Page 31

Still wearing her muted green cotton dress and her plain black coat and hat, she was hardly presentable for a night out.

Attention drifted in her direction as she approached the long, glossy bar.

Mr. Bloom’s regular bartender had met her a handful of times, and yet, he peered at her with the blank look he might give a stranger.

“Is Mr. Bloom available?” she asked as he was running a rag around the inside of a glass. His eyes lifted to a spot over her shoulder, and when she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw that Eddie Bloom had already noticed her and was approaching.

“Miss Spencer,” he said, a flirtatious grin spreading over his lips.

He was handsome in a slick, untrustworthy sort of way, though Leo could see why he was so successful with his club.

Even though she knew he was a criminal, he didn’t come across as such.

He seemed more like a host you knew better than to cross.

However, he’d never been anything but courteous to her.

As he looked Leo over, his happy expression turned to one of amused confusion. “Forgive me, but you appear a bit more somber than usual.”

“I suppose I am,” she said. “I’ve just come from the morgue.” Mr. Bloom arched a brow. “Forgive me. You see, I work at a morgue.”

“I know. Read those articles on you a few months back. Nice illustrations, but the real thing’s much better.” He snapped his fingers, and in the next moment, the bartender had placed a glass of claret at her elbow.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” she said, but Mr. Bloom indicated she should sit upon one of the tall chairs at the bar.

“It’s on the house,” he said with a devilish wink.

She thanked him and, though uncomfortable, did as he suggested. He took the seat next to her.

“Are you meeting your friend tonight?” Mr. Bloom asked as Leo took a shallow sip of the claret. “Miss Brooks, correct?”

“No,” she said, setting her glass down. “I’ve come to speak to you, if you have a few minutes to spare.”

Intrigue lightened his countenance, making him appear almost boyish. Propping an elbow on the bar and turning fully toward her, he said, “Take as many minutes as you’d like.”

Leo took another sip of wine to steady her nerves.

“Does this have anything to do with what the detective inspector came here asking about? That police officer your Miss Brooks would often dance with?” Mr. Bloom asked.

“No.” Leo swallowed the claret, the smooth wine warming the center of her chest. “I wanted to ask you if you knew my father. His name was Leonard Spencer.”

The club owner laced his fingers together. A few gaudy gold rings caught the light and glittered. The barest tick of a muscle above his left brow was the only indication that he was taken aback by her question.

“I won’t be coy with you, Miss Spencer. I know your history. But what makes you think I would have known him?”

Leo observed him carefully. That he knew her story wasn’t so surprising. Eddie Bloom was a man who made it his business to know things. However, what did surprise her was how his suave, easy flair suddenly tempered.

“I’m trying to discover why my family was murdered. I know they were targeted by a criminal organization.” Leo wouldn’t mention that she knew which one.

The Inspector had theorized it could be the Carters, but he’d never found any proof.

She considered the papers stored in the steamer trunk.

Claude mentioned the Inspector had gone through them.

Had they given him any leads? Leo would need to look at the Inspector’s own file on the murders to find the answer, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet.

“I’ve come across some of my father’s papers that have been stored away these many years, and I think it’s possible that?—”

“I need you to listen to me now, Miss Spencer.” Mr. Bloom unlaced his hands and took the glass from her, even though she’d still been holding the stem.

He then settled his palm atop of her hand, tensing his fingers into a cage.

“I like you. I think you’re a good sort, so I’m going to tell you something. ”

Deftly, he glanced over his shoulder toward where the bartender stood, filling a few snifters with whisky. He didn’t want his bartender listening, Leo deduced. She took a breath and held it, anticipating that the club owner knew something of value and was about to share it.

But then, as he spoke, a chill spooled from the base of her skull, down her spine, straight to the tips of her toes.

“The people you’re referring to haven’t forgotten about the little girl they overlooked that night.

There are some who see you as a loose end.

Right now, in their eyes, you were young.

Just a little kid who hid in a trunk and probably couldn’t remember a thing.

No real threat at all.” He spoke conversationally and softly, pausing to lean closer.

Leo sat rigid in her chair, the mistake she’d made dawning on her.

“But if you start poking around, asking questions like the one you came here to ask me, well then, it might begin to sound like you remember more than they’re comfortable with.”

Mr. Bloom lifted his coarse palm from her hand, but instead of drawing back, he brushed his knuckles down her cheek. The intimacy of it shocked her. He gripped her chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

“This here, this meeting you’re having with me, is being observed,” he said even more softly. She tried to pull away from his grip and look out toward the rest of the club, but he held on more firmly.

“Eyes on me, Miss Spencer.” He leaned forward, close enough for her to smell his cologne and to see the brown streaks radiating through his light blue irises. “If anyone asks, this here is me requesting a dance with you. Now, tell me no. Turn me down flat, and say it loudly.”

Her tongue wouldn’t function for a moment. He arched a brow, waiting. Self-preservation kicking in, Leo cleared her throat. “No.”

He frowned. “You can do better than that.”

“ No ,” she repeated loudly.

He released her chin and held up his hands as if in surrender. “If you say so,” he said, no longer whispering. Behind the bar, his bartender smirked at what he thought was his boss’s advance being rejected.

“You’re welcome to finish your drink, of course,” he said, his glib charm falling back into place. A mask, slipped on with proficient ease. “Though, I don’t think Inspector Reid would like you being here.”

Leo couldn’t stomach another sip of wine. She felt ill and shaky as she rose from her chair, ready to flee the club. “The inspector doesn’t tell me what to do, Mr. Bloom.”

“Much to his discontent, I’m sure,” he replied with a laugh. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Spencer.”