Where Cowards Tread (Ravenwood Mysteries #7)

by Sabrina Flynn

  “My lips are sealed, Miss Searlight. Did Ella get a part, too?”

  Heather sighed. “I got her a part, but Ella got scared and backed out of it. She told me a friend of hers at the Olympia warned her away and was going to fix her up with a real act. As far as I know it didn’t pan out.”

  “Was the friend a man?” Riot asked.

  Heather shook her head. “No, it was one of the fat ladies there. I didn’t bother with her name. I haven’t seen Ella in ages. The last time was with Mr. Grant in front of the Call building.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. A week or two ago? She wasn’t in a mood to talk.”

  Isobel nearly snorted at the woman’s idea of ‘ages’ ago.

  “Was Ella angry?” Riot asked.

  “No, more like irritated. I haven’t been around as much. I’ve been busy rehearsing.” Heather leaned in closer, toying with his card. “I have a ticket for opening night if you’d like to come.”

  Riot smiled. “I’m afraid the pleasure will have to wait until we find Ella.”

  “I doubt she wants to be found.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She was miserable at home. I told her she ought to leave. From what I gather her mother’s lazy and her older brother is a tyrant.”

  “Did he harm her?”

  Heather shook her head. “Not that she told me. She said he was strict. Didn’t like her going to theaters or to the resorts. She wasn’t even allowed at Sutro Baths.”

  “Did she go anyway?”

  Heather tapped a perfect nail on the counter. “Probably. She was always sneaking out. But don’t tell her mother that. From the sound of it, the woman would keel over to know.”

  Riot waited for more, but Heather was immune to silence. She tapped her nail on the counter and gazed into his eyes.

  “If I may say, Miss Searlight, Ella’s friend was right to warn her away from the Eden Theater. I wouldn’t want a daughter of mine setting foot in there.”

  “It’s fortunate I’m not your daughter, Mr. Riot.” The naivety vanished, replaced by a wanton invitation. She slipped her calling card into Riot’s breast pocket.

  When Riot turned to leave with a tip of his hat, Isobel squeezed the bulb of a sample vial, sending a cloud puffing into Miss Searlight’s face. The woman smiled, pleasantly. “Are you interested in purchasing that, Miss Amsel?”

  “It smells fake.”

  Heather looked smug. “At least it gets a man’s attention.”

  Isobel resisted the urge to slip her arm through Riot’s as they walked away. She could feel Heather’s eyes glaring at her back. There was no point in gloating. Isobel had nothing to prove to the woman, but it was tempting.

  “If we bottled whatever scent you’re giving off we’d be millionaires,” Isobel mused.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re positively magnetic, Riot. Do all women go doe-eyed when you’re around?”

  “On occasion they try to shoot me. That would be a risky cologne to wear.”

  “L’odeur du danger,” Isobel said in French. The scent of danger.

  “How else did I convince you to marry me?”

  Their first night together came instantly to mind, and Riot gave her a knowing smile.

  “Oh, stop looking so smug.”

  “This is the face of a contented man. Nothing more.”

  Isobel checked her watch. “To the Olympia?”

  18

  Spies and Fat Ladies

  The Olympia Music Hall was a first-class vaudeville house—and the largest establishment of its kind. And if the adverts could be trusted, it was also “America’s Most Beautiful Music Hall.” Isobel stared at her program, and marveled that anyone would pay ten cents to listen to two men with high-pitched voices sing about a red school house while a baboon and a woman in sparkly tights turned a jump rope for a dog. The place was packed.

  “Good God,” she said.

  “Not your cup of tea?” Riot asked.

  “Yours?”

  “Preferable to the shows in the Barbary Coast.”

  The woman in the sparkly mid-thigh leotard bent over to feed the dog a treat, and a section of men in the crowd began to hoot. Apparently high-class vaudeville shows attracted the same sort of crowd as the Barbary Coast dives.

  Riot and Isobel stood near the back, lining the wall with a host of others who hadn’t found seats. That suited Riot just fine. The thought of sitting in the middle of an audience made the scar on his temple twitch.

