Stars in the Night
Page 1
STARS in the NIGHT
STARS in the NIGHT
CARA C. PUTMAN
Summerside Press™
Minneapolis 55438
www.summersidepress.com
Stars in the Night
© 2010 by Cara Putman
ISBN 978-1-60936-011-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Scripture references are from the following sources: The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Chris Gilbert | www.studiogearbox.com.
Interior design by Müllerhaus Publishing Group | www.mullerhaus.net.
Summerside Press™ is an inspirational publisher offering fresh, irresistible books to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Printed in USA.
DEDICATION
__________
Colleen, thank you for believing in me from the moment Eric told you I wanted to be a writer. My life is so much richer because you’ve believed in, encouraged, and pushed me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
__________
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
__________
I have long loved the World War II time period. Since discovering it in its richness as a teenager, I’ve often thought I would have made a better teen in the ’30s and ’40s than in the ’90s and ’90s.
I love my movies in black and white. I love my music with swing and soul. And I love the heart of a generation that united to fight a common enemy in ways that I hope we would today. That love for the history and time tugged me to this story. I’d been blessed to write two series set on the home front. At the end of those, I began to pray about where I should go next.
Hollywood seemed logical. You’ve got glamour. You’ve got glitz. You’ve got movie stars who stayed and movie stars who put careers on hold to enlist. From Ronald Reagan to Jimmy Stewart to Clark Gable, many stars sought a role in uniform. But not everyone could. Some were exempt because of health. Some were exempt because of age. And others were the wrong sex. Yet as in so many parts of the country, many wanted to find a way to serve the cause.
The Hollywood Victory Caravan was part of that effort. The real caravan traveled by train from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., where they opened at the White House. The true caravan was packed with stars, a veritable who’s who of Hollywood—Bing Crosby. Claudette Colbert. Desi Arnaz. Laurel and Hardy. Groucho Marx. Add in a couple dozen and you have the group that crossed the northern United States and stopped in cities like Chicago and Minneapolis to entertain crowds and, more important…sell war bonds. The trip was highly successful.
My mind began to spin with ideas. What if there were a second caravan? And what if it ended up having the flair of The Orient Express? What if people died and you had to suspect people you would never in a million years have believed capable of murder? While the second caravan is completely fictional, I hope you enjoy the flavor of the real caravan and authentic settings. And most of all the spirit of that Greatest Generation.
Many thanks to Susan Downs for approaching me about a historical romantic-suspense story and being every bit as excited about Stars in the Night as I was. It has been a thrill to work with Susan. And thanks to Ellen Tarver and Jim Davis for helping me express everything in the way I intended. I am so excited to work with the team at Summerside on this book. Sabrina Butcher, Crystal Miller, and Sue Lyzenga jumped in to help in such an important way by reading the book as I wrote it. They know me and my writing and made sure everything worked. And huge thanks to Robin Miller and Colleen Coble for brainstorming the germ of an idea into a full-fledged plot.
Many thanks to my wonderful agent, Karen Solem, who has always believed in me and never pushed me. On the contrary, this amazing woman constantly urges me to slow down. A message I need to hear even as I struggle to follow it.
Most of all, thanks to my family: Eric for always believing in me and supporting my crazy dreams and the resulting crazy hours; Abigail, Jonathan, and Rebecca for thinking its really cool that their mom is a writer. And to our parents Walt and Jolene and David and Virgene for supporting me in my writing. I couldn’t do this without them.
Jesus, may You be honored by the words I write. May they be a sacrifice pleasing and acceptable to You.
PROLOGUE
__________
Friday, June 5, 1942
Just how many changes would she need to make before Artie called with the news he had a contract for her?
Rosemary Schaeffer puckered her lips and studied her image in the mirror she’d perched atop the overflowing vanity crammed in the corner of her studio apartment. The small space had shrunk when her friend moved in a couple of days earlier. Rosemary pulled her focus back to her image. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late. The blond curls swirling around her heart-shaped face in carefully arranged short layers still seemed like they should belong to someone else.
A sigh welled up from deep inside. Nothing had gone as she’d planned when she moved to Hollywood with dreams of landing on the silver screen. Sure, she’d landed an agent quickly, but sometimes she wondered if she should follow all of Artie’s advice. Still, she was in too deep now.
If she hurried, her latest “date” would arrive after she finished her preparations for their evening of Hollywood nightlife. A swift dusting of powder across her nose and she could escape her tiny apartment. Not quite the bombshell beauty of Jean Harlow, but more girl-next-door. Directors had parroted Artie’s words that she’d never transform into a leading lady looking like this. Even Myrna Loy had an underlying sex appeal. The kind that kept men watching while women viewed Myrna as a friend rather than competition.
