by Deborah Camp
“Perhaps we should pay a call on the dressmaker ourselves,” Griffon said, already easing himself from the chair.
“Now just hold on.” Vick patted the air. “No need to bother her or her son. I’ve done told you they don’t know a blamed thing.”
“Then they shouldn’t mind telling us that themselves,” Griffon said.
“I told them they wouldn’t be bothered with this no more.”
“Bothered by it?” Lily broke in. “Why should it be a bother to them? Cecille is one of Bea Jefferson’s best customers, and Bea and David are our friends—or so I always thought.”
“That’s right,” Vick said. “And they’re sick at heart over this whole mess, but they can’t help you none in finding Miss Cecille. Take my word for it.”
Lily sniffed with disdain. “Why should your word satisfy me, Mr. Vick, when you’ve just admitted to keeping information from me and my family?”
“I did no such thing, ma’am.” He shook his bullish head adamantly. “That’s why I didn’t want you poking around in this business. Women get all emotional and can’t deal with cold, hard facts.”
“I haven’t fainted yet,” Lily said. “Is there anything else you’ve withheld? If so, out with it, please, before Mr. Goforth and I leave to speak with Mrs. Jefferson and David.”
“Now I told you there’s no need for you to pester them about this. They’re good folk. That boy of Bea’s is as bright as a new coin. Got quite a future ahead of him.”
At the familiar use of Mrs. Jefferson’s Christian name, Lily exchanged a speaking glance with Griffon, then rose to her feet, prompting the two men to do the same.
“I’ll be back if I need any gaps filled,” Griffon assured George Vick.
“I don’t work for free,” Vick said, his upper lip lifting in a snarl. “You want information, next time you pay for it, boy.”
“We have paid for it,” Lily reminded him. “My uncle paid you well for only half of what you know, so it seems. We owe you nothing, Mr. Vick.”
“I wasn’t speaking of your people,” Vick said. “I’m talking about this foreigner here. I don’t have to give him—”
“He is my family’s representative in this matter,” Lily interrupted, gaining a startled look from Griffon and a malevolent one from Vick. “If you have any information about my cousin, I’ll thank you to share it with Mr. Goforth.” She squeezed the library books between her arm and her side, then tugged smartly on her open-weave gloves. “I intend to inform my uncle of your failure to impart all you know about my cousin’s disappearance.”
“Hey, lady, I told y’all what was important.”
“All that you deemed important,” Griffon corrected.
“I’ll talk to Bea Jefferson. I don’t want you going near her,” Vick said, grabbing hold of Griffon’s coat sleeve.
Griffon lowered his gaze to the man’s hand, then lifted it slowly to Vick’s face. Not a word was spoken, but Vick must have seen something in Griffon’s expression, for he removed his hand as if he’d placed it in a pot of hot grease.
“Shall we go, Mr. Goforth?” Lily asked, interrupting the tense standoff between the two men. She pivoted sharply, her skirt and stiff petticoats twisting around her legs before falling into place to allow her to make her way to the door.
Griffon was there before her to hold it open, then ahead of her again at the corridor door. He retrieved his hat from the tree and directed a polite nod toward Vick’s mother, who gave him an impolite snort in return. Once they were downstairs, Lily turned to him.
“And what are you smiling about?” she asked.
“Did you think that Vick and I would join forces to milk your poor uncle of more funds?”
“I’ll show you to Bea Jefferson’s shop.”
“That’s why you barged in on my meeting with him, wasn’t it?” he persisted.
Lily stepped onto the wooden sidewalk, glad to be out of the musty-smelling building. “I wanted to confront George Vick myself,” she said, hoping to appease him.
“You didn’t trust me to handle him.”
“It’s not …” She clamped her teeth down on the lie. It was true; she didn’t trust him. But there was more to it. “I’m tired of standing back and doing nothing while the weeks slip by with no word from Cecille.”
He fit his dark gray hat carefully upon his head, then angled the curved brim to shadow his face. “I suppose you fully intend to question the dressmaker as well?”
“Of course. I’ve known Mrs. Jefferson for years. She’ll be most happy to speak with me.”
