Grave Phantoms
Page 16
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
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?”
“Your family’s infamous. And I asked one of the waiters,” he added, hunching over the small table to speak in a lower voice. A gaudy signet ring on his finger flashed in the candlelight when he set his hand on the table, inching closer. “You are the Viking Bootlegger’s baby sister, yes?”
The warning bells that had dinged inside her head when he first mentioned her name now grew louder. He was toying with her, and she didn’t like the edgy eagerness in his eyes. Maybe he was one of her brother’s business rivals. Winter and Bo had both warned her a hundred times to be cautious in public. Being in Los Angeles had made her forget to be guarded. She remembered now.
“If you’re hoping for a discount, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, pulling away from him while trying to keep her voice light.
“No, no discount. I’ve got more cash than I know what to do with and plenty of booze back home.” His suit looked expensive enough, so maybe that was true. Glassy blue eyes squinted as he smiled down at her. “I’m only interested in you.”
“Me?”
“Indeed,” he assured her, rapping his knuckles on the table to underscore the word. There was something awfully familiar about the design on that ring, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Tell me more about you, Miss Magnusson.”
“Not much to tell.”
“I doubt that’s true. Word is you were at your brother’s warehouse last night when that yacht crashed into the pier. That had to be interesting.”
She didn’t like where this was going. Maybe he was a reporter. Magnussons do not speak to reporters. That was one of Winter’s (many) house rules.
“Hold that thought,” she all but shouted at Max, pasting on a fake smile as she clinked the melting ice in her glass. “I just decided I need some gin. I’ll be right back, and then we can chat.”
She all but leapt away from the table in her rush to get away from him and wove around tables looking for Daniels, who was nowhere in sight. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Max was watching her. He was. She waved and darted behind a column. A small crowd of people had descended on the bar. She’d have trouble getting the bartender’s attention. She also couldn’t make a dash for the lobby, because it was in Max’s line of vision. Her anxious gaze fell on the door to the ladies’ restroom—out of sight, and that was good enough for her. She stepped inside the bright room, leaving behind the chatter and smoky haze of the club.
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?”
“Your family’s infamous. And I asked one of the waiters,” he added, hunching over the small table to speak in a lower voice. A gaudy signet ring on his finger flashed in the candlelight when he set his hand on the table, inching closer. “You are the Viking Bootlegger’s baby sister, yes?”
The warning bells that had dinged inside her head when he first mentioned her name now grew louder. He was toying with her, and she didn’t like the edgy eagerness in his eyes. Maybe he was one of her brother’s business rivals. Winter and Bo had both warned her a hundred times to be cautious in public. Being in Los Angeles had made her forget to be guarded. She remembered now.
“If you’re hoping for a discount, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, pulling away from him while trying to keep her voice light.
“No, no discount. I’ve got more cash than I know what to do with and plenty of booze back home.” His suit looked expensive enough, so maybe that was true. Glassy blue eyes squinted as he smiled down at her. “I’m only interested in you.”
“Me?”
“Indeed,” he assured her, rapping his knuckles on the table to underscore the word. There was something awfully familiar about the design on that ring, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Tell me more about you, Miss Magnusson.”
“Not much to tell.”
“I doubt that’s true. Word is you were at your brother’s warehouse last night when that yacht crashed into the pier. That had to be interesting.”
She didn’t like where this was going. Maybe he was a reporter. Magnussons do not speak to reporters. That was one of Winter’s (many) house rules.
“Hold that thought,” she all but shouted at Max, pasting on a fake smile as she clinked the melting ice in her glass. “I just decided I need some gin. I’ll be right back, and then we can chat.”
She all but leapt away from the table in her rush to get away from him and wove around tables looking for Daniels, who was nowhere in sight. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Max was watching her. He was. She waved and darted behind a column. A small crowd of people had descended on the bar. She’d have trouble getting the bartender’s attention. She also couldn’t make a dash for the lobby, because it was in Max’s line of vision. Her anxious gaze fell on the door to the ladies’ restroom—out of sight, and that was good enough for her. She stepped inside the bright room, leaving behind the chatter and smoky haze of the club.
