Lies in White Dresses

by Sofia Grant

  Virgie needed to talk to someone who knew more about broken hearts and desperate lovers. But there was only one person she could think of who fit the bill. Tomorrow, Virgie would find Willy and ask her—as soon as she got up. Ever since she’d arrived in Reno, Willy had never shown her face before noon.

  But that left the problem of Mrs. Samples’s former accomplice. Virgie would never forgive herself if he killed Mrs. Samples in cold blood and she hadn’t even tried to stop him. Warning Mrs. Samples would do no good—she was a con artist and a desperate woman, and Virgie was well aware from reading George Barton that that meant she was capable of just about anything except caution.

  If Virgie told her mother, she would likely kick Mrs. Samples out.

  If she went to the cops, they’d never believe her just because she was a kid—and she didn’t have a criminal defense lawyer for a father like Nancy Drew who could get the authorities to listen to her.

  She couldn’t even tell Willy—not all of it, anyway. Willy was too much of a gossip, and Virgie was going to have to be very careful not to give away any details that could cause even more trouble if she blabbed to the wrong person.

  It was out of Virgie’s hands: if Mrs. Samples was dead set on pursuing her reckless scheme, no one could stop her. All Virgie could do was try to keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t make any dumb mistakes that would get her killed or Patty kidnapped.

  Virgie’s eyes fell on the copy of George Barton’s Inside the Mind of a Master Criminal on her desk, and it occurred to her that there was one thing she could do. She’d been rereading the chapter on the Lindbergh baby’s kidnapper, in which Barton mentioned a “copycat” criminal who, a year after the famous case, struck it rich by nabbing a rich housewife and sending a ransom note composed of letters cut from the newspaper and pasted on a plain piece of stationery. The ransom was paid and the kidnapper was never found because there were no fingerprints and no clues to be had from handwriting or the typewriter used.

  Maybe there was a way to warn the cops after all.

  Chapter 43

  Willy

  At 9:20 the next morning, Willy was in the lobby with a brand-new checkbook in her hand, but Mrs. Swanson wasn’t at her desk. Willy found Virgie stuffing an envelope into the slot of the bronze postbox down the hall.

  “What do you have there, honey, an application to the FBI?”

  Virgie whirled around, startled. When she saw it was Willy, she scowled and said, “You shouldn’t go sneaking up on people like that!”

  “Sorry,” Willy said, “but I wasn’t sneaking. I was looking for your mother.”

  “She’s in the kitchen.” Virgie gave the letter a final shove, and it popped through. “And it’s just something a guest wanted me to mail.”

  “Ah.” The kid was obviously lying, but Willy didn’t have time to shoot the breeze just now. “Well, have a good day.”

  “I sold two rings,” Virgie said. “One silver and one gold.”

  “What did I tell you?” Willy said, already on the move. “It’s all in the pitch.”

  Virgie hurried after her. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  “Sure, sweets, but come find me a little later, all right? I need to take care of something now.”

  She found Mrs. Swanson with a clipboard, counting cans in the larder. She held up a finger, and Willy waited while she wrote something down.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Carroll,” she said. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I’d like to pay my room bill.”

  Mrs. Swanson considered her coolly, her gray eyes giving nothing away. “Perhaps I misunderstood, but a representative of your gentleman friend called yesterday to tell me that your plans had changed and that you would be leaving us.”

  “Well, my plans have changed back,” Willy said. She tore off the top check and handed it over. “Please fill that in with whatever I owe. And from now on, please consult only me regarding any future charges.”

  Mrs. Swanson glanced at the check. “I’ll be happy to do so. The only problem that I see is that your check is from a newly established account. In a case like that, I insist on holding it until it clears . . .”

  Willy rolled her eyes and took off the ruby bracelet Harry had given her for Valentine’s Day. “Look, this bracelet’s worth over three hundred dollars. How about you hang on to it until then? I’m not going anywhere, but if it makes you feel better—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Mrs. Swanson gave her a rare smile—it disappeared almost as quickly as it flashed across her face. “My daughter seems to be quite taken with you. I suppose that’s the only character reference I need.”

  “Oh.” Willy wished she could start the conversation over. She hadn’t slept well, and she hadn’t had her coffee, and she hadn’t meant to be so rude. “Well, thank you very much. You’ve got a real little firecracker in that kid.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Mrs. Swanson said. “Now, why don’t we go into my office and take care of this like civilized ladies.”

  Chapter 44

  June

  June paced the lobby, fretting. Francie had called to say that she wasn’t feeling well and June should go on to the house without her, but Clyde had gone into town to buy a part for the boiler, Mrs. Swanson was busy with the breakfast service, and June couldn’t call a taxi because Francie still hadn’t paid her and she wasn’t sure she had enough money of her own left to cover the fare. Meanwhile, precious minutes were passing and she still had so much to do at the house before the rented tables and chairs arrived this afternoon.

  Alice came into the lobby carrying a huge bunch of tulips in a cut-glass vase.

  “Oh, Alice,” June said, “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “You too! Though . . . given your outfit, I think we may have to go shopping again.”

