He looked at her curiously. “This important message is about hats?”
Inez moved the coin closer to his nose. His eyes almost crossed to keep it in focus.
“Repeat the message back to me, please.”
He did.
She nodded her satisfaction. “If she is there, she will give you a message for me. It’s important I receive her reply, word for word. If she is not there, come back in any case and let me know that as well. I shall be in the music store over there.” She pointed.
Inez returned to the store, switched the sign to OPEN, and retreated to the back. She left the connecting door ajar so she could hear and see if anyone came into the store. Tuesdays were usually quiet, leading her to hope for time to herself until Flo’s arrival.
Inez planted herself at the desk but couldn’t sit still. She got up, paced around the office, went into the lesson room. Sitting at the student piano, she ran through a few scales and marched perfunctorily through Bach’s Prelude to the Well Tempered Clavichord. Even the easy, flowing music didn’t serve to calm her nerves.
She got up, paced some more, and noticed there was still a pot of coffee on the small stove. Perhaps brewed for her return by John Hee, who did so now and again. No doubt very strong by now.
She grabbed her cup and poured in the dark liquid, pleased that it was still warm. The bottle of brandy in the locked cabinet whispered seductively—you need me. She agreed. Inez unlocked the glass doors and added a generous tot to the coffee, wishing she had something more substantial in size than the dainty teacup. Pacing past the desk, she recalled the note to Carmella from Jamie. She supposed she should start thinking of him as “Robert” but just couldn’t.
She pulled out the envelope from one of the many cubbyholes and stared at the handwriting on the front.
I shouldn’t do this. I should give it to Carmella, sealed.
After a swallow of the laced coffee, she sat at the desk. Placing the cup to one side, she slid the sterling silver letter opener out from a drawer, slit the envelope, and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Inez held the note up and away to put some distance between her prying gaze and his passionate words. Words promising love forever, promising Nico could not keep them apart. …I am close, dear heart, close to having what I need to win Nico over. I know it means very much to you, to have your brother’s blessing, and, upon my life, you shall.
She set the note down and picked up her coffee.
Upon my life.
What an unfortunate choice of words.
The brandy instilling a comforting glow within, Inez returned to the note and read the rest of the words from the dead man in a rush. …And please, my sweet Carmella, do not think for a moment I am in danger from this union business. Any threats are toothless, groundless, from cowards who dare not show their faces. I wish you had not heard of them, for I would never in a thousand lifetimes cause you worry on my account. I am close to an answer, I know it. Nothing can happen to me for I am shielded by your love and the truth.
Love. Truth.
In the end, just how truthful was he with Carmella? He was honest about his philosophy and beliefs, but not about the most basic facts of his life and who he was. Dissembling and wearing a false face to the woman he professed to love.
And what was this about threats? What had Jamie been up to that he felt the need to reassure Carmella that he was not in danger? Did it have to do with his efforts to organize the musicians, or was it something else?
The doorbell clunked.
Inez stood up, hastily shoved the note into the drawer, tossed the empty envelope on top, and went to the entrance of the showroom, expecting the messenger boy. Instead, Frisco Flo Sweet bustled toward her, a gray and rose paisley shawl around her shoulders, a dainty gray hat slanted atop blond curls that looked as if they took hours with a curling iron to get “just so.”
“Flo! What are you doing here?”
“You said it was urgent. I decided rather than send a reply, I’d just come myself.”
“But…” Inez looked toward the entrance in trepidation.
“Don’t worry. Harry and his personal fly-cop are gone for the day. It’s been just me, coffee, and the morning paper. Today, I’m planning to visit a few of the more elevated madams that I know. I figure Robert might be an occasional or regular visitor.” She stopped. “What is it? What has you in a dither?”
“Come.” Inez led her toward the office. “I don’t think John Hee is around, but he could be in the repair room. I haven’t checked, and we need privacy for this conversation.”
“What is it?” Flo repeated once they were in the back room.
Inez put her fingertips to her temples, gazing at Flo. “I know where Robert is.”
“Well, where?”
“At the undertaker’s.” Inez took a deep breath. “He’s dead.”
Flo stared. “Hell and damnation.”
“It gets worse. He is someone I know, or knew. He went by the name James Monroe. Why didn’t you tell me he was a pianist?”
“You didn’t ask, and I didn’t think to say!” Flo sank onto a chair by the round table.
Inez went to the cupboard, tipped a generous portion of brandy into an extra tumbler, and brought bottle and glass to the table. Flo took the glass, almost absent-mindedly. “Was it an accident? Oh please, let it be a runaway horse or streetcar.”
Inez shook her head.
“Suicide? Opium overdose? What?”
“Murder.”
Flo’s wide blue eyes got wider. “No.”
“Yes. He was bludgeoned to death, then dumped into the Mission Creek canal.”
“Merde. Was it a robbery? Or maybe Poole caught up with him first, and carried through on his threat to kill Robert for jilting his daughter.” For
