Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(15)

A maid poked her head into the dining room to inform Winter he had a long-distance telephone call from Canada. “That’ll be the captain with the Scotch,” he said, pushing away from the table to stand. “But as for you—”

“Yes,” Astrid said defiantly. “What about me?”

Winter shook his head. “Just try not to give me a heart attack while you’re home. And no more drinking,” he called out over his shoulder as he left the room.

Bo slouched in his chair. That went better than he’d hoped. But he wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t hear more about it later, when Winter and Bo were at work.

Aida straightened the baby’s bib. “Well, you heard Mr. Grumpy. But if it were me, and I daresay I’m more knowledgeable about supernatural matters than my dear husband, I would certainly want to know what kind of ritual those people were doing on that boat. Magic is a funny thing. You might feel fine now, Astrid, but you don’t know what kind of energy you absorbed from that turquoise idol.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s out of my system, because I don’t have time for any more weirdness right now,” Astrid said. “I have a new dress that looks terrific on me, and I’m meeting friends tonight. We’re going to catch up and go dancing before the whole city floods.”

Oh, was that so? Bo didn’t like the sound of her dancing in a terrific dress. In fact, he damn well loathed it, even though he couldn’t get the enticing image out his head. Was she trying to make him jealous, or was he so far gone that he’d lost the ability to function rationally around her without his emotions bouncing all over the place?

Aida just smiled. “That sounds nice. By the way, I was admiring that new wristwatch of yours. Wherever did you get it?”

Shit.

Aida knew. He could tell by the careful, teasing way she’d said it. She saw too much. Noticed too much. And now Astrid’s response was coming many seconds too late, which would only confirm Aida’s suspicions.

“This?” Astrid twisted her arm to look at the watch. If she admitted Bo had given it to her, then it would be out in the open. Casual. Nothing important. It wasn’t lingerie, after all, or even a necklace. It was just a damn watch.

However, if Astrid lied about it, that meant she thought of the gift as something more. Because that’s when he knew things had changed between them—when the lies started. When she started telling Winter that she’d spent the afternoon with friends instead of strolling along the docks with Bo. When she made up silly errands to run and insisted Bo drive her—only to end up asking him to take her out for subgum in Chinatown, so that they could share a booth in a restaurant together in one of the handful of places in the city at which it was acceptable for them to do so.

Lying meant there was something to cover up.

Bo held his breath, waiting to hear what Astrid would say. Had college changed her feelings? Were all those men she talked about in her letters a ploy to make him jealous, or was it just a spoiled girl wanting attention, unaware of how much it hurt him?

“Isn’t it simply gorgeous?” Astrid finally said to Aida, fidgeting with the rectangular dial. “I saw it in a shop in Westwood. It was love at first sight, and I just had to have it, no matter the price. Please don’t tell Winter I blew all my pin money on it.”

Happiness flooded his limbs, warming the space left behind by his fleeing pessimism. He didn’t dare look at her face, just slid his shoe near the side of hers beneath the table and pressed.

She pressed back.

Aida made a choked sound. Bo jerked his foot away from Astrid, but soon realized he wasn’t the cause of Aida’s distress. Winter’s wife stumbled away from the table and raced out of the dining room.

“Watch Karin,” Bo told Astrid before he strode after Aida. He found her doubled over the toilet on the floor of the powder room, wiping her mouth on a hand towel.

“Aida?” he said, kneeling down beside her.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled weakly.

“You’re ill.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” A guilty look spread over her pallid face as she whispered, “Please don’t tell Winter.”

FIVE

By nine that evening, the slow drizzle that had fallen on the city most of the day had turned into a steady rain. Astrid dodged streaming puddles after Jonte dropped her off in North Beach, a couple blocks from Chinatown. The Gris-Gris Club, much like the Magnussons’ home, sat upon a steep hill. Here, cable cars braved the foul weather, climbing Columbus Avenue, but she’d heard on the radio that tomorrow it may not be running for long: the cable car turnaround at the bottom of the hill was on the verge of flooding too deep for service.

The rain was spoiling everything. Only two of her old friends had agreed to brave the weather to meet her tonight, and now she wasn’t even sure she felt like being out herself. She’d originally suggested they all meet here at Gris-Gris because her brother supplied their liquor, and their family was friendly with the owner; Winter had even met Aida when she was doing a spiritualism show here a year and half ago, before he started knocking her up left and right.

Normally the streets would be lined with cars and a long line would have formed around the unmarked speakeasy. But tonight only the occasional car dotted the curb, and Astrid was able to walk straight up to the door. A tiny window in the door slid open as she shook off her umbrella. “Membership card,” the doorman said through it.