“Marty Haig. He used to be a boat captain from Oakland.”

A black candlestick telephone sat on the table next to all the fingernail polish. Sylvia sighed heavily and grabbed it, pulling the tail of the cord that stretched across the room. “Let me ring Amy. She’s an operator, too. If she’s not too busy at her station, we can track him down.”

“Thank you.” Astrid rearranged her skirt over her crossed legs as Sylvia set the telephone base in her lap and picked up the earpiece. “By the way,” Astrid asked. “Do you happen to know what huli jing means in Cantonese?”

One finger held the telephone hook down. “Huli jing,” she repeated, enunciating slowly. “It’s . . . slang for a seductress. It literally means ‘fox spirit.’ It’s a supernatural creature from old Chinese folktales.”

Astrid sank farther down into the sofa cushion and smiled to herself as all the wounds she’d opened up in Sylvia’s apartment began healing.

EIGHTEEN

Bo parked by the curb on Market Street. After exiting the car, he pulled down the brim of his hat and strode down the sidewalk, passing in front of a six-story building with two steel radio towers atop it that both read “KPO.” Hale Brothers department store. He’d escorted Astrid here a dozen times over the years. He knew the floors by heart. One floor in particular . . .

This was where the Fitting Room Incident had occurred last year.

But he couldn’t think about that. He had worse things to worry about right now, like the possibility of Max jumping out to stab him again. And that Astrid had just been visiting Sylvia. Alone. Why in God’s name did she have to go and do that?

Umbrellas crowded the wide sidewalk. It was only drizzling, but the damp air made Velma’s minty nightmare poultice feel uncomfortably cool beneath his bandage. He ignored the pain and pulled up the collar of his coat, giving Jonte a little wave as he passed the familiar red-and-black Pierce-Arrow limousine. The Magnussons’ driver grinned and saluted Bo as he started the engine and pulled out behind a streetcar.

Yes, I’ve got her now, Bo thought with a mix of alacrity and dread. He watched Astrid’s fur-trimmed coat breeze through the department store’s glass doors and followed her inside.

The store was abuzz with shoppers happy to be out of the rain, browsing for holiday presents under boughs of festive greenery. He wove past shelves piled with towers of wrapped jewelry boxes and wood-trimmed glass cases filled with fancy bottles, ducking in time to avoid being spritzed with French perfume. Just past an enormous trimmed Christmas tree strung with glass-blown ornaments and silver tinsel, he spotted Astrid’s bell-shaped cloche and the blond curls peeking beneath it. She was heading for the stairs at the back of the main floor.

The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she really was only Christmas shopping, as she’d told Jonte before he excused himself to telephone Bo. But then he saw how fast she was taking the stairs and knew it was a lie. Astrid never rushed shopping.

Ever.

He stalked her through the millinery salon and the shoe section, where she paused to look at some pumps before resuming her whirlwind path up the stairs. Third floor, past the dresses—she really was intent on her goal not to stop here—and fourth floor, past the men’s clothes . . . and then fifth floor, past the cafe and the fur room. She was headed all the way to the sixth floor.

Nothing was on the sixth floor but the executive offices and—

KPO RADIO, a sign read on the wall. 680 ON YOUR DIAL. ALWAYS LIVE!

The National Broadcasting Company affiliate radio studio.

Breathless, stitches sore from all the stairs, Bo watched her breeze into the station’s front office and speak to a secretary. A few moments later, the secretary flagged down a silver-haired man who was walking down the hall. Station manager. That was who Astrid wanted to see, apparently. She shook the man’s hand, smiling prettily, and began chatting. Bo moved closer, just out of sight, so that he could better hear them.

“—and anyway, I’m sure you don’t have time to listen to little ol’ me.”

“On the contrary. I like your patter, Miss Magnusson. Anyone ever told you that you’ve got a pleasant voice?”

“Talking is my gift, sir.”

Bo smiled to himself. That was one way of putting it.

“If you ever were interested in putting that voice to work, we’re hiring voice actors all the time. Radio melodramas are the next big thing, mark my words.”

“You don’t say?”

He shook her hand again and she thanked him for helping her before he said something to the secretary and left them, breezing past Bo. What the devil was she up to? The secretary, given some sort of permission from the station manager, was now escorting Astrid two doors down, where she knocked on a door marked: CONTROL ROOM A.

Enough. Whatever she was doing, Bo wanted in on it. He sailed down the hall, quietly stepped next to Astrid’s side, and stared ahead with her as the secretary got another man’s attention—some sort of engineer—who was working inside the control room.

Astrid jumped and put a hand over her chest. “Je-sus!” she hissed in a sharp whisper. “You scared the life out of me. Where did you—how? What?”

The secretary turned around and gave Bo a bewildered look.

Astrid cleared her throat. “This is Mr. Yeung,” she announced smoothly. Bo removed his hat and waited for her to finish with her normal cover-up—that he was there to carry her packages or that he was her driver or assistant. But she simply held her chin higher and smiled at the secretary as if she didn’t owe her any further explanation.