Deadly Affairs
Page 31
He moved away from her, calling sternly for Dot. She beamed happily at him but made no move to obey.
Francesca sighed; so much for their truce.
And when Dot finally edged forward, clearly aware that he was not in a pleasant mood, and as Bragg tried to grab her, unsuccessfully, as she dodged him, Francesca realized just how unpredictable life was.
She would not worry now about tomorrow, she decided firmly. She would not worry about Bragg giving up his future in order to divorce his wife, nor would she worry about the portrait Hart had commissioned or Julia's absurd plans. No, tomorrow was another day, and there was just no predicting what might happen—given the recent course of events. What she would do was rest and heal her hand, just in case another crime fell into her lap. She did smile at that thought.
At least her life was not dull, drab, or routine.
"She is running away from me!" Bragg exclaimed. "That child has more nerve than two full-grown hooks and crooks combined!"
She smiled serenely at him. "Dot! Do come here, please, and show Bragg what a good girl you are."
Dot hesitated.
Bragg grabbed her hand. "There, I have caught you," he said sternly, but the little girl only laughed. He then smiled at Francesca. "I shall return her to Peter's care, as I am off for a one o'clock appointment with the mayor."
Francesca could not help having her curiosity piqued; she wondered what issues they were addressing. "Good luck," she said.
He smiled at her and walked out with Dot in tow. Francesca watched them until they had disappeared from sight, and the moment they had, a new tension filled her. It was impossible not to remain stunned over Bragg's assertion that he would divorce his wife.
She heard the Daimler's engine roaring to life.
Francesca stood somewhat shakily and walked over to a window, where she parted the draperies. The handsome motorcar was already rolling down the drive, heading for Fifth Avenue. She sighed.
"Miss Cahill?"
Francesca turned at the sound of a servant's voice. Bette stood in the doorway, holding a small silver tray. Usually a caller would place his or her card there, but now an envelope lay upon it.
"This just came by hand, Miss Cahill," Bette said.
Francesca accepted the envelope. "Thank you, Bette." Her name was written in a beautiful script upon the front, and there was no name or return address on the back. This was odd, she thought.
Francesca slit the envelope open with a letter opener. The note was also beautifully scripted, in the same hand. It was dated February 12. It read:
My dear Miss Cahill,
I should be in New York City soon, and I wish to meet you at your convenience. I shall be staying at the Waldorf Astoria when I arrive. I look forward to making your acquaintance.
Yours Truly,
Mrs. Rick Bragg
[To Be Continued]