“I know. I’m good.” Jack sported just a hint of facial hair stubble.
“It’s too early to be getting your winter coat,” Grace said.
On Jack, an emerging beard only enhanced his masculinity. It didn’t hide his strong jaw line. He looked like he could have been chiseled by Michelangelo in another century. A marriage of symmetry with every feature perfect. In counterpart to Grace’s femininity, they sought each other as one half seeking the whole, each life going forward as one piece of a puzzle until they met and solved it.
They opened Wentworth & Brewster, a detective agency next to Holland’s Bicycle shop on Orange Street.
“You’re a natural detective. So is Tatania. Women and cats are unafraid, curious, and get away with more simply by being cute. They appear innocuous. And therein lies their danger.” Jack winked at her.
Chapter Three
The large white marble staircase that dominated the Spreckels Mansion entryway always took Grace’s breath away. The Spreckels Mansion was a stunning confection of impeccable taste wed with wealth.
The butler greeted them and slipped a dance card on Grace’s wrist. Jack drew her wrist up to him, pen in hand, to put his name next to Waltz and Tango and Two Step. Grace untied the thread that secured the card to her wrist and slipped it in her purse.
“You don’t have to write it down. It’s understood,” Grace said.
“Understood.” Jack agreed.
“Glorious architecture by Harrison Albright. This house is divine. It’s Italian Renaissance Revival,” a woman with a long cigarette holder said to Jack.
“I live in an Army Tent Revival across the street,” Jack said.
The woman looked at Jack as if he’d just belched.
“He’s exaggerating. He lives in a splendid cottage at Coronado’s Tent City. Created by Mr. Spreckels.” Grace nudged Jack.
“They engaged architect Harrison Albright. After withstanding the earthquake in San Francisco, they wanted concrete reinforced walls. Albright is a genius with concrete,” Helen said.
Helen belonged to Revolutionary Colonial American Daughters and always spoke with authority. On everything.
“Harrison Albright honored John Spreckels by placing the Roman god Mercury on the Spreckels Building on Orange Street. Mercury was the Roman god of commerce, trade and thrift,” Helen said.
“He’s definitely a god of Commerce. I don’t know about thrift.” Jack looked at the Art Deco bannisters lining the marble staircase to the bedrooms of John D. Spreckels, Lillian Spreckels, and their family and servants. Architect Harrison Albright’s Italian Renaissance Revival design fit the art deco chandeliers and features.
“I hear he pays ten percent of the property taxes in San Diego County.” Helen whispered.
“I hear he can afford it,” Grace said.
They stood in the music room where white orchids bloomed amidst family photographs. John D Spreckels owned the Hotel del Coronado, the San Diego and Arizona Railway, Coroando Tent City, utility companies, and the newspapers. If he chose, he could bring the city to a halt.
“He could shut off all the utilities. We’d be in the dark.” Grace looked at Jack.
“We’d still have the sun.” He winked at her.
A gentleman in a tuxedo kept playing Cole porter tunes at a pipe organ next to them. Grace closed her eyes and listened to “Lets Fall in Love”.
“I want to live here,” Grace said.
“That would not go over well with my wife,” A voice said behind her. Despite grey hair, and the advanced age of about sixty, John Spreckels’ eyes still made him look sexy. The eyes focused on Grace now. She felt naked in his stare.
“Beautiful home, Mr. Spreckels.”
“This interior is looking beautiful. Please call me John. So I don’t feel like your Grandpa. I know I’ve seen you around Coronado.”
“I don’t go out much. To the library mainly.”
“Do you want to see my library?”
When she saw the Spreckels home library, Grace wanted to live there forever. Tatania nestled next to a book on buried treasure. She yawned at the sight of Grace and Jack.
“She’s such a pretty stray,” Lillie Spreckels said.
“She’s my cat,” Jack said.
“Oh, Dear, I’m afraid my chef has been serving her Sea Bass. She looks like a forlorn little angel.”
“We wondered why she hadn’t been eating. Now we know she’s been getting gourmet meals here.”
