By now, Macey was almost limping from a blister at the back of her right foot. That would teach her to wear new shoes without giving them a chance to stretch out first. And there seemed to be another sore spot developing over the big toe on her left foot.
Double drat. That was going to make it a little painful dancing at The Gyro tomorrow evening. She'd be hobbling instead of shimmying, which would make for a long night.
She rounded the corner onto Quincy Street in order to avoid the insistent shill and his cups, and plowed into a man standing there.
"Oh, pardon me," she said as he reached out to catch her arm and steady her.
"I'm sorry, miss. " He stepped away from where he'd been looking at a sign posted in a bulletin board on the brick wall. "I should have been watching. " Beneath his fedora, he had strong, dark brows and blue-gray eyes that were sharp and intelligent. They seemed to take in every detail of her with one sw
eep.
"I wasn't watching either. " Instead of continuing on, Macey took the opportunity to give her sore feet a rest.
And aside from that, he was an attractive man, probably in his late twenties. What little she could see of his hair appeared dark under the shadow of his hat, and he had a solid, square chin that looked as if it had been a day since it was shaved. Taller than she-but what man wasn't?-he wore a dun-colored trench coat that had a button hanging loosely from its threads. Because he wasn't wearing gloves, she could see his ink-stained hands were well formed and sturdy. No wedding ring.
Trying to give the impression she was waiting for a bus or for the traffic to clear so she could cross the street, Macey glanced at the board to see what had caught his interest.
There were some flyers announcing a sale at Thomson's Furniture along with several posters promoting a jazz trio at The Leonine, a vaudeville act at Prego's on Vashner, and some others that were faded and torn. "Planning to go see The Armbruster Trio?" she asked.
"Not at all. I was actually looking at this one. " He stabbed a finger at a hand-lettered sign off to the side. And then. . . you hunt vampires. sly
Its ink had run, but Macey could still read it. Missing: Jennie Fallon. Last seen March 29, 5 o'clock, at Vashner and Michigan.
The description of the young woman of twenty was partly obliterated by weather and damp, but Macey had seen enough. March 29 was more than a week ago. Her stomach soured and she looked up.
"Do you know her?"
"No. " He snatched the paper from its mooring, crumpling it into a ball. "And no one ever will again. Her body was found this morning. "
"Oh no," she breathed, her insides tight. The woman had been her age. "Oh, that's terrible. What happened to her?"
His mouth drew up flat. "You'd best be taking care, miss," he said, and for the first time she noticed a bit of the Irish in his voice. "It's not safe for a young woman out alone, especially after dark. I don't know you, but you look just like the sort of girl Jennie Fallon was: young, pretty, one that likes to go out dancing in the clubs and getting into trouble in the speakeasies-"
"I beg your pardon," she said, suddenly a little nervous. Was he a policeman? "Why on earth would you think I know anything about speakeasies?"
He looked at her, his eyes a more intense blue now-steady and knowing. "You can be saving your innocent protestations for the cops, miss. I'm not here to condemn or judge. "
"Well, I nev-"
"Her body," he continued, speaking over Macey's breathless indignation, "was mutilated. Throat and chest torn to ribbons. "
"My God, that's horrible. " Her annoyance evaporated. "The poor, poor woman. Do they know what caused something like that?"
"I can only assume that by 'they,' you mean the authorities. " All trace of his brogue was gone. "As if they have time to investigate the disappearance of a poor young woman when there are gangsters to be cared for. But no, no one is certain what caused such a terrible death. "
"Maybe it was a mad dog or some other wild animal. Or. . . or. . . a vampire. " This last came out as little more than a mumble, but he must have heard.
"A what?" He was staring at her with the same shock she felt coursing through her own body, along with mortification that such a ludicrous comment had come from her lips. "Did you say vampire?"
"I. . . . " Macey fumbled for an explanation. She had no idea why those syllables had come out of her mouth. "I was just. . . joking," she said lamely. "It was a silly thing to say. " She shook her head, miserable and mortified. As it tended to do, her mouth had taken on a life of its own, speaking before her brain caught up. She had vampires in her reading, vampires in her dreams, and now vampires reared their ugly fangs in everydayBy the time shes blood conversation.
He was looking at her differently now. In a way that made her feel prickly and nervous inside her skin. "Joking, were you? I wonder why you'd be joking about something like that. "
Just then-and Macey was to be forever grateful for the interruption-someone called, "Grady!"
They both turned to see a uniformed police officer approaching. It was obvious he'd been hailing the man next to her.
Macey was delighted to have the opportunity to edge away as the policeman, who was quite a bit older, walked up. He looked at her, then at Grady, and said, "Is everything all right here? Miss? Is this man bothering you?"