Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(16)

“Miss Astrid Magnusson,” she answered confidently.

The door swung open and a tuxedoed man with a chest as broad as an icebox greeted her. “Mr. Magnusson’s baby sister?”

“I am.”

He nodded slowly. “You look more like the younger brother. The treasure hunter.”

“Lowe,” she supplied.

He snapped his fingers and grinned handsomely. “That’s him. If you’re here to see Velma, she’s busy at the moment. But I can have Daniels seat you, if you’d like. Get yourself out of that rain.”

Festive boughs of holly and the muffled sound of hot jazz welcomed her as she stepped inside the speakeasy lobby. A few patrons mingled, smoking cigarettes and chatting near a newly installed coin-operated telephone. Her friends were supposed to be here already, but she didn’t see them. And when she asked Daniels about them, she found they hadn’t arrived, so she followed him into the dark club to wait.

Gris-Gris was a swank place with a great house band and an interesting rotation of stage acts, from clairvoyants to acrobats to flashy dancers. But the best thing about it was that it was a black-and-tan club. And that meant societal restrictions went unheeded here. You could dine with who you wanted. Dance with who you wanted. No one cared about anything as long as you had cash. Bo came here a lot, so she made sure to mention at breakfast that she’d be coming tonight, hoping he’d get the hint and drop by. She wasn’t sure he would. He’d left for work with Winter before she could speak to him alone.

The tables that clustered around Gris-Gris’s stage were half empty tonight, and Astrid didn’t see anyone she knew. She certainly wasn’t going to sit around waiting for her friends, so she joined the people lined up along the dance floor who were cheering on two couples doing a new dance called the Lindy Hop, with wild swing-outs and kicks. Astrid cheered them on and soon found herself seduced by the infectious beat of the snare drum and joined in when a man offered to teach her the moves. She initially fumbled, laughing at herself, but soon picked up the steps. It was exciting and fun—so fun that she forgot about the rain and her errant friends. She changed partners twice, and then danced with another girl, laughing breathlessly as the musicians onstage sped through another song. And another.

And another.

When the house band took a break, she was ready for one, too, and plopped down at a table to cool off with a glass of ice water.

Her friends weren’t coming. Traitors. She wouldn’t care so much if an older man a few tables away would stop staring at her. She’d first noticed him on the dance floor, but now he was making her feel uncomfortable—especially when he looked as if he was headed over to talk to her.

Absolutely not.

She took the long way around to the bar at the back of the speakeasy and wasted several minutes ordering a fresh drink and chatting with the bartender before taking another route back to her table. She thought the man was long gone.

He wasn’t.

“Your fella leave you high and dry, sweetheart?”

Astrid glanced up to see the older man leaning against a nearby column. He flicked a cigarette into a potted palm and smiled. He had full, fetching lips and an interesting nose with a prominent bridge. He was also twice her age and drunk as a fish.

“Just waiting for some friends,” she answered, hoping if she didn’t look him in the eye, he’d get the message and move on to another woman. No such luck.

“You’ve been waiting for a good while now. Think you’ve been forgotten.” He pulled out the chair next to her and plopped down, smoothing his light brown hair. “Pretty little gal like you shouldn’t be alone. Especially not during the holidays. Don’t worry, Max will keep you company.”

His eyes were so glassy, she expected him to reek of booze, but all she smelled was smoke and a fruity cologne. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Max—”

“That’s my given name,” he said. “I’m not a stickler for old-fashioned formalities. Everyone just calls me Max. What do they call you?”

“If they call me anything, there’s a good chance my brothers will put them in the bottom of the Bay.”

His laugh was nasal and lazy. “Where are these brothers of yours tonight, hm?”

She reminded herself that the club was perfectly safe. All she had to do was raise her voice and Daniels or Hezekiah or one of the bouncers would come get her. Hopefully. She glanced up at the big window on the upper tier, where Velma normally watched the floor from her office, but it was dark. Astrid rather wished it wasn’t.

“Look,” she said. “I’ll be straight with you. I don’t keep company with men your age.”

The votive candle on the table cast flickering shadows on his face that sharpened when he turned his head. “I’m twenty-three, sweetheart.”

She started to laugh, but when she took a closer look at his face was surprised to see that, indeed, he might be only twenty-three. Maybe boozing aged him. Her friend Mary’s mother drank too much and easily looked twenty years older. And where the hell was Mary, anyway? Astrid thought of the new public telephone in the lobby and wondered if she should try to ring her.

“Let’s try this again,” he said, flashing her a charming smile. “I’m Max, and you, I believe, are Miss Magnusson.”

Her fingers stilled around her glass. “How do you know that?”