With an exasperated huff and a muttered curse, Andrew jerked his head down the stairs and towards the older apartment's lobby. “Let’s go then, Officer Morgan, if you’re going.”
At his urging, Evelyn took the remaining steps to the ground level while he pulled on his coat and then followed. She didn’t resist when he cupped her elbow, steering her past the wall of tenant mailboxes near the lobby door and the short flight of external stairs that would take them to the street level. While she was disappointed to be denied even this brief bit of normality and time alone with Andrew, she could hardly fault Will Morgan for his staunch dedication to the duties assigned him.
Perhaps he was a bit over-zealous. After all, since Edward Montero's death over the summer, there'd been little else of any threat. Sure, strange people and stories had surfaced, but even the contact from Miranda Stiles hadn't been dangerous. And she had to admit, the poor fell
“Oh! There you are!” Mary exclaimed as Will shoved his way around the door to Evelyn’s fourth floor apartment, each arm laden with a brown paper sack of groceries. “We were beginning to—what on earth happened!?”With Andrew supporting her, Evelyn limped her way into the tiny kitchen of her apartment. Before she could even pull out a chair to sit down, the rest of her ‘guests’ came flooding in to see what the hullaballoo was about. Besides Mickey and Tank, she was fairly certain she saw every other tenant residing in the building standing on tiptoe and bobbing left and right, trying to get a look at her.“Ladies,” Andrew pushed further into the room, arms wide and herding them backwards into what had formerly been her living room, “if you please. We just need a few minutes to get settled, then if you’ve all haggled to your heart’s content, we’ll get started moving furniture.”
With all the windows in the entire apartment thrown open wide to let in the cool night air, Evelyn slumped on the edge of a windowsill. Nearby, an exhausted Mary occupied the dressing table’s stool. Through the kitchen, they heard the return of Andrew, Will and Tank. “We did this wrong,” an exhausted Will said around his hard panting breaths as they entered the former living room in search of the two women. Andrew chuckled mirthlessly, crossing the mostly empty room to perch on the windowsill beside his wife. “Oh, now you tell me.” “Yeah,” Will continued, easing himself to the recently swept and mopped floor, then laying out, spread-eagle, with a low groan. “The stuff that had to go the furthest, we should have taken first. While we were fresh.” “I don’t know. I still think taking the stuff that was heaviest first was a wise move.” Lifting Mary, Tank took the dressing table stool then pulled her onto his lap in an intimate, possessive way. “Th
Tossing the folded piece of paper on the table, Detective Kelly pivoted and faced the two plain-clothes policemen. “Get her out of here.” “How dare you!” Andrew’s chair tipped backwards onto the floor with a loud smack as he vaulted to his feet and began shoving at the men attempting to arrest his wife. “I’ll have your badge for this!” “Mr. James, I can assure you if you don’t get out of the way, we’ll add resisting arrest to the extensive list of charges your wife is facing,” Detective Kelly surged into the fray of struggling men. “Maybe we’ll take you downtown too for aiding and abetting.” “The hell you will! Who do you think gave you that information!? Surely, you can’t be this idiotic! Why would we give you something that incriminated either of us!?” Still struggling to hold off the three men, the larger Andrew snarled, infuriated, “Get your hands off of my wife!” While Evelyn cringed over the table, frantically trying to scrape the papers they’d
“Peter!” The shout was accompanied by loud clapping, as if somehow this would encourage some sort of hustle in the boy who loathed the onset of winter weather almost as much as Evelyn did. “Come on, kid! Get a move on or we’ll be late.” With a patient sigh, Evelyn pushed one of the folded mirrors on her dressing table to an angle where she could see Andrew buttoning his shirt behind her. “It’s far too early for it to be this busy in this two-bedroom apartment,” she groused. “He’s talking to a six-year-old boy about getting ready for school, not offering rousing locker room coaching to an entire football team after a bad first half.” Andrew tipped his head back and laughed heartily. “I hadn’t realized it was making you so moody, darling,” he managed once he’d reigned in his mirth. I’ll talk to him this morning about keeping his encouragement to a more manageable volume, but quite frankly, I’m content to tolerate a few loud mornings rather than have to
“What did you say?” With a frightened squeak, Evelyn startled violently, dropping the empty matchbook and stumbling backwards. She crashed into her rolling chair, falling awkwardly into a sit as Andrew darted forward to catch her. Once she was stable again, they both looked up to find Will standing in the outer office doorway, his molten caramel eyes boring a hole into them. “Oh, Will!” she clutched her throat with one hand. “I’m so out of practice, I didn’t hear the lift chime. You startled me.” Accepting Andrew’s proffered hand, she stood. “Obviously and I’m sorry.” The former police officer spared a quick glance around the outer office as he entered slowly. His gaze flicked to the view from window to window, over the fine carpets, furnishings and drapes before he craned his neck to get a look into Andrew’s office. With an appreciative brow arched, he met his employer’s unusual blue eyes, darker than his wife’s and as oddly variable in shades from b
The silence hung like a thick soupy fog in the library after Octavia James made her undignified exit. Outside, the rain had begun again in earnest and the patters of fat drops against the window glass, the regular ticking of the mantle clock, and the crackle of the fire seemed to come from a distance through it. Almost as if they’d been tamped down and muffled by the tension that still coiled, wraith-like and terrible, into every corner of the large room. It vied for the most uncomfortable aspect of this whole confrontation with the echoes of Andrew and Octavia’s cruel words. Above the rush of blood past her ears, Evelyn could scarcely hear anything else, but her eyes were fixed to Andrew’s profile, slowly relaxing into its usual handsomeness after being contorted with fury. She ached for him, truly, because no matter how much he hid behind that stoic façade, she knew him as a man who felt profoundly—his love was no less fierce than his anger, his joy no less intense than his sadness.
“Andrew! For pity’s sake, you’re going to make me drop something.” Lifting the oven door closed with her foot, Evelyn tossed her hair, trying to rid her face of the stray strands clinging to the sheen of sweat from the overwarm kitchen. Their dinner guests would likely be arriving soon, and Evelyn was beginning to stress that she'd miscalculated the timing on each of the items she was cooking. She'd feel simply terrible if people gave up time with their families to be here and things weren't ready. Pivoting, she set the heavy turkey on the kitchen island seating it over the potholders she’d laid out before she removed the pan from the oven. Now relieved of her burden, she sighed, wiping at the annoying hair, then beamed a smile at her husband. Andrew accepted that as an invitation immediately. Darting around the island, he captured her around the narrow waist, tugging her up against him. “Mmm, you're warm. You know, if you’d let me help you, you
Unlike the poor Red Hook area of Brooklyn where the Sosa family lived, Will Morgan’s family home was in the Dyker Heights community between 11th and 12th Avenues. The neighborhood was affordable to a combination of working class and modestly middle class residents, a great many of whom were hard working immigrants from Italy and Ireland. As Andrew’s Rolls pulled alongside the curb out front, Evelyn watched the three younger Morgan children dart up the staircase into the house. She was pleased to see that the residents here weren’t gaunt or starved looking. Though their clothing was nowhere near the quality or caliber of the high end designs from Moreau’s that she wore, it was clean and well cared for. The children she saw had toys to play with and seemed happy despite the inequity of wealth that divided them from her. She understood from Will that his mother and grandmother were resourceful, and both were good cooks. Like her, they’d learned to
“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