Grace, Jack & Magical Cats
by Mary Matthews
Contents
Splendid Summer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emeralds, Diamonds and Amethysts
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
A Christmas Feral
A Christmas Feral
Cher Ami
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Further Adventures of Grace, Jack & Magical Cats
Coming Soon
A Note from the Author
Copyright
Splendid Summer
“Who then can so softly bind up the wound of another as he who has felt the same wound himself?”
Thomas Jefferson
Chapter One
When Grace saw her parents’ dead bodies, she knew the rest of her life would be a performance. That was the first truth. Before the grief, the anguish, and the crushing pain of separation, came the knowledge, her mere existence would never be enough for anyone again. She might feel happy again. But to live life, in the company of someone for whom her mere existence meant joy, wouldn’t happen. Everyone else would require a performance of beauty, intellect or wit.
Without siblings, her parents’ will provided for guardianship to pass to her Uncle Charles and Aunt Alice. Aunt Alice hated Grace’s mother. Uncle Charles acquiesced to his hostile wife’s commands that he avoid those who loved him. Estrangement ran in Grace’s family. It ran marathons.
Still, Uncle Charles had warmly welcomed Grace, and kept her in the finest boarding schools before sending her on to Finishing School in London. She’d adored London. On the ship home from England to New York, Grace dreaded parting with her best friends, Ruth and Emily.
“She’s a few dances short of a full card.” Grace mocked Aunt Alice to Ruth and Emily. At Grand Central Terminal, people slowed to look at them, a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead. They could even make men pause on their way into the Stock Exchange.
“I don’t think your Aunt Alice knows it’s the 1920s,” Emily said.
“I don’t think she even knows it’s the 20th century.” Ruth replied.
“Thanks for coming with me to the station.” Grace said.
“Bees Knees. I wouldn’t have missed it. Adored the attendant leaping to open the taxi and take your luggage. And you’re coming back to New York for my Debutante Ball,” Ruth said.
“You two couldn’t lose me if you tried. You’re like my only family.” Grace replied.
“That’s all wet. You know your Uncle Charles loves you.” Ruth reminded her.
The train whistle blew and attendants rolled out the red carpet with its proud logo, “20th CENTURY LIMITED.”
“I want to go too. I’ve heard Rudolph Valentino takes the 20th Century Limited,” Ruth said.
“You’ll be at my own Ball in California soon. And we’ll write, won’t we?”
“Yes. We’ll make a pact. We’ll write Round Robin letters.” Ruth said.
Emily nodded in agreement.
Grace, feeling very regal, strolled along the red carpet and entered the train.
She stopped at the train’s lending library and reached up for a copy of Letters of Thomas Jefferson, tripping slightly. Another hand covered her own.
“Are you alright?” A deep masculine voice asked.
She looked up and saw green eyes that mirrored her own.
“Sure. Just practicing a little gymnastics.” Like a cat, she pretended she meant to do that.
“Falling for me already?” He asked.
He smiled and she noticed the dark mustache that matched his dark hair. He looked about six foot two. The hand that still held her felt strong.
“I’m Grace,” she said shyly.
“Really? I’m Jack Brewster.”
She would have slapped him but his hand caught her wrist. And she wanted to take Letters of Thomas Jefferson with her.
“Thank you,” she said certain that everyone was staring at them, and suddenly grateful that he didn’t look like anyone who’d be at a Debutante Ball. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt.
“Anytime. I’m a Pinkerton Detective. I never sleep. And you’re taking the book I want.”
“Surely there’s a bedtime story for you here, Jack.”
“Miss Wentworth? Shall I show you to your suite?” The Pullman porter bowed slightly.
“Of course.” She felt grateful for the opportunity to slip away.
Her suite included a drawing room and a sleeping berth where the porter busied himself plumping pillows. Magazines filled with advertisements lay on the drawing room’s table. She picked one up. Your Face is Your Future, proclaimed the Pearl Facial Cream advertisement that promised she’d lead a wrinkle free life if she applied it nightly. And to think she’d been wasting time on French, Piano and Etiquette lessons.
She checked her appearance in the floor length mirror. Brunette bobbed hair, alabaster skin, a nose she’d been told was adorable all her life, and red lips that didn’t require lipstick. She changed into a red dress for dinner. She brushed her hair quickly, and slipped on new Mary Jane pumps hoping to get to the Dining Car and never see Jack Brewster again.
In the compartment across from her, she saw him, standing by a berth. A white cat sat against his pillows, grooming a paw.
“Do you sleep with her?’
“No, we’re just good friends.” he replied.
