My heart picked up its pace. This was it. I needed to get over there quickly and listen without being seen. I hefted my pitcher and aimed for the row of tables behind theirs, but just before I got there, the pair of them stood up. I turned and poured water into a man’s glass, keeping my back carefully angled toward Symphony and Jerome.
“Excuse me!” the man said, and I realized I’d overflowed his glass. Water was spilling out onto the white tablecloth.
“Oops . . . I mean, um, beg your pardon?” I snatched a napkin off a lady’s lap and tossed it on the spreading puddle.
“Well, I never!” the lady cried.
“I’ll just . . . I’ll get you a fresh napkin.” I backed away rapidly, knocking into another waiter, who I started to apologize to before I saw it was Bennie. I smiled sheepishly.
“Thought you were trying to be inconspicuous,” he muttered, shaking his head, as he produced a brilliant smile, a new napkin, and somehow, a dish towel for the customers, whose ruffled feathers instantly began to settle.
I glanced around for Symphony and Jerome, and it took me a few moments to find them, huddled beside a giant potted palm in a corner, still talking. I considered the plant in its enormous blue-and-white porcelain vase. Would I fit behind it? How would I get back there without Symphony and Jerome noticing a full-size human trying to wedge between the plant and the wall?
The palm was near an open doorway that led to the hall where Bennie and I had entered. What if I parked myself just around the other side of that doorway? I set down my pitcher, leaving Bennie to finish mollifying the customers, and darted out a different door into the same hallway. No one was around, so I ran the twenty feet or so, afraid to miss any more of their conversation than I already had.
When I got to the doorway, I pressed my back against the wall and tried to slow down my loud breathing. All I could hear at first was a clarinet solo and the chattering crowd, but then I picked out Symphony’s voice. I eased all the way up to the edge of the door and held my breath.
“You should slow down on the champagne, Jerome,” Symphony said bitingly. “It wouldn’t do to look drunk.”
“I’m not trying to get drunk. It’s just . . . to help me cope.” His voice shook. “I can’t stop seeing her there like that . . . Minty, I mean. Her face. Do you know what I mean?”
“I suppose I do,” Symphony said more gently. “Let me have a sip of that then if it helps.” Another moment passed; then she said, “Where’s Fitzroy tonight?” The tone of her voice had gone acerbic again.
“His tuxedo is still being cleaned from New Year’s Eve,” Jerome said stiffly.
“Doesn’t he have another?” I could picture her haughtily raised brows.
“Not everyone has a trust fund, Symphony. And from what I hear about the stock market, half the people here may soon face the torment of a one-tuxedo lifestyle.”
“That may be true,” she said, sounding unfazed by his sarcasm. “But it’s beyond me how you can still defend him, after what he’s done to you.”
Jerome sighed. “I wish I’d never told you about that.”
“He’s a criminal, Jerome. He’s using you.”
A criminal? What was going on here? I shifted myself perpendicular to the wall to hear better, hoping neither of them decided to pop their head through the doorway and check for eavesdroppers.
“Please keep your voice down,” Jerome said. “If anyone heard you say that, especially so soon after Minty—”
“Don’t have an apoplexy, Jerome,” Symphony said calmly. “No one said Fitzroy killed anyone. But if you don’t want them to start, I wouldn’t go around telling everyone that his tuxedo from that night needed cleaning.”
“I didn’t mean—Mine needed to be cleaned, too! And my coat was filthy!” Jerome’s voice rose, and he made an effort to lower it. “The police already know who did it. They won’t be bothering us, will they?”
“Perhaps not, but there’s no sense in being foolish. Having suspicion of murder hanging over you could taint a lot of things. You have a future, Jerome. Isn’t that the point of paying Fitzroy? I have a future, too. And Daphne wants to marry Philip Leveque and be a senator’s wife. And Claude, well . . .”
“Is Claude.”
They both laughed, sounding a little less tense. I wondered if they knew what a vile person their good pal Philip Leveque was.
