The lobby of Arthur’s building seemed even more cavernous than usual, the furniture fancier and everything spotless and glinting with gold. A phonograph played a record in the corner, something pretty with violins.
The doorman motioned for Rory to follow him over to the side of the lobby, where a white man with brown hair and a mustache stood behind a high marble counter. Behind him was a cabinet with a combination lock.
“He’s trying to reach Mr. Kenzie,” the doorman said to the man behind the counter. “He gets one call.”
Rory snorted. “What, is this the big house now?”
The doorman’s lips thinned. “Johnson here will assist.”
Rory rolled his eyes at the man’s back as he set his grocery bag on the counter, trying unsuccessfully to push the loaf of bread deep enough into the bag that the bite marks weren’t obvious. “Can you get me the Waldorf Astoria?”
Johnson raised an eyebrow but picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Good evening, we’re looking for Mr. Arthur Kenzie. There’s someone who’d like to speak with him, a Mr.—” He looked at Rory expectantly.
“Brodigan.”
Johnson’s gaze flicked over Rory’s eyes and olive skin, but all he said was, “And what’s your business?”
“I’m his—antiques dealer. Ace’ll know me,” Rory said, trying to sound confident.
Johnson relayed the information and waited several moments before he suddenly passed the phone to Rory. “He’s in a suite upstairs. He agreed to your call and they’re transferring you now.”
Rory nearly dropped the receiver.“Upstairs—?”
A familiar voice came from the earpiece. “Rory?”
Rory jammed the phone to his ear and only just managed to keep his volume in check as he said in shock, “What are you doing in a suite—?”
“Sharing a single bottle of wine with six Englishmen.” Arthur dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m glad you called.”
The words were heartfelt, touched with longing, and Rory could hear several male voices in the background. Rory’s face flushed hot with shame.You jerk, he chastised himself.You gonna trust him or not?
He softened his voice. “You holding up all right?”
“Not really.” Arthur sounded uncharacteristically grouchy. “I thought I’d be done by now.” In the whisper, he said again, “Are you calling from the teahouse?”
Rory coughed. “Where else would I be calling from?”
Arthur sighed. It sounded strained and tired. “That’s good. I’m sorry, I’m just—worried.”
“Hey, you don’t gotta worry about me,” Rory said. “You just worry about your big brother.”
“Oh, I’m worried about him too. You’ll find I can worry about several people at once. It’s a talent of mine.”
That put a small smile on Rory’s lips. “I’m fine—”
He cut the words off as footsteps headed toward the counter. He glanced up from the phone, watching as the doorman came over and spoke to Johnson in a harried whisper. He caught the wordsdidn’t get his newspaperanddemanding something be done.
A moment later, the two of them crossed the lobby with hurried steps, leaving Rory alone at the counter with the big cabinet behind it.
Rory eyed the unguarded cabinet. He’d been in a few boardinghouses in his time, and he’d bet a fancy place like this still kept its maintenance keys locked behind the counter in easy reach.
“You do whatever you gotta do, Ace.” The cabinet had a combination lock. Perfect. “I can take care of myself.”
“You’re very friendly with your antiques dealer.”
Arthur startled, missing the cradle with the phone receiver. Christ, he’d been so moping he hadn’t even noticed Wesley leaning against the wall, watching him.
He hung up the phone, correctly this time. “Mr. Brodigan is a man of many talents.”
