A Dangerous Engagement

by Ashley Weaver

  Despite everything, I had the impression that he was telling me the truth about Grant Palmer.

  There was a tap at the door just then and he rose from his seat.

  “I’ve got some business to attend to,” he said as he moved toward the door. “But if you want to hang around, we can talk some more later.”

  I rose from my seat as he pulled the door open, and I was startled to see Milo standing in the doorway.

  20

  I HOPED I was able to hide my surprise. Milo certainly did an excellent job of pretending as though he had never seen me before. It was almost disconcerting how casually he looked at me, as though I were a woman he was seeing for the first time and had no interest in.

  “Rose, this is my associate, Mr. Ames. He’s new to the organization. Ames, this is Rose.”

  New to the organization?

  “How do you do, Rose,” Milo said.

  “Hello,” I replied.

  I turned back to Mr. De Lora and caught him watching me. I wondered if he suspected something. Surely not. There was no way he could link Milo and me.

  There was another knock on the door then, which somewhat alleviated the awkwardness of the moment.

  “Come in,” Mr. De Lora said.

  The door opened and Esther Hayes stepped inside. Her gaze moved from Mr. De Lora to Milo, then to me and back to Mr. De Lora again. I could tell she was not entirely comfortable here, but something told me it was more to do with the presence of Milo and me than with Leon De Lora. She didn’t seem wary of him, at least not in the same way as the others who worked for him were.

  “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” she said.

  Mr. De Lora was watching her with his expressionless dark eyes. “Not at all. What is it, Esther?”

  “I … could I have just a moment of your time?” she asked.

  “Sure thing.” He motioned to the door and Esther, with the faintest of smiles and a slight nod in our direction, went out of it.

  “Hold on a minute. I’ll be right back,” he told us. He motioned to the sideboard on the way out. “Help yourselves to a drink.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, I rounded on Milo.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed at him.

  “I had a meeting scheduled with Mr. De Lora,” he replied. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me in Mr. De Lora’s private office, nor did he appear at all repentant about being here himself.

  “You told me you were going to let me come alone,” I said accusingly.

  “You did come alone,” he pointed out.

  He was trying to distract me from the matter at hand, and he would not succeed.

  “He said you were one of his associates. What did he mean?”

  “I don’t have time to explain it now, darling. I think you should go back to the Aldens’ house and let me worry about Leon De Lora.”

  “No. I want to know what you’re doing here. You told me you never met the man.”

  “That was not entirely accurate,” he said, with no trace of remorse. And after I had been compelled to tell him the truth out of a sense of guilt!

  “You met him and didn’t tell me.” I could feel my anger building, but Leon De Lora’s private office was not the place to start a row.

  “I didn’t want to tell you until I had settled things. I ought to have known better. Instead of your forgetting that matter, I find you interrogating one of the most dangerous men in the city about a murder you think he committed.”

  When phrased like that, he almost managed to make me feel as though I had done something reckless. However, I didn’t intend to let it distract me from the fact that he had lied to me once again.

  “So you’ve forged some sort of relationship with him?”

  “He realized I’m from London, and told me about the nightclubs he intends to build there. He’s looking for investors.”

  “I hope you haven’t made him any promises,” I said. “He’s going to be angry when he finds out you don’t mean it.”

  He looked amused. “But I do mean it.”

  I realized suddenly that he was in earnest. He might have gone into De Lora’s on false pretenses, but he now seriously meant to involve himself with Leon De Lora’s London nightclub.

  “Milo, you don’t mean to invest in that man’s nightclub?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

  “Why not? It’s a sound business proposition.”

  “He’s a criminal. In all likelihood, a murderer.”

  Milo did not seem in the least bit concerned about this particular detail.

  “I’ve got money to invest, and De Lora is good at making more. I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t form an alliance.”

  “Why should he need your money?” I asked. “It seems to me that he’s making more than enough to finance whatever he needs to in London.”

  “It’s connections that matter. He’s made a name for himself here in New York, but he needs London backers who know the city and the target clientele.”

  “Wonderful. So you’re going to attach your name to an American bootlegger’s.”

  “It’s certainly not the worst thing I’ve ever attached my name to,” he pointed out with maddening logic.

  I sighed and tried to come up with an argument that would penetrate Milo’s indefatigable confidence. “What if he is responsible for Grant Palmer’s death?”

  “I don’t think he is,” Milo said.

  I had come to much the same conclusion, but I didn’t intend to tell Milo that. Besides, there was no way we could be sure. Leon De Lora didn’t seem at all interested or invested in Grant Palmer’s death, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t. There were any number of reasons he might have had to want Mr. Palmer dead, and if there was one thing a man like Mr. De Lora knew how to do, it was keep secrets.

  “What if he is?” I persisted.

  Milo shrugged. “He’s not going to jail for it, as Detective Andrews pointed out. In fact, there have been any number of deaths attributed to Leon De Lora and he has yet to be directly linked to any of them.”

