He picked up the receiver and dialed the operator. When she came on the line, he asked to be connected to the Hotel DeSoto in St. Louis. He inserted the requested coins, his gaze still on Eloise as he waited for someone to answer his call.
“Hotel DeSoto. Switchboard.”
“I need the room number for Leonard David Mitchell, please.” His hope that she’d say no guest by that name was staying at the hotel was quickly squashed.
“Mr. Mitchell is in room 584, the presidential suite.” That sounded impressive. And expensive. “Would you like me to connect you?”
“Thank you, yes.” Why am I doing this? He had nothing to say to the man. Nothing good anyway. And he definitely didn’t plan on warning him that his daughter was on her way to see him.
A moment later, a jovial voice came on the line. “Mitchell here.” The murmur of voices could be heard over the music that played in the background. “I say, is anyone there?”
Phillip scowled and immediately hung up. His call to the hotel had a purpose, but he should never have agreed to be connected to Mitchell’s room. He’d given in to an impulse, something he never did.
Trusting your gut, your instincts—that was one thing. But this had been different. A foolish, foolish impulse that gained him nothing except more proof that he was letting his heart rule his head where Eloise was concerned. Good thing Uncle Richard couldn’t see him right now. He’d probably send him back to the academy for remedial training and find someone else to accompany Eloise on any more interviews.
The distraction ended now. He’d go to the Hotel DeSoto with her, and he would stand beside her if she chose to confront her father. But professionalism would rule his conduct. Before long, they’d have the person responsible for the letters, whether Velvalee Dickinson or somebody else, in custody. Eloise would return to her code-breaking duties for the navy, and he’d be on his way to basic training. He doubted their paths would ever cross again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The train pulled into St. Louis’s Union Station late the next afternoon. Eloise, mesmerized by the magnificence of the Grand Hall, wanted to do nothing more than stand in one spot and take it all in. The vaulted ceiling was adorned with frescos and mosaics. Travelers overlooked the midway from a series of third-story balconies outlined by similarly adorned arches. Even the windows were artistically designed.
“Every train station seems more magnificent than the last,” she said to Phillip. He carried both their bags while she clung to his arm. She didn’t want to risk getting separated from him in this noisy, oversized crowd.
“You should have seen this one before the war.” With his hands gripping the suitcases, he pointed his chin toward the ceiling. “There was a chandelier up there with three hundred and fifty light bulbs. I heard it weighed two tons.”
Eloise tried to imagine the beauty of such a grand fixture but was certain she failed. “What happened to it?”
“It was made of wrought iron. What do you think happened to it?”
“They turned it to scrap metal?” Even though it was the patriotic thing to do, the loss of the giant chandelier seemed a pity. How could anything like that ever be replaced?
“Along with the platform gates. They sure were a sight to see.” Phillip frowned as departing passengers jostled past them. “Let’s get out of this crowd.”
She had to practically jog to keep up with his long stride, not an easy thing to do in her heels. But she refused to ask him to slow his pace. He’d been a grouch since before they reached Topeka, and it was all her fault.
The day before, once they were back on board the train, he had told her that Richard was aware of their plan. But he refused to share any details of the conversation. He also informed her that he’d used his FBI credentials to secure two rooms at a hotel next to Union Station’s Grand Hall. Then he buried his nose in a book, which he didn’t seem to be reading. While at supper in the dining car, he asked for her entrée preference before the meal and how had she liked her baked ham as they ate pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. Nothing else.
After escorting her to their cabin, he had retreated to the club car. When he returned, she pretended to be asleep. She didn’t hear him leave again, but he was gone when she awoke. Shortly before the train pulled into St. Louis, he sauntered in and reorganized his suitcase.
Once again, she chastised herself for saying anything to him about her father. If only she’d kept silent until they arrived in St. Louis. He still would be upset at her plan, but he wouldn’t have had nearly as much time to brood. Though it was too late now to change what had already happened—Mother once told her the past was set in concrete—Eloise carried the heavy weight of her emotionally wrought foolishness.
They found the entrance to the hotel and crossed the narrow lobby to the front desk. Phillip gave his name and showed the badge while Eloise endured the clerk’s curious stare with as much dignity as she could muster. Which wasn’t much. She was weary from a restless night’s sleep and wanted nothing more than to soak away the dirt and grime of train travel from her hair and her skin.
After Phillip signed the guestbook, the clerk handed him two keys and gestured for a bellboy to take their luggage. He led the way to their rooms, pointing out the communal bathroom along the way. Eloise quietly prayed her room would be nearby then breathed a sigh of relief when the bellboy stopped three doors down.
A corner nightstand held a basin and matching pitcher while a narrow bed took up most of the space in the tiny room.
“Are all the rooms this small?” Phillip asked.
“They’re all the same,” the teenager said. “People who stay here are usually on their way to somewhere else, so they don’t need much in the way of anemities.”
Eloise and Phillip glanced at one another, both amused by his mispronunciation. Then Phillip blinked, and the shared moment ended.
He pulled a few coins from his pocket. “We can manage from here. Thank you.” Once the bellboy left, he turned to Eloise. “Will you be okay here?”