Chapter Two
“Great. We can read it together over dinner.” Jack gestured to the copy of Letters of Thomas Jefferson she’d planned to read while dining alone. The dining room steward showed her to a table. Jack sat down across
from her.
“Do you always get what you want?”
“We’ll soon know.” He raised one eyebrow.
Grace looked at the ring on his right finger. “New Haven?” She asked.
“No. West Point. Class of 1915.”
“I’d like to be a detective like you,” she said.
“Dolls aren’t meant to be detectives. Go to your balls, Debsy, get married to a blue blood stock broker and have little debutantes and little stockbrokers.”
“Women make better detectives. People confide in women. They don’t feel threatened.”
“You’re going to make every guy you meet a little threatened. He’ll look at you once, notice you’re pretty, look at you twice, notice you’ve got a good figure, and if he listens when you open your mouth he’ll notice you’re smart.”
“I’m not arguing with you,” she said.
“Can I get you an appetizer?” The Dining Steward asked.
“We’ll have the Russian Canape Caviar appetizer. And lobster for our entree,” Jack said with authority.
“Will we? I’ve never tried the Russian Canape Caviar.”
“Trust me. I’ve done this before. I’ll hold your hand,” Jack said.
Silently, Grace traced circles in the linen tablecloth with her fingertip. The table was set with 20th Century Limited china, silver, and a single red rose in the center. Grace pulled the rose towards her. Beautiful scent. She put the rose back. And turned towards the window where the Hudson glistened as it had since the 1600s when her ancestors arrived in the colonies.
“My parents died a long time ago.”
“I’m sorry. Was your Dad in the war?” He asked.
“No. They both died in the flu pandemic. And my Mom’s brother became my guardian. And somewhat reluctantly, my Aunt Alice. She didn’t have children by choice and she wasn’t keen on inheriting one.”
Jack lightly covered her hand with his own. Words were unnecessary.
“Miss Wentworth, mail delivery for you. And a telegram.” Her own Pullman porter had returned.
“Nice service,” Grace said. “I love it that I can get mail here.”
“Don’t be so impressed. Soon all the mail will be delivered by air and Charles Lindbergh will cross the Atlantic. Do you believe that?” He asked.
“Yes,” Grace said.
“Good. I’m an aviator. And my biplane, my cat and I are spending the summer working in Coronado.” Jack spied a copy of Coronado Tent City News amidst Grace’s mail.
The Director of Amusements announces a Bathing Beauties Contest:
First Prize: $100
Second Prize: $50
Third Prize: $25
“You’re going to Coronado Tent City for the summer?” He asked.
“Is Director of Amusements an actual job title?” Grace asked.
“If it is, maybe I should apply,” Jack said.
“My roommate at Finishing School had a cousin who couldn’t find a husband so she went to Cornell. She’s a teacher and I’m not sure she even makes $100 a month.”
“Well, clearly young ladies in bathing suits contribute more to society than educators of children.” Jack suggested.
Grace looked out the window at the Hudson River.
“Only joking. Are you going to enter?”
“Oh please,” she said, flinging her long pearls in the air. “I really don’t have any interest in parading for inspection before idiots that judge women.”
“You might win. Though, I don’t know, the competition might be stiff. I judged last year.”
“Oh, believe me if I was in it, not only would I win, the judges would be stiff. But I have my own money. And I expect my dance card to be full.”
“Who sent the Coronado Tent City News to you?”
“My Uncle Charles. He prefers staying at Tent City while my aunt and I stay at the Hotel del Coronado. And he just telegraphed something about a stock purchase. He handles my trust money. He didn’t have time to come to my Finishing School graduation. So we’ll celebrate when I get back to Coronado.”
“No time like the present for a celebration.” Jack gestured.
A man brought over a silver tumbler.
“Is that bootleg?” Grace asked.
“I prefer the term Martini.” Jack shook the tumbler before pouring it in both their glasses.
“Bravo.” He held his glass up in a toast to her.
“Thank you.” She clinked her glass against his and sighed, “I love this river. My ancestors settled along the Hudson in the Seventeenth Century.”
“And what might they have been doing?”
“Beaver trading.”
“Oh. I think I may have done a little of that in highschool. I didn’t see any beaver at West Point. But it has a great view of the Hudson River.”
“And you walked in the footsteps of the Revolutionary Patriots.”
“Yes. Even before there was an academy at West Point, George Washington trained his troops there. He strung a chain along the Hudson River to slow down British ships.”
“Brilliant.”
“Weren’t they all? I used to keep a copy of Thomas Jefferson’s letter to Maria Cosway, Dialogue Between My Head and My Heart, on my nightstand,” he said.
“And which won? Head or Heart?”
“It was all in the timing.”
