Sterling had stashed the coin inside behind a pile of old jewelry. Emerald earrings, a diamond bracelet, and a sapphire ring with a giant blue cabochon Serafina had loved. All too gaudy to be anything but costume, but sentimental value made them priceless. She returned to the couch, flipping the coin like an old Hollywood gangster. Of the musical variety.
She adopted a raspy mobster accent: “Nightingale. Everybody knows ’em, fears ’em, but ain’t nobody got a clue who dey is or which gutter dey crawled outta,” she said, catching the coin. On the next flip, she missed, losing it between couch cushions.
Fernando wasn’t in a laughing mood. He fished it out, brushed stray crumbs aside, and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. “The bird’s rather twee for a murderous cabal.”
“Don’t be fooled. Cuteness is evolution’s cheapest trick. Okay, let’s put it away, we need to lighten the mood.” She snatched the coin and returned it to the fireplace. As she nudged it into its hidingspot, her ring glinted, flashing light towards the back of the compartment.
“Hey. Come here,” she said, waving him over. “Look at this.”
He squeezed his head beside hers, squinting. “Is that…”
“It might be?”
“How strong was that schnapps?”
She emptied out the remaining jewels and stored them in her bra. Then she stabbed the letter opener into the edge of the fireplace and chipped away shards of wood and green paint until the image came into view. She swiped dust away.
“Oida,” they said in imperfect unison.
It was stained green and aged, but undeniable. She pulled the coin from her bra and held it up to compare. Printed on the wallpaper Serafina had painted over decades ago was the symbol of Nightingale.
— 34 —Vierunddreißig
While Rita never forgot a story, she occasionally failed to remember she’d already told it. Sterling was there to ask about Serafina and the wallpaper and anticipated which story Rita would tell. Before she could sayNightingale, Rita dove into it. “You know how I met your aunt?”
Sterling had heard it a thousand times but was happy to do so again, so she asked how.
“It was at the same place I met you, the Eden Bar. Serafina’s date stood her up and I joked I’d be her date instead. That was scandalous then, two women canoodling. Though, I was never into girls myself.”
Rita rambled while she finished sewing a sleeve onto tonight’s gown. “Though one time we had too much champagne, and I tell you something, your aunt was the best kisser I ever knew!” she said, elbowing Sterling.
“Rita, have you ever heard of a group called Nightingale?” said Sterling.
Rita placed the needle between her lips as she readjusted the fabric and mumbled, “Did I ever tell you how I met your aunt?”
“Yes, Rita.”
Rita gave a knowing smile. “I miss when you were little, and that trick still worked.”
Sterling pulled out a stencil of the picture from her wall that she’d traced onto vellum paper. After everything that had happened, she’d left the coin hidden; it felt too dangerous. Rita squinted at the sketch.
“I’m too old. Just looks like a blur,” she said.
Sterling gave her a skeptical stare. “Nice try. I’ve seen it around, associated with Nightingale. Then I found this design on my bedroom wall. What is it? Why’d Serafina paint over it?”
Rita started working on a sash, trying to ignore Sterling. She drew a long thread through the fabric. “It’s nothing. Some stories you don’t need to hear.”
“Rita, this is important. They’re connected to Hedy’s murder.”
“Listen, your aunt loved causing trouble, and you saw how it ended. I’m not dragging you into this.”
“Into what? What’s worse than what’s already happened?”
“No, I can’t. Go. Leave me be. I’ve gotta rest before my show tonight,” she said, backing Sterling towards the door.
Sterling grabbed a nearby elephant and held him up, waving him overhead. “Don’t make me hurt Mr. Ganesh!”
“Let him go!” cried Rita, snatching her elephant. “Fine.” She marched to her bed, caressing the figurine’s porcelain ears. “Listen, I have no idea about this Nightingale thing. Your bedroom used to be for guests, named after some character in that Schnitzel book.”
