In real life, I suspect that Flo has set her sights considerably closer to earth. Shep Murphy, an old friend of mine and another member of my father’s newspaper staff, buzzes around Florence from time-to-time, but whenever I bring Shep up, Flo vigorously denies she has any aspirations in that direction.
“I don’t think it very likely that a movie actress would be cruising incognito on the Grassy River,” I told Flo.
“Then maybe she’s a criminal trying to elude the police.”
“I fear the mystery of her identity must remain forever unsolved,” I said. “We’ll dock in another five minutes.”
A dim glow of lights along the Greenville wharf pierced through the fog. The Flamingo, its whistle tooting repeated signals, was proceeding more slowly than ever. Sailors stood ready to make the vessel fast to the dock posts when she touched.
People began to pour from the salon, and Florence and I joined the throng. Passengers pushed and jostled each other, trying to obtain a position close to the gangplank.
Suddenly a girl who stood not far from me gave an alarmed cry.
“My pocketbook! It’s gone!”
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The Missing Groom: A Jane Carter Historical Cozy (Book Three) (Jane Carter Historical Cozy Mysteries 3) Page 15