  “There,” Riot said. “Miss Searlight wasn’t being insulting.” Riot pointed out an act to her: The Fat Lady Quartet.

  The crowd gave polite applause as the act ended. A few coins and bills were thrown on stage, then a very small man, in formal attire and with a hat that was nearly as tall as he was, waddled out to introduce the next act. “Straight from the ancient world, slayer of civilizations!” the small man paused, an arm held towards the entrance, as a drumroll built in intensity, “I present to you… Samson!”

  The crowd thundered as a blond-haired man, rippling with muscles and wearing only a scant loin cloth, swaggered onto stage. A number of women in the audience whistled. A piano tune was struck up, and Samson began flexing his bulging physique. He even performed a neat backflip.

  Riot bent to whisper in her ear. “You appear positively engaged, Bel.”

  “I’m simply admiring his musculature development. Shall we?”

  “We can wait until the act is over, if you’d like to admire him some more.”

  “Jealous, Riot?”

  “Not especially. I’m likely to reap the benefits of your study later on.”

  Isobel snorted. Together they made their way to the entrance hall. It was a beautiful building. It had palm fronds in giant urns, gilt on walls and ceiling, and the decorative touches of a grand opera house.

  They stopped in front of an inconspicuous door with a peephole that was off to the side. There was no guard, but it was locked. Riot knocked, and a man in uniform opened it.

  “We’re here to see the Fa…” Riot hesitated. He was a gentleman down to his bones, and it went against his nature to say anything rude about a lady.

  “The manager,” Isobel cut in. “We have an act that he simply must see.”

  The bouncer crossed his arms and flexed. He wore a bowler and vest, and looked like the strongman’s darker brother. “Come back at Amateur Night.”

  “We’re not amateurs,” Isobel said.

  “What’s your act then?” the bouncer asked.

  Isobel nodded to her partner. “Show the man your act, Riot.”

  Riot glanced at her. For a moment, he was stunned. A rare thing for a man like him. But he recovered. “I pull people from the audience and Miss Amsel deduces things about them.”

  “What’s so special about that?” the bouncer asked.

  “It’s akin to mind reading. Why don’t you demonstrate, Bel?” Riot turned slightly, a glint in his eye. He had overturned that table.

  Isobel sighed faintly, then studied the bouncer for a moment. “Can you step out into the light and turn around?”

  The bouncer did as she asked. During his slow rotation, she grabbed Riot by the lapels, and dragged him through the door. On the other side, she threw the latch. The bouncer thudded against the door, banging an angry fist.

  “Now that’s a talent,” Riot said, moving down the hallway.

  “I thought you would do a card trick or start twirling your gun.”

  “I’m not a trick pony, Bel.”

  “I’ve been riding you all week.”

  The comment sparked desire, or memory, or some combination of lust and fantasy. Riot quickly adjusted his trousers, and tried to rein in his thoughts. But damn it, she made it hard.

  “Let’s find our lady,” he said through his teeth.

  No one seemed to care they were backstage. For a vaudeville show that ran all day and well into the night, there was hardly space for the perfor
mers to stand. A wave of noise slammed into Isobel. Costume racks, a mule, yapping dogs, two baboons and a bear in a tutu along with a motley array of people of all shapes, sizes, and costumes. The bouncer wouldn’t be able to find Isobel and Riot if he tried.

  Isobel stood beside Riot, agitated by the wash of bodies pressing in on her. The commotion was near to unbearable. Riot caught up her elbow and took the lead. He found a hallway stacked with costume racks that led deeper into the building. Soon, cobwebs and dust covered the detritus of shows long forgotten.

  It was quieter here. Manageable. Isobel took a deep breath and sneezed.

  Riot drew her to a stop, and looked into her eyes. There was concern there. “Are you all right, Bel? You look about to bolt like you did in the Popular.”

  She started to snap out ‘I’m fine’, but swallowed the words. This was Riot, he was already inside her walls, and there was no use putting up her defenses now. She gave him a rueful smile. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

  “You shouldn’t have married a detective,” he said with gentle humor.

