The Red Canary Read online

  She angled toward him, her neckline plunging deeper than the Monongahela River. The urge to shed his jacket and cover her stole through him, but that’d give him away. “No, thank you.”

  Brown eyes rounded and pink lips pursed. Was she surprised at his refusal or the politeness of his words? She blinked twice and strutted away.

  He pulled off his hat and slapped it against his thigh as he walked to a less-crowded corner. The captain’s words hedged his thoughts. Look for any peculiar activity. He’d seen degrading and reprehensible, but not peculiar.

  A distinguishable cackle pulled his attention. Lieutenant Bolin wobbled on a barstool and then proceeded to chug a pint of ale. Another officer snared by the rumrunners. How much graft money was Bolin given to buy his silence? His protection?

  Mick ground his teeth. Better call it a night. He couldn’t risk his superior exposing him. Besides, too much prodding would incite suspicion, and he wasn’t inclined to exchange punches with the bouncer. The empty stage attracted his gaze. If the Red Canary hid wrongdoings under her pretty wings, he’d be watching when she unfurled them.

  CHAPTER 2

  Vera’s dressing room door burst open.

  She gasped stale air, dropping her lipstick brush onto her lap.

  “Good show tonight, kitten.” Her manager slithered in, his gaze a lazy swagger across the small space before settling on her.

  “Not havin’ it, Artie.” She scowled, first at the intruder and then at the red smudge on her tan skirt.

  He shrugged. “Only makeup. It’ll wash.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She snatched the cosmetic brush and flung it onto the vanity tray. “This is my dressing room, not a social hall. Quit barging in on me.” This marked the third time in a week. What was so difficult about knocking? She bit back a huff. Because that would suggest a note of consideration. And Arthur Cavenhalt’s scope of courtesy was thinner than his hairline. “I want that door fixed. With a lock that works.”

  “It’s in my office. A nickel-brushed knob just for my pretty canary.” His languid perusal of her form made her joints stiffen. “Hey, you’re all tense.”

  “I got the jumps.”

  His lips curled into a smile. “Who did Angelo throw out tonight?”

  “No one. But it happened again. Found another note on the piano.”

  “This man’s carrying quite the torch for you.” He laughed, his hazel eyes squinting. “What’d it say this time? A proposal?”

  “You can jab all you want, Artie, but you and I both know those notes are threats. Don’t forget this past fall.” She winced, not wanting to relive the memory which already had haunted her once this evening. “The creep dragged me out the door the minute I stepped off stage. What would’ve happened if Carson hadn’t found me?” He’d packed some heavy punches to the attacker’s jaw before the steely-eyed man dashed away. Vera had launched herself into Carson’s arms and hadn’t had the courage to step away since. Well, not until recently.

  “But the boss handled it. Even hired a guard for you.”

  Angelo. Her thick defender took his protective role as seriously as he took his liquor.

  “Those love letters aren’t related to what happened last September. You’re overreacting like a typical female.”

  She stood, her toes pinching in her shoes. “Typical females don’t risk their necks each night. Don’t commit crimes for a paycheck.” Though legally she could only be arrested if she got caught with a drink in her hands—which would never happen.

  “What’s got into you, kitten? Not happy?”

  Happiness was not serenading rowdies with their shirttails hanging out. Being trapped in a booze box where days melted into years. But then, what was it? Maybe when her voice reflected the strums of her heart, the song becoming as much a part of her as a vital organ—where she needed it to breathe, to survive. Happiness was music … and all she had left.

  She snatched her gown previously draped over the dressing screen and slid a hanger through it. “This place has no class. And too many have itchy fingers.” She hung the swanky garment on the metal pipe running across the ceiling.

  Artie ran a knuckle down the side of the dangling dress with a brassy smile. “They’re just showing their approval.” He glanced over, and his eyebrows danced the Shimmy.

  “Well, they can keep their approval”—she flashed her palms—“to themselves. That goes for you too.”

  “You bring such character to this place, Vera. It’s beyond me how you fill each moment with surprise. Say, that’s a pretty good lyric. Put it in your next song.”

