Lair of Dreams
Evie raised an eyebrow.
“The museum needed the press, and that story gave us a little razzle-dazzle. It also got me a date with a chorus girl. A blond named Sylvia. You would not believe what that girl can do with—”
“Good-bye, Sam.” Evie tried to push her way through the crowd but got stuck again. Sam followed her.
“Aww, c’mon, doll. Let’s let bygones be bygones. Did I get mad when you told them I was… how’d ya put it again?”
“A liar, a cheat, and the sort of scum the other pond scum try to swim away from?”
“That was it.” Sam looked at her with big peepers. “Great to see you again, Sheba. Say, why don’t we find some little corner and catch up over a sloe gin fizz?”
“Holy smokes!” Eyes wide, Evie pointed across the room. “Is that Buster Keaton?”
Sam whirled around. “Where?”
Quickly, Evie ducked past him and pressed through the throng. Behind her, she could hear Sam calling: “Was that nice?”
“Yes. Every time I run into him, I have to remind myself that murder is a crime.”
“I don’t know, Evil. He sure is handsome,” Henry teased.
Evie glowered. “He’s trouble. And he still owes me twenty clams.”
“Say,” Henry asked, “how about that party you went to last week at the Egyptian Palace Room? On the level: Do they really have live seals in the lobby fountain?”
“Occasionally. When the residents don’t steal them for their own bathtubs. Oh, daaarlings, next time there’s a party there, you must come!”
“Daaahlings, you maahhst cahhhme,” Theta mimicked. “Those elocution lessons are turning you into a regular princess, Evil.”
“Don’t get sore, Evil. I’d like you even if it sounded like you’d swallowed a whole bag of marbles. Just don’t forget who your friends are.”
There was a loud crash as a monkey trailing a leash knocked a vase off a table. It leaped from the bald head of a very surprised man and onto a drapery panel, where it now clung, screeching. A girl wearing a puffy feather boa pleaded with the monkey, but it would not be wooed. The animal held tight, squawking and hissing at the crowd.
“Where’d they come from?” Henry asked.
Evie shot her eyes heavenward, trying to remember. “I think they’re with a circus from Budapest. I met them in Times Square and invited them along. Say, did you hear what Sarah Snow said about Diviners?”
“Who’s Sarah Snow?” Theta said on a stream of cigarette smoke.
“Exactly my point,” Evie said, triumphant. “Well, anyway, she said Diviners were un-American is what.”
“I wouldn’t let it bother you, darlin’,” Henry said. “You’ve got bigger problems.”
“What do you mean?”
Henry jerked his head in the direction of the scowling hotel manager walking briskly toward their table.
“Miss O’Neill! What is going on here?” the hotel manager thundered.
Evie smiled brightly. “Don’t you just adore parties?”
The manager’s lip twitched. “Miss O’Neill, as the manager of the Grant Hotel, what I adore—nay, demand—is an end to this nightly chaos. You have made a mockery of a venerable New York institution, Miss O’Neill. There are reporters camped outside the premises every night just to see what fresh madness will erupt—”
“Isn’t it mahhh-velous?” Evie drew the word out. “Think of how much publicity the hotel’s getting for free!”
“This is not the sort of notoriety the Grant wants, Miss O’Neill. This behavior is intolerable. The party in the Overland Room, as well as the one currently occupying the lobby, is now over. Do I make myself clear?”
Brows knitted together in concern, Evie nodded. “Perfectly.” She positioned two fingers between her teeth and let loose a piercing whistle. “Dolls, the lobby’s become abso-tive-ly murder. We can’t stay here any longer, I’m afraid.”
The hotel manager nodded curtly in appreciation.