“It’s a palace compared to the sleeper,” she said lightly. He merely nodded and picked up his suitcase. Definitely not the response she’d hoped from him. If that’s how he wanted to be, fine. Two could play this game. “Why don’t you go on to Ohio without me?”
His eyes widened. Because he wasn’t used to being confronted? Or because he knew he was acting like a donkey’s behind? “I’m not leaving you.”
“This is already hard.” She folded her arms. “So, either tell me why you’re mad or just go.”
He refused to look away as he worked his jaw, but Eloise didn’t care. She didn’t look away either.
“I can do this all day,” she said.
He lowered his head but not before she caught the hint of a smile playing on his lips. She was too indignant to care. He met her gaze again. “I’m not mad at you. Far from it.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He placed his suitcase on the floor and folded her hands in his. “I can’t explain what’s been going on with me. I’m not sure I know myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s not important. But I do have something to tell you. Something I should have already told you.”
Her stomach clenched at his tone, but she feigned indifference. Despite the warmth of his hands, her skin felt cold. “Oh?”
“After I spoke to Richard, I called the Hotel DeSoto where the gala is being held. Your father is staying there. Room 584.”
Her knees turned to water, and she would have fallen if Phillip hadn’t been there to support her. “Did you talk to him?”
“No.” He eased her to the bed and sat beside her. “The operator connected me to his room, but when he answered, I hung up.”
“You heard his voice?”
“I did.”
Eloise reached back into her memory, trying to recall the last time she’d heard her father’s voice. The last time he’d said I love you. But it was impossible
to capture a singular moment that could give her that gift.
Phillip patted her hand. “We’ll go whenever you’re ready. Just say the word.”
His change in demeanor along with his lack of an explanation for his earlier behavior confused her, but for now she needed to save her emotional energy. At least he was no longer sullen and was more than willing to accompany her. Though she had meant what she said—she didn’t want him along if he couldn’t be kind—she needed someone to be with her.
“I want to freshen up.” And take a bath. Hopefully, the communal bathroom was unoccupied.
“Take as much time as you need.” He lifted her suitcase onto the foot of the bed. “My room is right across the hall. Knock on the door when you’re ready.”
“I will.” She followed him to the door and closed it behind him. Now that she was alone, all her nervous energy seemed to need an outlet, but she refused to give in to tears. Not now, when she needed all her strength to face her father.
She took a deep breath, whispered a quick prayer, and unlatched her suitcase. After pawing through her clothes, she placed her hands on her hips. What she needed was a new dress. She’d spotted a few shops as they traversed the Grand Hall. And then she decided on a quick shower instead of a long, soothing bath—an easy sacrifice to ensure she presented herself with confidence. She still had no idea what to say to her father or if she’d say anything at all. Maybe she only needed to see his face and for him to recognize her.
Until they were in the same room, she couldn’t know how she would react. All she knew was that she needed every possible advantage. A new dress, confident poise, and Phillip by her side. None of that could hurt.
She ran a comb through her hair, reapplied her lipstick, and grabbed her handbag. Time to find the perfect outfit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Phillip opened the door and stared at the vision standing in the hall. Not fair, God. How was he supposed to keep his emotions in check when Eloise stood before him, an intoxicating combination of loveliness and vulnerability? He might not be able to pinpoint the color of her dress, but what did that matter? He’d heard his sisters talk about their fashion choices enough to recognize the heart neckline covered by a dotted swiss lace overlay and the faux asymmetrical wrap of the skirt.
“Hello.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “You…you’re stunning.”
“Are you sure? I’m so nervous.”
“I’m sure.” He glanced down at his black trousers. Thankfully, he’d had the foresight to have his best suit cleaned and pressed. Otherwise, he’d have looked like a country bumpkin next to a society belle. “Come on in a moment. I couldn’t decide on a tie.”
He gestured to the two spread on top of his closed suitcase. “What do you think? The blue one or the gray one?” At least he could identify the colors, though the shade of blue was so pale he didn’t understand how it could be considered the same as the color he recognized as blue. But Debbie had assured him it was. Helpful older sister that she was, she’d created a system to help him match his ties to his clothes. She stitched a simple design on the underside of each one. One / for blues, two // for yellows, a # for browns, a + for greens. Those were the colors that gave him the most difficulty. His own personal code, and an especially easy one to break.
“I like the blue one,” Eloise said. “It adds a bit of pizzazz to your suit.”
“The blue one it is.” He slung the tie around his neck and deftly knotted a half Windsor. “Do you have a plan for this rendezvous?”
“There’s a reception before the awards ceremony. As one of the guests of honor, he’s certain to attend.”
“I never would have taken you for a gate-crasher,” Phillip teased as he shrugged into his jacket.
“I’m not,” she said, obviously offended he’d think her capable of such behavior. Or perhaps prickly because of her unsettled nerves. “I thought we could, oh, I don’t know, perhaps meander around the lobby. Just be nearby. Though I’m open to other suggestions.”
