Lelandi shook her head. “They think they still do.” She slipped out of her sweater and unfastened her bra. She’d never thought she’d wear a corset again after she’d ditched hers in the Victorian Age.
Lelandi fingered the gowns and pulled out a brilliant blue satin one.
Silva dangled a pair of garters. “Remember these?”
“Nobody will know what I wear under the gown.”
Silva smiled. “Darien will.”
“I bet he doesn’t dress up for these occasions.”
“Ha!” Silva said. “He’s the one who insisted on it. And he was the one who started Pirate’s Day. I swear he was an ancient Viking, but he isn’t old enough. Here are your drawers.”
“Crotchless. Those were the days.” Lelandi laughed.
Silva slipped a sleeveless, knee-length cotton chemise over Lelandi’s head. She lifted a robin’s egg blue satin corset, heavily boned with whalebone out of the drawer.
Lelandi folded her arms. “Not the corset.”
“Got to have something to hold you up. You know what they say about women who don’t wear their corsets.”
“They’re loose women, but…”
Silva laced up the ties, but not too tightly. Then she pulled the crinoline cage out and opened it up. “Better than the five or six petticoats we used to wear to give our skirts shape.” She slipped a camisole over Lelandi’s head.
“I remember how long it took us to dress.”
Silva fitted a simple petticoat over the frame. “And how we needed help getting into all this. For most, it didn’t matter, but for us, trying to shed our clothes when the moon first made its appearance…” She shook her head. “What a chore. I ripped more petticoats trying to ditch them.” She layered an intricately embroidered petticoat over the plain one. “Now for the finale.” She helped Lelandi on with the gown.
The neckline dipped low, the mere strap of a sleeve rested off the shoulders, and Lelandi felt more exposed than usual. “Do you have anything that’s cut a little higher?”
“Nope,” Silva said with a knowing smirk. “Besides, for serving in the tavern, it seems appropriate.”
“Ha! They’re Victorian ballroom gowns.” Lelandi fingered a peach one. “Not what the serving wenches would have worn.”
Silva pulled the peach gown out. “High-classed tavern in the New World.”
Lelandi helped Silva dress and they pinned their hair up, then fastened hats covered in feathers to each other’s hair. “We’ll skip the gloves,” Silva said. “I tried them last year, but spilled a tray of customers’ drinks, and Sam said enough with the authenticity of the period.”
Behind the counter, Sam was pouring drinks, wearing a swallowtail coat and black satin knee breeches tight over high boots.
“Wow, Sam, you sure look dashing.” He gave Lelandi a broad smile. Doc Mitchell was wearing a dinner coat without tails and a satin vest. He tipped his head in greeting. Lelandi smiled back at him. “You, too, Doc. I feel like I’ve definitely traveled back in time.” Especially since the place still seemed part of the Victorian Age.
“Ladies.” Sam kissed each of their hands in succession. “You look divine. But if Darien knew how striking Lelandi looked in that blue gown, he’d send her home.”
“Here’s hoping no one will spill the beans.” Silva motioned to the glasses stacked underneath the bar. “Bring them out and I’ll fill them.”
Sam motioned to Mitchell to open the door. The crowd surged forward and within minutes, the place was filled with humans and lupus garous. Laughter and conversation quickly filled the silence.
Dressed in a tweed suit, Joe Kelly, the miner who’d paid for her bottled water the first time she’d been here, walked up to the bar with a smile. This time he was clean, not a speck of grime on his baby-round face.
His gaze focused on her low-cut bodice, which sent a prickle of anxiety sparking across her skin. No matter how many times she’d tried to pull the bodice higher when she crouched to get glasses from beneath the bar, the darned thing wouldn’t budge. And Sam had caught her in the act every time.
“Can I have a beer?” Joe asked.
“Sure.” Lelandi filled a glass.
“You look a lot like your sister.”
Triplets often did, she wanted to say. “You were her friend?”
His eyes darkened and his mouth curved down.
He didn’t like being thought of as Larissa’s friend?
Maybe he’d stalked her and she’d turned him down.
Maybe he’d hired the killer or did the job himself.
He lifted his gaze slowly. “Will you… leave with me? I… I don’t want you to get hurt, too.”
She assumed he’d cared for Larissa. A gut instinct.
“Do you know what happened to my sister?”
Sam moved closer to Lelandi. He didn’t look at her, just continued pouring drinks, but he had no reason to close in on her, except to hear what was being said. For her protection? Or was there more at stake?
