“Good morning, darling.”
Yawning, Evelyn stretched and turned into Andrew’s embrace. “Good morning. How long have you been awake?”
“Half hour or so.” Cuddling her close, he kissed her forehead. “I found the sound of the ocean waves rather soothing. In fact, I don’t recall having slept quite so peacefully since the train. Unfortunately, I don’t find the screeching of the gulls or the terns nearly as calming. It’s a bit like waking up to the racket in Times Square.”
The fine hairs on his chest tickled her cheek and Evelyn shifted her head against him, laughing. “It’s a wonder you didn’t shout for a cab in your sleep.”
“I have to agree with you. As much as I’m proud of him for getting his life together, I miss having Mickey as a driver.”
“Ah,” she inhaled the sound. “Elitist as it sounds, even t
“Is that him?” Evelyn asked softly, suddenly grateful for the bulky dark sunglasses that hid her eyes. At least the sailboat captain wouldn’t detect her trepidation quite yet. The man was nearly as tall as Andrew by her estimation, but bulky and muscular where Andrew was lithe and lean. He was dressed in faded shorts and a t-shirt that clung to the contours of his muscular body and cut tightly around his biceps and thighs. He lounged on the ship’s deck barefoot, his dark features— black hair, dark eyes and a dark complexion even beyond his tan—lent a menacing air to his countenance. “It’s the only boat moored to this dock and still left in the marina, so I’m going to assume that he’s our captain, yes.” Shuffling their luggage to one side, Andrew leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why so cautious, darling? He’s supposed to be the best sailboat captain in the state for
The Blue Yonder swayed with the rolling waves as Andrew and Evelyn reached the swim platform and pulled themselves back aboard. Holding the railing, she got her feet under her and stood. At the ship’s bow, Blink had set up a folding chair. With his fishing line thrown into the water and the rod tucked into his folded arms, he dozed in the warm sunshine, his feet propped on the bow railing. “And you were worried he might swim over to the cave.” Andrew glanced down his straight nose at her, flashing a devilish smile. “No,” she corrected softly, reticent to wake their captain. Though the sun was warm, gooseflesh erupted over her skin. “I was worried he’d know what we’d been doing. None of this convinces me otherwise.” Reaching into the back of the boat, Andrew lifted a towel, one of two Blink had left there for them. Unfolding it, he wrapped it about Evelyn’s should
“He looks particularly taciturn and even a little moody,” Evelyn said softly as they neared Blink who was carefully readying the ship for their final day of sailing.“There was a liberal amount of alcohol flowing around here and a bikini contest last night,” Andrew reminded her. “If he’s sullen and uncommunicative at all—which I must admit, will surprise me—it seems more likely it’s from a late night and a whopping hangover than anything else. I’m certain we’ve nothing to fear, darling.”Despite his reassurances, Evelyn’s anxiety didn’t lessen. Her head throbbed dully, compounding her discomfort, even though they’d imbibed only mildly, gone to bed early—particularly for them—and they'd both rested well. The crisp morning air studded with bird calls and singing should have set the precedent for a perfect day.
“Mr. James,” said the Trust’s manager, “performing the duties of a bank teller are not entry-level responsibilities. When you asked me about an internship, I expected you were hoping for experience for you or another man of your acquaintance. Women really don’t belong in roles such as this. It requires a highly detailed mind and with the emotions they have, they’re not as trustworthy. They’re better suited as data clerks.”Outside the manager’s office door, a disappointed Evelyn attempted to catch Andrew’s eye, worrying the tip of her thumb with her teeth. There was no good that could come of this—if the man didn’t want her around, if he thought that way about women in general—then he would only make the time she spent here miserable, even if she did get to learn some things she might never have the opportunity to otherwise.A wicked green
Evelyn was waiting at the Trust’s double front door before eight o’clock the following morning. She recognized the first of the bank tellers to arrive—a generally pleasant young man with bright blue eyes and blonde hair named Rupert. They’d met yesterday afternoon during her introduction and tour. Though their coloring was the only commonality they shared, the soft-spoken introverted man still reminded her of Lily. It started a little homesick ache in her heart. He nodded brusquely, inserting his key into the door’s lock, then met her polite smiling gaze. “Good morning. I’m afraid the bank lobby won’t open until ten.” As was wont to happen, as soon as he looked into her eyes, he froze. She waited until he came to whatever conclusion he was going to about her presence and intention, giving him a brighter smile as he flashed his. “I must apologize, ma’am. I’ve forgotten your name. I remember now that you toured the lobby yesterday afternoon.” He flushed a little in embarrassment. “It
Andrew was waiting in the Ambassador lobby, engrossed in the newspaper when Evelyn arrived after her first day of real work at the Trust. Having the opportunity to observe him, unnoticed and uninterrupted, she ambled towards him more slowly, enjoying the view. The man was impeccable. So much so that sometimes it was achingly difficult not to fawn. Still, that was the last weakness she’d ever allow herself. She had to be careful about inflating his ego as it was. Since they’d arrived in California, he’d taken to keeping his hair shorter, which allowed him to avoid styling it with pomade. Though she preferred it longer purely for the sake of winnowing her fingers through it, there was no denying the sun-kissed waves had an appeal all their own. In combination with his handsome features and that fine, kissable mouth, he set the gold standard for a spectacular looking man. Abruptly, he folded the paper down, doubtless having reached the end of the article he’d been reading, and glanced
By the end of the week, Evelyn had settled into a regular schedule working in the LA Trust lobby. She’d become adept at assisting with the morning clearing house reconciliation and was particularly quick at the verification of checks against the bank’s signature cards. To her, it seemed only natural. After all, she’d spent years already keeping account records as a secretary. If there was extra time after the reconciliations were complete, Evelyn was allowed to practice using the Burroughs bookkeeping machines. Getting comfortable with how its calculation mechanism functioned required thinking in a different and challenging way, but she was determined to master it before they left to return to New York. During business hours, when the lobby was slow, she practiced using the comptometer. This device, while much more straightforward in its computation mechanism, still required some slight change in thinking. The most skilled operator at the Trust turned out to be Rupert. With the occas
“Of course she’s been seen by a doctor,” Andrew snapped. “I told you what he said.” Evelyn could hear the tension in his voice even before she woke fully. She ought to get up and check on him, before his temper escalated to something they’d both regret. The instant she tried to move, however, her body objected. Vehemently. She lay in bed, her eyes still closed to block the light, and took stock of her physical state. Dear God, I hurt. Not just a little either. Every single muscle from her head to her feet throbbed with exhausted pain, as if she was a new recruit after her first day of military basic training. Oh, how she longed for that magical vial of aspirin Madame Moreau had included in her toiletry bag and the relief it promised. Even the muscles in her hands felt as though she’d abused them. If she considered how that was remotely possible, it seemed a truly singular feat indeed. “I beg your pardon?” Andrew’s words
“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