The building was shabby at best. The man at the front desk barely noticed Violet as she walked in, most likely because he was deep into the book wedged between his thick fingers. The wood floors creaked, and voices easily leaked through walls and floors. After assessing her surroundings in relation to the pointed-out window, she climbed the stairs and spotted Tim Lawrence’s door.
She knocked. Silence. She knocked again.
“Whossit?”
“Mr. T Lawrence? I got your telegram.”
Another pause. A chair scraped against the floor, followed by the shuffling of a frantic man. A few locks clicked, and the door opened slightly. Through the crack, Violet saw the drunken visage of Tim Lawrence. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was overrun with whiskey whiskers. Though he tried to hide it, Violet cou
