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
At the excited squeals emanating from the vicinity of the apartment door, Evelyn set aside her sewing gratefully. Only something wasn’t right about the sounds she was hearing. “Peter. Sarah. Please. I need you to settle down.” As she emerged from the great room, Andrew was kneeling in the ornate foyer on one knee, hugging each child, then setting them back from him. “I’m so grateful for your cheery little faces as soon as I get home every day. You know that. But today I need a little bit of time to talk to your mother first, please.” Stealing quietly along the runner in the hall, she came up behind him as he got to his feet. “Why don’t you two go back to playing. Your father and I will be there shortly.” She let Andrew steer her into the library, pivoting to wait as he closed the door quietly behind them. “What’s happened?” she demanded immediately. “Detective Kelly was by my office this morning.” Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat, her slender fingers covering her lips. If her
The Great Depression had been one of the defining moments for anyone old enough to remember what it had been like before the stock market crash of October 1929. With both his father and brother and many family friends in banking and finance, Andrew had known that the problems that led to the Crash for industrialized world economies had been brewing on the horizon several years before that. During the early 1930s, the devastating effects became widespread in the United States as banking institutions fell and manufacturing and business suffered in every industry. Cities were particularly hard hit, and New York City had been especially susceptible. Professionals, skilled workers and others used to enjoying good income found their salaries disastrously cut. Those who depended on savings, pensions or investment income for a living fared far worse. In the world of banking and finance, interest from bonds or savings deposits soon depreciated to where they had no real value. Stocks paid meag
“Sarah,” Evelyn said, in as firm of tone as she could muster, “while I’m exceedingly happy you’re pleased with your costume, it’ll be far too cold later this evening at the Fair. You must wear a jacket.” “Mother, please. Please don’t make me. No one will be able to see it! Please!” Evelyn watched the tears gathering in the girl’s eyes and knew she wouldn’t be able to stay firm if they began to fall. “No one will see it if you’re too cold to leave the car either, Sarah. I’ll hold it for you while—.” “Darling? Sarah?” Andrew stopped stock still in the doorway of the great room, quickly taking in the situation and recognizing his wife’s waffling. “What’s the difficulty here?” Rising, Evelyn let her breath out slowly. “It’s too cold to wear the costume without a jacket—.” “No it’s not!” Sarah shouted. “She’s just saying that because she’s mean!” Immediately, Andrew sprang into action. Releasing the startled Peter’s hand, he strode past Eve
“What are you thinking about, darling?” With her eyes following a young family with three children, the eldest about Peter’s age and the rest younger, she smiled as she answered, “All the people here in costume. The children I expected, but so many adults are costumed too. It adds a great deal to the carnival atmosphere on the last day.” Among the children, the cowboys and cops, princesses and angels were always popular. But many children had drawn inspiration from events of the year and Elecktro-style robots giggled with Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. Frank Buck-style jungle explorers jitterbugged with giant jungle cats, and clowns with comic book heroes. Her silvery-blue eyes lingered on an obviously well-to-do couple dressed in bright and wildly colored, sequined and feathered Venetian style costumes with oddly grotesque and appealing masks—his a black and gold, curly-horned, laughing skull, and hers a magnificently plumed, long
“What makes you think it has my name on it?” Andrew asked, staring down his straight narrow nose at his wife, but her attention was diverted down the midway towards the crowds and noise. “Seems a familiar style,” Evelyn replied grimly. With an annoyed huff, she started towards the bench and the envelope that had been left by the colorful and mysterious harlequin. The entire circumstance had lost its glamor for her. There was nothing loving or romantic about lies. Nothing proud or noble about secrets. Not even ones purportedly to protect somebody you love. Miranda Stiles was her aunt, for pity’s sake. Her aunt who had looked her in the face countless times at the Trust and never uttered a single kind word. Who’d been willing to let her plummet to her death with Russell James. The more she dwelled on it, the more it infuriated her. All of them infuriated her. She’d have gladly signed away her right to every penny of the money in Glorietta Moreno’s California bank account for the s
The autumn chill awakened Evelyn even before Andrew’s alarm. Lifting herself up so she could see over him, she glanced at the faintly illuminated face of his clock and groaned. Another hour, perhaps more before the apartment would start to warm up. While his residence was far less drafty than hers had been, she missed her small fireplaces. It had been nice to supplement the building’s giant Octopus coal furnace’s heat for her apartment, and in particular, for her bedroom, and to any extent she desired, as long as she had the firewood. The extra blanket she’d pulled over the footboard from the bench to heap on top of her during the night wasn’t enough to ward off the uncomfortable cold this morning, and sadly, it was only going to get worse. Andrew generated a delightful amount of heat with his masculine metabolism, but in general, she slept too warm for him, and during the night he’d retreat to his side of the bed, often with only the sheet to cover him. Assuming he
“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