  He said this as though it was something to be commended.

  “Do you mean to tell me that you intend to go through with this arrangement whether or not Leon De Lora might be a cold-blooded killer?”

  I had hoped this plainspoken question might bring about the least bit of reflection on Milo’s part, but it was not to be.

  “It’s just business, Amory. I’m not talking about aligning myself with the man’s morals.”

  “I’m talking about justice, Milo. Doesn’t it matter to you?”

  “Bringing justice and order to the world has always been your cause, darling. Not mine.”

  I was rendered somewhat speechless as I realized that he was right. He enjoyed mystery as a puzzle, the thrill of finding the answer to a question no one else could, but unless there was some reason for him to be invested, the matter of justice had always been secondary.

  “In any event,” he went on, “the nightclub is going to be strictly legal. We’ve already discussed it.”

  So they had discussed the pros and cons of legality, had they? I could imagine the two of them sitting in this room, drinking expensive scotch and conferring over whether or not their joint venture would be a legitimate business or something less aboveboard. I ought to have known that Milo would be absolutely useless at keeping himself out of trouble in New York.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said.

  I sighed heavily and disapprovingly. I knew I was not going to win this argument. Milo always did just as he pleased. And, my reservations aside, I knew he was likely to be successful. Despite his reputation for reckless hedonism, he had always done a very good job of maintaining his finances. Whatever his faults, there was quite a good brain behind that handsome face of his.

  “Well, I do hope you’ll be careful,” I said.

  “I’m always careful, darling.”

  The door opened and we stepped
apart.

  “That’s very interesting, Mr. Ames. I would love to visit London someday,” I said with a smile, hoping I was doing a credible job of appearing as though Milo and I had not been engaged in any sort of meaningful conversation.

  “The boys are waiting for you outside, Ames. They’ll give you the lay of the land. We’ll talk later, once I’m finished with Rosie.”

  Milo’s gaze flickered in my direction, and Mr. De Lora smiled.

  “She’s doing an article on me. She’s got aspirations of being a crime reporter. Don’t you, baby?”

  I thought I saw the faintest glimmer of annoyance in Milo’s eyes as Mr. De Lora dropped the casual endearment.

  “Something like that,” I said lightly.

  “Anyway, I’ll catch up with you in a while,” Mr. De Lora said.

  “Excellent,” Milo replied. “Until then.”

  He nodded in my direction. “Good evening, Rose.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Ames.”

  Milo left and Mr. De Lora turned back to me. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  “That’s quite all right.”

  He moved past me toward his desk. Reaching into a wooden box atop it, he took out a cigar. He clipped it and put it in his mouth. Striking a match, he lit the cigar and perched on the edge of his desk, watching me.

  “Now,” he said. “Is there anything else you need to know for this article of yours?”

  I hesitated. I had been derailed by Milo’s sudden appearance, and I knew that Mr. De Lora wasn’t likely to share anything else with me.

  “No,” I said at last. “I think you’ve answered all my questions for now.”

  He nodded. “It was nice talking with you, Rose. I look forward to reading that article.”

  I realized that I was being dismissed, and I thought it best that I accept it gracefully.

  “Thank you, Mr. De Lora,” I said. “I’ll see that you get a copy.”

  I moved to leave, but his voice stopped me. “A word of warning.”

  I turned.

  “I wouldn’t push this issue of Grant Palmer’s death,” he said. “The people who are involved in it probably aren’t as understanding as me.”

  Was there a veiled threat in the words? I couldn’t be sure.

  “I have to do my job, Mr. De Lora,” I said.

  His eyes met mine, and, though it was impossible to guess what he was thinking, his next words were clear enough.

  “You’re playing with fire, baby. If you’re not careful, sooner or later you’re going to get burned.”

  * * *

  MILO WAS NOWHERE in sight as I left Mr. De Lora’s office and stepped back into the corridor. Mr. De Lora’s warning hung heavily in my mind. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I should let the matter drop now that the police had their suspect in custody. But somehow I knew that I wasn’t satisfied with this solution, that there was some other element that had thus far escaped me, and I wouldn’t be able to rest until I knew what it was.

  As I started back toward the main room of the speakeasy, I passed an open door that had been closed as Mr. De Lora and I had made our way to his office.

  I glanced inside and saw Esther Hayes sitting at a large dressing table with three beveled mirrors. The dressing room, in contrast to the hazy dimness of the main room of the speakeasy and the elegant masculinity of Mr. De Lora’s office, was light, bright, and feminine. Gold-and-white-patterned wallpaper covered the walls, and the pattern was repeated on the rug that lay beneath white leather furniture. A number of gold lamps with white shades gave the room a warm brilliance that was absent elsewhere in the building.

  Another quick glance around confirmed I was alone in the corridor, so I stepped forward and knocked on the door frame. “Miss Hayes?”