“Did you hear Daphne arguing with Minty about Philip that night?” Jerome said.
Now, this was news. I edged closer and tried to focus on the sounds of their voices.
“Yes,” Symphony said carefully. “I heard some of it. But I was too busy keeping an eye on Fitzroy. Why was he even there that night?”
“Minty invited him.” Jerome’s voice sounded pinched. “She told him she’d heard that place was a good party. And he . . . he’s been wanting to get to know her better.”
“I’m sure. Didn’t you warn her about him?”
“No. We . . . weren’t that close. And I already regretted telling you. Besides, I’m not certain—”
“Hey!” a voice behind me said, and firm fingers dug into my shoulder. I turned around, cringing, hoping Symphony and Jerome hadn’t heard. The head waiter stood over me, glaring down into my face. “We’re swamped in there. What are you lurking around out here for?”
He shoved me through the open doorway next to Symphony and Jerome. “You’re one of the temps for tonight, aren’t you? I’ll make sure you’re never hired back again. Get a move on!”
“Yes . . . yes, sir,” I said, trying to keep my face turned away from Symphony and Jerome’s corner. I hurried toward the more crowded part of the room, eager to make my exit before they saw me, but I’d only made it half a dozen feet when I felt fingers close around my arm.
“Were you eavesdropping?” Jerome said, jerking me toward him, but his angry eyes widened in surprise when he saw my face. “What . . . but . . . I know you! Aren’t you a . . . a . . .”
“Girl?” I shook off his hand. He was holding a champagne flute, and his face was flushed with drink. I looked pointedly at the glass. “Had a lot to celebrate these days?”
Jerome’s face reddened more, and he set down the glass on a passing waiter’s tray.
Symphony glided up beside him, her face like marble, her eyes narrowed. “You were listening to us just now, weren’t you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it. My first instinct was to lie, but maybe instead I should use what I’d heard to my advantage. I tried out a smile.
“I might’ve heard a thing or two.”
“What did you hear?” Jerome said, his brown eyes overly bright. What was going on with him and Fitzroy that made him so anxious?
Symphony laid a hand on his sleeve. “It doesn’t matter, Jerome,” she said smoothly. “No one would believe a word she said anyway. You hold her here, and I’ll go fetch someone to throw her out in the gutter where she belongs.”
“You could do that,” I said, skittering back out of Jerome’s reach. “But while I’m on my way out, I might feel compelled to shout about some of the stuff I just heard. I can be very loud.”
I hadn’t really heard enough to shout about, but they didn’t know exactly when I’d started listening. I could’ve missed more incriminating stuff.
Symphony studied my face carefully. “Why are you here? What do you want from us?”
“I came to get answers.” I jutted out my chin. “To find out the truth about who’s responsible for Arimentha’s murder.”
Jerome’s eyes widened, and Symphony’s narrowed.
“I don’t understand,” Jerome said. “Why do you care what happened to Minty?”
“She doesn’t, Jerome.” Symphony cut him a look as if he was a premium fool. “Don’t you see? She is friends with that person who attacked our Minty. She only wants to clear his name.”
Symphony wa
s smart, and therefore the most dangerous to my efforts. I had to resist antagonizing her; wasn’t that what Kitty had said? I had to be friendly.
“Listen,” I tried in a less sarcastic voice. “People are starting to notice you’re chitchatting with the help, so why don’t we take this conversation somewhere more private?”
“Maybe we should go with her, Sym,” Jerome said, glancing around and licking his lips nervously. “Just for a minute.”
Symphony shook her head at him, but he looked pleadingly at her, and at last she sighed heavily.
“Fine,” she said through her teeth. “A minute.”
I led them out of the ballroom and around a corner into the servers’ hallway. Jerome looked around curiously, as if he’d never seen a place so devoid of decoration, but Symphony kept her focus on me. I needed to do this quickly and get them out of here before any of the other workers came by and got suspicious.