“Keep moving, Rosie.” It didn’t matter how often she studied her image, the results wouldn’t change. She was who she was—but she still paused to add a swipe of black kohl around each eye. She kissed the air. “A little enhancement never hurts.”
She eyed the leg makeup but shook her head. She didn’t have time to mess with the lotion and have it dry. Besides, she had to hurry or this latest so-called date would arrive and see the mess she lived in— the wardrobe exploding with clothes, the desk piled high with stacks of scripts and other papers, and the tiny sink loaded with dishes she needed to wash. The mess didn�
��t bother her. But the tiny space didn’t measure up to the image of an up-and-coming movie star. No, it showed the disarray of a life lived on the edge of chaos.
She had learned in about two days that in Hollywood, image meant everything.
She grabbed the blanket she’d tossed on the couch, which doubled as her bed, and folded it. All the while, she tried to ignore the burble of unease that built whenever she spent time with one of Artie’s clients.
It might be standard protocol in this town for aspiring actresses to spend time escorting men. But somehow she knew her daddy would not approve and her mother would be horrified—even if she could make them understand she was in over her head. The guilt was compounded by the thought that she’d missed her call home last night. She couldn’t force herself to dial the operator. She didn’t know how to escape, and talking to her parents only made it worse.
She wanted out but longed to see her name in lights even more. And so, she continued to do exactly what Artie ordered. What choice did she have?
Still, she couldn’t fight the certainty that this simply wasn’t right.
The coil of unease that settled in her stomach with each phone visit seemed heavier tonight.
Had Audra noticed it? Somehow Rosemary knew she had, and that realization both comforted and alarmed her. Audra would do something crazy…her protective instincts and self-imposed guilt were too well developed to be ignored. Rosemary glanced at the letter she’d started that tried to explain things to Audra, but for once, the words wouldn’t come.
Even if her rule remained that the men didn’t come into her apartment, it wasn’t enough to justify the night’s events.
Someday she’d land a long-term contract with a studio and walk away from this part of her life. Until then, she did what she could. Her appointment book was the only thing here that hinted at her shadow life. It contained careful records of the dates and limited information she had on the men she’d accompanied as well as the purely career-focused events. Rosemary had kept a book like this from her earliest dating days. It didn’t matter to her that some of the men wouldn’t want anyone to know the beautiful women they took around town were escorts.
Rosemary settled at the vanity and examined her makeup again.
A swift knock rattled the door.
She launched to her feet, the chair spilling behind her. Perfume and cosmetic bottles on her vanity rattled against each other, and she tried to steady herself with a hand on the tabletop.
“Coming.” She caught one last glance in the mirror. Her eyes were wider than usual, pupils dilated. This date had her completely unnerved. She’d asked Artie to let someone else handle him, since his reputation for having a short fuse scared her. But he’d insisted she was the one, and she couldn’t let her fear show now. “Get ahold of yourself. Play the part.” She ran her hands around her glamour bob curls, pursed her lips in a pout, and willed the fear from her eyes.
Rosemary hurried to the wardrobe and shoved the black book under a pair of shoes in the wardrobe drawer, the only place she had to store them in the cramped space. The door shook in its frame as he pounded again.
She glided to the door, straightening the lines of her claret-colored evening gown.
“Are you in there, Rosie?” The words sounded slurred already, the man drunk even earlier than his reputation suggested.
“Hold your horses, buster.” She mumbled the words, making sure he didn’t hear. She pulled a light wrap from its hook and opened the door just enough to slide through it. “Let’s go. You don’t want to be late.”
Hours later she stumbled from the cab, relieved to be back home. She hurried up the sidewalk to her door. She loved the way her apartment had the privacy of its own entrance. She could almost pretend she lived in a little cottage rather than a tiny apartment.
She fumbled through her bag, hunting for the key. After unlocking the door, she pushed it open and flipped on the light switch. A small groan reached her.
“Rachel?” The word slipped from her lips, barely more than a whisper. Was her roommate ill? Her gaze searched the room, but she didn’t see Rachel. Whispers of fear edged up her spine, and she turned to leave. Then thought again.
She couldn’t leave Rachel.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Rosie whirled around. She trembled when she saw a man she knew—one whose square build intimidated even before she could take in his blond hair, blue eyes, and the rich tan of someone who spent more time on the beach than working. “What are you doing here?”
He hurried to her side, yanked her arm, and slammed her against the wall. The strong stench of whiskey followed him into the room like a cloud.
“What’s the idea?”
He slammed the front door shut then paced the room like a caged lion from davenport to bistro table and back. “You weren’t supposed to be back. He promised you’d be kept away.”
Rosie huddled against the wall, unable to move in the face of his wrath. The shimmy of fear turned into full-blown panic.