“I know her name is Fluffy. We were sitting down to a lunch of salmon, and I called Fluffy and she came right to me.
Tatania delicately licked Lillie Spreckels’ hands. She didn’t seem inclined to leave the Spreckels Mansion to return to Coronado Tent City.
A servant offered oyster appetizers on a silver tray. Grace delicately picked one up in its individual sea shell wrapper.
A Navy Officer walked in, saw Grace, and took off his cap. She felt Jack’s arm around her immediately.
“We’re partners,” Jack said, handing him a Wentworth & Brewster, Discreet Detectives gold embossed card.
“She’s a damn fine detective. She’s like a pitbull. She never lets go,” Jack said.
“He encourages me to stay up to date on my shots.” Grace smiled.
The sailor back away from them. Grace and Jack clinked their martini glasses together.
Sea lions frolicked in Glorietta Bay across the street from the mansion. And looking at the glistening water, Grace thought how far away her former life seemed now. She’d once been destined to be a debutante. Then, she’d lost all her money. And it ended.
With Jack, life seemed to be beginning again. If that was possible.
An elderly woman sat and watched Grace and Jack all night from a perch in the corner. She shuffled by Grace before she left and said, “If I was just a couple years younger, I’d really give you a run for the money for him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just don’t let him be the boss of you.”
“Madame Helen, there’s a telephone call for you.” The Spreckels’ butler bowed slightly, and gestured for Helen to precede him to the Spreckels’ drawing room.
She came back, looking frantically around her, in less than a couple minutes.
“I’ve been robbed,” She shrieked.
“Your purse is on your wrist, Dear.” Her friend Pauline said.
“No, you fool. My house has been robbed.”
“Call the cops,” Grace said.
Helen put her hand on Jack’s sleeve.
“I’d like you to come with me. And Grace. Please. Come back to my house with me.”
They made their apologies to the Spreckels and left. Tatania led their way on a clear Coronado night, with only the moon necessary to illuminate their way.
Tatania couldn’t hear humans but could sense what they were doing. And despite being deaf, or perhaps because of it, all her other senses worked keenly. She saw exceptionally well in the dark. And with an acute sense of smell, she could lead the way to Helen’s garden of mint, rosemary and sage.
Chapter Four
In English Tudor style, Helen’s home dominated its block.
“Things like this don’t usually happen in Coronado, Pauline. I’m ever so sorry that this is the impression you’re getting of our beautiful island,” Grace said.
“Dear, my husband is an Admiral. And with my own family’s money, I could own most of Coronado. I hardly need to be told what to think of it,” Pauline said.
“Where are the cops?” Jack asked.
“I didn’t call them. This case requires discretion. I want you to take the case, Jack. I trust you. And I don’t want the cops sniffing around this.” Helen leaned forward and patted Jack’s hand.
“What happened here?” Helen questioned her maid.
In a starchy white uniform, the woman’s thin frame trembled.
“He came in with a mask over his head. Like from Halloween. And he walked funny. Like there was a
defect in his legs.” She had a hint of an accent one couldn’t quire place. She looked about fifteen years old.
“He took your jewelry.” The maid cowered like a dog fearing she might be struck.
Tatania jumped up and began kneading her lap. The maid relaxed as Tatania’s loud purr filled the room.
“Can you describe the jewelry?” Jack asked
“It was a mixture of emeralds, diamonds, and amethysts. Some pearls.”
“Very pretty,” Grace said.
“We planned on donating it to a museum in England,” Helen replied.
“Donate it to a museum? Is it the size of the Hope Diamond? Are you going to tell me Evelyn Walsh McLean is staying here too?”
No, it’s—” Pauline hesitated, looking at Jack.
“You can tell him anything,” Grace tried to sound reassuring.
“His bark’s worse than his bite?”
“I wouldn’t say that. His bite’s worse than his bark. He’s more like a cat.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d take it as a compliment too. Mr. Brewster, you may be that rare male who knows that being compared to a cat is compliment. They likened our group to cats in England. And thought it would be an insult. That was their first mistake.”