  “Too late now. It’s the noise, I think. It’s been awhile since I was around so many people,” she admitted.

  Close to six months of quiet solitude in an asylum had nearly driven her insane. But it had also healed her after a fashion. The noise, press of bodies, and commotion of a city that never slept was threatening to drown her.

  Any other well-meaning man might have suggested she stay there, but Riot was not such a man. He only nodded. “Search the quieter sections. I’ll search the crowd.”

  Isobel didn’t argue. She went off to look for a quartet of large women.

  A man sat in his dining room, hiding behind a newspaper. His wife, or maybe a sister, sawed into a red slab of steak with a knife. A piece was pushed off the plate and fell to the floor, where a little hairy thing scooped it up. Sao Jin was not sure if the thing was a dog or a sentient mop.

  She angled the spyglass back to the woman and turned the scope, straining to make out details through the window. Was the woman glaring? Was she crying? By the set of her shoulders Jin surmised she was furious. Probably a wife, then.

  The couple were unaware of the spy to their domestic life. The woman stood and lifted a bottle of wine, but instead of refilling her companion’s glass she poured it into his lap. Red liquid splashed down the front of his shirt and onto his trousers.

  A newspaper flew in the air. The man leapt to his feet with a bellow that Jin could hear from her rooftop perch. She snickered.

  The man raised his fist in anger, the yapping little mop latched on to his ankle, and the dark-haired woman began yelling at him and hitting him over the head with his own sopping newspaper.

  Eventually the man stormed off, and the woman sat back down to calmly eat the rest of her supper. She gave her husband’s steak to the dog.

  “You know it’s not right to spy on people,” a voice came from behind her.

  “You will fall off the edge,” Jin said. She could imagine Sarah paling at her warning, her freckles standing out stark on her skin.

  “I’m not climbing out there,” Sarah said.

  “Why are you in my room?” Jin asked. It wasn’t said with malice, but Sarah took everything Jin said the wrong way.

  “I was only seeing if you wanted to come to a vaudeville show with Mr. Lotario and me. He invited you, too.” She could hear the hurt in the girl’s voice.

  “A vaudeville show?” Jin asked, keeping her eye on the spyglass. Nothing more exciting was happening with the couple, so Jin moved to another window. At this time of day, most maids had drawn the curtains, but sometimes a few were left open. She passed over an office with a telescope, and went straight to a neighboring house. She found another open curtain, where a man sat at a desk, writing. Blond-hair, aristocratic nose, his collar looked like it was choking him. She focused the lens, hoping for another show.

  “It’s…” Sarah searched for the words.

  “An amusing way to spend an evening,” a voice drawled from downstairs.

  Jin turned at the sound of the man’s voice. It was Lotario. Sarah hadn’t worked up the nerve to climb out on the roof. Her head poked out of the hatch, and her hands were flat on the roof as if to brace herself in case the house lurched suddenly.

  Instead of pale, she was an odd shade of green.

  “Are you two coming?” Lotario asked from below, impatient.

  Jin considered the question. “Where is the theater?”

  “Why does that matter?” Sarah asked.

  “Why doesn’t it?” Lotario returned.

  “Should it?” Sarah asked.

  Jin made a frustrated sound.

  “It’s a surprise,” Lotario said.

  Jin frowned. She had plans tonight; still, there might be an opportunity to slip away from the pair. “Yes. I will come,” she said, closing the spyglass.

  Jin put on a wide-sleeved coat and some loose trousers, weaved her hair into a single braid that resembled a queue, and joined the pair downstairs. The three went out into the night.

  Fog spilled over the hills to the west and swept through the city. The air was crisp and clean, and pools of gaslight offered little warmth as the trio stepped from a cable car. Lotario Amsel looked nothing like himself tonight, or what Jin had come to expect. He wore a plain wool suit and bowler, and the only flamboyant things about him were a pair of blue-tinted spectacles and a bright green waistcoat. He was letting his hair grow out and sported a pencil-thin blond mustache that Jin suspected was fake.

