Grace realized that even if Aunt Alice knew Uncle Charles owned a yacht, she would never venture near it for fear of getting wet.
“Do you know anything about a client named Mildred?”
“He saved her from a fraudulent conservatorship. Even though she lived with fifty beagles and fed them constantly. You know beagles have ravenous appetites. So they all grew very fat. And Mildred couldn’t stand the thought of paying for a weight loss program or dog walker. And didn’t want to take the dogs on long walks herself. Anyway, the dogs would bark at her for treats, and she’d give in. She moved to a little apartment complex in La Jolla. What was the name of it?” Julia looked up at the sky.
“La Valencia.” Julia answered her own question.
“What happened to the beagles?”
“They’re helping tourists hunt Jackrabbits. I’m sure she kept a few of them.”
“Amazing,” Grace said, when they excused themselves and left the yacht.
“He lost his own ego. Instead of enjoying Julia’s jealousy of Aunt Alice, Uncle Charles told her he hoped she would aspire to a better husband than a philanderer.”
“He loved her.” Jack said.
Chapter Sixteen
Jack reluctantly allowed Grace to accompany him back to the law offices. Cornelius was now suspicious about a former client who was bitter about the cost of his divorce case. They found him barking at the secretary to move his things into Charles’ old office.
“Better view.” He explained, gesturing to the bay, glistening blue under the San Diego sun.
“I’m sorry about your Uncle.” He noticed Grace a second too late.
Grace watched the secretary push Uncle Charles’ heavy desk out the door. “He didn’t kill himself,” she said authoritatively.
“Grace, you’re personally involved. That’s why it’s not a good idea for you to be with me now.” Jack responded.
“I remember watching him sign documents at his desk. He was left handed. The gun was found in his right hand.”
Cornelius gasped. “You’re right. He was left handed.”
“Most of the population is right handed. So the killer would have assumed that the gun would have been in his right hand. He didn’t kill himself. If he had killed himself, the gun would have been in his left hand. The gun was in his right hand,” Grace said.
“Any other disgruntled clients?” Jack asked.
“No more than usual. If you want a happy relationship, get a cocker spaniel,” Cornelius said.
“What about his wife?”
“What about her? She was demanding. She looked like a Gibson Girl when they got married. Really, I’m underwhelmed by her grief. “
Jack stared at him blankly.
“I’m dating myself. A Gibson girl was a turn of the century beauty.” Cornelius smoothed his greying mustache, imagining a lobster lunch at the Hotel del Coronado later.
“I miss Charles,” Cornelius said. He handed Jack a note.
“Check this one out. Stephen goes dancing at Tent City’s Pavillion to meet women every night. His girlfriend dumped him when he went broke paying alimony. He targets wealthy women. He’s the lawyer who placed Mildred under conservatorship.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You’ll be dancing with me all night,” Jack said, crossing Stephen’s name off Grace’s dance card. Then he crossed off all the other names and substituted his own.
When the Tango began, Jack led Grace from the Tent City Pavillion to the pier without missing a beat. Grace felt the salt air, Jack against her, with only the stars watching and the pier illuminated by the moon. The orchestra became redundant as they danced to their own rhythm to the music that began long ago, when they were born, and only they could hear the destiny calling them together.
Grace draped her leg over Jack’s, and placed her hand on his chest, claiming him in gestures of possession. His pants felt rough and gritty underneath her bare leg. He protectively grabbed the side of her leg, clasping his other arm around her waist. Only the moon illuminated the pier. Electric lights would be superfluous.
Too soon, the Tango ended.
“Lets show Stephen the Two Step.” Jack said.
Stephen approached Grace inside.
“I’m so sorry about your Uncle,” he said.
“Lets Two Step out to the pier,” Jack said, displaying his badge. Stephen nodded and walked out with them.
“I heard Mildred is a crazy dog lady,” Jack said, stroking Tatania, who mysteriously appeared on the pier railing.
“I made a mistake.” He shrugged.
“And Charles Hall separated you from that mistake. And her money. Rescued her.”
“I didn’t kill him. I was with someone the morning he died,” Stephen said.
“Who?”
“If I tell you, her husband might kill her.”
“Who is she?”
“Helen Randolph.”
“She’s in Revolutionary Colonial Daughters,” Grace said.
“And she’s spending time with this mutt?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. She was at the luncheon when his body was found.”
“His body was already cold. He died before the appetizers were served,” Jack said.
“I’ll talk to her,” Grace said, remembering Helen’s kindness to her.
Grace went to her room and phoned Helen. Helen confirmed that she’d been with Stephen. Grace and Helen, bound by secrets, became friends.
Chapter Eighteen
Kent, the Director of Tent City Amusements, took pride in the printing of Coronado Tent City News.
Jack looked around the small room and saw Coronado Tent City brochures, advertisements, a typewriter with a half broken key, and a map of the carnival booths and food stands on the wall. A picture of the first Tent City Cottages, set up for the guests of Hotel del Coronado, and a map of the Hotel del Coronado, lay on the table. Tent, cottage, or luxury suite, you could enjoy the same glorious ocean view.
