left. “I know how highly you value that among your friends. It’s a hot commodity these days, it appears.”
Cora sipped coffee from a fine china cup. “That attitude is why we believe the four of us are going to be the best of friends this weekend. Don’t we, Thomas?”
“We do.” His gaze on mine was sharp, searching. This man might be pretending to admire us, but he was certainly wary.
I glanced at Freya, nudged my knee against hers. “Birdie and I are on the hunt for several items this weekend. I thought I might see if you knew their status.”
“Oh?” Thomas asked.
Freya nudged my knee back. “Love letters.”
Cora smiled mysteriously. “We know of several dealers selling one-of-a-kind antique letters this weekend.”
Freya traced a finger along the rim of her cup. Dragged the moment out. “Lucky number thirteen. We heard they arrived yesterday.”
This glimpse of Freya—teasing out our suspect—snapped me back to the past so fast I felt dizzy. She was nervous to go undercover again. That much was clear to me. I could read all of her cues—touching her hair, biting her lip, trying to joke instead of answering a question. She did those things around me.
But in class, during our undercover drills, I’d watched this woman come alive with the thrill of it. She had been a naturally talented undercover agent—a fact that my father had made sure I’d been well aware of. I wasn’t the only member of my family to be disappointed at the loss of Freya Evandale.
Thomas glanced at Cora, who gave a discreet shake of her head. “Everything went as planned, as you well know. But has he been talking to you, Birdie?”
Under the table, Freya pressed her knee hard to mine. Pressed and left it there, making my skin burn.
“That’s a secret, now, isn’t it?” she said.
Cora looked mildly irritated at that. Thomas looked confused.
“We’d love to see them,” I said, forging ahead. “As soon as possible.”
Freya dropped her spoon with a clink. Moved her knee.
“Patience,” Thomas warned. “You’re not the only interested parties. You know this must wait until the final night.”
“Who else wants them?” I asked.
His face went cold. “You know I can’t talk about that here.”
“We’re very excited,” Freya said quietly. “We tend to be homebodies back in San Francisco. Don’t get out like this. Sometimes interacting with other human beings is challenging for us.”
She was vibrating a little. Irritated with me, I guessed. But I was pissed too. We needed to push here, and Freya was pulling back. Maybe I needed to lean forward, identify who I was in a menacing whisper, and take those letters back. Under pressure, I bet Thomas and Cora would sing like canaries.
“We’re all aware of the other person who might be interested in letters that might be here,” Thomas said. “I’m sure you can already see what the issue is, given recent developments.”
“We do see the issue.” Freya sipped her coffee with her pinkie up. “You promise we’ll have the opportunity to see what we’d like to see at the festivities?”
“That is what we discussed,” Cora said. A line formed between her brows. She was confused by us. We were veering past the ability to merely listen and nod.
“Julian and I can be patient. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about this gorgeous hotel? We’re first-timers in awe of this magnificent location.”
I shrugged a shoulder, grateful for the topic change. “I would have assumed the biggest antiquarian book festival on the East Coast would be held in a convention center.”
“Convention centers are pointless and boring,” Thomas said. “Dr. Ward would never allow anything that pedestrian. He’s a man of unique tastes. He chose The Grand Dame because of its storied past.”
“Bootlegging,” Cora added. “There was a speakeasy here in the 1920s, although you’d never know it now. The basement once masqueraded as a perfumery. Exotic scents from around the world for the wealthiest of this city’s upper echelon.”
“Perfume bottles make an interesting hiding place for liquor,” Thomas said. “By day, the shop was filled with society women. By night, the shop was filled with an utterly different clientele. Jazz, escorts, drugs, alcohol. All happened in the rooms that exist beneath this street. The confluence of the Schuykill and Delaware rivers made Philadelphia a bustling city of underground bootleggers. Although The Grand Dame was never raided—historians believe the owner had so many police officers on the take they were able to keep out of legal trouble.” Thomas looked me square in the eye.