Grave Phantoms
Page 15
Aida just smiled. “That sounds nice. By the way, I was admiring that new wristwatch of yours. Wherever did you get it?”
Shit.
Aida knew. He could tell by the careful, teasing way she’d said it. She saw too much. Noticed too much. And now Astrid’s response was coming many seconds too late, which would only confirm Aida’s suspicions.
“This?” Astrid twisted her arm to look at the watch. If she admitted Bo had given it to her, then it would be out in the open. Casual. Nothing important. It wasn’t lingerie, after all, or even a necklace. It was just a damn watch.
However, if Astrid lied about it, that meant she thought of the gift as something more. Because that’s when he knew things had changed between them—when the lies started. When she started telling Winter that she’d spent the afternoon with friends instead of strolling along the docks with Bo. When she made up silly errands to run and insisted Bo drive her—only to end up asking him to take her out for subgum in Chinatown, so that they could share a booth in a restaurant together in one of the handful of places in the city at which it was acceptable for them to do so.
Lying meant there was something to cover up.
Bo held his breath, waiting to hear what Astrid would say. Had college changed her feelings? Were all those men she talked about in her letters a ploy to make him jealous, or was it just a spoiled girl wanting attention, unaware of how much it hurt him?
“Isn’t it simply gorgeous?” Astrid finally said to Aida, fidgeting with the rectangular dial. “I saw it in a shop in Westwood. It was love at first sight, and I just had to have it, no matter the price. Please don’t tell Winter I blew all my pin money on it.”
Happiness flooded his limbs, warming the space left behind by his fleeing pessimism. He didn’t dare look at her face, just slid his shoe near the side of hers beneath the table and pressed.
She pressed back.
Aida made a choked sound. Bo jerked his foot away from Astrid, but soon realized he wasn’t the cause of Aida’s distress. Winter’s wife stumbled away from the table and raced out of the dining room.
“Watch Karin,” Bo told Astrid before he strode after Aida. He found her doubled over the toilet on the floor of the powder room, wiping her mouth on a hand towel.
“Aida?” he said, kneeling down beside her.
“Oh dear,” she mumbled weakly.
“You’re ill.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” A guilty look spread over her pallid face as she whispered, “Please don’t tell Winter.”
FIVE
By nine that evening, the slow drizzle that had fallen on the city most of the day had turned into a steady rain. Astrid dodged streaming puddles after Jonte dropped her off in North Beach, a couple blocks from Chinatown. The Gris-Gris Club, much like the Magnussons’ home, sat upon a steep hill. Here, cable cars braved the foul weather, climbing Columbus Avenue, but she’d heard on the radio that tomorrow it may not be running for long: the cable car turnaround at the bottom of the hill was on the verge of flooding too deep for service.
The rain was spoiling everything. Only two of her old friends had agreed to brave the weather to meet her tonight, and now she wasn’t even sure she felt like being out herself. She’d originally suggested they all meet here at Gris-Gris because her brother supplied their liquor, and their family was friendly with the owner; Winter had even met Aida when she was doing a spiritualism show here a year and half ago, before he started knocking her up left and right.
Normally the streets would be lined with cars and a long line would have formed around the unmarked speakeasy. But tonight only the occasional car dotted the curb, and Astrid was able to walk straight up to the door. A tiny window in the door slid open as she shook off her umbrella. “Membership card,” the doorman said through it.
“Miss Astrid Magnusson,” she answered confidently.
The door swung open and a tuxedoed man with a chest as broad as an icebox greeted her. “Mr. Magnusson’s baby sister?”
“I am.”
He nodded slowly. “You look more like the younger brother. The treasure hunter.”
“Lowe,” she supplied.
He snapped his fingers and grinned handsomely. “That’s him. If you’re here to see Velma, she’s busy at the moment. But I can have Daniels seat you, if you’d like. Get yourself out of that rain.”
Festive boughs of holly and the muffled sound of hot jazz welcomed her as she stepped inside the speakeasy lobby. A few patrons mingled, smoking cigarettes and chatting near a newly installed coin-operated telephone. Her friends were supposed to be here already, but she didn’t see them. And when she asked Daniels about them, she found they hadn’t arrived, so she followed him into the dark club to wait.
Gris-Gris was a swank place with a great house band and an interesting rotation of stage acts, from clairvoyants to acrobats to flashy dancers. But the best thing about it was that it was a black-and-tan club. And that meant societal restrictions went unheeded here. You could dine with who you wanted. Dance with who you wanted. No one cared about anything as long as you had cash. Bo came here a lot, so she made sure to mention at breakfast that she’d be coming tonight, hoping he’d get the hint and drop by. She wasn’t sure he would. He’d left for work with Winter before she could speak to him alone.
The tables that clustered around Gris-Gris’s stage were half empty tonight, and Astrid didn’t see anyone she knew. She certainly wasn’t going to sit around waiting for her friends, so she joined the people lined up along the dance floor who were cheering on two couples doing a new dance called the Lindy Hop, with wild swing-outs and kicks. Astrid cheered them on and soon found herself seduced by the infectious beat of the snare drum and joined in when a man offered to teach her the moves. She initially fumbled, laughing at herself, but soon picked up the steps. It was exciting and fun—so fun that she forgot about the rain and her errant friends. She changed partners twice, and then danced with another girl, laughing breathlessly as the musicians onstage sped through another song. And another.
