January smiled. How do you like your drink as opposed to do you drink. Prohibition at work. She tilted the bottle and poured two fingers of amber liquor into her glass before lifting it and swirling it to allow the vapors to express. It smelled cheap but she supposed that was to be expected.

"My name is January Endicott," she said after another exhalation of cigarette smoke. She tapped the ash from the tip of her cigarette again before continuing. The Endicott's were a powerful and politically connected Boston family who had moved to New York only within the last generation. They had made fortunes during the Spanish American War and expanded their holdings during the great war selling arms and armaments to the Allied Powers. 

"I don't imagine we have moved in the same circles Mr Barker," she observed with a touch of aristocratic disdain, but she reached into her handbag and produced a roll of crisp banknotes clipped with a silver pin and a neatly folded news print, the New York Times several days old. The top story showed a photograph of an austere looking man with thinning hair and sharp features, his face framed by a pair of wire rimmed glasses. The headline read: Met Director Killed in Robbery and the first line identified the man as Henry Endicott, the Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A second photo showed Endicott with his family, including a woman who was obviously January, although there was little resemblance beyond hair color. 

"I wan't you to find out who killed my father Mr Barker, and why."