Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(37)

And when she’d turned her face up to him and he saw the longing blossoming there, he was gone. Despite promising himself that he would try to be a gentleman around her, if she hadn’t kissed him then, he probably would’ve instigated it himself.

She was just too irresistible. So beautiful. So full of life.

Christ. He was crazy about her.

The Pierce-Arrow’s maroon and black body pulled through the open iron gate near the sidewalk and squeezed into the driveway next to his mother’s old Packard. Jonte, a middle-aged first-generation Swedish immigrant who did most of the driving for the household, called out to Winter as he climbed out of the car. “You want the gate closed?”

“Leave it,” Winter answered. “Bo and I are going out to the pier when he comes back with the truck.” He leaned over the railing while the back door of the car opened. His sister’s lemon blond hair bounced into sight.

At seventeen, Astrid Magnusson was thirteen years younger—a surprise, his mother had said when she was conceived. And she was the spitting image of their mother, which was painful for Winter at times. But where their mother had been soft-spoken, Astrid was loud and opinionated. She acted like the world was hers, carrying herself with a defiant tilt to her chin and a fearlessness behind her eyes. And for that, he was eternally grateful. He already had enough to worry about, raising her. Knowing she could stand her ground was a small comfort.

God bless the modern female.

Astrid strode toward him in a striped blue dress that cost him more than the monthly grocery bill for the entire household. But it made her happy, and he was a pushover when it came to anything that did. “How was school?”

“A waste of my good looks and devastating charm. Why are you in such a good mood?”

Aida’s freckled face popped into his mind. Was it that obvious? It couldn’t be. He narrowed his eyes at Astrid in challenge. She lifted one blond brow. Too observant for her own damn good.

“The sun’s shining,” he answered.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll assume you just made some unseemly amount of cash, and I’ll be dreaming of ways I can spend it. Speaking of, I need new art supplies. Can Bo take me to Hale Brothers on Market tomorrow after school?”

“Why didn’t you ask Jonte to take you on the way home?”

She hefted her book satchel and smacked a mouthful of gum. “I forgot.”

“Then he can take you tomorrow.”

“I don’t like the way he sits in the car at the curb waiting. Bo goes inside with me.”

“Bo’s not being paid to be your nanny.”

Astrid gave him a cross look. “I just feel safer when he’s around.”

“That better be all you’re feeling.”

She tucked a blond strand of her bobbed hair behind one ear and leveled him with a look so tragically bored, he almost believed it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The screen door creaked open. Greta poked her white head outside. “Telephone, Vinter. It’s some man named Ju with heavy Chinese accent. Very polite.”

“Coming.” Winter urged Astrid ahead of him. She flashed him her middle finger. When he pretended to chase after her into the house, she ran, laughing. The screen door banged against the wood frame behind him as her blond bob disappeared into the hallway.

“Is this man Ju responsible for the ghost trickery?” Greta whispered as she held the mouthpiece of the downstairs telephone against her stomach.

Winter’s good mood darkened. “I sure hope not.”

• • •

Aida finished her happy hour show and took a streetcar back to Golden Lotus, returning home before nine. The early slot hadn’t drawn the same crowd that her usual ten o’clock show did, but it was successful enough to make Velma happy. In turn, Aida was happy to be home at a decent hour.

When she passed by the counter, Mrs. Lin leaned around a paying customer to flag her down. “A note for you was dropped off.”

Aida warily accepted the envelope from her landlady’s hand and studied the front. Nothing but her name scrawled in long, bold script on the front and a gold leaf monogram inside a diamond on the back flap, with a prominent M in the center.

Her heartbeat quickened. M for Magnusson? Why did he write? Did this have something to do with what happened in the taxi?

She mouthed a thank-you to Mrs. Lin and hurried to her room. Once the door was locked, she kicked off her shoes and set the envelope on her nightstand like it might explode, nervous and curious at the same time. Pondering its purpose, she stripped down to her step-in chemise and rolled down her stockings. Her leg was aching. She decided to take care of that first, just in case the letter was bad news.

In her small bathroom, she wet a washrag with cool water and gathered up her supplies, plunking them upon the nightstand next to the envelope. She laid the cool washrag over her hip, where the lancet pricks from the show were pink, swollen bumps, and used rubbing alcohol to wipe down her lancet blade.

Once she’d smeared medical salve over her wounds and put everything away, she had no choice but to read the letter. Wedging her pillow against the wall, she lay back and opened the envelope. Two things spilled out: a letter, and something slightly smaller wrapped inside opaque tissue paper that had been taped shut. She opened the letter first.

Dear Cheetah,