  She looked up, surprised, I think, to see me standing in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to tell you how very much I’ve enjoyed your performances the past two nights.”

  Her dark eyes searched my face, as though trying to read my intentions in my expression. “Thank you.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” I could sense that she was not enthusiastic, but she was too polite to decline.

  “Did you happen to know Grant Palmer?”

  “Not really.” She had hesitated for the barest fraction of a moment, but it was enough. She was lying.

  “Mr. De Lora tells me he used to work here.” I had hoped that the mention of discussing it with her employer would give the impression it would be all right for her to tell me what she knew. This was not the case. She simply waited for me to go on.

  “I heard that he was killed recently, you see, and I was curious.”

  “Sometimes it’s better not to be curious,” she said lightly.

  I nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Esther…” We both looked up to see a man standing in the doorway. From his general appearance, well-dressed with the countenance of someone who had lived a rough life, I surmised that he was another employee here.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked.

  “Can you look at this?” He held out a sheet of paper. From where I stood, I couldn’t make out what was written on it, though the paper seemed to be filled with writing.

  She rose from the seat at her dressing table and took the sheet of paper from him, her eyes running over it.

  “It’s right,” she said, after a moment.

  He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He turned and left the room, and Esther Hayes turned back to me. It was clear by this point, however, that I wasn’t going to get any information from her.

  “Well, I know you must be getting ready to sing again, so I’ll leave you in peace,” I said.

  She smiled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. Thank you anyway.”

  I walked from her dressing room lost in thought and was just passing the little bricked alcove that sat off the hallway before the exit when a hand reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the shadows.

  21

  “MILO,” I HISSED, when I realized just who it was that had grabbed me. “What are you doing?”

  “This,” he murmured. He pulled me against him and leaned to kiss me in a most scandalous fashion.

  I succumbed for just a moment and then pulled my mouth away. “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded in a whisper.

  “I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Milo said. “I might have known that he would take a fancy to you.”

  “You’re not the only one who can cultivate underworld relationships,” I replied, enjoying his displeasure. Milo rarely ever displayed even the smallest hint of jealousy, so I was secretly pleased.

  “It’s different, hearing you talk in that accent,” he said, his eyes roving over me. “It almost makes me feel as though I am wooing a strange woman.”

  “No wonder you seem to be enjoying it,” I remarked. “Nevertheless, you must stop this. If we’re caught…”

  “No one is going to care,” he said, drawing me tighter against him. “We’ll tell them the sparks flew from the moment we were left alone together in Mr. De Lora’s office.”

  He gave me another kiss to illustrate the point, his mouth exploring mine as though I really were a strange woman he had never kissed before. My pulse quickened, and not just from the threat of being found out. Alas, as enjoyable as this interlude was proving, it couldn’t go on.

  “We can’t risk them making a connection between us,” I said breathlessly, catching his roving hands, though I could not quite bring myself to step away from him.

  “It’s thrilling, though, isn’t it?” he asked with a wicked smile. “The possibility of being caught.”

  I might have known that was it. We could be at a party in London and Milo would spend the night surrounded by beautiful women, completely unconcerned with my whereabouts. Now that it was, to a certain extent, dangerous for the two of us to
be seen together, he wanted nothing more. I had to admit there was a certain allure to the forbidden, but I wasn’t about to be caught kissing him in this alcove.

  “It won’t be thrilling if we’re caught talking like this.”

  “Then we’d better make sure they can’t understand us.”

  He whispered something quite shocking in my ear in French, and I pushed back with a scandalized laugh. “Milo, you must learn to behave yourself.”

  “It’s far more fun to misbehave,” he said.

  I laughed. “You’d best save the rest of your kisses for later tonight.”

  “I won’t be back tonight, I’m afraid.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have to go somewhere with De Lora this evening. He has a meeting with an associate at another nightclub. I have no doubt we’ll be there all night.”

  I found it very irritating how Milo had managed to ingratiate himself into this bootlegging ring to such a level with such startling rapidity. It was quite unfair that women were excluded from so many things. What was even more irritating was that, if I had not taken on a pseudonym, I might have accompanied him as his wife. Oh, well. It was too late now.

  “What am I to tell the Aldens when you don’t come home?” I asked.

  “Tell them I had a business matter to attend to.”

  “But, Milo…”

  My protest was cut short by the sound of voices in the corridor. It was two of Mr. De Lora’s men. They were engaged in a heated debate about racehorses and walked past without noticing us as we were half-concealed by the stack of wooden crates. I let out a relieved breath as their voices faded away.

  “I’ve got to go before we’re caught,” I said. Still wrapped in the warm circle of his arms, I was hesitant to leave him, but I knew I must.

  “De Lora will probably be looking for me soon,” Milo admitted.

  “All right. Go then.” I stepped out of his embrace and moved back toward the alcove. Pausing, I turned back to him. “Please be careful tonight, Milo.”