“Andrew, there must be at least a thousand people in this city with connections to Tammany Hall,” Evelyn countered. “Right now, you’re angry with her. I don’t think you’re thinking clearly on this.”
It had been a long time since he’d lost his temper with her, but she could see it the instant he hit flashpoint. A dark scowl settled over his face and his mutable blue-green eyes glittered dangerously with cruel shards of green.
Wide-eyed, she cringed, watching in bewilderment when he sat up abruptly, then turned his head so he could go on staring down his straight, narrow nose at her. “A few days ago after we listened to Ned Jenner’s story, you told me I should trust my intuition. Well, my intuition says my mother has something to do with all of this.” His smooth Ivy League voice carried an edge.
She was sorely tempted to disagree, but given the circumstances, it would only serve to rile him more. Se
“Knock knock knock.”“It’s Uncle Justin!” Sarah hissed to her brother at the breakfast table.Hearing his voice, Peter and Sarah bolted out of their chairs and darted towards the parlor door. As he appeared in the doorframe, they crashed into him with warm hugs and excited babble.After closing the door behind him, Mary asked, “I set a mug for you and the missus already. I’ll bring the coffee now. Would you both care for breakfast too?”“We’re having waffles!”“Peter, stop pulling on his suit,” Evelyn reprimanded. “He has to go to work soon and you can’t be getting him grubby.”Lifting a patient hand, Justin waved her concern away, then turned to Mary. “If it’s not too terribly much trouble, breakfast would be nice.”“Of course, sir. Mr. James had bacon and eggs. Mrs. James had toast and grapefruit and the children h
“Evelyn James?” Staring blankly at the typeface before her, Evelyn didn’t hear her name called. The Ladies’ Home Journal’s ‘provocative’ survey article on What Men Think of Women had scarcely proved interesting beyond the title, especially when pitted against her own meandering and worried thoughts. Despite Lily’s concerns about the unplanned pregnancy, Evelyn was positive that circumstance would work out beautifully for her best friend and Justin. She was genuinely happy for them. Still, the surprise news brought her own insecurities to the fore. Andrew’s negotiation with her about having children on the night he’d muscled the televised baseball double header into existence had given her both reason to hope and something delightful to daydream about. If Lily had missed two cycles already, then it was abundantly clear she and Justin had been amorously engaged with a far more regular frequency than she and Andrew had. At least up until recently. Once September had rolled around, h
Evelyn sat in the great room, listening to the radio. It was Andrew’s night to go through the bedtime routine with Sarah and Peter, and it felt good to simply sit for a while. To let her mind wander.She’d had her hands full with the children most of the afternoon since school had let out. Between the shorter days with less daylight to wear them out at the park and the imminent arrival of Halloween the following week, they’d been particularly rambunctious. More and more often, even her nights responsible for bedtime were requiring an assist from their sterner, unyielding father.It had taken a bit of experimentation, but she and Lily had finally found a solution for Lily’s raging morning sickness, a combination of strong lemongrass tea and sour hard candies. Mostly Evelyn considered that a good thing. She couldn’t bear to see her best friend looking so exhausted and feeling so poorly, but she also didn’t like that the sour lemon drop
While Andrew walked Alexander Lowell out, Evelyn sat still on the sofa, staring blankly into the fire. The smell of the wood soothed her, as did the dance of the crackling flames as the logs burned, but everything else inside her felt as thought it had been blasted into a million tiny pieces. Pieces she had no hope at all of reassembling. Of course Alexander Lowell would know. How many times had she heard Andrew say it? That Lowell wasn’t the best lawyer in town because he was better at lawyering than anyone else, but because he had eyes and ears everywhere. With an eidetic memory, every piece of information he ever acquired was readily available the instant he needed or wanted it. She had no reason to doubt that what he'd told them was true. Besides that the lawyer had already been in Russell James’ debt, long before there was any demand for secret identities. What benefit to him would it be to lie now? “Do you want something to drink?” Andrew asked softly,
“Are you feeling alright, darling?” Andrew asked when Evelyn wandered into the bathroom as he was finishing shaving.Rubbing tired eyes, she started the shower warming and pulled the curtain around the tub. “Yes,” she replied around a yawn. “I didn’t sleep well though.”“That much I knew.” He rinsed his razor in the sink, then wiped the shaving soap off one side of his face with a towel. Approving of his handiwork, he wiped the other side, then turned to her for a final confirmation. “You were thrashing around most of the night.”She rested her hands along his clean-shaven jaw, her fingertips making a little wavy pattern as she drew them together towards his chin, then nodded her approval. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up too.”“I didn’t say I was sleeping.” Rehanging the towel, he drained and rinsed the sink, then pivoted to face her again.
