Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties #2)(87)

But across the powder room, a long gilded mirror hung on the wall, embossed with papyrus. And below, sitting innocently on a narrow marble makeup table, was the falcon-headed canopic jar.

She quelled her frazzled nerves as a toilet flushed in the next room, and then she waited, listening as heels clicked and water ran. A middle-aged woman finally walked through the powder room, smiling stiffly at Hadley as she passed. As soon as the door swung shut, Hadley rushed for the urn, hoisted it in the air over her head, and brought it down violently over the marble table.

Gold glinted. The crossbar bounced across the table. Hadley grabbed it, ignoring the foul energy it radiated, and slipped it into her coat pocket.

“My goodness!” a woman said behind her. “Are you all right, dear?”

Hadley pushed through the swinging door without an answer. Her head was clearer than it had been in weeks. If love was a thick fog, then heartbreak was the cold winter rain that washed it all away. For all the deceptions she’d stumbled upon over the last few weeks—her father’s secrets about her mother’s affair, Oliver Ginn’s hidden agenda—this was the last thing she expected to face. But she would, no matter how much it hurt.

And she knew there was one person who could give her the whole truth.

A blond head bobbed above the crowd on the balcony’s landing. Gala attendees swarmed around the staircase, watching the police forcibly haul Lowe down the stairs. He could rot in a jail cell for all she cared. Hadley moved quickly, slipping past the roped-off area housing Levin’s ramshackle collection, and snagged the last thing she needed.

• • •

She didn’t sleep that night, having spent half of it crying and the other half pushing back the Mori so that Number Four wasn’t caught in the cross fire. At one point, the emotional pain had been so intense that she’d tried to rationalize a path to forgiving him.

But would this be the last time?

She couldn’t help but picture a bumpy future with Lowe, filled with lies and deceit that never ended. Imagined herself sitting at home pining for him while he was halfway across the globe, betraying her in other ways . . . maybe even with other women.

Perhaps her original assessment of him had been right. He was too handsome, too quick with false words and easy deceptions. He had a way of making all of that seem charming, but it was a false front. Nothing charming about building your life around lies. And when did it stop? She wouldn’t be surprised to discover other deceptions—ones she just hadn’t caught yet.

How big a fool was she, anyway?

Focusing on her self-appointed task gave her the motivation she needed to seek an answer to that question. And the following morning, she brushed aside tears and set out alone.

It wasn’t hard to find Adam Goldberg. Lowe might’ve claimed his friend was merely a dragon guarding his treasure, but she was quite certain he was something much more. A friendly chat with an eager young telephone operator got her a list of Fillmore District businesses with Goldberg in the name, and when the word “watchmaker” crackled over the line, she knew it had to be him.

Heading out into gray drizzle, she wore a hat with a broad brim that was several years out of fashion to hide her face and took two taxis—to shake anyone who might be trailing her. Convinced she hadn’t been followed, she paid the driver to wait at the curb and stepped inside a small shop.

A bell rang above the door to announce her entrance. She tugged at her gloves and glanced around at the small, warm room as the scents of solder flux and coppery metal filled her nostrils. A wooden counter stood between a narrow area and the back workspace, where saws and ball-peen hammers lined the wall near a forge and buffing machines. Across the room, a bright swing-arm lamp shone over a desk lined with neat trays of wire, cogs, and screws. And tucked in the corner near the desk was a smaller table, where Stella bent over a colorful drawing. Lowe’s windup black cat sat near her elbow.

Hadley’s chest tightened as she watched the girl, who was oblivious to her entry. Was she really Lowe’s child? And how many times had he gazed at the girl’s curling hair and wondered the same thing? She could only imagine how painful it must be for Lowe to stand aside and watch her grow up with the burden of guilt and a yawning unknown hanging over his head.

He’d betrayed Adam—his best friend. Why was it such a shock that he’d do the same to her?

Footsteps marched down a narrow set of stairs, ones that looked as though they might lead to an apartment above the shop, and Adam stepped into view. Wiping his hands on a work towel, he glanced toward the door. His face brightened momentarily as he recognized her, but quickly tightened with anxiety and wariness.

“Good morning, Mr. Goldberg,” she said crisply.

“Hadley—”

Stella glanced up from her drawing and blinked. A grin spread over her plump face. She dropped her crayon and started toward Hadley, but stopped halfway, unsure, and backtracked to the safety of her father’s legs.

Adam glanced over her shoulder. “Is Lowe here, too?”

“When we parted last night, Lowe was on his way to jail,” Hadley said.

“Good grief, what’s happened?”

Hadley reached inside her coat pocket and placed the golden crocodile on the glass top of the counter, beneath which laid rows of gold and silver pocket watches on a burgundy strip of velvet. “This has happened. We ran into Monk Morales last night. I’m assuming you’re intimately familiar with this statue.”