Shit.
Aida knew. He could tell by the careful, teasing way she’d said it. She saw too much. Noticed too much. And now Astrid’s response was coming many seconds too late, which would only confirm Aida’s suspicions.
“This?” Astrid twisted her arm to look at the watch. If she admitted Bo had given it to her, then it would be out in the open. Casual. Nothing important. It wasn’t lingerie, after all, or even a necklace. It was just a damn watch.
However, if Astrid lied about it, that meant she thought of the gift as something more. Because that’s when he knew things had changed between them—when the lies started. When she started telling Winter that she’d spent the afternoon with friends instead of strolling along the docks with Bo. When she made up silly errands to run and insisted Bo drive her—only to end up asking him to take her out for subgum in Chinatown, so that they could share a booth in a restaurant together in one of the handful of places in the city at which it was acceptable for them to do so.
Lying meant there was something to cover up.
Bo held his breath, waiting to hear what Astrid would say. Had college changed her feelings? Were all those men she talked about in her letters a ploy to make him jealous, or was it just a spoiled girl wanting attention, unaware of how much it hurt him?
“Isn’t it simply gorgeous?” Astrid finally said to Aida, fidgeting with the rectangular dial. “I saw it in a shop in Westwood. It was love at first sight, and I just had to have it, no matter the price. Please don’t tell Winter I blew all my pin money on it.”
Happiness flooded his limbs, warming the space left behind by his fleeing pessimism. He didn’t dare look at her face, just slid his shoe near the side of hers beneath the table and pressed.
She pressed back.
Aida made a choked sound. Bo jerked his foot away from Astrid, but soon realized he wasn’t the cause of Aida’s distress. Winter’s wife stumbled away from the table and raced out of the dining room.
“Watch Karin,” Bo told Astrid before he strode after Aida. He found her doubled over the toilet on the floor of the powder room, wiping her mouth on a hand towel.
“Aida?” he said, kneeling down beside her.
“Oh dear,” she mumbled weakly.
“You’re ill.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” A guilty look spread over her pallid face as she whispered, “Please don’t tell Winter.”
FIVE
By nine that evening, the slow drizzle that had fallen on the city most of the day had turned into a steady rain. Astrid dodged streaming puddles after Jonte dropped her off in North Beach, a couple blocks from Chinatown. The Gris-Gris Club, much like the Magnussons’ home, sat upon a steep hill. Here, cable cars braved the foul weather, climbing Columbus Avenue, but she’d heard on the radio that tomorrow it may not be running for long: the cable car turnaround at the bottom of the hill was on the verge of flooding too deep for service.
The rain was spoiling everything. Only two of her old friends had agreed to brave the weather to meet her tonight, and now she wasn’t even sure she felt like being out herself. She’d originally suggested they all meet here at Gris-Gris because her brother supplied their liquor, and their family was friendly with the owner; Winter had even met Aida when she was doing a spiritualism show here a year and half ago, before he started knocking her up left and right.
Normally the streets would be lined with cars and a long line would have formed around the unmarked speakeasy. But tonight only the occasional car dotted the curb, and Astrid was able to walk straight up to the door. A tiny window in the door slid open as she shook off her umbrella. “Membership card,” the doorman said through it.
“Miss Astrid Magnusson,” she answered confidently.
The door swung open and a tuxedoed man with a chest as broad as an icebox greeted her. “Mr. Magnusson’s baby sister?”
“I am.”
He nodded slowly. “You look more like the younger brother. The treasure hunter.”
“Lowe,” she supplied.
He snapped his fingers and grinned handsomely. “That’s him. If you’re here to see Velma, she’s busy at the moment. But I can have Daniels seat you, if you’d like. Get yourself out of that rain.”
Festive boughs of holly and the muffled sound of hot jazz welcomed her as she stepped inside the speakeasy lobby. A few patrons mingled, smoking cigarettes and chatting near a newly installed coin-operated telephone. Her friends were supposed to be here already, but she didn’t see them. And when she asked Daniels about them, she found they hadn’t arrived, so she followed him into the dark club to wait.
Gris-Gris was a swank place with a great house band and an interesting rotation of stage acts, from clairvoyants to acrobats to flashy dancers. But the best thing about it was that it was a black-and-tan club. And that meant societal restrictions went unheeded here. You could dine with who you wanted. Dance with who you wanted. No one cared about anything as long as you had cash. Bo came here a lot, so she made sure to mention at breakfast that she’d be coming tonight, hoping he’d get the hint and drop by. She wasn’t sure he would. He’d left for work with Winter before she could speak to him alone.
The tables that clustered around Gris-Gris’s stage were half empty tonight, and Astrid didn’t see anyone she knew. She certainly wasn’t going to sit around waiting for her friends, so she joined the people lined up along the dance floor who were cheering on two couples doing a new dance called the Lindy Hop, with wild swing-outs and kicks. Astrid cheered them on and soon found herself seduced by the infectious beat of the snare drum and joined in when a man offered to teach her the moves. She initially fumbled, laughing at herself, but soon picked up the steps. It was exciting and fun—so fun that she forgot about the rain and her errant friends. She changed partners twice, and then danced with another girl, laughing breathlessly as the musicians onstage sped through another song. And another.