I crossed my arms over my chest, then decided that wasn’t friendly enough and let them fall to my sides. “So . . . Jerome, is it?”
He nodded warily.
“I gather you and Fitzroy have a bit of a thing going on.”
Jerome’s cheeks turned ruddy again, and he inspected his shoes.
I held up both hands. “No judgment from me. I’m more concerned about your financial arrangement.”
He looked up again quickly. “Financial?” His voice cracked. “I don’t recall saying anything about—”
“You didn’t have to.” I took a guess. “What’s he got on you, Jerome?”
“I—he—” Jerome looked at Symphony as if for help, but she was watching me. “He doesn’t—”
“Let me take a stab at it,” I said. “The two of you got together and then he threatened to tell everyone if you didn’t pay up?”
“You don’t have to tell her anything, Jerome,” Symphony said, still not taking her snake-green eyes off me.
“No.” Jerome shook his head vigorously. “That’s not—it was nothing like that. I wouldn’t still be . . . seeing him if . . .”
Symphony rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t you, Jerome?”
“Of course not, this is different. It’s only—” He looked at me, his shoulders sagging. “It’s only about school stuff, all right? I paid him to write some essays for me, that’s all.”
“Seriously?” I narrowed my eyes. That couldn’t be the whole thing. I was certain there was some kind of blackmail involved. “And then what? He threatened to turn you in for cheating?”
Jerome’s mouth opened and closed. “You don’t understand. Medical school is very important to me. It was only five hundred dollars.”
I almost choked. Only? A person could buy a car with that. A nice car. “Let me get this straight,” I said when I’d recovered from my shock. “He blackmailed you, and you still spend time with him?”
“He’s very handsome,” Symphony said dryly.
“It’s not just that.” Jerome sniffed defensively. “He can be very sweet. And I can afford it anyway. Fitzroy is always low on money and feels left out when we do things he can’t afford, so I just . . . help him out.”
I shook my head. “It sounds like you’re getting the short end of the stick here.”
“I . . . I know.” Jerome swiped a hand over his face and looked at me beseechingly. “Please—you can’t go shouting about this. You don’t know what it would do to me if this got out.”
“I have a pretty good idea,” I said. “But don’t worry—I’m not in the business of spilling secrets—unless they pertain to this murder. Was Fitzroy targeting Arimentha for one of his schemes?”
“No.” Jerome shook his head vigorously.
“Yes,” Symphony hissed. “He was targeting everyone he could get his claws in.”
I turned my focus to her. “You know about others?”
She adjusted the flower corsage pinned to her shoulder. “None that I would tell you about.”
A door opened behind me, and Jerome froze. I looked over my shoulder and saw a maid backing out of the door holding a stack of linens.
“Evening,” I said as she passed. She gave us a quick sideways glance and hurried off around the corner.
Jerome let out a sigh of relief. I noticed his hands were shaking and almost felt sorry for him. He probably wasn’t a murderer. But maybe Fitzroy was.
“What about you, Jerome?” I said, trying to sound friendly. “Do you know any other people your buddy Fitzroy has had arrangements with?”
“Not . . . not for certain.”
I took a step closer into his space. “But you’ve heard some things, right? Hints?”
“M-maybe.”
“Don’t tell her anything, Jerome,” Symphony said. “She’s not the police. You owe her nothing.”
“Symphony’s right.” I reached out and straightened the flower pinned to Jerome’s lapel. “You don’t have to tell me. But I know a lot of important secrets about you now. And I’ll never tell a soul, so long as you give me what I want to know.”
Jerome cast an imploring look at Symphony. “It . . . it won’t matter if I tell. It’s only a rumor. I don’t know anything concrete.”
“We should go back to the party.” Symphony hooked her arm through his and tried to tug him, but Jerome turned back to me.
“Leveque,” he said, his dark eyes on mine. “Talk to Philip Leveque.”