“Emeralds, diamonds, and amethysts — do you know what that means Jack?” Grace asked.
“Her husband is rich.”
“What else?” Grace rubbed her hand along his muscular forearm.
“He’s an indulgent husband.”
“It’s Suffragette Jewelry. Give Women the Vote. Green, White, Violet — emerald for green, diamonds or pearls for white, and amethysts for violet. The first letter of each color was code for Give Women the Vote. A way for women to silently signal support for suffragettes in public. “
“Lovely,” Helen said, playing with gold and diamond bracelets on her wrist.
“And the WSPU—”
“—The what?” Jack asked, looking closely at Helen.
“The Women’s Social and Political Union. The WSPU would commission jewelry for the suffragettes incarcerated in prison. The combined worth of the collection Pauline and I put together is one hundred thousand dollars,” Helen said.
Grace heard the band playing “Nothing But Blue Skies” from the Tent City Dance Pavilion. She would have agreed several weeks ago. Then, her uncle died and her trust fund disappeared with him. It was as if the whole world was having a party and only she understood how quickly the music could end.
Helen’s nickname, Belle, came easily to her. French beauty. It suited the tall, elegant woman with a perfectly coiffed blonde bob and baubles adorning her body.
She looked nervously at the door.
“My husband can’t know about this. There’s someone else.” She watched the cat, Tatania, pacing the room, sniffing the air.
“I was seeing someone else. My husband travels to Europe for months at a time. When we were first married, he took me with him. Now he always has an excuse to not take me. He’s taking someone else obviously.”
“Why do you say obviously?” Grace asked.
“All the detectives I’ve had follow him tell me he’s with someone else.” Helen snapped at Grace.
“So I found someone else too. And then he began to demand money from me. He may have taken the jewelry to blackmail me for money. Or to sell it for money. It would be most embarrassing if this went to the cops and it became known that we had a relationship.”
“We can keep it discreet.” Jack assured her.
“Won’t he notice the jewelry’s missing?”
“I usually keep our combined collection in my personal safe. In my own bedroom. We were getting together to plan our donation and cataloguing and photographing it. Her husband doesn’t approve of suffragettes.” Pauline handed Jack a notebook.
“Does he really begrudge us the vote?” Grace asked.
“You’re not married,” Pauline said, looking pointedly at Grace’s ring finger.
“But you’re not looking either. You seem well satisfied with your life.” Helen stared at Jack.
“Bees Knees,” Grace said.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Glorious age. Enjoy. Did you meet someone at your Ball?”
“I didn’t have a Ball. My parents died a long time ago. My guardian uncle died earlier this summer.”
“Surely you have an advisor. Who handles your bank accounts? You couldn’t be handling your own money at twenty.”
“Fortunately, I have no money. No worries,” Grace said, twirling her pearls.
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to work out splendidly for you. I could tell from the moment I saw you that it would. You’ll find my jewelry and get a pretty Finder’s Fee. And he’s not going to let anything happen to you.” Helen looked at Jack.
“Where did you first see the man in the mask in the house?” Jack asked the maid.
The maid said that she walked in to the master bedroom to turn down the sheets and spray rose water and found the mirror off the wall, the safe open, and the masked man next to it. She began shaking again. Tatania head butted the maid’s leg. The shaking stopped.
“You’re certain you don’t want to call the cops?” Jack stared intently at Helen and Pauline.
“I prefer discretion. It’s very important to me. We will pay a fifteen percent Finder’s Fee.”
“And fifteen percent of sentiment pays—”
“—Mr. Brewster, I’ll pay fifteen percent of the value of the jewels. Fifteen thousand dollars.” Helen gestured to the notebook.
Jack flipped through its pages while Grace watched. Each necklace and bracelet looked magnificent.
