A/N: I forgot to mention, that last chapter was mine. In tradition, so is this one. :P Bu don't worry, hopefully the next one will be Carlies. Anyway...

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Chapter 2: Take Me Back to 1927

They were in the dressing room they shared, sitting in chairs, unable to keep the grins off their faces. The gig had gone well, very well in fact.

"We'll have to step it up next week," Violet commented lightly to Lola, who merely nodded. She was still out of breath.

Violet continued. "Maybe we could both sing the whole song."

Lola looked at her, and raised an eyebrow. "We have already been through this," she said, in a tired voice. "We need a backup, and seeing as there are only two of us…"

"Why can't you be the backup for once?" Violet asked.

Lola studied her friend. "It's my gig. You're lucky I even let you in. It's less money for me as it is. And I think it's safe to say I need it more than you." Lola was not being arrogant, not intentionally in any case. It was just the way she was.

Violet bristled and only managed to contain the anger that coursed over her face.

She slumped back in her seat.

"I know," she said. "But maybe…"

"No," Lola said flatly, and stood up, leaning towards the mirror. She wiped her face clean of the makeup that she and Violet had plied on each other before they went out on stage.

The door opened and Stanley, one of their two musicians walked in, grinning. Lola smiled back and he stepped towards her and gave her a quick hug.

"Great work out there," he said. She grinned again.

"You weren't bad yourself."

Stanley sighed and looked away from her momentarily. Her heart sank, she knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

"Nothing has changed. He still won't renew your contract."

Lola nodded. "I figured," she said in a steady, calm voice.

There was a knock on the door. Stanley raised an eyebrow at Lola, who shrugged, and went over to open it.

"Yes?" he asked the unknown man who stood there, rather expectantly.

"Miss Lola Grant there?" he asked brusquely. Stanley frowned, instantly disliking the man for some reason which remained unfathomable to him.

"Who's asking?" he said.

"Willard Jones," the man said.

"I'm here," Lola's voice met Stanley's ears. He sighed and stepped aside, allowing the man in.

He entered immediately.

"Miss Lola Grant?" he asked the dark haired woman. She nodded, not bothering to stand up. He held out his hand and she took it. They shook.

"I heard your contract at the Midnight Monkey is just about up," he said. Lola's eyes flew to Stanley's who shrugged. The information was not publicly known.

"I am an agent, and I come to offer you two lovely ladies a job, of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Violet asked.

"More of a…" he paused, searching for the right word. "Travelling gig. Bar to bar, not even necessarily in Boston."

"That would be…" Violet began, not able to believe their luck.

"No," Lola said flatly.

"What?" Violet asked, incredulous.

"We have a job."

"Not for long," Violet hissed. The two women locked eyes, Violet glaring at Lola who was regarding her friend with a cold, almost calculating gaze.

"You take it if you want," Lola said after almost half a minute had passed.

Violet scowled at her, knowing full well she wasn't much without her friend, and sat back down in her seat, staring intently at her balled fist.

"Sorry, Mr. Jones," Lola said, sounding anything but. Jones grinned and sidled up the Lola, handing her a card.

"If you change your mind…"

"Yeah sure, you'll be the first to know," Lola said in a bored voice. Jones glanced at the pouting Violet, then turned on his heel and left the room.

Stanley watched Lola. "He's not going to change his mind, you know," he said, referring to his father, the man who was about to terminate Lola and Violet's employment.

"I realise that," Lola said cryptically, knowing Stanley's words to be true. Bert had harboured an intense dislike of Lola for many years now. She and Stanley had been friends when they were children, living on the same block and in the same year at both primary and high school. She had no idea why Bert had never taken to her, but had never particularly cared. Now she found herself wishing she had made more of an effort, maybe he would reconsider their contract. As it was, he had insisted that he had another act lined up, one that would be more popular with the crowds, but had never elaborated on it, leading Lola to believe that in all actuality he had no concrete reason to get rid of them. She wished now that she'd insisted on a contract spanning longer than a year.

Lola glanced at Violet, somewhat disturbed by the look of sheer ambition that had flitted across the girl's face when Jones had made his proposition. She was also an old friend, but they girls had not shared the easy, light friendship that she and Stanley enjoyed. They were definitely from two different sides of the tracks, Violet's father a rich businessman, and Lola's father an ex-medical examiner who was fired on account of his alcoholism. Even while he was still working, her father spent every penny he made on the alcohol, and every spare minute he had drinking it.

Lola's mother had left when she was eight, had run to escape the abusive man Lola's father became when he was under the influence. When she had left, Lola had become the main focus of her father's drunken rage, and had many a bruise in the mornings that she didn't even bother to try and hide. She took a moment to wonder about her father's fate, and realised with a jolt that she hoped he was dead. Wished it, actually. She shook her head free of the disturbing thought and tried to tell herself that she it was mere indifference – that she didn't care if her father was alive or dead.

She resented her mother, but not so much for leaving as for the insult of Lola not being able to do so herself. It burned her that she herself was not old enough to take matters into her own hand. Desperate to grow up, she was obviously a late bloomer as far as emotional maturity went, as most people who want to grow up before their time are. The day after she turned 16 she packed her bags (figuratively, of course, because she couldn't bear to keep anything her father had given her bar a single outfit of clothing) and searched for a job.