“Then you don’t need me.” He started to turn away, but Lily reached out and grabbed the tail of his coat.
“No, please!” The two books she clutched under her arm slipped and fell to the sidewalk.
“Allow me.” He stooped and retrieved them, examining each before handing them over. “Romantic poetry. Are you in love with someone, Lily?”
“That’s none of your business.” She refused to acknowledge that she was blushing, although her face felt as hot as a stove lid. Then he did the most outrageous thing! He placed the tip of his forefinger against her nose and gave it three taps before she could retreat. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, breathless, anxiously glancing around to see if they’d been noticed. The street was busy, but no one seemed interested in Lily or her tall, dark escort.
“I love your nose,” he said, grinning. “The way it tilts up just so.” He laughed under his breath. “Charming. It says so much about your character.”
“Behave yourself or I won’t be seen with you again,” she whispered, incensed that he didn’t seem to take her warning seriously. “I mean every word of that, sir.”
He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to be on the verge of a swoon.
Lily looked pointedly along the street in the direction of the dressmaker’s. “Bea Jefferson’s business is two blocks from here.” She saw wariness enter his silvery blue eyes and knew she’d have to allow him his responsibilities. “She’ll probably be much more cooperative if I come along, don’t you think? I’m a friend and you’re someone she’s never laid eyes on before. I’ll introduce you and then leave the questions to you.”
He cocked his arm, beckoning her. “Off we go then, partner.”
“We aren’t partners,” she said, slipping her hand in the proffered nook. The material under her fingers was of the finest, and she angled back a little to scrutinize him from stylish hat to polished boots. He’s a fine-looking man, she thought, but his air of unpredictability put her on guard. He wasn’t a man to be trifled with. George Vick would attest to that. One look from Griffon had singed the man.
“I appreciate your willingness to help me in my investigation,” he said, checking his stride when she had to trot to keep up with him. “However, if this is part of your plan to expose me as a—” He stopped and peered ahead. “Is Mrs. Jefferson’s shop the one with the pink sign swinging above the door?”
“Yes.” Lily looked from Griffon’s chiseled profile to the shop ahead of them.
“I believe I saw George Vick dart inside just now.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“That’s because you were too busy ogling me, while I was looking where I was going.”
“I was not ogling,” she said, fuming—and mortified that he’d noticed. “But how could it have been Vick? He didn’t pass us.”
“The back way, I suppose.” They’d reached the end of one block, separated from the next by gaps in the sidewalk. Pedestrians were forced to descend three steps, cross the mouth of an alley, then ascend three steps to the next block of sidewalks fronting buildings. Griffon looked down the alleyway. “He must have raced along the back of these buildings. He wants to warn her of our visit.”
“Let him. She’ll talk to me, nonetheless. I can’t imagine what she’s been hiding all this time. She knows my family. Why wouldn’t she help us if she could?”
“She’s protecting her own.”
“Why do you say that?” Lily asked. He had that keen look in his eyes that she was beginning to recognize as a sign that his mind was leaping nimbly to places she couldn’t go.
“Just a feeling,” he said nonchalantly, then glanced at her. Imps cavorted in his eyes. “It’s something I read in my crystal ball this morning.”
“I’m not amused by your attempt at humor,” she informed him haughtily, then swept into Bea Jefferson’s quaint shop in time to see George Vick pushing a confused Mrs. Jefferson toward the curtained-off part of the shop where the fitting rooms were located. Bea Jefferson was a small woman, dressed today in a cream frock of her own design. She looked like a lamb being herded by a bulldog.
“Mrs. Jefferson,” Lily called. “Might we have a word with you before Mr. Vick spirits you away?” She smiled, hearing Griffon’s low chuckle slightly behind her.
“I … Lily, how nice to see … George, please!” Mrs. Jefferson jerked her arm from Vick’s clutching fingers, her voice dipping to a whispery hiss. “It’s too late for this now.” She smoothed curls of her ash-colored hair from her forehead and moved with hesitant, mincing steps down the aisle to Lily. When she spotted Griffon, she stopped, tipping her head at a curious angle. “Lily, what can I do for you and this gentleman?”