  June touched the scarf she’d used to tie back her hair, embarrassed by her worn day dress and old shoes. “This is just for working at the house. I didn’t dare wear any of my new things—I’ll be on my hands and knees scrubbing and they’d be ruined. Those tulips are beautiful.”

  “Oh, these.” Alice looked down at the pink and white blooms. “They’re for my mother, but . . . I don’t really want to deliver them myself. We had words last night at dinner and I think we both might need a little time to cool off.”

  “My mother and I used to argue all the time,” June said. “I loved her more than anyone in the world, but sometimes we just set each other off.”

  “Us too,” Alice said. “Honestly, I think I’m just too old to be living at home. Sometimes I think she forgets I’m twenty-five years old. And about last night, I know I’m right but . . . I could have been more sensitive about her feelings.”

  “Do you want me to run the tulips up to her room?”

  “Actually, I think I’ll just leave them at the front desk. Do you suppose there is anyone around who can take them?”

  “Mrs. Swanson’s out back with a laundry delivery,” a voice said. Willy Carroll strolled in wearing big black sunglasses and candy-apple-red lipstick. “Good morning, June. Lovely outfit.”

  “Oh, it’s you,” June said flatly, not even bothering to pretend to be polite.

  “Who’s your friend?”

  Willy had some nerve to stand there in her tight sweater and floozy shoes, June thought, waiting to be introduced. If Francie knew, she’d be furious.

  “This is Alice Meeker. Alice, this is Wilhelmina Carroll.”

  Alice looked taken aback. “Willy Carroll . . . you’re Mr. Carothers’s—”

  “—friend. His very good friend,” Willy cut in. “I’m sorry about Mrs. Carothers, I truly am. I know your mother is furious with me, but maybe you can make her see reason. I’m just marking time here in Reno like everyone else, trying to put a bad marriage behind me.”

  Alice drew herself to her full height, glaring down her nose at Willy. “I will not speak to my mother about you—I don’t know how you can even suggest such a thing. If you h
ad any decency at all you’d stay out of sight while the rest of us are grieving.”

  “Fine, I’ll stay out of the way, but you’ve got me all wrong.” Willy minced out of the room, her full skirt swirling around her shapely legs.

  “What a horrible woman,” Alice said. “And yet I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Discretion unfortunately is not among Harry’s best qualities.” Almost as an afterthought, Alice added, “Though what if she tries to come to the service? Poor Charlie and Frank.”

  June was tempted to suggest that they could just pay someone to keep Willy away, since Charlie seemed to believe everything could be solved with money. But before she had the chance, Alice said “Speak of the devil—look who’s coming up the drive! And—oh my gracious, what on earth—”

  Charlie bounded up the porch steps, taking them two at a time. He was dressed in the same old pants as the day he’d arrived and another faded plaid shirt—but the left side of his face was bruised and bandaged, the eye purpled and swollen nearly shut.

  “Before the two of you say anything,” he said, “it looks much worse than it actually is.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Charlie kissed Alice on the cheek. “We got fine weather again today,” he said. “Blue skies and a nice breeze. Are those flowers for me? You’re too kind, Alley Cat.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Alice said in an exasperated tone. “You obviously got in a fight. What were you thinking?”

  “Well, I didn’t start the fight.” Charlie shrugged. “I only defended myself—and not very well.”

  “Were you robbed?” Despite the awful things Charlie had said, June felt terrible for him—she had heard that grifters cased the casinos and lurked in alleys, looking for drunk out-of-towners to separate from their money. “I hope they didn’t get away with much.”

  “I didn’t lose anything but my pride,” Charlie said.

  “Oh, Charlie.” Alice sighed. “You’re impossible. What are you doing here, anyway? You should be lying down with ice on that.”

  “I’ve come to give June a hand out at the house. She’s already put in a lot of work getting it ready for the service, and she shouldn’t have to do it all herself. Care to join us?”

  Alice looked from one to the other with a shrewd little smile. “No, you two go on ahead. I’ve got Dad’s car, and I need to return it to him. Besides, I’ve got to get back to the hotel for . . . a thing I need to do.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “None of your business,” Alice said. “When are Frank and your father getting in?”

  “Three. So we’ve got no time to waste—June’s going to have me on my hands and knees with a toothbrush, just like when I was in the marines.”

  June blushed, wanting to tell him not to bother, but she couldn’t very well do so in front of Alice. Besides, she needed a ride.

  “Make sure to keep an eye on him,” Alice told June. “He’s lazy—he used to always try to get me to do his chores when we were children. What are you doing tonight, Charlie?”

  “I was supposed to have dinner with Dad and Frank,” he replied, his smile fading. “But Dad called this morning to say something had come up, so the three of us are meeting up for drinks earlier instead. He’s being pretty vague.”

  “Well, that’s understandable,” Alice said kindly. “I’m sure this is very upsetting for him. Please give him and Frank my regards, and perhaps I’ll see all of you later.”

  June waited until Alice was out of earshot to say, “I told you I could handle the cleaning myself.”

