I blow a limp strand of hair from my face. “Are you free tonight? I don’t want to wait until next week.”
Mariano sighs. “I’m not, actually. I have a report due, and the office has been so crazy that I can’t seem to get it done. But I could probably help you chase David Barrow next week, if you want.”
I tap my fingers on Father’s desk. Next week is awfully far away. “How does a person get in? Do you need a password still, or is that not a thing anymore?”
“Piper.” He says my name as a warning.
Mother’s words float back to me. Trust yourself. I can’t wait a whole week. I just can’t. “I won’t even talk to him, I promise. I just want to . . . observe, I guess. It’s a hunch.”
“And your hunch can’t sit safely at home for a few days?”
“I’ll take Emma with me—”
Mariano snorts. “Pick a different person. Someone male and scary. Is Walter in town yet?”
“Yes, actually. Or he will be within the hour.”
“If you can talk him into going with you, fine. So long as you’re not planning to approach David Barrow. You’re not, right?”
“I told you, I just want to watch him.”
Mariano sighs. “You won’t be the easiest girl to care about, will you?”
“I’m afraid you’re in no position to complain, detective. Now tell me how to get in.”
There’s silence, and for a moment I think Mariano won’t help.
“You won’t need a password.” His tone is resigned. “You’re a pretty girl, so all you’ll need to say is ‘Joe sent me.’ There’s a Chinese laundry on the east side of the old saloon. Go through there. And call me at the office when you get home. And don’t stay out late.”
“Okay, thank you.” Feminine chatter floats down the hall to me. The other bridesmaids must be here. “I have to go.”
“So do I. Be careful.”
“It’s more likely that I’ll die from boredom during my last dress fitting than I will from being out tonight.”
Peels of girlish laughter reach me in Father’s office. This afternoon may be destined to be a complete waste of my time, but I don’t intend for my evening to be.
“This is ridiculous,” Walter mutters as we navigate crowded Lincoln Avenue. “Hey, don’t walk ahead of me.”
“Then pick up the pace. Your legs are twice as long as mine. Surely you can walk faster than that.”
“Forgive me for not rushing on this insane errand of yours.” But Walter catches up and takes a protective hold of my arm. “You’ve never been in a place like this, Pippy. It’ll be dirty. It’ll be loud. There will be lots of drunks.”
“Which is why I’m not going alone.” My voice sounds brave, but Walter’s words have me shaking in my core. In my beaded sleeveless dress, my diadem, and made-up face, I’m miserably far out of my comfort zone. Snitching a pastry from the teacher’s room within the ivy-covered walls of Presley’s is vastly different than sneaking into a speakeasy.
The boarded-up windows of the old saloon come into view. And there, just as Mariano said, is the Chinese laundry next door.
Walter stops walking and holds me in place there at the corner of Lincoln and Belden. Pedestrians—mostly other couples in their Friday night finest—stream around us. “Just let it go.” His eyes plead. “What can David Barrow tell us that’s so urgent, really? Lydia’s already—” Walter swallows the word. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want.” My words are ice. Here I’m already plenty nervous, and now I have to drag Walter in there with me. I pull my arm out of his grasp and don’t allow myself to look over my shoulder to see if he’s following.
To my relief, he is.
He holds open the door to the Chinese laundry and practically steps on my heels following me in. Inside, the air hums with the hiss and clank of washers and the chatter of foreign working women. The pungent scent of lye makes my head throb.
The man at the counter—olive skinned, with broad shoulders and beefy arms—stares at us.
“Um, hi.” My thumb runs down the chain of my locket and back up. “Joe sent us?” The words curl into an unintentional question, and I wish I could snatch them back and try again.
But the bouncer jerks a thumb over his shoulder, toward a hall. “That way, doll face. Follow the others.”
When I force myself to smile and say, “Thank you,” I receive a wink.
Walter presses a hand into my lower back as I follow the echo of footsteps down the hall, and down the staircase. In the basement of the laundry, we find groups of giggling college girls, men talking loud and boisterously, and couples decked out to dance, all waiting to cram into a small elevator that will carry us back up to the old saloon. Most of the girls are dressed similar to me—sparkling, sleeveless dresses and painted mouths. At least I look okay.
“Let’s make this as fast as we can.” Walter’s mouth is close to my ear. “This is no place for you to linger, Pippy.”