  “No, you write it, Art-man. For all I care, you can sing it too. Then I could clear out for good.” Would the blinding lights of New York City be enough to dim the memories of this place? Of her past? The hollow stirring in her chest begged for the chance to find out.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  She planted a hand on the curve of her waist and glared, hoping the flooding doubt in her heart didn’t seep into her eyes.

  “You’re not thinking of abandoning me, are you?” He clucked his tongue and withdrew a cigarette case from his trouser pocket. “Don’t go shooting for anything higher, because you might end up shooting yourself. If you get my meaning.” He puffed out his chest as if Vera was supposed to bow to his philosophical superiority.

  Why did narrow minds always have wide mouths? She slunk onto the vanity bench. “I don’t remember askin’ for your advice. And don’t even think about lighting up in here. As if my lungs aren’t charred enough.” She couldn’t escape the sorry fact she lived in a city known across the country as The Big Smoke, with its numerous factories belching ashen venom into the very air she breathed, but she could control the atmosphere of her dressing room.

  He sighed and returned the case to his pocket. “Just trying to help, kid.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, the sweat from his palm dampening her blouse. “I can’t help but feel a particular concern for you. Especially after all we’ve been through, cousin.”

  “Don’t start that again.”

  “Do you really want your little mystery to be revealed? Though some may call it a lie.”

  She swatted his fingers, chasing away his touch. If only she could smack free his words. Mystery. Lie. What about struggling to exist?

  “Is the boss coming tonight?”

  What else could she have done? The soot-tarnished streets of Pittsburgh hadn’t been her planned destination, but after a string of failed typing tests and even more disastrous job assessments, her hopes for work had narrowed from slim to nothing. The only skill she’d mastered during her first eighteen years of life had been distinguishing a dime from a nickel. But that had been enough to pique Artie’s interest. Being hired as the Kelly Club’s cigarette girl had been a far cry from Vera’s childhood dreams, but it’d saved her from starvation. Since then, she’d been promoted to leading canary.

  “Vera?” He fingered her crimson locks. “Did you hear me, or is the Notox dye sinking in?”

  She jerked away from his grasp. “I don’t color my hair. And how am I supposed to know if Carson is comin’?”

  His brow spiked. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

  “What about it?”

  “Just thought he’d enjoy hearing a little story.” He scratched his rounded middle and rocked back on his heels. “About a girl who’d been telling fibs about who she really was since the day she was hired. A girl who manipulated her way into becoming a bootlegger’s girlfriend.”

  Her chin poked forward. “You had a nice racket going on, but I’m not afraid of him finding out. Not anymore.”

  He shrugged. “Then why not up and leave like you were belly-aching earlier?”

  She tried—oh how she tried—to hold her sternum stiff, keep her chest from deflating, but Artie noticed, and his smile stretched longer.

  “Because you know as much as I do how Carson Kelly is paranoid over the loyalty of his staff. Careful about his—”

&
nbsp; “Can’t tack all that on me.” She gripped the edges of the seat, squeezing. “Don’t forget you hired me. Forced me to pretend I was related to you so I could be accepted without question. Chiseled my pay because you knew you had me in a spot.” How foolish she’d been, thinking Artie had rescued her from the gutter by offering her a job, introducing her to the handsome Carson. She’d believed he’d gathered her under his wing only to discover he’d pinned her beneath his thumb.

  “I have a bigger bargaining chip with the boss-man. He won’t touch me. But you …” His mocking tone thickened with each word. “If he found out you’ve been deceiving him all this time, he’ll start to wonder what else you’ve been lying to him about.”

  “Saying I was your cousin to get a job in this joint isn’t earth-shattering.” Not anymore. Now that she had a good standing with Carson. Maybe he would think nothing of it, especially since she’d been drawing in crowds. Considering the hundreds of speakeasies in the area, couldn’t it be viewed as an accomplishment for the mob to linger at the Kelly Club, miles away from the famed Rum Row? “I’m telling Cars, tonight. So you might as well get it through your thick, blackmailing skull—your control over me is finished.”

