Free Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett Page B

barber’s phone. The operator let the call ring ten times, and then another ten, but no one answered. He slammed the earpiece down on its hook and handed the telephone back to the barber. His overcast mood took a nosedive.
    The bell above the door jingled. In the wall of mirrors, Winter watched Bo stride into the shop. He pocketed car keys and plopped down on a nearby swivel chair. “Is the spirit medium coming to Mrs. Beecham’s dinner party?”
    â€œApparently Mrs. Beecham’s staff is too busy to answer the damn telephone,” Winter replied gruffly as a white barber’s cape was snapped open and draped over his torso.
    â€œI’m sure she’ll be there,” Bo said.
    â€œShe’s had three days to accept the job.” And as of last night, Florie said she hadn’t received a definite yes from Aida yet. Did she have another engagement? Because he’d already called Velma and knew Aida wasn’t scheduled to work tonight.
    â€œMaybe she accepted late because she’s been busy getting rid of other suicidal ghosts.”
    Or maybe she’d had second thoughts about seeing him again. “Aren’t you supposed to be tracking down the person who tried to kill me? Remind me why I pay you?”
    â€œBecause you trust me and I’m the only one who’ll put up with your bullshit.”
    Winter shot him a warning look. He wasn’t in the mood.
    â€œAs soon as I drop you off at that party, I’m following some leads,” Bo promised.
    â€œIt’s taking too long.”
    â€œA tong leader in the booze business was found dead this morning. Locked in a room filled with bees. He’d been stung to death. Allergic, I suppose.”
    Sounded like a horrible way to die. “Interesting, but I’m not sure what that has to do with curses and ghosts.”
    â€œMaybe nothing, but I’m checking into it on my way to talk to someone I’ve had asking around Chinatown about Black Star. I’ll let you know what I find.” Bo exhaled a cone of smoke as he watched another barber sweep hair around the white tile floor. Traffic rushed by the plate glass window, where a red, white, and blue pole jutted out near the doorway. “Look, I’m sure she’ll be there, so stop worrying. Hell, I’d dress up like a gypsy and do the séance myself for that kind of cash.”
    â€œMakes no difference to me whether she comes or not.” A lie, but he didn’t want to sound overeager. It made him feel weak.
    â€œNo reason why she wouldn’t. She has no idea what a pain in the ass Florie Beecham is, and for some reason, you didn’t frighten her away with your big, hairy body last time you saw her.”
    â€œGod only knows what’s on any female’s mind,” Winter complained.
    Even the barber made a noise of agreement.
    God help him, but he wanted to see Aida again. He should’ve just asked her to a proper dinner. That way, if she turned him down, at least he could be out drowning his sorrows at a nightclub tonight instead of putting on a monkey suit and pretending to give a damn about Florie Beecham and her tedious friends.
    â€œShe’ll be there,” Bo assured him again as the barber picked up a pair of scissors.
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    On her way out to Mrs. Beecham’s séance, Aida ate a quick meal of jasmine tea and Chinese doughnuts—long strips of not-too-sweet fried dough—then stopped by the front counter to drop off her weekly rent money. It was a slow night for the restaurant. Mrs. Lin was sitting on a stool behind the register, a pencil balanced behind her ear, reading a Cantonese newspaper printed in Chinatown.
    â€œEvening. Any mail?”
    Mrs. Lin glanced up from her reading and looked her over. “No mail.”
    Aida handed her a stamped envelope, addressed to Mr. Bradley Bix of New Orleans, a confirmation to his request to meet with her about the potential