by Kari Bovee
Chet watched as Grace’s forehead relaxed and she looked at Marciano with widened eyes and a slight, quivering smile.
“I want the show to be as successful as you do, Mr. Marciano. Although I’m not used to being in the spotlight, I’ll do what I can to bring attention to the show. I’m just attending to some unfinished business with Mr. Riker before we part ways. You understand.”
Marciano let out a laugh. Chet breathed a sigh of relief. She’d managed a good excuse for being with him instead of Marciano. Although Chet had to admit, her words hurt.
Grace’s face glowed as her quivering smile morphed into a dazzling white light. Marciano looked spellbound. Her acting skills had improved.
“And you—” Marciano’s heavy-lidded gaze fell on Chet and the thunderstorm returned “—I’ll see you later.”
Chet’s jaw clenched. Marciano’s men would be waiting for him outside the restaurant. Luckily, he had a pistol tightly tucked into the waistband of his pants. “I look forward to it.”
Marciano turned to leave and bumped into a waiter, whom he shoved aside, giving his ample, furred bulk space to go sit with his three henchmen and Miss Jones at another booth.
Grace leaned her elbows on the table and pressed her face into her hands. The waiter, having recovered from his assault by the mobster, smiled and requested their order.
“We’ll both have chicken. Any way it’s prepared will be fine. Surprise us,” Chet said, wanting to be rid of him.
Once he’d gone, Grace released a sigh and Chet pressed a hand to her arm. “I’ll get you out of this mess, and then we’ll find out what happened to your sister. We’ll follow up on that letter and do whatever is required to find the man who wanted to kill her. I promise, Grace.”
Grace lifted her head and shot him an angry look. “How? How can you fix this?”
“I know you are frightened, Grace, and I don’t blame you for being angry, but I have a plan.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I can’t tell you, not until it’s done. I am asking you to trust me, to put your faith in me one more time.” Chet offered a reassuring smile.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I love you, Grace.”
Her eyes met his.
“I love you, and making things right has been the only thing I could think about, and I promise, a plan is underway. Please believe me, believe that I will do whatever I can to get you out of this unbearable situation.”
Grace searched his face with pleading eyes, her pupils dilating, her lips parting ever so slightly. “What do you want me to do?”
Relief flooded through him. “I want you to go along with whatever Flo and Marciano want, as if we never had this conversation. Play the part, Grace. Be the innocent ingenue starlet of the Follies as best you can, and I promise that I’ll free you as soon as I can.”
“How long do I have to wait?”
“When does the show start?”
“In two days.”
“Promise me, no matter what happens, that you’ll go forward, and I promise that it will be soon, as quickly as it can be accomplished.”
Grace searched his eyes again with a yearning he thought he’d never see and certainly never deserved. “Yes, yes. I promise.”
They got up from the table and Chet escorted her out of the restaurant. He tucked the folds of Grace’s long skirt into the horse drawn cab and closed its door. She looked at him through the window, her face etched with worry, but she offered a quick nod, reconfirming that he could count on her.
As the horse pulled away from the curb, Grace took a deep breath and let it out, feeling the tension melt from her body. Chet had said he loved her. Still. She couldn’t deny the happiness bubbling up through her fear of her situation. She had to trust that he could get her out of this mess. She had no other choice.
Looking out the window of the carriage, she noticed an elegantly dressed woman accompanied by a dashing, tall blond man in black tails, climbing the red-carpeted stairs of the Plaza. The woman, gracefully slim with gleaming black hair upswept and clasped with a diamond barrette, walked with an air of confidence Grace only wished she could possess. Over a black silk dress, the woman wore a white ermine cape. Red-and-blue gems embedded in the fur sparkled in the lamplight. Grace’s breath hitched.
“Driver! Driver, stop the coach.”
The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves silenced. The bells on their harnesses jingled as they bobbed their heads up and down. Grace opened the door of the coach and slid out.
“Miss, what are you—” The driver sounded annoyed.
Grace straightened her coat. “I’m all right.” She looked up at him. “I just forgot something. Back in a jiff.”