  “Let’s not be hasty.” He helped himself to a stool.

  “You’ve got nothing on me, Artie.”

  “Not on Vera Pembroke, but I have a whole lot on Collette Green.”

  Her throat went drier than an avid teetotaler’s. How could he—

  “I have eyes everywhere.” He tapped his temple. “What would Carson think when I tell him his prized singer—his favorite girl—betrayed him?”

  “Look, Artie, it was only—”

  “Singing for the enemy. You know how much your boyfriend hates Tony Russo. That was no small thing when the whiskey king convinced all those bootleggers to quit selling their goods to Carson. Yet you go work for Russo using a fake name. And a wig. By the way, you look awful as a blonde.”

  She lowered her head, heart thudding dully in her chest. Maybe taking opportunity during Carson’s business trips hadn’t been a good idea. She’d crooned in the Moonlight Club only a handful of times over the past three months, and only because of rumors that Russo had connections with the Ziegfeld Follies. Yet the big shot hadn’t shown up any of the times she’d been there. And now she was chained to Artie again. All because she wanted to escape.

  “You stick with me, and everything will work out grand. You’ll see.” He gave a syrupy smile. “Don’t know why you want to ditch the boss, anyway. He’s a powerful man. Has friends in many places. And you know how loyal his friends can be.”

  Was Artie implying Carson was a gangster? Or was his threat cheaper than his fifty-cent toupee?

  “Besides, you’ve been a lot more decorated since you two got together.” His gaze slid to her bracelet. “That’s a pretty trinket you got there.”

  She lifted her forearm, the diamond chain slipping under her sleeve.

  “Looks like he has a lot of dough to hand around. It’s a good thing Betsy got hungry.”

  Her brow wrinkled at the shift in conversation. “Who’s Betsy?”

  “Just another doll.” He chuckled.

  “I don’t wanna hear about it.” Poor woman. “Look, Artie, I’m off the clock. This time is my own.”

  He wiped his palms on his thighs and stood. “Sure thing, kitten. I have some business of my own to tend to.”

  “Club meeting?”

  Both Vera and Artie turned toward the new voice.

  Carson Kelly leaned against the doorjamb, his arms folded, his form occupying most of the frame. He removed his homburg and held it over his heart, the way he always did when he greeted Vera. A half smirk appeared on his face, his stare as blank as her high school diploma.

  Her mind clouded. Was he irritated? In deep thought? “Come on in, Cars.” She jumped to her feet, motioning with her hand. “Artie was just goin’.” A trio in this overrated coat closet stifled the air, and tolerating any more of Artie’s antics would suffocate what was left of her patience.

  “See you tomorrow, Vera.”

  She mustered a smile, drawing pleasure as Artie skedaddled.

  Carson pulled her to his side and kissed her cheek, the smell of aftershave filling her senses.

  She rested her head on his lapel and felt his muscles tense.

  “Cavenhalt didn’t acknowledge me. That louse.”

  Carson wasn’t one to dish out approval, especially where Artie was concerned. She glanced up at Carson in time to catch his dark eyes narrowing on her.

  “He giving you trouble? You know I only keep him around because he’s your cousin.”

  Her chance arrived. What if she whined a couple of choice words and mixed in some tears? Could be the perfect recipe for kicking Artie out for good. She bit her lip, toying with temptation. But wrecking him came with the risk of sabotaging herself. Artie would squeal on her for sure. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

  “It’s closing time.” He squeezed her side and then released her. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t mind walking, if you’re busy.” Regret spiraled through her. How could she say that? She hadn’t forgotten about the note. And just because she hadn’t spotted the creep didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He could still be around. Waiting. Yeah, she’d camp out on the dance floor before strutting home solo.

  “No, I got some news you need to hear.” His attention fixed on the mirror as he straightened his tie. “What do you have left to do here?”

  She scanned the sparse surroundings. “Just grab my things.”

