Well, that explained why no one had come to investigate her screams and the sounds of struggle. "What happened?"
"A man came through on as about ten o'clock last night and said as how we all had to vacate the building for the night. He claimed it was a gas main leak, but I'm sure he was lying. I think it was just a cover-up for a gangster shoot-out. " Mrs. G leaned closer-either for confidentiality purposes, or to get a better look inside the apartment.
Macey was certain it was the latter. The chill at the back sly, and she tensed a little when her landlady sniffed experimentally. Shifting to block the doorway as much as possible, she replied, "A gas main leak?"
"That's what he said. Once I let him in, he even posted notices on the doors of each apartment. Said we could return after six o'clock in the morning. Now how would they know the leak would be fixed by then?"
Macey didn't find it necessary to mention there'd been no notice on her door. A little shiver ran down her spine.
But Mrs. Gutchinson didn't seem to notice. She waved her large-knuckled hand in Macey's face. "As clean as the nose on my face, it warn't no gas main leak. I didn't smell it, and my nose always knows. I've suspected that man across the street is involved in something illegal since the moment I set eyes on him, and I wager the agents were coming in to arrest him. They didn't want anyone to get caught in the crossfire. " The fact that her eyes sparkled behind their heavy glasses suggested she wouldn't have minded being caught in the crossfire at all.
"I see. Well, thank you for the information. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough whether your suspicions are correct. Have a nice day, Mrs. G. " She started to close the door and found it blocked by a well-placed black-shoed toe.
She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
"Late night, I see," Mrs. G said, sniffing as she looked pointedly at her tenant's robe. Macey gripped the collar to hold it high and in place. "Now, you don't have a young man in there, do you, Macey Denton? You know I don't allow those sorts of goings-on here. My Fred would roll over in his grave if he thought there was fornication happening under the roof of his parents' old house!"
"No, Mrs. G, of course I don't have a young man in here. " Macey made her expression as innocent as possible.
"It's one thing to go dancing at those music clubs," her landlady barreled on, "or joyriding in those new-fangled closed cars-but drinking spirits and indulging in immoral practices is not to be tolerated. " She pointed a finger at Macey. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am, of course. Thank you so much for checking on me, Mrs. Gutchinson. " She began to ease the door closed. Then she remembered. "Oh, could I possibly use your telephone? Flora and I-" She stopped. "There was a fire at the club last night and I lost Flora in the ruckus. Could I call her just to make sure she's gotten home all right? You can add the cost to my rent. "
To her surprise, Mrs. G agreed without any further questions or demands. Or maybe the old bat thought she'd find out more information about her tenant by eavesdropping on the phone conversation.
But if that was her plan, it didn't work out. Macey called the main number of Flora's boarding house, and the landlady answered. "Flora? I ain't seen her since yesterday. "
Macey's stomach dropped. "Truly? There was a-" She glanced over her shoulder and saw Mrs. G carefully adjusting the figurines in her china cabinet-within close earshot. "There was a fire and we lost each other. "
"She mighta come home. She mighta not. She don't always check in with me. But she ain't here now. "
That didn't really mean anything, as Macey well knew. Mrs. G might be nosey and directive, but Flora's landlady was mean, and a drunkard who made her own hooch in a basement distillery and hardly remembered what she did or said from one day to th
e next. Flora did her best to avoid the woman whenever possible. "Would you have her call me or send word if you see her?"
"Call you? On my phone? Why, I'm-"
Macey listened to her rant for a few seconds, then hung up the phone. She was still feeling jittery and nervous, but told herself not to worry-at least not yet. Surely if something had happened to Flora, Jimmy would know. He was the next of kin-at least, here in Chicago. He would have come to tell Macey. Maybe Flora was really out looking for a job, like she said she would do today. Or maybe she was just not answering the door to her despised landlady. Macey sighed, trying not to be too concerned. Flora needed more than a job. She needed to move somewhere nicer, with a decent landlady.
"Thanks Mrs. G. I've got to get back upstairs. I was just getting ready to wash up because I have to go into the library today. Dr. Morgan scheduled me overtime," she lied.
The landlady sniffed, but apparently an obligation at her place of employment was a good enough excuse for Macey to leave without further interrogation. "Very well, then. I'll be sure to tell you if anything else happens. "
I'm sure you will. "Thank you so much, Mrs. G. "
When Macey got back into her flat, she looked longingly at her bed. But sliding back into it wasn't an option. The old bat would be peering out her lace-curtained window (lace allowed for less obvious spying than calico or linen) to make certain Macey actually left for work.
Aside from that, she couldn't stay cloistered in her apartment all day. At the very least she had to try and find out if Flora and Chelle and Dottie were safe. And she had to try and find The Silver Chalice again and speak to Monsieur Vioget. Clearly, there was some mistake about her and who she was, and until she straightened things out, she could be in danger of more terrifying and unwanted visitors.
She just hoped there was a way to put an end to the misunderstanding quickly and permanently.
A short time later, Macey was arranging a white crocheted cloche hat over her mess of short curls when someone knocked on her door.
Flora!
She turned and started. "Just a minute," she called, snatching up a white scarf that matched her hat. After arranging the scarf to hide the wounds on her neck, she swiped on a bit of pink lipstick. Like most of her generation, Mrs. G didn't approve of rouge or lipstick, but it was a light enough shade so as not to invite criticism. She hoped.
Then Macey picked up her handbag and a light wrap and started to the door. At least if it was Mrs. G, she'd be able to make the excuse she was on her way out and didn't have time to talk.