“Thank you for dinner.”
“Dessert?” Jack asked.
“Don’t look at me.” Grace picked up her beaded purse and stood.
“Do you really know Jefferson’s Dialogue Between My Head and My Heart well?”
“ I’m a card carrying member of Revolutionary Colonial Daughters.”
“ Then you know that Jefferson wrote, “Do not bite at the bait of pleasure till you know there is no hook beneath it.”
Standing at the door to her suite to open it for her, Grace’s Pullman porter gave her another telegram:
SORRY I MAY NOT BE IN SAN DIEGO TO MEET YOU. IMPORTANT BUSINESS IN NEW YORK. DON’T WORRY. AUNT ALICE WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING. SHE WILL SEE YOU AT REVOLUTIONARY COLONIAL DAUGHTERS LUNCH. LOVE, UNCLE CHARLES.
Sure, she knew Jefferson’s Dialogue Between My Head and My Heart. “The most effectual means of being secure against pain is to retire within ourselves, and to suffice for our own happiness.”
Chapter Three
Grace’s Pullman porter rustled the curtains of the inner train compartment to gently awaken her. He would never knock.
When she opened the door, he greeted her with fresh orange juice and coffee on a silver tray.
“Thank you. I didn’t think I’d see orange juice ‘till California.”
Grace relaxed with the newspaper while he readied her luggage for the transfer to the Chief train in Chicago. She’d change trains but her Pullman porter would stay the same. Grace felt reassured by that. In twenty years of life, she’d had enough of changes already. She remembered Jack and felt an unfamiliar, awakening desire.
Unlike the gentle Pullman porter, Jack rapped at her door. The white cat stood next to him, unblinking.
“Doesn’t she belong in a carrier?”
“No. The world would probably be better if people were put in carriers and cats roamed free.”
“She won’t run away?”
“Oh please. She’s with me,” Jack said.
When they left the 20th CENTURY LIMITED, the white cat chose to walk between them in a gesture that seemed territorial. Her piercing meow made Grace sorry she imbibed a Martini. She felt a tug at her arm.
Jack moved quickly and retrieved Grace’s purse from a stranger. Grace’s heart pounded. The stranger disappeared into the crowd.
“Oh dear God.” Grace trembled.
“Forget him,” Jack said.
“How did you know?” Grace asked, feeling weak.
“Tatania and I both knew. That’s why she meowed. She may be deaf. But all her other senses are more acute. And she’s protective of people she likes. She seems to like you. She doesn’t
usually like women around me.”
Grace entered her new suite. Something bothered her but she couldn’t articulate it. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching and following her.
“Please bring her some milk.” Grace told the Pullman porter.
Tatania jumped up on the table and deciding Dining Car menus were unnecessary, knocked them to the floor.
“You’re right, Tatania. I already know I’m having the French toast tomorrow,” Grace said.
“Are you traveling from Los Angeles to San Diego by train or steamer?” Jack asked.
“Train.”
“I have a ride. You could join Tatania and me.”
She imagined being in his car. Why not? It’s not like anyone would be meeting her at the train station in San Diego. Aunt Alice wouldn’t bother. And Uncle Charles could be out of town.
“Bees Knees.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Absolutely. And thank you. For saving my purse.”
“Well I thought you might want to pay for something.”
“Dinner.”
“Kidding, Debsy.”
She sank gratefully into solitude when Jack, Tatania, and the Pullman porter left. The train pulled slowly out, rocking her like a baby, soothing her rattled nerves.
The Pullman porter came back quickly. “Another telegram for you Miss Wentworth.”
DON’T WORRY ABOUT BANK ACCOUNTS. I’M HANDLING RECENT STOCK PURCHASE ON YOUR BEHALF. AUNT ALICE WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING. LOVE, UNCLE CHARLES.
Odd. She got up to go to the telegraph and mail office of the train to talk to the telegraph operator. She walked through the lounge where prosperous gentleman chatted and drank from silver tumblers of private gin. The rich wood paneling made her yearn for home.
She sauntered past what she suspected was Jack Brewster’s compartment. He popped his head out.
“Tatania heard you,” he said.
“I thought she was deaf?”
“She’s psychic.”
“Then she knows I’m going to see the telegraph operator about a telegram from my uncle.”
The cat blinked.
“We’ll go with you.” Jack announced.
He pulled open the door for her. The telegraph operator lay slumped over the table, a carving knife lodged in her back, blood still dripping on the floor. Tatania walked daintily around it.
“Go back to your suite.” Jack said.
Magical Cool Cats Mysteries Boxed Set Vol 1 (Books 1, 2 & 3 & A Christmas Feral) Page 1