Andrew looked up from the accounts he was reviewing at a rap on his office door. His mutable blue-green eyes flicked to the pink Federal glass coffee mug standing empty on his desk. In as much as he didn’t want her working, and especially working at the Trust, he missed having Evelyn here with him. She’d made the minutes bearable, put the petty nuisances of his day into perspective. Prepared him the perfect cup of coffee. The rap came again at the door, along with the tentative, female voice. “Mr. James?” Evelyn knew to rap once, then to come in without him telling her to, and he'd never had to tell her to do that. Not that it mattered—he wasn’t going through the hassle of training another secretary for a few weeks' worth of work. He would simply swallow his annoyance and make do. “What is it, Carole?” he called. “May I come in, sir?” she asked, and Andrew tipped his head against the back of his executive chair, rolling his eyes heavenward.
“Would you care to have a seat, Detective?” Andrew offered, gesturing to the chairs arranged with the sofa before the great room's fireplace. “This might be a lengthy process.”Detective Kelly inhaled deeply, looking somewhat disappointed. “I thought you were going to be cooperative, Mr. James,” he said, taking the seat offered to him opposite the sofa where Evelyn sat.“In as much as I can be, I have. Most of what we’ve learned has been since we last spoke to you.”“You had my card.”With the detective seated, Andrew sat beside Evelyn, wrapping a protective arm about her shoulders and drawing her into the shelter of his body. He studied her face, peering into the depths of her mystical silvery-gray eyes, dancing with flecks of golden firelight.It never ceased to amaze him how spectacularly pretty she was, or how irrationally he loved her. The mere sight of her caused everything els
“Andrew, why did you tell him all that?” a still shell-shocked Evelyn asked when he returned from seeing Detective Kelly out. "After all this time. After all the private investigators and the personal researching, now you'll tell him? Why?"Picking up his brandy snifter, Andrew drained it. “Because all this intrigue has gotten personal.” He walked to the bar and refilled his glass. “And now I’m worried about protecting my family.”“’Now’?” she quoted. “It wasn’t personal before? When your brother died? When Miranda Stiles was going to let him take me with him? When that man, Aldrich, tried to kidnap me? When Edward Montero died and the police came looking for you? All the things you’ve learned over the course of time from Charlotte? Now? Now is when it’s become personal?”Inhaling deeply, he prepared to defend himself. “Darling, it’s clear that you disagre
“Stop, Peter!” Sarah exclaimed, whirling to face behind her. She shot her brother an angry glare. “Peter, for pity’s sake, don’t throw dirt clods at your sister,” Andrew called over his shoulder, shifting his swaddled, sleeping son from his right shoulder to his left as they walked the long, tree-lined drive that led to the James’ estate, perched with its back on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Gulls rode the ocean updrafts in the afternoon sun above the glistening water, occasionally diving when something of interest caught their eye. On the opposite side of the tree-lined drive, his wife’s tiny orchard of glossy-leaved oranges in full bloom left a sweet scent drifting over the drive on the warm, salty breeze off the sea. Not far away, Evelyn's gated garden was growing lush with upright stalks of corn, twined in the loving arms of pole beans with the wide leaves of squash spreading in a carpet at their feet along the ground in one row. In another, her tomatoes were already d
“M-ma-ma.” The stuttering word was an alarming half-sob and half-gurgle from the wounded Becky. “M-ma-m-ma.” Dear God! Whoever it was had shot her! That poor, helpless girl! Why!? She wasn’t a threat! And there was absolutely nothing here of any value! Evelyn’s heart leapt to her throat and hammered painfully. But she stayed close to the wall, inching forward on tiptoe to clutch at Andrew’s jacket. She pointed to the floor where their shadows fell long across it from the single overhead lamp in the middle of the room. If they drew too close to the door, their shadows would be visible to the intruder in the darkened hall leading to the bedrooms. She pointed to the window, and Andrew jerked his chin towards it in acknowledgement. Escape. They had to escape. Outside, on the sidewalk, they could summon the patrolling police officer. They could summon help. Men trained for this. Men with other guns. They had to move fast. Miranda’s daughter needed them. Even above the scuffling noises fr
Andrew rose slowly to his feet, an antagonized muscle twitching along his clean-shaven jaw. His expression looked like a bomb about to explode. Evelyn drew a sudden breath, one hand clapping over her mouth. She stared, in turns, first at Will, then at Miranda, and her mind whirled. What was it Alexander Lowell had said the day that Detective Kelly had attempted to arrest her? The same day he’d later resigned from the police department. Something about the detective being fed what he needed to lay an accusation upon Evelyn. The question of ‘why’ anyone cared about a lowly former secretary enough to attempt to kill her, let alone invest the effort in framing her was growing more convoluted by the minute. But it was clear it was centered here, with the account belonging to Glorietta Moreno and her rights as an heir to it. “It’s a stretch,” Andrew said softly, nodding towards Miranda, “but I can see why your mother might have had Russell’s name on that account. N