“Mrs. Jefferson, this is Griffon Goforth. My family has retained him to find Cecille.”
Griffon, hat in hand, bobbed his head politely, and Mrs. Jefferson responded in kind.
“He’d like to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Jefferson.”
“Me?” The seamstress glanced over her shoulder at George Vick, who had been a moment too late in rescuing her. “I can’t imagine why. I told Mr. Vick here that I don’t know what happened to Cecille after she left my shop that day.”
“Is your son here?” Griffon asked.
“Yes, he’s upstairs, but he doesn’t have anything to do with this.” Her glance landed like a dollop of displeasure on Griffon. “Lily, I thought your family hired Mr. Vick to investigate.”
“We did, but we weren’t pleased with his work.” Lily sent Vick a scolding look. “My father suggested that we give Mr. Goforth a try. He’s had some success at locating people. So … David’s upstairs?”
“Yes, he’s studying for his exam.”
“The one that will license him as an attorney?”
Mrs. Jefferson nodded. “I don’t want him disturbed.”
“Mr. Goforth might have a few questions for David, and I must insist—” Lily chopped off the rest when Griffon cupped her elbow in one hand.
“He’s coming downstairs,” Griffon said, so softly she was the only one who caught his words.
David parted the curtains and stepped into the room. “Mama?” Vertical lines appeared between his dark green eyes. He finished slipping into his suit jacket, then adjusted his tie nervously. “What’s all this about? Hello, Mr. Vick, Lily.” He cocked an eyebrow at Griffon. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“Griffon Goforth,” Griffon supplied, moving forward, past Lily and Bea Jefferson, hand extended. “You must be David Jefferson.”
“I was telling your mother that we’ve hired Mr. Goforth to find Cecille,” Lily explained. “He seems to think you might know something—something you told Mr. Vick about, but which he failed to include in his report to us.”
David’s eyes widened and he and his mother traded uneasy glances. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lily.”
“David, I thought we were friends.”
“We are.” He brushed past Griffon to take Lily’s hands in his. “You know how much you mean to me.”
“Then why are you lying? Mr. Vick has as much as admitted that you and your mother know something about what happened to Cecille.”
“I said no such thing,” Vick said, his voice rising to a roar.
“George, please,” Bea Jefferson said, placing a hand on Vick’s coat sleeve. “Let’s keep this civil.”
“We don’t know anything,” David told Lily. “Not about that. We don’t know where she is or what happened to her. Honestly.”
“Why did you tell Vick to look for Cecille in Van Buren?” Griffon asked as he examined a summery yellow frock draped on a cotton-stuffed form. His question was answered by a telling silence while Vick and the Jeffersons tried to talk to each other with guilt-ridden eyes.
“For pity’s sake,” Lily declared, snatching her gloved hands from David’s. She filled her hands with the two library books so that David wouldn’t be tempted again to grasp them. “I can’t believe that you would conspire to keep information about Cecille from me and my family. I thought Griffon was mad to suggest such a thing, but here it is staring me in the face and … well, I’m heartbroken.”
“Dearest Lily,” Mrs. Jefferson said, rushing toward her. “We aren’t keeping secrets. That is … we mean no harm. What we know didn’t amount to anything. George checked it out himself and it came to nothing, so there wasn’t any need for us to involve ourselves any further. It’s a terrible business, is it not? And with David on the brink of his law profession, we felt it best if we stayed well out of it.”
A woman entered the shop and extended them a curious stare. “Good morning, Mrs. Jefferson. I’m here to look at the fabric you ordered for me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Spencer.” Bea Jefferson rushed forward, all quick movement and nervous gestures. “It’s over here. I think it will be perfect for that gown you’re planning. The shade of pink is all the rage in Paris and should enhance your coloring.” Mrs. Jefferson guided her customer to a corner of the shop where bolts of fabric were shelved, all the while casting worried glances over her shoulder at the others.
“Perhaps we could conduct our business elsewhere,” Griffon said, looking meaningfully at the curtains toward the back of the shop. “Is there a private office?”
