When they reached the Strand movie palace, the girls bought twenty-five-cent tickets and a white-gloved, red-suited usher showed them to their seats in the balcony overlooking the enormous gilded stage with its gold curtain. Evie had never seen anything so grand. The seats were plush velvet. Friezes and murals decorated the walls. Marble columns reached up to ornately decorated boxes and balconies. In the corner, a man played a Wurlitzer organ, and down below sat a pit for a full orchestra.
The house lights dimmed. The light from the projectionist’s booth played across the slowly opening curtain. Evie could hear the clack of the film as it moved through its paces. Flickering words filled the screen: PATHE NEWS. GENEVA, SWITZERLAND. THE 7TH GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS MEETS. Official-looking men in suits and hats stood before a beautiful building. THE ASSEMBLY WELCOMES GERMANY TO THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS.
“We want Rudy!” Evie shouted at the screen. Mabel’s eyes widened in alarm, but Theta smirked, and Evie felt a small thrill that her rebelliousness had hit the mark. A man four seats down shushed her. “Get a job, Father Time,” she muttered, and the girls tried to stifle their giggles.
On-screen, a movie-star-handsome man inspected a factory and shook the hands of workers. The screen cut to white words on a black background: AMERICAN BUSINESSMAN AND INVENTOR JAKE MARLOWE SETS NEW RECORD IN INDUSTRIAL PRODUCTION.
“That Jake Marlowe sure is a Sheik,” Evie murmured appreciatively.
“My parents don’t like him,” Mabel whispered from beside her.
“Your parents don’t like anybody who’s rich,” Evie said.
“They say he won’t let his workers unionize.”
“It’s his company. Why shouldn’t he do as he sees fit?” Evie said.
The disgruntled man waved for an usher. The girls immediately quieted and tried to look innocent. The newsreel ended and the picture began. Metro presents Rex Ingram’s production of Vincent Blasco Iba?ez’s literary masterpiece THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE flashed upon the screen and they fell silent, held rapt by the screen’s glow and Rudolph Valentino’s beauty. Evie imagined herself on the silver screen kissing someone like Valentino, her picture in Photoplay magazine. Maybe she’d live in a Moorish-style mansion in the Hollywood Hills, complete with tiger-skin rugs. That was what Evie loved best about going to the pictures: the chance to dream herself into a different, more glamorous life. But then the film came to the scenes of war. Evie stared at the soldiers in the trenches, the young men crawling across the rain-soaked no-man’s-land of the battlefield, falling to explosions. She felt dizzy, thinking of James and her terrible dreams. Why did they haunt her? When would they stop? Why did James never speak to her in them? She’d give anything just to hear his voice.
By the end of the picture, they were all misty-eyed—Mabel and Theta cried for the dead movie star; Evie for her brother.
“There’ll never be another like Rudy,” Mabel said, blowing her nose.
“You said it, sister,” Theta purred as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun. She stopped when she saw Evie’s angry face. “Whatsa matter, Evil?”
“Sam. Lloyd,” Evie growled. She took off at a clip toward a cluster of people who were watching a three-card monte game.
“Who’s Sam Lloyd?” Mabel asked Theta.
“Don’t know,” Theta said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s a dead man.”
“Watch the Queen of Hearts, folks. She’s the money card.” Sam arranged three cards on top of a cardboard box, moving them around so quickly they were a blur. “Now, sir, sir—yes, you. Would you care to wager a guess? There’s no charge for this first round. Just to show you it’s an honest game I’m running.”
Evie turned the box over, upsetting the cards and the money. “Remember me, Casanova?”
It took Sam a minute, but then he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite nun. How’s the Mother Superior, sister?”
“Don’t you ‘sister’ me. You stole my money.”
“Who, me? Do I look like a thief?”
“And how!”
The crowd watched the argument with interest, and Sam looked around nervously. He snugged his Greek fisherman’s cap low over his brow. “Doll, I’m sorry you got fleeced, but it wasn’t me.”
“If you don’t want me to call a cop over here right this second and tell him you just tried to take advantage of me, you will give me my twenty dollars.”
“Now, sister, you wouldn’t—”
“I pos-i-tute-ly would! Do you know the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult?”
“Yeah, I know it, but—”
“You can find me there. You’d better bring me my twenty bucks if you know what’s good for you.”
“Or what?” Sam taunted.
Evie spied Sam’s jacket draped across a fire hydrant. She swiped it and slipped her arms through the sleeves.
“Give that back!” Sam growled.
“Twenty bucks and it’s all yours. The museum. See you soon-ski!” Laughing, Evie ran down the block.
“Who is that?” Mabel asked once she’d caught up and they’d ducked into a cafeteria.
“Sam Lloyd.” Evie nearly spat the name. She told them about her encounter with him at Pennsylvania Station, about how he’d kissed her and picked her pocket.
Theta sipped her coffee, leaving a perfect red Cupid’s bow mark on the white ceramic cup. “He looks like he could make off with more than just your twenty dollars, if you catch my drift. You better keep an eye on that one, Evil.”
“I don’t have enough eyes to keep on that one,” Evie grumbled.
“Go through his pockets. See if you can find your money,” Mabel suggested.
“Why, Mabel. What a spiffing idea! Is that what the progressive education of Little Red Schoolhouse has taught you?” Evie rifled through the jacket’s many pockets, but she found nothing except a collection of lint, half a roll of Lifesavers, and a colored-pencil postcard of mountains and tall trees. Something had been scrawled in Russian on the back of it. She knew she could try to read any of the objects to find out more about Sam Lloyd, but it wasn’t worth the headache. She’d trust that he’d come looking for the coat. It was September, and the weather would turn soon enough.
When Evie returned to the museum, Uncle Will and Jericho sat at the table talking to a barrel-chested gentleman with the sort of sad brown eyes one saw on pet-store puppies not chosen for Christmas and a nose that looked to have been on the wrong end of a few fights. A detective’s badge was pinned to his suit.
“Unc! What’d they get you for? You need bail?”
“Terrence, this is my niece, Evie O’Neill. Evie, this is Detective Malloy.”
Despite the sad eyes, Detective Malloy had a warm smile. He offered his hand. “I’m an old friend from the days when your uncle worked for the government.”
“Oh? When was that, Unc?” Evie asked.
Will ignored her. “I know I said we’d go to Chinatown for dinner, but I’m afraid I have to go downtown with Detective Malloy for a bit.”
“So you do need bail,” Evie said to Will.
“No, I do not. The police have asked for my help. There’s been a murder.”
“A murder! Oh, my. Let me just change my shoes,” Evie said excitedly. “I won’t be a minute.”
“You’re not coming,” Uncle Will said.
Evie hopped on one foot while removing her shoes and putting on her new oxfords. “Miss a real-life murder scene? Not on your life.”
“It’s ugly, Miss. Not meant for a lady,” Detective Malloy said.
“I don’t scare so easily. I promise I’ll be as tough as Al Capone.” Evie laced up the first shoe.
“You’re staying here.” Will turned his back, dismissing her.
“Unc, you promised to take Jericho and me to Chinatown for dinner. No sense coming back uptown for me.”
“Evangeline…”
“I promise I’ll be no trouble at all. I’ll sit in the back of the car and wait until you’ve finished,” Evie promised.
Will sighed. “All right by you, Terrence?”
“Okay by me.” The detective held the door for her. “But don’t complain to me if you have nightmares after, Miss O’Neill.”
Evie stifled a gallows laugh at that.
THE HARLOT ADORNED ON THE SEA