Joe slid Lelandi a piece of paper. She considered stuffing it in her bodice, but when Trevor showed interest in the note, she opened it. Joe bowed his head and took his beer back to his table.
The paper was blank. Trevor seized it and Joe gave her a satisfied smile. The deputy shot Joe a blistering look. Joe lifted a shoulder.
Trevor asked Lelandi, “What did he say to you?”
“Why don’t you ask Sam? He’s been eavesdropping.”
Sam gave her a reserved smile.
Trevor’s expression darkened. “Because I’m asking you.
”
Having dealt with his kind before in her pack, she shrugged off his attempt at intimidation. Given a little power, it would go straight to their heads.
“He wanted a beer. I gave him one. He worried for my safety. Considering what happened the last time I left this tavern, his concern probably is justified. Oh, and he said I look like my sister. No real revelation there.” She raised a brow, waiting for Trevor’s response.
He glanced at Sam who nodded, confirming she’d spoken the truth. The deputy crumpled the note and tossed it on the bar, then walked off. Before Lelandi could grab the note, Sam did. Why? Did he think there was some secret communiqué written on the paper in invisible ink?
Sam shoved the note in his pocket. She hoped if Joe had written anything to her in secret, he wouldn’t get in trouble for it. Unless he had a hand in her sister’s death. As much as she thought he was okay, she couldn’t rule out anyone yet.
The stocky bitch who’d pulled Lelandi’s hair in the restroom the night she was shot sidled up to the bar.
Silva was carrying a tray of drinks to a table, Sam was filling more glasses, and Lelandi set more drinks on another tray, trying to ignore Angelina.
“Got you tending bar, I see. Earning your keep?” Angelina snarled. “Three bullets weren’t enough to keep you away, were they? What will it take?”
Chapter 15
LELANDI WANTED TO SHUT ANGELINA’S MOUTH FOR HER AS she leaned haughtily against the bar. In mixed company, lupus garous were careful about what they revealed. But this woman was too angry to care.
“Three bullet wounds?” a blonde human female asked, her blue eyes round. She wore jeans, snow boots, and a tight-fitting ski sweater that showed off her ample breasts while she sat on a heavy-duty parka—not into the Victorian-era festivities it appeared. “She’s not the one everyone is talking about, is she? The one people said looked like death had claimed her?”
“Superficial wounds.” Lelandi gave the lupus garou bitch a warning look.
“You should have died.” Angelina grabbed a glass of Coke off the counter, and took a seat with Ritka and Hosstene. Guess Hosstene had found someone else to man her costume rental booth for the day.
“Angelina’s a pain in the ass.” Silva left the empty tray on the counter and grabbed another full one. “It’s rumored she fears tackling you again.” She carried the tray to a table.
“My name’s Carol Wood.” The blonde stuck her hand out.
Lelandi’s parents had taught her not to make friends with humans. Close human involvement could cause a world of trouble—period. In all these years, she had heeded their advice and was thankful for it. The woman reminded her of a reporter, eager for a headline that would propel her into an overnight news sensation. Lelandi wiped off her hands on a dish towel and shook the woman’s han
“I love your costume. I didn’t realize people were dressing up. Next year, I’ll get something. But an early snow’s coming so I was dressed for that.”
The weatherman had said nothing about an early snow, although Lelandi and her kind could smell it coming. She wondered how this woman knew.
Carol took a seat at the bar. “Chablis, please. So you’re…
Larissa, right? The sister of Darien’s deceased wife?”
“Yes, but I’m Lelandi. My sister was Larissa.”
Lelandi moved away from the woman, but caught the eye of a dark-haired guy sipping a soda, watching every move she made. He wasn’t wearing a costume either, just a sweater and turtleneck and a pair of denims. But it was the intrigued way he observed her that gave her pause. She took a deep breath and breathed in his scent. A gray. And he’d been listening to her conversation with Carol.
His expression remained serious, and he finally set his glass down and leaned against the bar closer to her. Joe raised up out of his chair, but one of his companions seized his arm and shook his head. His face scowling, Joe retook his seat.
“Nothing is as it seems, miss. Just watch your step.”
The man’s voice was friendly, but dark.
Trevor came up behind him and growled low, “Move along.”
The man’s lips rose in a coy way, then he bowed his head to Lelandi, and took his glass and headed to one of the tables.
“Who is that?” Lelandi asked Sam in a hushed voice.