  “You did—after I made a perfect ass of myself. I was thinking I could apologize on the way, since you look like you’re itching to get started.”

  June wavered. Charlie actually looked contrite—and she had to give him credit for coming despite his injuries. “Oh, all right.”

  Charlie picked up the bucket of supplies. “Your coach awaits. Now, shall we go and get started? I have a feeling you have pretty high standards.”

  June followed him to the truck parked in the drive and allowed him to help her in. As she squeezed into the passenger seat, she caught his scent of soap and tobacco, a good, honest manly smell that made her feel a little dizzy.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. Even if she had forgiven him, she needed to keep the focus on the task at hand. After all, Charlie would be seeing his mother’s house for the first time, and it was bound to be an emotional experience.

  He got in gingerly, wincing as he slid into the seat.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Nothing that a Bloody Mary wouldn’t fix,” he said through gritted teeth. “But it’s going to be a long day, so I need to keep my wits about me. After we finish your chores, I’ve got to clean myself up before I meet my father and brother at the hotel, and then . . .” He glanced over at her as he drove. “Were you going to give me directions, by the way? Or should I just drive around aimlessly and hope we happen upon the house?”

  “Oh!” June said, reddening. “I’m sorry—you should have turned back there.”

  Charlie grinned as he made a U-turn. “I won’t make a comment about women and directions,” he said. “But you just confirmed one of my father’s theories.”

  “You’ll just stay on this road for about two miles,” June said, ignoring the crack. “We might get stuck behind a tractor.”

  “Doesn’t bother me . . . just tell me when to turn.”

  June fell silent, watching the lovely landscape roll by, the gentle hills painted in green and gold, wildflowers adding splashes of color. The truck was well maintained and the ride was smooth, a far cry from the rusty old sedan that Stan drove.

  Thinking of Stan brought back the fear June had been struggling to ignore since he’d broken into her room last night. She’d locked the window tightly, even though it made her room stuffy, and got up to check it twice in the middle of the night. Stan wouldn’t be getting in through the window again unless he broke the glass, in which case June was fully prepared to grab Patty and run into the hall screaming at the top of her lungs. Patty had been sleeping in June’s bed anyway; it almost seemed a shame, since there was another very nice bed in the other room, one she could have had all to herself—and who knew when Patty would see such luxury again?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Charlie said, putting on the brakes as several fat geese waddled across the street.

  “Oh, I wasn’t thinking anything,” she lied. “Just enjoying the view. Look at those calves—they can’t be more than a few weeks old!”

  But Charlie didn’t look, at least not at the cows. Instead he fixed her with a thoughtful gaze before coasting slowly to the side of the road and turning off the ignition. “All right, how about this. I’ll pay you a penny to listen to my thoughts. Sound like a deal?”

  “I’m not sure I have a choice, seeing as I’m stuck in this truck with you.”

  “Yes. Well . . . this fellow I met last night, the one who gave me these souvenirs on my face? It was the strangest thing . . . he asked after you.”

  June snapped to attention. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Well, more precisely, he told me to stay away from you. You could almost call it a threat, seeing as how he used his boots to get the message to my ribs.”

  “Oh, no,” June said faintly. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  She shouldn’t be surprised—if Stan had seen her talking to Charlie, he would be furious. She buried her face in her hands, wondering if she’d been stupid to leave Patty with Mrs. Oglesby—but it seemed like the safest place for her to be. After all, even if Stan forced his way into the hotel somehow, he couldn’t exactly go door to door searching for Patty.

  “It’s his fault—you didn’t have anything to do with it. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that this guy doesn’t want a divorce as much as you do. Now, I can’t say I blame any man for kicking himself for letting a girl like you get away—but I draw the line at him kicking anyone else, especiall
y you. Let him come after me again—I’ll be ready next time. But June . . . don’t you think you should go to the police?”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. She didn’t dare look at Charlie, at the injuries he’d gotten because of her. As jealous and mercurial as Stan was, Charlie was lucky to be alive—especially because Stan owned a gun.

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” June shrugged helplessly. There was hardly any point trying to keep it to herself now. “All right, I’ll tell you. But you must promise not to tell Francie. Or anyone else. And you absolutely can’t tell the police.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Charlie said. “But all right, I promise.”

  “Stan is my husband. We’ve been married for almost five years. He didn’t lay a finger on me for the first year.”

  “Give the man a medal,” Charlie muttered.

  “After the first time he hit me, it didn’t happen again for a long time. I was pregnant, and then Patty was born, and . . . Stan lost his job, he had trouble with his boss. Things were hard, and . . . well.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad, really. Lots of women have it worse. My uncle used to hit my aunt, half the women in the neighborhood used to show up at my grandmother’s house when it happened, because my aunt wouldn’t tell her. Besides, I know how to calm Stan down, most of the time. It’s just—a couple of months ago he came home late, he’d been drinking, and he started in on me the minute he came through the door. Patty came in the kitchen because the noise woke her up, and he didn’t see her and . . . he threw a plate and scared her to bits. I couldn’t let it happen again. After that . . . I had to get her out of there. Away from him.”