CHAPTER
15
I PERSUADED JEROME to point out Philip Leveque to me in the Blue Room, at a table near the stage, where the parade of white-ruffled debutantes were starting to be presented. Philip looked like a stiffer version of Marion, but also like any other swell—crisp black tuxedo jacket, clean-shaven jaw, dark brown hair neatly trimmed and slicked down, with a side part showing a perfect line of white scalp. He clapped politely for the debutante crossing the stage with her uncomfortable-looking escort, then returned to his conversation with a man who I recognized as the mayor of New Orleans.
Symphony attempted to drag Jerome away again, but he hesitated. “You’re not going to tell anyone about . . . anything I said, right?” His eyes were hopeful as a puppy’s, and I barely resisted patting him on the head.
“I won’t tell anyone your secrets unless it turns out you’ve got a bigger one to hide.” I gave him a significant look that clearly said murder.
Jerome nodded solemnly.
“Come on,” Symphony said, taking him by the elbow. “Let’s get away before anyone sees us with her and associates us with whatever she’s about to do.”
I didn’t watch them go. My eyes were on Philip, the wheels in my mind already turning. Kitty had told me to take the indirect approach, and it had worked with Symphony and Jerome . . . until they’d caught me. But Philip wasn’t likely to share his blackmail stories with an acquaintance across a banquet table, and the truth was, I couldn’t wait to take a crack at him. I wanted to see what this man was made of who’d been so cruel to his own brother, my best friend. But I would have to be extra careful—now that Marion’s picture had been printed in the newspaper, it was not only possible but likely that Philip had figured out what his brother had been up to all this time. The last thing Marion needed was me giving away his current location to an enemy nearly as dangerous as the police.
“How’s it going?” Bennie’s voice beside me made me startle like a skittish horse. I tugged down my white jacket sleeves to settle myself again before I turned to him.
“I need your help.”
He smirked. “What else is new?”
I thumped him on the arm. “You’re a good sport, Bennie. Now, I need to talk to that guy over there, left of the stage, dark hair, three people from the end.”
“Okay,” he said slowly.
“Alone.”
“So, what’s your plan? I can see on your face you’ve got one.”
I grinne
d. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
* * *
There is an inevitable moment when a man guzzling champagne must tend to certain needs.
I bribed the men’s room attendant to take a hike, and Bennie and I took turns guarding the door from “customers” for half an hour, all while being forced to watch a cavalcade of overly privileged girls float across the stage in their white debutante dresses.
“Sorry, sir, there’s been . . . an accident,” I said over and over. “The restroom is being cleaned. Try the one in the lobby.”
Some of the men grumbled, but most scurried away, looking disgusted. No one tried to go inside. Then at last Philip Leveque approached, and Bennie let him pass. I waited a minute, hoping he’d get his actual business finished, and then followed him inside, my nerves singing with anxious excitement, while Bennie stayed outside to block the door.
Philip was already washing his hands at the shiny black sink and barely glanced up as I took my post beside the basket of towels and pretended to be the bathroom attendant. His reflection in the oval mirror showed eyes the same striking blue-green as Marion’s. His ears were the same shape, too, small and close to the head. I tried not to let it distract me.
He turned off the tap, rotated toward me, and looked at me expectantly. It took a beat for me to remember I was supposed to hand him a towel.
“Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Mmm?” he said vaguely, not really interested, as he dried his hands and avoided eye contact again.
“I was thinking you probably knew that girl. The one who died on New Year’s Eve.”
Philip looked up sharply, his jaw tightening.
“Everybody’s talking about it,” I plowed forward. “She would’ve been at this party tonight, wouldn’t she?”
Philip’s mouth twisted in a scowl. “How much is the newspaper paying you to harass me?” His voice was nothing like Marion’s. It sounded older, rich with authority and full of disdain. The voice of a politician, not a singer. He tossed the towel back at me, and I caught it against my chest. “Which paper is it? Tell me now.”
The Boy in the Red Dress Page 13