Helen pulled out another black cigarette holder, at least a foot long, with what looked liked embedded emeralds, diamonds, and amethysts. Jack leaned forward to light her cigarette. Grace thought of the advertisement she saw in Vogue: Smoke and Stay Slim. It was working for Helen.
“He had some kind of defect in his legs. He walked oddly. His legs stuck up stiffly. Like a toy soldier or something.” Helen’s maid explained.
“Jake Leg,” Jack said.
“Do you know him?” Grace asked.
“Jake Leg is a condition caused by drinking bad bootleg liquor.” Jack grimaced.
“There’s rarely good bathtub gin. I’m never tempted,” Grace said, smoothing her dress across her legs.
“Leave bathtub gin to Joe College. At least their parents will know they’re enterprising. The last time Phillip and I were together, he seemed different. Menacing.” Helen drew on her cigarette, inhaling slowly, with a lung rattling only someone with acute hearing would notice.
“What’s the first sign of Jake Leg?” Grace asked.
“Intoxication. Then hangover. Then the weird leg stiffening. Trembling. It’s never good to be a cheap drunk. Bootleggers sometimes add a chemical called Jamaican Ginger. Cheap way to imbibe and become intoxicated. I’m never tempted because Grace is intoxicating enough for me.”
“Phillip isn’t usually a cheap drunk. But I suppose we’re all capable of surprising things under certain circumstances. One of his legs seemed stiff the last time I saw him.”
Jack resisted the impulse to ask if Phillip’s third leg was stiff the last time she saw him.
“Phillip may have robbed me to blackmail me when the affair ended. He could be bitter.”
“Does he have a job?”
“No. He’s a private investor.”
“Investing in?” Jack prodded her.
“Investing in everything. My husband can’t find out about this. I want to put the affair behind me. I’m having a hard time. He’s becoming menacing. He didn’t take the end well. Things are tough now.” Helen blew smoke through the room.
“I served in a war. I know that when things get tough in the present, we hold onto what’s best in the past, and that propels us to the future.” Jack reassured her.
“I still have a souvenir or two from
the Suffragette March.” Helen pointed to another page in the notebook.
Grace looked at a ticket receipt that said, Good for one in a Pierce Arrow for the Suffragette March.
“I thought it was a March,” Grace said.
“Bless your heart, Dear. Why walk when one can ride in a Pierce Arrow? One can show one’s support from a convertible. Those with a chauffeur also serve. Bunny Danforth of Revolutionary Colonial Daughters rode next to me in the March. She brought the martinis. Delicious.”
“Bunny? Is that another of those names passed from generation to generation?” Jack asked.
A servant brought them cokes with cherries floating on top. He bent down and served each one from a silver tray.
“Coke gives me more energy.” Helen explained.
“Grace does that for me,” Jack said.
“We need discretion here. It’s paramount.” Pauline twirled the cherry at the top of her coke.
“Don’t worry. If there’s one thing Jack and I both know, it’s how to keep secrets,” Grace said.
They checked the house. Helen had multiple dresses and shoes. When she liked a design, she bought it in every color. Well endowed women never wasted a moment wondering what color to choose. Her feather hats had their own room and resembled an aviary. Tatania purred and delicately sniffed each feather.
“We’ll find your jewelry. You just sit there and look pretty,” Jack said.
Grace felt slightly annoyed.
“That’s really my job,” She whispered on the way out.
“What is?”
“Sit there and look pretty,” Grace said,
Tatania meowed.
“You do it well.” Jack winked.
“Do you want to take the street car back?” Jack asked when they were back out on Orange Street, a street named ingeniously enough for the Orange trees lining it. A streetcar ran down tracks at its center. A slight drizzle began falling.
“Are you okay to walk?” He looked at her new five inch heels.
Tatania stared at her too. Feeling the rain, she took off flying.
“Carry me?” Grace whispered.
“Anytime.”
She put her arms around his neck and he carried her down Orange Street back to the Hotel del Coronado, and their four poster bed, where Tatania magically sat waiting, always a couple paws ahead of them on everything. The window wasn’t open. Only Tatania knew how she entered.
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