Nettie barely glanced at the clipping, shaking her head, clearly flabbergasted, then ran a hand over her face, wiping tears that had started to form again. “Where would he get the money to buy things at an auction? Or to go to this Dancers place? What could he have been thinking?” She now raised her hands, palms to the ceiling. “Are you sure you are looking for the right person? My son, Adin?” she demanded.
“Yes, it is him,” Billie confirmed, unruffled by her client’s tone. “Can you look again?” she pressed, but the woman was shaking her head adamantly. “Do you think it is possible he is in debt of some kind?”
At this Mrs. Brown gasped. “No. How?”
“There’s nothing missing from the till?” Billie pressed, folding up the clipping again.
Nettie looked shocked at the suggestion. “I handle the finances, Miss Walker, and I assure you there isn’t a shilling out of place,” she said indignantly. The strength was back now. She’d have to be a strong woman indeed to get through what she had. And yet more strength was needed now, it seemed. No matter what the fate of her only child was, she would worry terribly until it was known.
Billie hoped there would be an easy, cheerful resolution to the case. She knew only too well the agony of not knowing what had befallen the person closest to your heart.
Ten
“You look lovely,” Alma said,opening the door to Billie.
“Thank you,” Billie replied. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid. I’m just returning these before I head out.” She entered her mother’s flat, holding the sparkling blue sapphires in her hands.
The sun was low in the sky, the bay trees outside Cliffside Flats turning gold and amber in the evening light. Ella was sprawled on the settee in her usual pose, sherry in one hand. She turned and gave her only child a quick toe-to-coiffure assessment. “That dress is too dark if you plan to catch anyone’s eye,” she decided.
Billie smiled, ignoring the criticism. She’d made the dress from a McCall’s pattern. It had a Grecian-inspired neckline that flowed over the bust and nipped in snugly at the waist before draping with strategic pleats from one hip, ideal for covering the bulge of her gun in its garter. The layered hem fell into a taper just past the knee but opened up enough for a fair stride, should running be in order. The fabric she’d chosen was darker than she’d originally thought, but dark was fine tonight. While her day had proved reasonablyuneventful, she hoped to get some movement on her case tonight. It was early still, the puzzle pieces not yet falling into place, and in truth she did not yet possess enough of them, but time was short in a missing persons case. The clock was ticking. With that in mind, she wasn’t going to leave The Dancers this time without getting somewhere, and that might mean a very long night. The ruby dress had been a touch too distracting. Tonight she’d opted for a less eye-catching dress, and frankly she didn’t feel like arguing about it.
“I’ve come to return these,” she said simply. “Thank you.” She held out the sapphires to her mother.
“Wear them some more, darling. I’m not using them, and the sapphires suit you. They bring out your eyes.” Tonight they looked blue, like the sapphires themselves. “Goddess knows you need them if you wear that dress,” Ella added. “Is thatblack?”
“Midnight, actually,” Billie countered.
“It’s pretty black out at midnight,” Ella said, deadpan. She did have very good taste, Billie had to admit, even if she was a little more insistent on imparting her opinion than was always comfortable. “Black is bad luck, some say.”
Billie resisted an eye roll. “Well, thanks for letting me wear your jewels.”
Ella waved her hand dismissively. She hadn’t got up from her seat, and Billie bent over her to give her an affectionate hug. “Is that crepe? Matte crepe? Surely a little shine or sparkle would be better? Sequins?”
“Look, I do have to go,” Billie explained apologetically. “Sorry to drop in and run. My assistant is meeting me outside the club.”
“Oh, that handsome fellow.” A hand with a viselike grip took her wrist and Billie found herself suddenly on the settee.
“It’s not like that,” she managed, recovering herself. She wondered if Ella had learned that move from her late husband. It was something like the judo of Tokugoro Ito’s dojo in Los Angeles. Barry had known someone who’d trained there and had taught Billie a few moves, thirdhand. It was all about leverage and balance. He’d obviously also handed on some of the tips to his wife.
“Maybe itshouldbe like that,” Ella persisted.
“Thank you, but I assure you that when I do decide to find a man, I won’t be paying him to spend time with me,” Billie retorted and rose, smoothing down the crepe folds of her dress.
“Why not? It worked for me,” her mother shot back. A little wicked grin was apparent in the crease of her mouth.
“Just don’t keep holding on to the past,” Ella added, and on that uncomfortable note Billie extracted herself from the flat and made her way downstairs to prepare for a second evening at The Dancers, trying her best to push aside thoughts of Jack Rake and the larger mystery that haunted her but that she had not yet come even close to solving.
Billie held her champagne cocktail in gloved fingers and listened to the music as she surveyed the crowd at The Dancers with sparkling eyes the color of her mother’s sapphires, which were once again hanging around her neck and dangling from her ears. A five-piece band was playing “As Long as I Live,” a Benny Goodman hit she hadn’t heard since Europe, and the patrons were doing their expensive swaying. Little appeared to have changed at the club from the night before. A different and yet identical set of wealthy guestshad gathered around the central tables in a different set of frocks that were also somehow the same. The same gossip and agendas and romances and social climbing and business deals were unfolding. The old-young-faced barman was the same, the doormen the same. They were peddling the same champagne-soaked fantasy world, just on a different night. The second time around, one was less dazzled, less distracted from the grime under the stools, the drink spills on the carpet. In daylight, The Dancers would not be so pretty, Billie guessed. Still, they put on a good show; she had to give them that.
“What can I get the lovely lady?” the barman asked smoothly, noting she was nearing the end of her glass and no longer making the mistake of looking to her male companion to decide her drink for her.
“I’m fine for now, thank you,” she replied.
“Anything for you, miss.”
“I’m fine, too,” Sam interjected, and the barman gave a subtle nod, barely looking his way. Billie continued to survey the room. “Are we looking for anyone in particular tonight?” Sam asked her, sensing her focus.
“Yes, in fact, we are,” she responded. His work at the library had turned up one key detail. Sam had retrieved some solid information on the auction house and its owner, including, in the back pages of a catalog that he, unlike Billie, had not had time to examine, one small photograph of Georges Boucher himself. “It seems he was here in front of us,” she explained. The rotund man at the table the night before was almost certainly Boucher, which would explain the little box he’d been brandishing. That country couple had doubtless been clients.
