Evie sat straight up. She blotted at her eyes with her fingers and pulled on her gloves again. She opened her door a crack. “I’m retiring for the evening,” she announced. Very carefully, she pushed open her window and stepped out onto the fire escape. If there was one truth Evie had learned in her short life, it was that forgiveness was easier to seek than permission. She didn’t plan to ask for either one.
Several floors below, Mabel screamed as Evie came in through her bedroom window, saying, “Pipe down. It’s only me.”
“I thought you might be the Pentacle Killer, come to slit my throat.”
“You and Unc. Sorry to disappoint you.” Evie smoothed her dress into place.
“Mabel darling, what’s the matter?” Mrs. Rose called from the other side of the door.
“Nothing, Mother! I thought I saw a spider, but I was mistaken,” Mabel yelled. “I thought I was meeting you upstairs,” she whispered to Evie.
“Change of plans. Unc’s forbidden me from going out. I swear, he’s behaving just like a parent!” Evie scrutinized Mabel’s plain white organza dress. “Gee whiz, did you lose your sheep, Pie Face?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You need lipstick.”
“I do not need lipstick.”
Evie shrugged. “Suit yourself, Mabesie. I can’t fight two battles tonight.”
Evie and Mabel tiptoed toward the door. The Roses were hosting another of their political meetings—something about the appeal of Sacco and Vanzetti, the anarchists. Mrs. Rose called to them. “Hello, Evangeline.”
“Hello, Mrs. Rose.”
“It’s very nice of your uncle to take you girls to a poetry reading. It’s important to tend to your education rather than fritter away time in bourgeois, immoral pastimes such as dancing in nightclubs.”
Evie slid her eyes in Mabel’s direction. She fought hard to keep the smile from her lips.
“We have to go, Mother. Wouldn’t want to be late for the reading,” Mabel said and dragged Evie away.
“Guess I’m not the only one on the lam tonight,” Evie said as they ran for the elevator.
Mabel grinned. “Guess you’re not.”
“And then I said to him, ‘The pleasure was all yours.’ I said it just like that, too. I had the last word,” Evie said, recounting Sam Lloyd’s first visit to the museum.
“Sure ya did.” Theta laughed. “You shouldn’t let that Sam fella get under your skin.”
“Did I say he was under my skin?”
“No. I can see you’ve really let it go, Evil,” Theta said, and Henry smirked.
The four of them had taken a taxi to Harlem, which Theta had been nice enough to pay for, and they were making their way to a nightclub called the Hotsy Totsy, which was supposed to be the latest thing.
“It’s over. Finished. The bum’s rush to him,” Evie said, brushing away the wind for effect.
“Good, because we’re here. And I’m pretty sure the password isn’t Sam or Lloyd.”
Henry knocked a quick rhythm—bum-da-BUM-bum—and a moment later, a door cracked open. A man in a white dinner jacket and bow tie smiled. “Evenin’, folks. This is a private residence.”
“We’re pals of the Sultan of Siam,” Henry said.
“What is the sultan’s favorite flower?”
“Edelweiss sure is nice.”
A moment later, the door opened wide. “Right this way.”