Read Online Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett - Free Book Online Page B

in his study. He barely said another word, just handed her some bills from his pocket—who carries around that much cash?—then clammed up when his housekeeper came in the room.
    â€œYou haven’t heard from him since,” she murmured to herself as she tugged a beaded green gown over her head. It was a straight-cut gown with a dropped waist, a nice fit, but it had a line of buttons in the back that she couldn’t reach. Should’ve thought of that before she put it on. Maybe one of the chorus girls would help her. A knock sounded on the door. She peered around the side of the screen to see Velma’s head poking into the room.
    â€œOh, good. You’re dressed,” the club owner said.
    â€œActually, I’m glad you’re here, because I need help reaching—”
    Velma didn’t wait for the end of her sentence, just swung the door open while speaking to someone in the hallway. “She’s all yours, but don’t hold her up. She’s due onstage in fifteen minutes.”
    Aida slipped back behind the screen and stood on stockinged tiptoes to see over the top.
    It was him.
    Damn.
    â€œVelma!” she called out.
    Her boss just shrugged and shut the door, leaving her alone with Winter Magnusson, who was looking warm and handsome in a smoky brown suit and chocolate coat.
    â€œHello, Miss Palmer.”
    She tried to prop her arm on the screen in an attempt to look casual and slipped. As if her heart wasn’t already beating fast enough to make its way into a Poe story. “Err, hello.”
    â€œYou are dressed behind there, aren’t you?”
    â€œJust putting on . . . shoes.” Shoes? She winced. “What brings you by? Another ghost?”
    He squinted at her for a moment, probably wondering why she wasn’t coming out from the screen, which would be the normal thing to do if she
were
dressed, then held up a dark bottle. “Krug. Champagne. From France.”
    What were they celebrating? Her discovery of his erotic postcard collection?
    â€œJust a token of thanks for getting rid of my ghosts, since I didn’t pay you for the prostitute.”
    â€œThe what?”
    He stilled. “The first ghost. The night we met.”
    Oh. “How did you know she was a prostitute?”
    He tapped the bottom of the bottle against his gloved hand, then walked to the dressing table and set it down. “Hope you like it.”
    â€œI adore champagne, and if it’s the same stuff you sell to Velma, it’s terrific.”
    â€œBetter. But don’t tell her. It’s personal stock.”
    â€œAh, well. I’m . . . honored. Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
    â€œMy pleasure.”
    â€œShe wasn’t yours, was she?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe Chinese prostitute. Had you seen her before she was a ghost? As a paying client, I mean.”
    She hadn’t realized he’d been tense until his face relaxed into a smile. “No, Miss Palmer.” He removed his hat and ran a palm over his hair. “Not that night or any other.”
    â€œGood to know.” She propped her chin atop the screen and arched her back while attempting to fasten a button. If she held her breath and reached with her fingertips, she might get one or two—
    â€œSpeaking of ghosts, I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing a séance for someone. An old family friend who lives in Sea Cliff.”
    â€œOh?” Aida stopped struggling with the button. “Where is Sea Cliff?”
    â€œSmall neighborhood on the other side of the Presidio. Very exclusive.”
    â€œAs exclusive as Pacific Heights?”
    Winter strolled to the dressing screen, reaching inside his coat for an envelope. “Sea Cliff is all new money. Big homes, right up near the bay.”
    She panicked and made herself smaller. “Sounds swank.”
    â€œDepends on your style.” He hung his hat on a corner of the