She swallowed and straightened. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”
He moved over her, his shadow pressing fear deeper into her. “It’s too late for that.”
CHAPTER ONE
__________
One day earlier
Thursday, June 4, 1942
“Well, well, Audra. I do believe you’re ready to take this matter to trial.”
Audra Schaeffer soaked in the atypical praise. While Roger Clarion was a good man and fair boss, he did not toss praise around for any and all to hear. Satisfaction pulsed through her. After seven years of school and two years where the only job she could find after law school required her to serve as a legal assistant, Mr. Clarion had given her a chance. If everything went well, in less than a month she’d litigate her first case in superior court. A simple case, but it was hers.
He pulled reading glasses low on his bulbous nose and examined her over the rims. “Don’t let me down, or we’ll both be the laughingstock of the Indianapolis legal community.”
“Yes, sir.” The image of her standing at the podium in front of the counsel table, a legal pad resting on it, filled her mind. She’d finally done it! She’d earned the right to try a case.
He smiled then shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d have a woman working for me as an attorney, of all things.” After a twist to his bow tie and a tug on his sweater vest, he stood and grabbed the wool jacket hanging on the coat tree in the corner of his office behind the massive cherry desk. “Now get out of here. I understand you have an important call to take back home.”
Audra couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. “Fortunately, Rosemary’s usually a few minutes late.” Since the day she was born a week late, Rosemary couldn’t be hurried to join the rest of the world. Audra stood and walked to the doorway. “You can’t believe how hard it is to wait for her calls. But it is a blessing her landlady allows Rosie to call us regularly from her phone. I don’t think Mother could handle it if we didn’t have our weekly report on all things Hollywood.”
Mr. Clarion chuckled. “Off with you. Can’t stand in the way of that.”
“See you in the morning, sir.” Audra hurried from the office and scooped her hat and purse from the seat of her desk chair. If she hurried, she’d make the bus that would get her home in time for Rosemary’s call. Being a little out of breath would be worth it if she could steal a few moments with Rosemary without her parents listening. Audra pushed through the front door into the bright sunshine of an early summer day. Squinting against the brightness, she merged into step with the other commuters headed to cars or buses. The sidewalks pulsed with energy as people hustled to get home to dinner and their families. The United States had been at war only a few months, but already women outnumbered men on the sidewalks.
Audra glanced at her watch and sped up. Her high heels clicked against the concrete as she all but ran toward the bus stop, one hand squishing her hat securely to her head. Ahead s
he could see the behemoth belching exhaust as it idled, waiting for passengers. She had to reach it, because she couldn’t miss Rosie’s call.
The last time Rosie called home, she’d been out of sorts. Short. Distracted. Yet no matter how Audra had tried, she couldn’t pull from Rosie what was bothering her. She imagined her sister doodling nonsense images on a piece of paper as she held close what disturbed her. If Rosie were home, Audra could eventually tease the problem from her and help her deal with the situation. But now, with so many miles separating them, Audra felt powerless to help. How she hated that. She was supposed to smooth out Rosie’s problems, as she had all through high school when the boys decided Rosie was the cat’s meow—her long legs and sweet face attracting them long before she was aware.
Audra reached the bus and relaxed. She’d made it. She climbed the steps, deposited her coin, and found a seat in the back by one of the lowered windows. Though tinged with the stench of diesel, the trickle of outside air seemed fresher than that in the bus.
“Is this seat taken?”
Audra looked up and smiled at an older woman. “Please.”
The woman, burdened with a couple of bags of groceries, collapsed onto the seat next to her. She fanned her face and turned forward. “I didn’t think I’d make it in time. My kids would have been mighty disappointed if they had to wait for supper while I waited for the next bus.”
Audra smiled politely then turned back to the window. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger then tucked it behind her ear.
Tonight, Rosemary would have funny stories to weave about people she’d observed, stars she’d met, and roles she’d almost landed. The dinner table had been too quiet since she moved to California. She’d set her face toward the West and moved, determined to make her mark on the world.
Memories flowed through Audra’s mind of the many times before Rosie had stubbornly set her path. Time after time Audra had stepped in to either help the dream come true or thwart a pending disaster. She hid a chuckle behind her hand at the image of Rosemary’s determined attempt to make the costumes for a neighborhood play one summer. She’d written a script, drafted neighbor kids for the various roles, and then decided nothing less than specially made costumes would work for her production. Only problem was, she’d never sewn a stitch in her life and Mother was visiting a sick relative. That had left Audra to fill the gaps, something she’d gladly done. The play had been a neighborhood smash, the parents overlooking the melodrama and applauding the kids’ efforts. And Audra stood in the background enjoying Rosie’s success.