Pin took Glory’s wrist, gently pulled Glory’s hand to her, and kissed her palm. “Thank you, Glory.”

Glory smiled. “You look cute.”

They both jumped as someone knocked at the door and yelled, “Glory? Louella wants you to come look over your new lines this minute!”

“Be right there,” Glory called, and pulled the wig from Pin’s head. “Bring them back as soon as you can,” she said in a low voice. “Here.”

She handed Pin a brown paper sack, and Pin stuffed the wig and dress inside. “Tomorrow,” she promised Glory, though that was probably another lie. “Oh, and wait…”

She dug into her pocket and withdrew the Helmar packet Max had given her. “Can you give this to Lionel?”

Glory hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

She took the packet, opened it, and tapped out one of the cigarettes. Sniffing it, she pinched the end so that golden-brown flakes rained down on her open palm. Brow furrowed, she tore the cigarette paper and tipped its contents into her palm.

“Well, lookee here.” She extended her hand to Pin. “It’s not dope at all—it’s just plain old tobacco. I wonder why he’d do that?”

Pin’s heart raced. Because he doesn’t care anymore what happens next. She tried to memorize everything she could: Glory’s hair, her eyes, her smooth hands; the way she appeared so tall for someone who was barely five feet.

“Thank you again,” she said. “Glorious.”

Footsteps echoed from the hall, heading in their direction.

“Good luck, Pin,” said Glory, and pushed her toward the door.

Chapter 86

Chapter 86

FRANCIS TOOK A brief dinner break, alone at a table in the Casino Restaurant. He had little appetite for his pork chop and potatoes, but was grateful for the second cup of coffee that the waiter brought him without being asked.

He’d looked for Bennie on his rounds of the park but hadn’t yet seen him, and he’d gleaned little additional information from the other policemen or newsmen he’d spoken to. No one seemed to believe that Lionel Gerring was guilty, but no one seemed in a hurry to see him released, either, not until another suspect was brought in, or another murder occurred. The newsmen were content to wait, at least for another day or two, and embellish the facts in the meantime.

The police, on the other hand, were increasingly exhausted and irritable, prone to sudden angers. It was a mood Francis recognized and feared, not for himself but for visitors to the park. Drunks were an easy target. So were colored people, and anyone whose accent or appearance identified them as a newcomer to the city. He waved away the waiter’s offer of a free dessert and returned to his rounds.