“Follow me,” David said tersely, leading the way through the curtain, past the fitting rooms to a cluttered area with a secretary desk shoved against one wall. A few tattered chairs, stuffing leaking from corners, rimmed the desk. David lifted a stack of fashion books out of one. “Please, Lily, won’t you make yourself comfortable?”
Lily sat down and fluffed her skirts around her slim legs. It occurred to her that Mrs. Jefferson had sewed this dress for her last spring. She glanced apprehensively at Griffon when he stationed himself beside her chair, standing over her like a castle guard. David glowered at him, then leaned against the edge of the desk. George Vick slumped into one of the other lumpy chairs, his face drooping into deeper folds of jiggly skin.
“Might as well tell them, David,” Vick grumbled. “They won’t be leaving you or Bea in peace until you do.”
“If you’ve nothing to hide, then whatever you tell us can’t hurt you,” Griffon said. “If you are a friend of the Meekers, you should be willing to cooperate.”
“I am most certainly a friend of theirs,” David said, then looked beseechingly at Lily. “I’d never hurt you Lily. You … you’re special to me.”
Lily clasped her hands on top of the books in her lap and stared at them, unwilling to accept David’s earnest assurance. Betrayal ate away at the edges of her faith in him and his mother. Curiously, she felt closer to Griffon Goforth at that moment than to anyone else in the tiny, musty room.
“Do you recall that family from the Ozarks who performed during the spring cotillion?” David asked Lily.
She had to sift through the memories of that day and night of whirlwind activity. David had been her escort. Cecille had been on Scott Hamilton’s arm. Scott had left a month later to enter an Illinois college.
“They call themselves the Jeffers Gypsy Band,” David said.
“Gypsy?” Griffon repeated. “Gypsies in the Ozarks? Whereabouts?”
“They aren’t real Gypsies,” David said. “But they travel all over Arkansas, Kansas, and Missouri, so they call themselves that to make themselves sound more exciting.”
“What about them?” Griffon asked.
&
nbsp; David fixed his hope-filled eyes on Lily. “Do you recall how Cecille was simply mesmerized by them, Lily? She thought the one who danced and played those spoons like castanets was wonderful. She went on so about him that she made Scott Hamilton jealous. The dancer had long, dark hair and black eyes. Tall, lithe, but hard, muscled.” David swept Griffon from head to toe. “Not unlike this man you’ve hired.”
Lily’s gaze followed David’s over Griffon’s body. “I remember vaguely, but Cecille was forever getting wobbly-kneed over dark, mysterious men. Especially Gypsies.”
“Is that so?” Griffon asked, eyes suddenly alight. “You never mentioned that.”
“I haven’t mentioned much to you at all,” Lily reminded him. “We only met late last night.” She didn’t like the way he was smiling at her, as if she’d revealed some bald fact about herself. “Orrie put all that in Cecille’s head. She used to read us stories about Gypsies and fairies and other such nonsense. What is so amusing, Mr. Goforth?” she demanded when he released a short bark of laughter.
“Placing Gypsies in with fairies,” he explained. “As if the two are somehow connected.”
“In Orrie’s mind they are. Anyway, Orrie’s stories fed Cecille’s wild streak, and she thought Gypsies and circus people were the most exciting in the whole world.” She returned her attention to David. “But what has this to do with Cecille?”
“She … she …” David sighed and looked distressed.
“She took up with the dancing one.” George Vick spoke up. “The two of them snuck around and saw each other from time to time, and he and his people make their homes out Van Buren way.”
“Took up with him?” Lily asked, her spine solid as iron. “What are you saying?” She looked to David for help, but his head was bowed. “Cecille is decent. She wouldn’t do such a thing as slip off and sport with a total stranger.”
“They weren’t strangers after a spell,” Vick said with a snicker. “I told you that you didn’t know your cuz as well as you thought. When you get right down to it, nobody knows nobody at all.”
“If this is true, you had no right to keep it from us,” Lily charged. “We’ve spent week upon week searching for Cecille, and all the while you knew what happened to her.”