“Cottage 4456 got a lot of complaints last night. Dog kept barking,” Kent said.
“It’s not the dog barking. It’s the people talking about the dog barking that’s a nuisance.” Jack replied.
“Either way, I have to keep them amused.”
“I’ll go out and collar the people complaining. Maybe I’ll put a leash on them too. Just kidding,” Jack said casually, walking back out towards the pier.
He walked past The Dance Pavillion and his body remembered Grace.
Chapter Nineteen
Aunt Alice threw down an application to Revolutionary Colonial Daughters. Grace wondered how she found time to focus on her lineage committee duties while their world fell apart around them.
“My Dear, if there is any question of legitimacy, she won’t be accepted. Illegitimate descendants are unacceptable to the Society of Revolutionary Colonial Daughters. What would be the point of a lineage society if the ill bred could join?”
Grace nodded, but felt uncertain. Revolutionary Colonial Daughters anchored her in a way Aunt Alice could never fully understand. And someday, she would help Charlotte join.
“Of course, I often wondered about the legitimacy of your mother. Charles adored his little sister. I was jealous. I drove her out of his life. She was the apple of his eye. And then she died, and I found out he’d be your guardian.” Aunt Alice sniffed at the imposition.
“I immediately went to boarding school. I pray it wasn’t too much of an imposition on you.” Grace remembered barely unpacking her bags before it was time for her to leave again. She became accustomed to living in a suitcase, to never getting attached to a space, or claiming it as her own, because she would always expect to leave it again.
“You know the way people will put their noses up to mansions, peering in at the rich?” Grace asked.
“Dreadful. I’m afraid I do. I was always instructing the maids to get those nose prints off the windows.”
“On the train, after my parents died, I would look at the window
s of families on both sides of the tracks, and wish I still had my family.”
“Do you still yearn for England? For France?”
“Only for the culture.” The truth was that since she’d been spending everyday with Jack, she hadn’t longed to be anywhere else.
“You can meet a rich man in London. I can’t give you money for that horse. You’ll simply have to sell him,” Aunt Alice said.
Grace noticed that she’d perked up since the insurance company expedited payment based on Jack’s report.
“I can’t sell my horse.”
“If you must ride, there are horses in Europe, my Dear. We can’t keep a beast. And frankly, I won’t stay in Coronado. I’m finding the gossip about Uncle Charles most unpleasant.”
Could she know about Julia? Grace still wasn’t sure. And couldn’t bring it up to Aunt Alice.
“I’m not going,” Grace said.
“What? You can’t stay here on your own. That’s just not done. A proper young lady must be chaperoned.”
“Aunt Alice. I’m an orphan. My Uncle has been murdered. I’m not feeling proper. My trust fund is missing. I’ve got my horse to feed. Social niceties seem irrelevant now.”
“Don’t be melodramatic and trite. I’m flabbergasted by your Uncle’s financial recklessness. Look at the way he behaved. He didn’t love you.”
“You will never, ever convince me that my Uncle Charles didn’t love me.”
“If you do not sell that beast, and accompany me to Paris now, you will never see a cent of his life insurance money. And you’ll never see me.”
“That seems like a bargain, Aunt Alice.” Grace turned to leave the room.
“I mean it. You ingrate. How dare you walk away from me! I never complained about having you around at holidays after your Mother died. Charles adored his little sister. I hated her. Hated the way they joked together and laughed. And you look like the spitting image of her. I earned that money.”
It still startled Grace that anyone could despise her sweet mother. Only Alice, with an evil countenance and soul, could hate a gentleman for caring for his little sister.
“Don’t ever touch me again. And don’t ever speak of my parents and my uncle again.”
“That tramp with the baby was the light of his life. I know because I was once the light of his life. He met her. And I was extinguished.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew, you insipid fool. I stayed for the money. You have your Mother’s beauty but lack her smarts.” She spat out the words.
“And you lack her guile. Your looks could open the doors to mansions for you. Jack’s a Pinkerton Detective. You could marry money. You haven’t traveled this far by your intellect and wit. You have beauty. Don’t waste it. Don’t dissipate it. And don’t throw it away marrying poor. What will happen to you when his plane crashes?”
“Do you feel no grief for my Uncle?”
“I feel grief for my life. You know that prayer you say to St. Anthony when you lose something?”
“St. Anthony, St. Anthony
Please come down
Something is missing
And must be found.”
Grace recited the prayer from her childhood.
“Grace, someday you’ll lose your looks. And when you lose your beauty, will praying to St. Anthony find it for you?”
“I don’t know yet. I imagine I’ll require a good cosmetic surgeon. Take your hands off of me. And don’t ever disparage Jack to me again,” Grace said and left.
Chapter Twenty
Ruth and Emily’s Round Robin letters were waiting for Grace in her room.
Dearest Emily and Grace:
So bored with teas, Petit Fours and Mumsie. Miss you both.
Dearest Ruth and Grace:
Dress fittings are becoming so tiresome! But I must have mine custom made. I will not be caught dead with the same off the rack frock at a Ball.
