A Cozy Little Murder: A Violet Carlyle Cozy Historical Mystery (The Violet Carlyle Mysteries Book 24

painfully. I just need a woman for this bit. Rita could come too.”
“Are you going to explain what I need to do?” Vi asked, glancing between the two of them with surprise.
“You are not going to get Vi into trouble,” Beatrice said firmly.
“That’s what I said,” Smith replied.
“That means no arrests.”
Smith met Beatrice’s gaze and whatever she saw in there made her add, “Or chased by men with weapons.”
“I can’t imagine that happening,” Smith said.
Beatrice was not comforted. “Vi is important to me.”
“I know.”
“A friend.”
“I know.”
“Like a sister.”
“Beatrice—”
Was that an edge of impatience? Vi bit down on her bottom lip to hide a reaction and watched the two of them shoot replies back and forth like a tennis match.
“You’ll take care of her and Rita, just like you would me.”
“No,” Smith said. “But I’ll take care of them all the same. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t come and get you for something I thought might be dangerous.”
Beatrice’s scoff was, Vi thought, very, very interesting.
Smith stood. “Come on then, Vi. If you’ve the courage—” There was a pure challenge in that tone and Vi rose, almost incapable of ignoring it.
“Smith, I mean it,” Beatrice repeated.
His answer was quite a heated kiss and Vi blushed to see it. Beatrice, however, flushed so deeply that Vi had to laugh. Before she could do anything to assure Beatrice, Smith took her by the arm and dragged her from the room.
“You don’t need your wedding rings,” Smith said. “Change into something flashier and cheaper.”
Vi glanced at Rita, who stared at her and then slowly turned her gaze to Smith.
“I’m not sure either of us have something cheap and flashy.”
Smith scowled.
“Does Beatrice?” Vi asked curiously.
Smith didn’t reply, and instead waved them out the door after they handed Hargreaves their wedding rings. The butler stared at them with concern while they got into the nondescript auto that Smith drove.
“What are we doing?” Vi asked.
“Just providing a distraction,” Smith said. “Once I have my man, take my auto and go home. Don’t wait for me.”
There was just enough actual firmness in his voice that Vi realized Jack was going to murder her if she survived. Smith stopped the auto near a secondhand store, and he led them in, digging through the racks before he found two quite jarring dresses. Vi and Rita changed in the back of the store and Smith nodded once, throwing money on the counter and then dragging them with him.
“What’s the hurry?” Rita asked.
“The bloke I’m looking for is a fellow too aware of his surroundings. He likes the ladies. He’ll turn his attention to you two, I’ll come in from behind, and when I have him—leave. Immediately.”
“You would have used Beatrice for this?” Vi demanded.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
“But—” Vi started, feeling quite protective.
Smith looked at her, snorted, and then said, “She’s been in more trouble with you and your shenanigans than she’s ever been with me. She’ll be fine.”
“Why are you so certain?” Rita demanded, trying to tuck herself more deeply into her dress. The front was so low-cut and Rita was so well-endowed, there was no way for her to fully cover herself.
“I’ve taught her some things, haven’t I? I’ve armed her, haven’t I? The gent who owns the pub will keep an eye on you and out of harm’s way. Just don’t stay.”
“He’s a friend of yours?” Vi asked, curiously. Her guess was that Smith didn’t really have friends. In fact, Vi suspected, that beyond their own group, Smith didn’t have anyone at all. She suspected that he’d never have become actual friends with them but for Beatrice.
“He knows better than to cross me,” Smith said darkly. He backed the auto to a stop at the end of a narrow lane behind a pub and then walked with them through one of the nastiest alleys Vi had ever entered. She tiptoed daintily through the refuse, listening to Smith’s dark laugh. “Don’t leave through the front,” he warned. “There’s an exit behind the bar, take it without asking anything else. The auto is parked behind it.”
Rita nodded, taking Vi’s hand.
“There’s going to be a man in the back in a booth. He’ll be smoking; have a drink or several in front of him. Stumble in, be loud, giggle as if you’re drunk, and slowly make your way towards him.”
Rita’s fingers dug a little more deeply.
“All you need to do is keep his attention on you.”
Smith nodded once, left them, and disappeared. Vi glanced at Rita and then reached out and opened the door of the pub. As she did, she let out a loud giggle that grated on her own ears.
“Come on, luvie.” Vi laughed loudly, dragging Rita in with her. They wound their arms together and Rita’s laugh was stilted, but no one seemed to notice when there was all that creamy flesh showing.
Vi pretended to stumble as she approached the bar and then jerked her eyes away from the bartender. Directly behind the man was the pretty Smith. He leaned low, disappearing behind the bar as Rita gaily called, “A French 75, my good man.”
The bartender snorted. “I’ve got whiskey, gin, and beer.”
Rita leaned back, gasping. “But I want a French 75.” Her voice was loud, grating, and whiny. They had the attention of every man in the bar on them. Rita laughed into her hand, wiping away a tear, and then she stumbled to the side, slipping into the booth of the fellow who Smith wanted distracted. “Don’t you like a French 75?”
The man snorted, but his gaze was fixed on Rita’s chest until Vi slipped in beside her. Vi placed her chin on Rita’s shoulder and said, “I bet he likes them. They’re fizzy!” The word was high-pitched and both of them laughed until Smith’s hand darted out and he hauled the oversized bloke from the booth.
The man must have rivaled Jack in sheer bulk, though he was more fat than muscle. Vi found that she screamed even when she knew Smith was going to do something.