“You folks just planning on waiting?” their cabbie asked, his dark eyes studying Andrew and Will in the rearview mirror, despite that Evelyn was seated between them. “Meter’s running. Makes no never mind to me if you do, but I’ll have to circle the block or the flatfoots will cite me.” “How long do we have to decide?” Andrew asked, reluctant to have the cab move on the off chance that they might miss Miranda's departure for work during the process. “’Nother minute or two at most.” “Thank you.” He shifted slightly on the cab’s rear seat so he could better see his companions. “I know we’re early, but if she’s keeping business hours, I’d have expected she’d have to allow time to travel to a workplace. You’re certain this is the building, Will?” “It’s the place,” he replied definitively. “I can go in and wait. Tail her to wherever she’s going, then come get you.” “Is it possible she recognized you yesterday?” Evelyn asked, peering through the murk
The dancing had worked like a charm. For a couple of hours. Andrew had managed to get just shy of another couple hours on top of that, burning time off the afternoon by alternating between listening to the orchestra rehearse, dancing, and finally, by slipping a bribe to the broadcasting staff to show Evelyn their equipment set-up and to take their sweet time about it. After that, she’d become too fretful to do much beyond distractedly, which had quickly spoiled the ballroom option for both of them. They’d retired to their drawing room, taken afternoon tea, then Evelyn’s pacing had begun again in earnest. He had to admit, watching her as she combed through her drying hair at the dressing table, it might be time to worry about Will a little. It was going on eight o’clock. Late by any business standard, but certainly well past the time when most diners catering to the kind of clients they’d seen at the DeBaliviere Diner and Waffle House would be visiting
Wednesday morning in St. Louis dawned dark and gloomy and only marginally better than it had been upon their arrival early afternoon on Monday. When Evelyn emerged from the bedroom into the drawing room where he and the constantly-moving Will waited, Andrew flicked the newspaper he’d been reading down and smiled. They’d all slept poorly—again. They’d all woken late—again—and after their enjoyable brunch yesterday, both men were eager to see what other offerings were available in the East Lounge’s dining area. “Well?” she asked, her red-tinged and particle-irritated eyes roving the drawing room’s lush furnishings, immediately spotting the unmistakable coating of fine black powder and ash. “Are we trapped inside again today? It seems faintly better.” Will snorted. “By comparison to yesterday, being buried in black sand would seem better.” Andrew chuckled, setting aside the St. Louis Star-Times he’d been reading. He rifled through a stack of newspapers o
The hotel’s ballroom was a gently baroque style. Its elegant space was replete with all manner of luxuries one would expect of a high-profile hotel, no matter where one might visit in the world—custom paneled with artfully etched-mirror and plaster walls, gold-leafed accents and intricate crown moldings. Above the near-magical dancefloor, which was lit from below, hung in the decorative ceiling, a ponderous crystal chandelier lit the warm wooden dancefloor beneath it. Along the periphery, undulating balconies supported by Corinthian pilasters gave an air of classicism to the space, but one not overly staid. These generous galleries provided seating for those who had only come for a meal, to watch the dancing or to listen to the orchestra. They’d dressed for a late dinner, but though the orchestra played, their music broadcast exactly as Evelyn had always dreamed of experiencing, she and Andrew hadn’t danced. In fact, they hadn’t stayed much longer than
“The Coronado was built, and I believe is now run, by Preston Bradshaw,” Andrew advised more than an hour later as their cab pulled away from the curb at the train depot. “He graduated from Columbia with my brother, Russell. The two were quite good friends as I recall. My father introduced him to Stanford White in New York City where he worked before returning to St. Louis. He’s responsible for the monumental hotels on Lindell Boulevard. The Melbourne and the Coronado at midtown and the theatre district. And opposite, near the Central West end, the Chase and the Forest Park hotels were also his commissions.” “Did you know him?” Evelyn asked, closing her burning eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. “Is that why we’re staying at the Coronado?” She left unspoken the reminder that the Coronado Hotel, in particular the hotel’s famed Caprice Club, was where they’d found Charlotte to serve Andrew’s divorce paperwork after their tip-off from the Princes in Los Angeles.
The following morning Evelyn woke alone. She could tell by the way his belongings were packed that Andrew had already risen. If she was any guess, he was taking advantage of the train’s onboard barber, which meant she had time to bathe and dress without his typical morning enthusiasm for both processes. Selecting a warm dress from her traveling case, she draped her clothing over the empty towel rack in the bathroom and rooted through her toiletries for her toothbrush and toothpowder. When she was done, she hung a fresh towel on the rack nearest the shower beside the still-damp one Andrew had used and stepped under the spray. The warm shower felt delightful and soothed the telltale soreness from her bedroom exertions with her husband the night before. Once she’d washed, she stood with the warm spray draining off of her and for the first time since they’d come, wondered what they were going to do in St. Louis. They had only the name of a diner and a hotel off t