Alone in her room, Grace cried, yearning for the life eluding her. Dresses, Dresses, Dresses. Balls, Balls, Balls. She staved off homeless and hunger. They may have thought that only the country between the East Coast and West Coast separated them when they left Finishing School. The geography of their lives could be continents apart now.
She thought of explaining everything to them. But she knew they’d worry that lack of money could be contagious. So she simply wrote,
Dearest Emily and Ruth:
Uncle Charles died unexpectedly. Much to handle with the estate. Sorry I’ll miss your Balls.
With stock prices rising, no one even needed a ladder of success anymore. American companies had built an elevator. Ruth and Emily couldn’t even comprehend the language of financial uncertainty Grace was speaking now.
Grace slept fitfully. Someone kept waking her up. Someone kept whispering Grace outside her room. And then sprinting away. She thought of Jack. He wouldn’t do that to her. She picked up her phone. She knew she could trust him. Could call him anytime. Except he didn’t have a phone in his tent.
The window was open. The white curtains billowed in the sea breeze. She knew she had shut the window before she retired for bed. The sickening realization came over her. Someone had been in the room. The desk drawer was open.
She got up and checked the door lock. Bolted. The key was in her robe. Movement stirred at the window. Grace backed away from the window and a blur came through it. Tatania. The cat lifted up her rear end to be patted in greeting.
Grace obligingly petted the cat. She turned on the light, grateful that Thomas Edison had fully electrified the Hotel del Coronado. Someone turned the doorknob and began pushing against the door. Heart pounding, Grace moved soundlessly, and went for the window. She held on to the window sill with both hands, fearful of jumping, fearful of not jumping. She heard the door squeak.
She let go, landing on her feet like a cat, Tatania next to her, and running to Tent City, she stepped on something hard and wet. Her right foot hurt. Tatania led her to Jack’s cottage.
She didn’t knock but bolted inside.
“Jack, help please.”
He reached up for the chain that lit the sole source of light, a bulb hanging from the ceiling.
He looked appreciatively up and down at her, rendering her aware of her naked state beneath the thin white cotton nightgown. She looked down, self conscious of her hard nipples showing through the nightgown.
“Your foot is bleeding,” he said softly.
She looked down and saw more blood than she expected. He lifted her onto his bed. Jack’s arms felt strong and sinewy. She felt the warmth that surged through her when he touched her. Tatania sniffed around the wound and mewed in sympathy.
He picked up a whiskey bottle and poured it over the small wound on her foot.
“Owf” came her muffled cry from the hand he put over her mouth before he tended the wound.
“You’ll live.” He picked a handkerchief up from his table and held it against her foot until the bleeding stopped.
“What brings you out this late at night? Besides the insatiable desire for my company? Didn’t get enough of me today?”
“I heard something by my door. Then, the doorknob started to move. I jumped out the window.”
“You could have been killed. Or hurt.” He looked angry.
“It felt more dangerous to stay inside.” She didn’t tell him what was going through her mind as she ran to his tent. That she couldn’t bear to die. She couldn’t bear to leave this world as long as he was in it. He dominated her thoughts, he coursed through her dreams, his after shave scent stayed with her and filled her bedroom. And her body ached for him with a longing she’d never experienced before.
He draped a blanket around her shoulders.
“It’s stopped bleeding. Here, this will make you feel better.” He poured a shot of whiskey for her. She sipped it daintily. Ugh. How did people enjoy this.
He laughed. “I probably should have tea for you. Cold cucumber soup.”
“Don’t
make fun of me.”
“I’m not. Okay, maybe a little. People down the whole shot at once. I’ve never seen anyone sip a shot like you.”
“Okay, demonstrate.” She handed the glass to him. He downed the whiskey.
“I feel better,” he said.
She still shivered, more frightened than cold, thinking about what could be happening in her room.
“Do you want me to go back up to your room with you? I’ll carry you.”
“No! It’s not safe.”
“You are always safe with me.”
She felt terrified that something could happen to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her legs around him. It seemed like her desire for Jack could overcome her fear, and she felt powerless to leave his tent.
He gently lowered her so that she could lay on the soft white cotton sheet and he pulled the blanket over himself as he warmed her with his body. He kissed her forehead and nose and then her lips again, lightly licking his tongue across her lips.
The ache for him grew stronger. Their limbs intertwined, and she felt him loosening his pajamas, slipping them off his sinewy legs. His mouth found her again, and she knew she could never resist the magnetic force that drew her to him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Grace heard the first streetcar clang into Tent City. Tatania lay on top of Jack’s head on the pillow, unwilling to concede her territorial claim to him. She put a paw on Grace’s shoulder as if to say, I found him before you.
She heard the low rumble of a delivery truck, probably delivering ice blocks or clean laundry. Or maybe it was an early morning milk man. Or any number of people she wouldn’t want to see when she left Jack’s tent in her nightgown.
And suddenly, the terrors of the night didn’t seem real. Only the ache returned and in response, he clutched her tightly. The only solution would be to stay in his bed in his tent with him forever. That way, no one else would ever find out.
This brilliant solution lasted another minute until she heard something else.
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