“It’s not a bad plan. I’m assuming you don’t want to make a public spectacle.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then we need to get to the hotel before the reception starts. Find the best spots to set up surveillance.” A task that would have already been completed if this were a real operation. Maybe something he should have done earlier instead of sprawling on his bed and waiting for the time to pass. Though it unsettled him to play a supporting role, he’d accepted that’s what he needed to do this evening. This was Eloise’s mission, not his. It was up to her to decide how much interaction she had with her father. Whatever her decision, Phillip was determined to stand beside her.
Eloise took a deep breath and tucked her clutch bag beneath her arm. “I’m ready.” Her tone was bright, but her adorable red lips were pinched into a tight smile.
“Let’s go then.” He escorted her from the room, locking the door behind him while he prayed the evening would bring her peace…or at least not turn into a disaster.
A taxi whisked them from Union Station to the hotel as the sun appeared to rest above the famous St. Louis arch. A gentle breeze chased away the heat of the August day, creating the perfect early evening weather for a casual stroll. That would have been more to Phillip’s liking than the coming storm. Eloise might not want to make a scene, but his gut told him that the situation could quickly escalate into thunder and lightning. He offered Eloise his arm and prayed for nothing more than a quick summer shower.
They entered the lobby, where a few people gathered near the registration desk and bellboys stacked luggage on carts. To the right, widely spaced columns formed an L that allowed easy access to the hotel’s bar area. Tables draped with black squares over white floor-length cloths were scattered in front of the bar, which stood before a mirrored wall. Most of the seats were already taken by women in long gowns and their grandly attired escorts.
“I guess I should have packed my tux,” Phillip said in a low voice.
“And I should have bought a different dress,” Eloise whispered back.
He wanted to tell her that her stunning appearance took his breath away, but the compliment died on his lips. He would hope to say the words in a flirty, noncommittal tone that eased her tension, but that was impossible. He meant the words too much to say them lightly, which meant they couldn’t be said at all.
His fingers clasped her elbow, and he steered her toward a vantage spot beside one of the columns. From here, they could see almost all the bar’s patrons. “Do you recognize anyone?”
He followed her gaze as she scanned the crowd. A few moments later, the sudden bracing of her shoulders gave him the answer before she could verbalize it.
“There. Standing by the painting of the arch.”
Two men were engaged in conversation beside a painting of the famous landmark, but Phillip easily recognized Leonard Mitchell from the newspaper photo that Eloise had shown him. About five ten in height and carrying the typical paunch of a man who ate well and spent most of his time behind a desk, he held a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He laughed at something the other man said, clapping him on the back while squeezing the cigarette between two thick fingers and throwing his head back. He easily—almost too easily—fit the stereotype of “hail fellow well met.” Too friendly. Too familiar. Too chummy.
The over-the-top personality no doubt contributed to the accolades he looked forward to receiving later in the evening. But how did that personality reconcile with that of a man who abandoned his family when he should have faced life’s harsh realities? He was obviously a successful financier once again. Couldn’t he have achieved that same accomplishment without running off to the West Coast?
Eloise may have been asking herself the same questions. Her gaze was directed toward the two men, and her mouth was set in a grim line. Though Phillip couldn’t read her mind, he could read her. She was intelligent and intuitive—and her mental wheels were in overdrive as sh
e observed her father’s bombastic behavior.
Phillip shifted toward her. “What do you want to do now?”
Instead of answering, she slipped away from him, though not in a direct beeline toward Mitchell. Instead, she skirted the edge of the crowd until she reached a column near the wall. Only a few tables separated her from her father. Phillip followed behind, stopping several feet away.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He resisted the amateur move of turning around. Instead, he removed a cigarette holder from his pocket. He wasn’t a smoker—primarily because of his mother’s sensitivity to strong odors—but the popularity of the habit made the holder an attractive prop.
While pretending his focus was on choosing a cigarette and preparing to light it, he maneuvered behind two matronly women discussing an upcoming wedding. He darted a glance at Eloise, who hadn’t moved from her spot opposite her father, then surreptitiously glanced toward the mirror behind the bar. A broad-chested man with wide sideburns perched on a stool nursing a drink. He immediately dropped his eyes to his glass.
Gotcha!
Phillip tagged him at about six feet, a little over two hundred pounds, and in his late twenties to early thirties. While the man pretended nothing interested him more than his liquor, Phillip pivoted away from the matrons and took a position near a column that gave him easy sightline to both Sideburns and Eloise’s reflection in the mirror while making it difficult for the man to see him.
Phillip had a choice to make. Confront the man or wait to see what he would do. Given the circumstances, neither option was to his liking. But since his only proof that Sideburns meant any harm was an indefinable yet trusted sensation, he decided to observe a while longer before taking any action. Besides, he needed to stay close to Eloise in case she needed him.
He looked her way again as two women joined her father and his companion. Leonard Mitchell wrapped his arm around the taller woman’s waist and pecked her on the cheek. She accepted the gesture with an adoring gaze then laughed at something Phillip couldn’t hear. Meanwhile, Eloise stared at the foursome while the man at the bar ran his eyes over the crowd.
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