“Awful, I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “Never mind. Marriage and I just weren’t a good fit.”
“Stop it.”
“But it’s true.”
“No, I mean you’re trying to lead again. Stop.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Anyway, you’re painting in too broad of strokes there, Kitty-cat.”
The endearment had been automatic. She saw the regret flash over his face before he could hide it, and clenched her jaws. “Am I?”
He nodded without hesitation. “Same as your reverence for all things fifties.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You were alive back then. You
“Hey, I don’t care if you believe me-”
“Good.”
“But you and your friends think things were so great back then, yet there’s always been trouble in the world, and enough people willing to cause it.”
Kit shrugged. “It was still a simpler time.”
“No. It wasn’t.” And he stopped dancing, though he still held her tight. “A black woman was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on the bus-”
Kit stiffened. “Are you lecturing me? Can we just go back to dancing?”
But Grif’s face had taken on a deeper red. “We were battling the Commies on Earth and in outer space-”
“Are angels supposed to call people Commies?”
He ignored her. “The Cold War was the scariest damn thing this planet had seen, and we lived in fear of our own neighbors.”
“Yes, and it was before people knew that smoking would kill you,” Kit pointed out, “and well before sex really could.”
“Yeah, well one thing was exactly the same.”
“What’s that?”
“Women were still murdered by men who thought they could get away with it.”
Kit clenched her teeth. “If you’re trying to prove that you’re an angel again, it’s not working.”
“I don’t have to prove anything. I know what I know.”
“Just like Tony, eh?” Kit scoffed, because the old man had told her the same thing.
Grif shook his head. “No, I know way more than old Tony Prima. I know something you don’t know, too. Marriage ain’t about the past. You just chose a man without any drive.”
Bridget Moore’s words revisited Kit like a gut punch.
Tears unexpectedly welled in Kit’s eyes.
“Oh, geez.” Grif immediately guided her from the dance floor and over to giant bay windows, the center open to allow in fresh air.
“I’m sorry,” Grif was muttering, but Kit was too busy wondering how a prostitute could know such things, how a crazy man who thought he was an angel who’d died in 1960 could know it. And how she could not.
Pulling a cloth handkerchief from her clutch, Kit waved him off. She’d been right about one thing, at least. This man was dangerous.
“Oh, my. Tears at a charity ball. That won’t do.”
The voice popped up behind them, smooth as whiskey poured over ice, and Kit turned to find a handsome man with silver hair, a dark tuxedo, and a gaze that was both open and calculating at once.
“Mr. Chambers,” Kit blurted, tucking the cloth away. Sniffling, she nodded at the petite woman next to him, and gave a small smile to the young girl on his other side. “I’m Kit Craig. This is my date, Griffin Shaw.”
“I know who you are, Ms. Craig. Read your paper every day,” Chambers said pleasantly. He then turned his blinding smile on Grif, who managed a sort of grimace in return. “Pleasure, Mr. Shaw. This is my wife, Anabelle. One of my girls, Charlotte.”
Though she was chic in black, with golden hair as glossy as her lips, the hand that Mrs. Chambers offered Kit was as insincere and brittle as her smile. Charlotte, who looked to be around thirteen, ducked her head and gave a soft hello. She, too, was in black, and though the dress was age appropriate, she was swimming in it. She wriggled at the introduction, a bit nervous, a bit bored, and it was clear to Kit that she’d been introduced to people all night.
Kit smiled at the little girl. “You have six daughters, if my research is correct?”
“Research, is it?” Chambers laughed, and even that was warm and rich, like hot chocolate. “Actually it’s six daughters and two boys now. Another on the way.”
“Congratulations,” Kit said to Anabelle, surprised. The woman was so thin she wouldn’t have guessed. But what do I know, she thought, kicking herself mentally. Mrs. Chambers, who-research showed-had four children by the time she was Kit’s age, was the expert. Not her.
The woman placed a hand over the near-imperceptible bump rising beneath her plain tunic. “We’re very blessed.”
“But why the tears, dear?” Chambers asked, shunting their blessings aside, his voice dripping concern. “I saw you dancing, looking happy enough, only minutes ago.”
“Well, she had a friend who liked to dance, too,” Grif said, getting right to the point. Kit would have kicked him if she could’ve done so without being seen.
Chambers’s smooth brow furrowed. “Oh?”
Kit cleared her throat. “My best friend, a photographer at the paper, died earlier this week.”
“Murdered, actually,” Grif clarified, and while Chambers’s attention was on him, Kit saw his wife’s face briefly crumble, then clear. Chambers, though, remained as implacable as before.
“Oh, yes. I read about that. A lovely young girl, if the photo was any indication. What was her name again? Rocky, Rockson-”
“Rockwell,” Kit said, still following Grif’s lead. This time she was grateful. “Nicole Rockwell.”
Tsking, Chambers shook his head. “Do the police have any leads?”
“No,” Grif said. “But we were hoping you might provide one.”
Now Anabelle let out a surprised gasp. Charlotte inched closer to her mother and grasped at her hand. A frown appeared between the slim brows, and it was clear she understood there was something else going on here, even if she didn’t know what.
A flicker, the slightest irritation, flashed in the older man’s eyes. “I can’t see how.”
Kit laid a hand atop Grif’s arm. If he was playing bad cop, she would play good. “Your name was on a list that was delivered to us, that’s all.”
A silver brow raised in surprise. “Any idea who sent the list?”
“No, but the names on it are rather remarkable. In fact, most of the men on it are present here tonight.”
“So let me get this straight,” Chambers said, eyes narrowed. “You’re
“Not here for the canapes, either,” Grif said coolly.
“Mama,” Charlotte clutched at her mother, holding her by the forearms as the woman’s face drained of color, and she staggered back.
The look Chambers gave Grif this time was downright hostile. Progress, Kit thought, even as he turned smoothly to his wife. “Please take Charlotte upstairs now. She may have some ice cream before she goes to bed.”
If his curt tone or lack of comfort bothered Anabelle, she didn’t show it. Instead, she turned on her sensible heels and steered Charlotte stiffly through the crowd. Or was it the other way around? Kit wondered, watching them carefully. They headed directly up the right side of the staircase splitting the room, nodding at guests but never stopping. And if Kit wasn’t mistaken, there was a perceptible relief in Anabelle’s shoulders, and yes, there it was. Charlotte took the lead, guiding her mother instead of the reverse. Kit frowned… but by then Chambers had whirled back around.
“I don’t know what you two are after, but that was entirely inappropriate. This is not the time or place for gross