  “Don’t be long. I’ll be at the bar.” With a nod, he strode out, his pompous gait entirely unlike the mystery hero’s from earlier in the evening.

  Staring at the empty doorway, her mind traveled to the swift moment of tonight’s rescue. What intrigued her about that man? Sure, he’d taken the wallop for her, but something else had struck her. Had she seen him before? No. He had a face that would stamp any girl’s memory. It was almost like a connection had been made. A silent linking.

  She laughed.

  Boy, she was getting batty.

  Just because the man had shown a small dose of gallantry and had an appearance more brilliant than anything Hollywood could produce, she’d conjured up an instant bond. Could she be more pitiful? Or wrong? Chivalry only existed in fairy tales. And white knights didn’t grace the soiled floors of the Kelly Club.

  Pulling back a handful of wavy tresses, she leaned in, checking if Max Factor had done his job. Nope. No trace of the reputable greasepaint on her scar. Good thing her hair covered the side of her face, or the ugly thing would’ve been showcased to the world tonight.

  She pressed her finger over the discolored skin, the thin line stretching from her temple to her upper cheek. You aren’t worth anything to anyone. Her breath caught. Why hadn’t his growling voice faded from her head years ago? She snatched her powder and smeared her face with an ivory sheen, careful not to get any in her eye, until the marking was no longer visible. If only she could erase the memories.

  She shot her arms through the sleeves of her coat, shoved a handkerchief into her pocket in case the dust and smoke in the air made her nose drip, and pulled the overhead string to shut off the light.

  With the grace of a blind elephant, Vera plodded into the main room where Carson chatted with Angelo. Her poise had clocked out after her last number. Vera’s rubbery legs weren’t up for the labyrinth of tables barricading the bar. Instead, she crossed the empty dance floor, her heels a choppy cadence against the wooden slats.

  Both men turned, but her brawny guard spoke first. “Hey, there.”

  She joined them. “Still hanging around, Angelo? Don’t ya split at closing?” Or had Carson paid him overtime to babysit her? Usually, those schemes annoyed her, but not tonight. The idea of Steely-Eye being outside made her spine rigid.

  “Yeah.” He palmed the back of his neck. “I’m just waiting for Artie to come out of his office. He had some so
rt of job for me.”

  Carson downed the final drops of amber liquid in his glass. “You ready, baby?”

  “Sure.” She flashed a smile like the three painted girls on the Iron City Lager sign collecting dust behind the rows of long-necked bottles. If Carson was as enthralled with her as this area was devoted to their hometown brew, then all her problems would disappear. Well, most of them, anyway.

  Carson only nodded. “So am I. See you, Vinelli.”

  “Later, boss.” Angelo nodded, then slid his gaze to Vera. “Have a good night.”

  Vera waved. “Catch you tomorrow.”

  “Nope. Leonard’s covering.” The guard rinsed out Carson’s cup, mildly surprising Vera. Angelo wasn’t a busboy, but then the boss of the club demanded his workers wear several hats. “I’m here in the morning.”

  “Dust don’t stir in this place until the evening.” Her stomach twisted at the thought of Leonard being her personal guard. She’d welcome Angelo’s oppressive vigilance over Leo’s negligence. The man had a penchant for escaping into the storage room with his flask, leaving her vulnerable.

  Angelo stacked the glass with the others and tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder. “It’s the last Wednesday of the month. I’m needed in the offices.”

  Her mouth formed an O. She hadn’t the faintest notion why Angelo was needed on that particular day each month, but she knew better than to ask. The business office of Carson Kelly Enterprises had stood here before the club’s existence and had since acted as a buffer should any government man come around snooping. Though now, feds, as well as cops, were some of their best customers.

  Carson’s hand wrapped her elbow, and they stepped out into the night air.

  “Where’s your car?” Artie’s beat-up Ford was the only vehicle sullying the lot.

  He withdrew his touch. “I parked around the side. Wait here.”

  Vera opened her mouth, but words wouldn’t come. That gut feeling prickled her insides. Carson walked into the shadows. She was alone.