  “How was your time with my parents?” Lotario asked as they strolled towards the theater district.

  “We had a wonderful time,” Sarah said.

  Lotario glanced at Jin. “You, too? Good God. What is this world coming to? I suppose Bel and I wore them down for you. Small victories.”

  “You shouldn’t talk bad about your parents,” Sarah chided.

  “They’re my parents. I can say what I like, as long as I say it to their faces, and believe me, I have.”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “You are lucky to have them,” Jin said.

  Lotario started to reply with something flippant, then looked at the scarred girl, and said it anyway. “I am. And so are you two. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, and you two ladies couldn’t bask in my supreme presence.”

  Sarah giggled.

  Jin rolled her eyes.

  “Where do you live?” Sarah asked.

  “Oh, here and there.”

  Sarah waited for more.

  Lotario shot Jin a look. He suspected she suspected. This one was far too keen for her own good, he decided. But then growing up in a brothel tended to age one quickly.

  “Are we going to your theater?” Sarah asked.

  To explain his penchant for makeup and his reason for having female clothing in his cottage at Bright Waters, he had told the girls he was an actor. Which was one hundred percent true.

  “Heavens no. I’m sick of that place. I thought we might go to the Olympia.”

  Sarah perked up. “I was hoping to go there. You’ll love it, Jin. They have all sorts of variety acts. My gramma never let me go to the vaudeville shows.”

  “You’re in for a treat. So tell me,” Lotario said, as he gave his walking stick a casual twirl, “did you two wheedle any information out of your thrill-seeking parents?”

  “We are not spies,” Jin said.

  Lotario laughed softly. He had a musical voice, no matter what it was he was saying.

  “I think Isobel was frightened,” Sarah said.

  “Sarah,” Jin growled.

  “She was. You could tell even after. And that horrid article.” Sarah balled up her fists. Jin stepped to the side. She knew the girl had a mean right hook.

  “Oh, yes,” Lotario mused softly. “What are they going to do about it?”

  “You should ask them,” Jin bit out.

  “I could,” he replied, drawing out the word. “But where’s the fun in t
hat. Any idea who wrote it?”

  “Isobel had Grimm and Tobias run an article she wrote over to the Bulletin. I think she thinks it’s Alex Kingston,” Sarah said.

  “Hmm.” Lotario looked to Jin in question.

  Jin huffed at him.

  “And they think one of the boarders is a spy,” Sarah added.

  “Makes sense.” He arched a brow down at them both. “You two should look into it.”

  Sarah blinked, then seemed to consider it for the very first time.

  Jin narrowed her eyes. “There are nine boarders in the house. It could be any of them.”

  “Eight,” Sarah corrected. “Mrs. Lane’s son Frankie is younger than Tobias. He hardly counts.”

  “He is a boarder, and he can read and write,” Jin argued.

  “Never underestimate a child. They’re always up to something,” Lotario agreed. “Who do you think has something to gain from the article? It has to affect the lodgers’ reputations as well.”

  “It must be a man,” Sarah said. “Men don’t have to worry about their reputations.”

  Lotario pointed the top of his walking stick at her. “That’s perceptive.”

  “Or a woman who was planning to leave. Maybe she needs the money,” Jin said.

  Lotario spread his gloved hands. “And there you are, off to a splendid start. I’m sure the both of you will uncover the spy within the week.”

  “I will be busy with school work,” Jin said.

  “This is important, Jin,” Sarah said. “I’ll ask Tobias to help, too.”

  Lotario looked supremely pleased with himself. By the end of the night, the girls would think it had been their idea all along.

  Four women were gathered around a costume trunk. One wore a viking helmet and a steel corset with a costume sword strapped to her side. Isobel doubted the armor would hold up to scrutiny or stop a bullet, but it looked real from a distance and pushed her ample bosom to new heights. The second woman, a redhead, was dressed in flowing scarves with bangles and finger cymbals. The third was a medieval princess with bodice and tall cone hat. And the fourth was dressed as a cowboy. Isobel suspected she knew how to use the rope she was currently coiling.