers like this had been made before.
“I accept other forms of payment, angel-face.”
Knew it. She bit the inside of her cheek and walked on, hastening her pace.
“Hey, where you going?”
“Get lost.”
“Go ahead and catch a cold.” He sped away, tires screeching.
The kitchen door was unlocked. About time she caught a break. Easy in. Easy out.
Rain pelted the tin roof, grating her ears, like somebody shaking a can full of rocks. She hit a slick spot, her feet slipped out from under her, and she smacked her backside on the hard floor. Could this get any worse? Time to nix the wet shoes.
Evading a few puddles caused by the leaky roof, she walked with brisk steps. Maybe she could dodge Artie. Keeping the lights off seemed the best plan.
She felt her way to the dressing room door, brushing the wood and then scaling her fingers down until she reached the cool metal knob. Voila! She grasped the air a couple times, hoping to pull the string for the light, but couldn’t find it. Never mind. She stretched out her hand in the direction her vanity tray should be.
Aha, gotcha.
She snatched the troublesome bag and cleared out.
Curious, she peeked down the side hall. A sliver of pale gold shone under the door to the front offices. She crept farther.
“Your way isn’t my way, Cavenhalt. It’s yellow-bellied.”
“Carson,” Vera whispered. Hadn’t he told her he was going to Ward’s? Check the box next to liar on the terrible boyfriend list.
“It’s your choice.” Artie’s grumbly voice sounded. “Pay up because I know the exact people who I can squeal to.”
Her blood froze. Was this the bargaining chip he’d mentioned earlier? Her fingers fumbled. Down went her shoe.
Clunk.
“What was that?” Carson’s voice crashed through the door.
She plucked up her shoe by its satin strap and sidestepped into the storage room.
The hallway light flicked on. She sunk her teeth into her lower lip, squeezing her elbows into her ribs.
“It’s nothing.” Artie shut the door.
Her chest expanded with much-needed air. Fingers clenched around her belongings, she braved her way into the hall, footfalls quiet.
“I know about Steubenville, Artie.”
Vera’s heart launched into her stomach. She recognized that tone. Her cheek tingled as if reminding her of his wrath.
Artie cussed. “How did—”
A shot pierced. Thunder cracked. All fell silent except for the rain’s fury.
CHAPTER 4
Vera clamped her lips together, imprisoning the rising scream in her throat. Legs trembling, she dashed out the hall and through the nearest exit, clutching her shoes and bag to her chest.
Rain pellets stung her face as she raced toward her apartment, each thunder crash rattling her marrow. Had Carson spotted her? Was she being chased? She ran harder.
Her wet clothes hung like sandbags tied to her shoulders. The cement terrain stabbed her insoles, ripping her stockings. A dark chant echoed through her. Carson killed him! Carson killed him!
Vera forced herself up the stairs under the porch’s protection. Lightning struck, allowing a glimpse of her door. Her foot caught on the uneven floorboard, but she managed to keep from falling. She fished the key from her bag, opened the door, and locked it behind her. Pressing her back against its solid surface, she slithered to the floor.
A violent shiver overtook her.
Her gaze darted to the phone. The one the murderer had installed for her. No. Couldn’t call the police. Or anyone. She pulled her knees into her chest and rocked back and forth. In this crooked city, it was hard to know who would be friend or foe. And even if she found people to trust, no one would believe her. Especially if word broke that Artie had been blackmailing her. She pushed herself to stand, water pooling under her stocking-clad feet.
In her bedroom, she exchanged her dripping dress for a terry-cloth robe. She pressed her fingers to her temple. Where should she begin? What did she need to do? Pack. Run. Leap into oblivion. Her tears blended with the rainwater spilling down her cheeks.