“We go way back, Mrs. Macready and I,” Wallace said.
“Who is she, exactly?” Julia had longed to know this from the moment they’d met.
“She owns this place. Or rather her late husband did, and she enjoys his fortune, as you see.”
“You don’t seem on very good terms.”
“She snubs me, you mean? At every opportunity.”
“How unpleasant.”
“Quite.”
“She’s been kind to me.” Julia remembered Mrs. Macready’s recent friendly company in the ladies’ lounge and her soothing reassurances last fall, helping Julia to understand Philip’s lashing mood the night his aunt Lillian had died. He’d been stung to lose the irascible old woman of whom he was inordinately fond; Julia could only imagine his grief at later learning she was his natural mother. On that and so much else, Philip remained quiet.
“Long ago I offended her in some way, and now nothing I can do or say can atone.”
Julia nodded, even though she remained curious why Wallace’s experience of the woman was so different from Philip’s. Was it also romantic? Wallace no doubt had many former paramours in the city. Had something gone badly wrong between them? Or a business deal gone awry? That too she could imagine.
Wallace smiled, reclaiming her attention. “You asked about Goldsmith. We met that night at Carlotta’s. Beyond that, I don’t know him. We move in different circles. Why?”
“I wondered if he might be the murderer. He certainly had good reason.” She hoped Wallace might offer up some good cause to overturn her dismal conclusion that Goldsmith by nature was not a killer, at least not by a close-range gunshot.
Wallace laughed softly. “Plenty of people had reasons to wish Leonard harm, and most had very good reasons. By all means add Goldsmith to the list if you like. Anything to find Kessler a better suspect than Eva. Preferably one who confesses or hauls out that tatted-up gun.”
A silver tureen of consommé brunoise arrived. The waiter ladled the steaming broth into two china soup plates, and the sommelier replaced their champagne with a bottle of 1899 Château Tujean from Wallace’s collection in the restaurant’s cellars. Both men disappeared again, pulling a heavy velvet curtain across the entrance to their booth.
Julia took a deep breath. She’d intended to follow his lead in speaking of Eva, as if she didn’t know what he’d admitted to Kessler. But in that moment it seemed only to add a second deception between them, when she much preferred there be none. For better or worse, she put down her spoon and said, “I know she’s missing. Philip told me.”
Wallace laid down his spoon as well. He examined her face for a good ten seconds before dropping his eyes. “I apologize. I should have told you the truth. I had hoped to spare you the worry, as there’s nothing you could do.” He gave a small smile. “Though I must confess it’s nicer not to have to sidestep the issue. She is missing. I don’t know where she is. But I also don’t think there’s serious cause for worry.”
“If only I could talk with her,” Julia said. “I just want to know she’s all right.” She wanted to ask Eva a great deal more, but that agenda was best left covert.
“We all do,” Wallace said. “But in this case, no news is good news. She’s safe as long as things stay quiet. The boys at Carlotta’s are starting to settle down. I’m lending them Ethel Dunway for a few weeks, to get their floor show back on track. Ethel’s may not be a household name to you, but in that neighborhood he’s quite the celebrity.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Eddie or Ethel—it all depends on the whim of his wardrobe. Quite entertaining in a strictly late-night sort of way, but he packs the house. The best thing for Eva would be to get Carlotta’s up and running at full power again. Busy cash registers to keep Leonard’s men occupied.”
“You did that to help her?”
“Keeping a lid on things is good for me and mine. But yes, for Eva too.”
“You’ve been a good friend to her.”
Wallace leaned back. His voice dropped to a quieter register. “I’ve known Eva for a long time, since she was a kid just up from the South somewhere. I’ve seen her grow up, turn into a real swan.”
Julia poured him more wine to encourage the story. This was something she wanted to hear, in as leisurely a fashion as he cared to tell it. She suspected there was a good reason he’d stepped forward to help Eva, and perhaps this would explain it.
“It’s not that much of a tale. Ours is strictly a business acquaintance. I could see early on that she had talent, deserved better than the small stage where she worked. I persuaded Leonard to take her on when he opened shop, even though she’d never worked one of the big clubs before.” He smiled. “I doubt she even knows that.”
Julia wondered, “If she could lie low until Kessler finds the murderer, or at least a better suspect, do you think she could ever work again, at another club? She’s beautiful and talented. With time, couldn’t she pick up where she left off?”
“It’s nice to think so.”
“You helped her before. Could you help her again, once all this is sorted? I mean hire her?”
He watched the colors of the Bordeaux splintering in the candlelight. “Even assuming the business of Timson’s murder goes away, hiring her would not be as simple as you think.”
“I understood you owned a few clubs.”
“I keep a hand in just three. Only one might be a possibility. It’s called the Half-Shell.” He gave Julia an amused glance. “You see how partial I am to oysters. It’s a small place but gaining a fairly select clientele. The better downtown sorts, who expect to pay what I’d charge for a show with Eva. The place is more, shall we say, discreet—for those who enjoy what needs discretion—than the flash and strut at