Grace smiled at the grumpy driver, whose face crumpled with displeasure. He placed a hand on his hip, his elbow jutting outward, while his other hand held the reins of the prancing duo harnessed to the carriage.
The woman in the fur cape and her escort had not yet reached the revolving doors of the hotel.
“Excuse me!” Grace trotted up to them.
The woman whirled around, glittering handbag held at her chest. “Yes?”
The young man smiled, and his gaze lit up as it landed on Grace’s face, making her cheeks burn. She stopped and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What would she say to this woman?
“Yes, can I help you?” the woman asked. “Who are you? You look familiar.”
“Oh, pardon my manners. I’m Grace Michelle. I work for—”
“Zieggy’s newest discovery.” The woman cast a glance at her date, then back at Grace. “I know who you are. What can I do for you?”
“Your cape is lovely. I was just admiring it.”
“Smashing, isn’t it?” The woman smiled and twirled. The handsome gentleman let out a laugh, as if completely bemused and enchanted with the woman.
Grace eyed every inch of the soft, white fur. She gasped when she noticed a gem missing toward the bottom hemline, its shape indented in the pelt—the same shape as the sapphire Grace had found in Sophia’s wardrobe.
“Yes, yes, it’s lovely,” Grace stammered. “Are those sapphires?”
The woman grinned, her white teeth glowing against her red lipstick and jet-black hair.
“Yes. And rubies.”
“Forgive my boldness,” Grace said, trying to strengthen the quaver in her voice, “but where ever did you get such a beautiful thing? I’d love one for myself. It must have cost a fortune.”
The woman lowered her eyes and gently laid a hand on Grace’s elbow. She led Grace away from the revolving doors and away from her date. “I don’t know why I am telling you this, but you seem like a sweet girl. I knew your sister—not very well, mind you, just in passing. Lovely young woman. I purchased it from her several months ago.”
“Oh.” Grace swallowed. So the heirloom inheritance truly existed.
“But I must tell you a little secret. It’s not worth much of anything. The gems are cut glass, and the ermine is actually rabbit fur. It looks expensive, though, don’t you think?” The woman ran her hands down the front of it and cocked her hip coquettishly, making the silk of her gown shift under the cape.
“Yes, very.”
Couples and larger groups made their way up the red stairs to enter the hotel lobby. Long, sleek, black cars and elegant horse-drawn carriages pulled up to the curb.
“Party is just about to start,” the woman said. “I don’t want to be late. Are you attending? I’m sure Flo would want you be seen at one of my events.”
Grace couldn’t stop thinking about the information she’d just been given. Liane could have killed Sophia for nothing more than rabbit fur and faux gemstones. If she had, indeed, killed Sophia.
“No. No, I’m going home.” Grace pressed her gloved fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Bit of a headache. But may I . . . Miss. . . ?”
“Swanson. But please, call me Gloria.”
“Yes, Gloria. May I purchase the cap
e back from you? I miss my sister terribly, and she didn’t leave much behind when she— Well, you know. It would mean so much to me to have it.”
Gloria looked into Grace’s eyes, and then her attention moved over Grace’s head. Photographers were heading their way. The woman donned an impressive smile and moved past Grace.
“Give your information to Erik. I’ll contact you tomorrow. It wouldn’t do for me to upset my ensemble right now,” she said under her breath and greeted the reporters.
The young man walked up to Grace, his gray-green eyes twinkling. “Erik von Ernst, at your service.”
Grace detected a hint of a German accent and forced a smile, uneasy under his penetrating gaze. How bad did she really want the fur cape? She didn’t like the idea of giving this gentleman her address, despite his friendly demeanor and handsome face.
Just as she was about to tell him where she could be reached, another couple swept past them, the woman’s large hat nearly grazing Mr. Von Ernst’s head.
Lillian Lorraine stopped and turned to face them. “Ah, Miss Michelle. Of course you would be here. Who is this delicious chap?”
Mr. Von Ernst came to Grace’s rescue and introduced himself. Lillian gave him the once-over with seductive eyes. “Well, I suppose you are the lucky one, stepping out with Flo’s latest discovery.”
