bartender.
“Aye.” The bartender poured the tawny golden whiskey into two short glasses, then brought them over without a second glance toward me. “Molly, you working again?”
“Sure am,” she said, taking off her coat and placing it over the empty chair between us, then pulling off a brown wig to reveal long, red curls, which she quickly whisked into a loose knot before she sat down. “I’m in a new show over at the Garrick. Come over and see me one night, why don’t you?” She flashed him a broad smile that revealed even white teeth and dimpled cheeks.
She excused herself for a brief moment.
To avoid the bartender’s unmistakable stare, I pulled my pocket watch out to check the time. A quarter ’til eleven.
A half hour remained until I had to meet Alistair again.
When Molly Hansen returned, she had changed into a green dress and washed her face of its greasepaint. I saw that her skin was remarkably good— clear and healthy, the color of fresh cream except for a sprinkling of light freckles around her nose. I decided she must be about ten years older than I— probably a year or so past forty— for although she was a handsome woman, I noted the telltale sprinkling of gray amid her red curls. She was also self-assured in a way that only comes to some women as they mature.
I took hold of my drink but waited to take a sip. Something about her prompted me to keep my guard up.
“So what’s this about?”
She inclined her head, giving me an intent gaze. “You’re not what I expected,” she said finally.
“Who—or what— led you to expect anything?”
“Just people talking.” She drained her Irish whiskey in one shot, flung her head back, and called out, saying, “Johnny, I’ll have another.”
The bartender returned with another glass, and this time he directed a worried glance to me. I gathered Molly Hansen was not normally a drinker— and he suspected I probably had something to do with her uncharacteristic indulgence tonight.
“You look familiar,” he said at last. “You’ve been in here before?”
“Don’t think so.” I returned his probing gaze with a steadylook. I’d never seen him, and I’d certainly never been to this particular bar.
He walked away, shaking his head, muttering something incomprehensible.
“You were about to explain why I’m here and how you knew to contact me.” I finally took a small sip of the whiskey. It was not my favorite drink, but on this bitter night I savored the slow burn as it went down.
Her entire frame tensed even as she forced a bright smile. “I thought I could help you out, Detective. I have information about Annie Germaine that you might find useful.”
I waited, knowing there was more to come.
Her jaw was set in determination. “I was hoping that in return, you could help me out with a favor.”
“I don’t work that way, Miss Hansen,” I said, leaning back. “And may I remind you that this is an official investigation. You’re duty-bound to tell me anything you know. Otherwise, we have a name for it: obstruction of justice.” I paused for a moment to let the words sink in.
She shook her head, smiling. “Call me Molly. And you misunderstand me, Detective. I am talking about an exchange of goodwill, nothing more.”
I misunderstood nothing. But I let it pass.
“How well did you know Miss Germaine?” I asked.
She cast a furtive glance around the bar.
“We can return to the theater to talk, if you prefer. . . .”
She laughed, a low and guttural sound. “Allow me to offer my first bit of free advice to you. If you want to learn any
real
information from me or any of my colleagues, you’ll need to getus in private, away from Mr. Iseman’s watchful eye. No one will say a word if it’s possible he may be listening.”
“Why not? He doesn’t sign their paychecks. He doesn’t even cast them in the roles they play.”
She regarded me with an indulgent look. “It’s far more than that, Detective. Don’t make
“Aye.” The bartender poured the tawny golden whiskey into two short glasses, then brought them over without a second glance toward me. “Molly, you working again?”
“Sure am,” she said, taking off her coat and placing it over the empty chair between us, then pulling off a brown wig to reveal long, red curls, which she quickly whisked into a loose knot before she sat down. “I’m in a new show over at the Garrick. Come over and see me one night, why don’t you?” She flashed him a broad smile that revealed even white teeth and dimpled cheeks.
She excused herself for a brief moment.
To avoid the bartender’s unmistakable stare, I pulled my pocket watch out to check the time. A quarter ’til eleven.
A half hour remained until I had to meet Alistair again.
When Molly Hansen returned, she had changed into a green dress and washed her face of its greasepaint. I saw that her skin was remarkably good— clear and healthy, the color of fresh cream except for a sprinkling of light freckles around her nose. I decided she must be about ten years older than I— probably a year or so past forty— for although she was a handsome woman, I noted the telltale sprinkling of gray amid her red curls. She was also self-assured in a way that only comes to some women as they mature.
I took hold of my drink but waited to take a sip. Something about her prompted me to keep my guard up.
“So what’s this about?”
She inclined her head, giving me an intent gaze. “You’re not what I expected,” she said finally.
“Who—or what— led you to expect anything?”
“Just people talking.” She drained her Irish whiskey in one shot, flung her head back, and called out, saying, “Johnny, I’ll have another.”
The bartender returned with another glass, and this time he directed a worried glance to me. I gathered Molly Hansen was not normally a drinker— and he suspected I probably had something to do with her uncharacteristic indulgence tonight.
“You look familiar,” he said at last. “You’ve been in here before?”
“Don’t think so.” I returned his probing gaze with a steadylook. I’d never seen him, and I’d certainly never been to this particular bar.
He walked away, shaking his head, muttering something incomprehensible.
“You were about to explain why I’m here and how you knew to contact me.” I finally took a small sip of the whiskey. It was not my favorite drink, but on this bitter night I savored the slow burn as it went down.
Her entire frame tensed even as she forced a bright smile. “I thought I could help you out, Detective. I have information about Annie Germaine that you might find useful.”
I waited, knowing there was more to come.
Her jaw was set in determination. “I was hoping that in return, you could help me out with a favor.”
“I don’t work that way, Miss Hansen,” I said, leaning back. “And may I remind you that this is an official investigation. You’re duty-bound to tell me anything you know. Otherwise, we have a name for it: obstruction of justice.” I paused for a moment to let the words sink in.
She shook her head, smiling. “Call me Molly. And you misunderstand me, Detective. I am talking about an exchange of goodwill, nothing more.”
I misunderstood nothing. But I let it pass.
“How well did you know Miss Germaine?” I asked.
She cast a furtive glance around the bar.
“We can return to the theater to talk, if you prefer. . . .”
She laughed, a low and guttural sound. “Allow me to offer my first bit of free advice to you. If you want to learn any
real
information from me or any of my colleagues, you’ll need to getus in private, away from Mr. Iseman’s watchful eye. No one will say a word if it’s possible he may be listening.”
“Why not? He doesn’t sign their paychecks. He doesn’t even cast them in the roles they play.”
She regarded me with an indulgent look. “It’s far more than that, Detective. Don’t make
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