A Deadly Endeavor by Jenny Adams

Author:Jenny Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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Edie Shippen shopped the way Gilbert’s commanding officers had waged war: with a singular focus on the mission at hand and the desire to crush any obstacle in the path of victory. Instead of staring down no-man’s land and the promise of German machine guns, Gilbert stood on the wide, clean-swept sidewalk and braced himself for the onslaught.

Edie marched into the tailor’s shop on Walnut Street with her head held high. It was the third store they’d visited already; a series of boxes and paper bags filled the back seat of the car, filled with trappings Edie deemed necessary for tonight’s trip to Club Rouge. A new dress for her, in black silk that apparently called for a matching feathered headband and new patent leather pumps. Her outfit alone cost more than Gilbert’s monthly rent. And yet no amount of protest could dissuade her from insisting that he, too, needed a sharp suit to match.

“Good afternoon, monsieur.” The round, bespectacled man behind the counter looked up as he pushed through the door, his words barely audible over the blood rushing through Gilbert’s ears.

“My friend, Mr. Lawless,” Edie explained. “He’s in dire straits, Jacques. Do whatever it takes and charge it to Daddy’s account.”

The hell she would. Irritation sparked down Gilbert’s spine, and he stiffened. “Edie—”

“Of course, Mademoiselle Shippen,” Jacques murmured.

“Hey, now,” Gilbert said, “I can pay for my own suit. How much, Jacques?”

The man blinked, owlish, behind thick lenses. “Oh, monsieur. A tuxedo, pour vous? On such short notice? I imagine—shirt and hat, as well, Mademoiselle? And shoes,” he added, when Edie gave a vigorous nod. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tallied the sum. “Deux cent cinquante. At the very least.”

He was going to throw up, right here in this fancy shop. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” He took a quick step backwards. “Two hundred and fifty bucks, for a suit? You’re out of your minds, both of you. That car out there—” he jabbed his finger toward the street, where the Model-T sat parked on the curb, “—cost me one hundred, and I bought it used.”

“Mademoiselle.” Jacques sighed and tilted his shoulders, in a gesture Gilbert had learned all too well in France. That gallic shrug that meant pas mon problème.

The French, Gilbert decided, were a bunch of assholes.

“Gilbert.” Edie pursed her lips. “Consider it a gift. For a friend.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Edie. We aren’t friends.”

He turned to the tailor and said, in perfectly accented French, “Écoutez moi, Monsieur Jacques. Je ne paierai pas $250 pour un costume, même si vous étiez le tailleur du roi d’Angleterre. Merci beaucoup. Edie.” He jerked his chin at the startled socialite perched on the counter, her jaw hanging. Then he placed his hat back on his head and left, the bells on the door dancing merrily as he passed beneath and into the rain outside.

“Gilbert!” Edie joined him on the sidewalk a moment later, her face flushed. Drops fell from the brim of her new hat and speckled the bridge of her nose; she swiped them away with an impatient hand.

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