“Oh, well, we’re not, he’s not—” Grace stammered.
Lillian smiled like a lion who just finished a lunch of gazelle, making Grace’s insides swirl. As much as she didn’t want to engage in conversation with this feline beast, it seemed the perfect opportunity to get a bit more information.
“Are you going to Miss Swanson’s party?”
Lillian folded herself into the arm of her date, an older, distinguished-looking man, thin as a broomstick, with gray hair and large rimmed spectacles. He grinned, seemingly delighted at the press of Lillian’s voluptuous body against his sticklike figure.
“Of course, dear. Gloria’s all the rage.”
“One must attend all the important parties,” Grace agreed, forcing her sweetest smile.
“Well, yes, dear. Who wouldn’t?” Lillian’s face pinched as if annoyed.
“I know!” Grace pretended to be impressed. “My sister wrote me about John Barrymore’s party in California. She said it was simply elevating, sublime, and surreal.”
“Yes.” Lillian’s face tightened. “Unfortunately, I had to miss that one. Had a bout of the bottle flu!” she said, turning to her date with a giggle. “Sometimes I drink too much, but if I didn’t, then what fun would I be?” She stuck her lip out in a pout. “Shall we go in?” she asked, looking at Grace and then her gentleman.
“Please, you go on ahead,” Grace said.
“Oh, but I’m sure Flo wants you at Miss Swanson’s party. All the press is there. Don’t want to upset the big boss.”
“He didn’t mention it.”
Lillian smiled that demure smile that made Grace’s skin itch.
“Suit yourself, darling. Fame is fleeting. You’ll be yesterday’s news before you know it.”
Chet walked down the sidewalk of the Plaza’s entrance, turned a corner, and headed toward the back of the hotel. He knew Marciano would be waiting for him, and he prayed he could open fire on the mobster before the whelps descended on him. Reaching behind his back, he retrieved his gun and held it down along the side of his leg. Marciano expected Chet to hand over the money he owed him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Chet had already decided that jail time, grave injury, or even death would all be a fair price for saving Grace from Marciano.
When he reached the rear entrance of the hotel, the scarred man in the tattered brown suit stood on the corner, waiting. He turned and led Chet into the alleyway. Once there, Chet saw Marciano’s white scarf glowing in the darkness. He gripped his gun more firmly. The only way out of this mess—his mess—and the only way to save Grace would be to see that Marciano never drew another breath. Without pausing to think any further, he raised his arm and pointed the gun at Marciano’s chest, his finger closing slowly over the trigger.
Just as he applied more pressure, a cement wall of someone’s shoulder rammed into Chet’s side, knocking the air out of his lungs. The gun went flying, and Chet slammed into the ground. When he opened his eyes, gasping, he saw the gun just a few feet in front of him. He scrambled forward until he felt a sickening snap of bones in his lower back. The brute, one of Marciano’s goons, held him onto the ground with his ape-sized foot. With a mighty heave, Chet managed to flip over and grab the man’s leg. Finding the offending foot, Chet twisted the ankle until the man fell on top of him, crushing the air out of his lungs once again.
From out of nowhere, another man jumped on the two of them, shoved the ape aside, and straddled Chet’s stomach, pinning his arms to the ground. Before Chet could react, the man’s face came down hard and fast, his forehead butting into Chet’s. Stars exploded between his eyes as his head cracked against the pavement, leaving him stunned and unable to move. The man continued to beat Chet, this time with his fists. Chet flailed his arms, trying to stop the man’s momentum, but the heavyweight kept hitting him, leaving the tang of blood pooling in his mouth and his brain turning to mush. With his upper body immobilized, Chet could do nothing but raise his hips, flinging the man’s weight forward and causing him to lose his balance and fall face-first onto the pavement.
With his body battered and feeling like dead weight, Chet struggled to scoot out from under him, but when he did, he flung the other man over, ready to throttle him. Before he could, though, someone kicked Chet in the head and he crumpled to the ground. Darkness and voices faded in and out. He gasped as the blows continued striking his stomach and head. He curled up as tight as a ball to protect himself, but the hits just came harder and faster.