She cut her trail of thought off abruptly, not wanting to go back to where she went for nine years, even if only in spirit. She brought her focus back to the small dressing room where Stanley watched her with interest on his face.

"Not now," she said, stemming his unspoken query about her words to the agent, Jones. He nodded and stood.

"I better 'scrub up'," he said grimly, referring to the uniform he wore when working for his father.

"Working tonight?" Violet asked. He shrugged.

"May as well," he said, waved amicably and left the room.

As soon s he did, Violet rounded on Lola.

"What are you playing at?" she said venomously.

Lola regarded her with a cool stare.

"I have a feeling that we wont be needing another job."

"You think you can change Bert's mind? He hates you."

Lola blinked slowly, purposefully. "I didn't say that."

"Stop being so damned cryptic!" Violet was standing now. She was scared, scared for herself and even Lola, scared that they'd have to live on the street. Lola had shared her own stories of that particular life style and it wasn't pleasant. Not in the slightest.

"Why don't you just calm down and let me worry about it."

"We stood back and 'let you worry about it' when you left home," Violet said quietly.

Lola stood, stung.

"Whatever," she said nonchalantly and turned, leaving Violet staring hopelessly after her.

---------------

Jordan stopped reading.

"What is it?" Lily asked. The two women shared a glance, Jordan knowing where the story was headed and Lily guessing.

"End of the entry," Jordan said. "Drink break?"

Garret and Max exchanged a glance. "We've only been going 10 minutes," Max said.

Jordan shrugged. "Okay."

Garret frowned. "So you think Lola is innocent?" he asked, directing it at Jordan.

"I do," she said.

"Why?"

"It doesn't add up," was her answer.

"You heard her," Garret said. "She didn't want another job, she had something up her sleeve."

"And she obviously had no qualms in wishing people dead," Lily interjected.

Jordan looked at Lily. "If my father had done what he did to her I'd wish him dead too." She paused, letting it sink in. "No offence, Dad," she said, the mood lightening when everyone, except Seely who was obviously in way over his head, laughed.

"Shouldn't we wait for the murder before we start accusing people?" Woody said jokingly, and Jordan smiled.

"It's coming," she said, picking up the book and turning to the next entry.

----------------

"Why can't you just renew their damned contract? I know you haven't got anything lined up for after they go."

"I don't want them here," he said. "Their act is old , done. People want something new and fresh."

"And you just don't want them here," Stanley said stonily. Bert regarded his son.

"You're still interested in her, aren't you?"

"No, Dad," he said, but his flushed cheeks said otherwise. "I just think you're being irrational.

"Well luckily for us this is my bar, not yours," Bert said and turned away from his son, dismissing him.

Stanley made a noise in his throat, letting his father know he was displeased, and left the room, walking out into the dining part of the bar. He made a beeline for the table where Lola and Violet sat, sharing a meal.

"How are you?" he asked, taking a seat next to Lola.

"Not bad, yourself?" Violet said, mimicking his stiff tone of voice.

Stanley hailed the waiter and ordered something. Lola watched the man walk off.

"I thought you were the only one your father hired?"

"For the bar," Stanley corrected. "We do have a waiter."

"I can see that," Lola said, making them laugh.

---------------

The eight were brought out of their introspection into the lives of their 1927 counterparts by Woody clearing his throat impatiently.

"Where is this leading?" he said. "Surely we're not going to go through her whole life including every meal she eats."

"The murder is on the next page," Nigel said, glancing at Jordan. Only the two of them had read the journal.

Woody looked at him, nodding. "Right."

"Well, while we're in the 21st Century, lets put in a punt," Max said. "If not Lola, then who?"

Jordan thought. "Jones," she said, looking at Bug, who comically pointed to himself. They laughed, and looked at Jordan again.

"He wanted Violet and Lola," Jordan said, shrugging. "Makes sense to me."

"Again, murder before suspects," Garret said, cutting off the speculation. "Lets get on with it."

"I'll skip to the murder then, shall I?" Jordan asked.

---------------

Stanley stood up.

"Dad's supposed to be serving at the bar," he said, frowning and peering through the haze of cigarette smoke to the bar where people were calling out, demanding to be served. Stanley shrugged and made his leave, hurrying over to the bar and apologising profusely before swiftly serving the irritated and obviously impatient customers.

When the line that had accumulated died down, Stanley walked out the back, calling out for his father.

"Get out here and serve, I'm in the middle of dinner," he called. When there was no response, he went through the back door that opened out into the alley, the one they used when putting rubbish in the dumpster. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but when they did, he wished they hadn't.

Back inside the bar, Lola and Violet had finished their meal. Deciding they had had enough of leering men (did no women frequent this bar? Violet thought irritably,) and cigarette smoke, they picked their way through the crowd to the hall that led to their room, but were stopped in their tracks when they heard an angry cry coming from behind the bar. They exchanged a glance and rushed towards the sound. The saw that the back door was open, and went through.

Lola's eyes flew to the burly figure lying, limbs at funny angles, and then to the man kneeling at his side, eyes wide with shock.

"He's dead," Stanley said, looking past Lola. "He's dead."