As the beating continued, Chet caught a glimpse of Marciano hovering over him, the glow of his cigar a red dot in the night. Marciano reached into his coat’s chest pocket and pointed a small revolver.
Time slowed as his body became numb to the blows and his mind somehow became razor-focused on Marciano and the barrel of the gun the mobster held steady in his hand. The mobster fired, and a red-hot, searing pain ripped through Chet’s chest like a flaming arrow. He howled, his body electric with spasms. As his weight settled onto the ground, he could feel nothing but cold seeping up from the pavement and into his bones. He could no longer feel his fingers, toes, arms, or legs, and as his life force began to fade, he thought only of Grace and how he’d failed her once again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Grace couldn’t sleep. After a night of tossing and turning, she finally had fallen asleep an hour before she had to get up to prepare for the day. Tonight, her show, Molly, opened.
She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The day had finally arrived. The day she would try to fill Sophia’s shoes. The day she would begin to repay Flo for all he’d done for her. The day she would honor her sister’s memory. The day she’d give up a part of her soul. She hoped she’d meet everyone’s expectations.
She pressed her hands together in a silent prayer and whispered Sophia’s name. Thinking of her, Grace grabbed the note she’d taken from Sophia’s fur coat and laid it on the nightstand. She’d flung her pocketbook on the bed before she went to sleep and searched for it in the covers. When she found it, she took out the autograph Lillian had given Chet. Lying back into the pillows, she compared the handwriting on both scraps of paper. Lillian’s handwriting had no sideways slant but spiked vertically upward. Grace remembered Sophia’s had always slanted deeply to the right, just like the handwriting on the note Grace held in her hand. She just knew Sophia had penned the note explaining her move to California.
Grace thought about Chet and the conversation they’d had last night. He said he had a plan, that he would fix the situation and get her out of Marciano’s clutches. She wondered about the woman who’d accompanied Marciano, Felicity Jones. Grace easily had recognized her from the publicity poste
rs, which did her no justice—her skin, her hair, her eyes, her aura of loveliness filled the room. But were they lovers? Is that why Marciano made her walk ten feet behind him? Grace didn’t know Joe Marciano well, but she knew enough that he would never stand for being outshone, especially in public. She prayed that Chet’s plan, whatever it was, would work. He sounded so sincere the night before, she’d been sure he’d be true to his word. This morning her stomach churned with doubt and nerves.
A knock sounded at the door. She sprang out of bed and wrapped a dressing gown around her, tying the sash securely.
“Yes?” she said, pressing her ear against the door.
“Delivery for you, Miss.”
Grace’s pulse clanged in her ears. Maybe Chet had sent her something. A message that his plan had worked perhaps? Maybe flowers?
“Please leave it at the door,” she said. “I’m not dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pressed her ear against the door and listened as footsteps echoed down the hallway, then faded into silence. When Grace opened the door, she looked down and saw a gleaming white box tied together with a red satin bow. She picked it up, locked the door, and carried the box to her bed. The bow slid apart as Grace pulled one end of the silky ribbon. She opened the box to find the faux ermine cape nestled inside, the glass sapphires and rubies twinkling in the reflection of the crystal chandelier above her head. An envelope rested on the fur. She opened the note and read:
Miss Michelle,
Please take this cape as a gift. It means a lot more to you than it does to me. Besides, I’ve been photographed wearing it.
A word of advice, dear, never let the cameras catch you wearing the same thing twice!
Cheers, Gloria.
Grace picked up the fur and held it to her face, the downy softness caressing her cheek. She then held it in front of her, searching for the indent near the hem of the missing jewel. When she found it, she walked to her dresser, pulled open a drawer, and lifted the single glass sapphire out of her little jewelry box. A perfect match. Liane’s supposed heirloom inheritance was a fake. Grace clutched the fur cape to her chest. She hoped she was wrong about Liane, that Liane would never have killed for such a pretty but worthless piece of fashion. She looked up to see her reflection in the mirror, the furrowed brow, the downcast mouth, the hurt in her once-innocent eyes. She had to know the truth, and there was only one way to find out.
