I’ll get back to him shortly.
One of the guys drove me and the trunk to the train station two blocks away. He offered to stay, but the stationmaster and a porter were there, and I had my .38. It made my purse heavy, but I didn’t mind. I was safe enough. Those badly dressed creepy guys weren’t looking for me, after all.
The porter took care of the trunk, the stationmaster took care of my ticket. It was three in the morning in Waterview, Michigan, and I had nothing to do for the next three hours, which was exactly perfect. I parked on one of the long benches and pulled an apple and a movie magazine from my purse. Both gave me something to do while I thought about Katie Burnell and whether there was still some way to find her.
I wanted to know what had her so scared, why those guys were after her, and to help if I could. I could call a cop, but if this was the kind a problem the law could solve, wouldn’t she have already gone to them? Maybe she was at the police station even now.
She was a good dancer, keeping pace with the others, never missing a cue, smiling when required, but quiet. Not that she was snobbish, more like she wanted to be invisible. Some girls were like that, able to perform onstage, but shy the rest of the time.
Katie kept to herself and the hotel room she shared with two of the girls. I’d stayed at the same place and gotten to know everyone. Some headliners don’t mix with the chorus, but not me. They always know the best gossip. Show a little respect and you’ve got friends for life.
Last Friday Katie had turned down going to the matinee showing of a Clark Gable picture with us, even after I said the tickets and popcorn were my treat. The girls and I had a great time, but no one wondered much about Katie. For that I felt a touch of guilt, but how was I to know scary lugs were looking for her?
A tall young man marched purposefully into the station. He was shaved, dressed well, and alert, which was wrong for the hour. Early risers and nighthawks were never so brisk at three in the morning. I decided to ignore him and hope he’d not notice me. Fat chance of that, since I was the only other person there.
He went to the stationmaster’s window, rumbled a question, got a head shake in reply. He repeated things with the porter, and then it was my turn. It would have been silly to continue to ignore him, so I put the magazine aside, but not the apple.
Damned good-looking fellow, I thought as he approached and touched his hat. His features were as lean and sharp as his tailored suit; his beautiful dark eyes were impossible to ignore.
“I’m sorry to bother you, miss, but have you seen this lady?”
He tipped a fresh, uncrinkled copy of Katie’s wedding picture toward me.
I’d taken a big bite of apple and put on my dumbest face, speaking with my mouth full. “Ain’t she that actress?” I asked indistinctly, an apple crumb and juice slipping down my chin. I’d not planned it, but felt proud of the effect, swiping it away with one finger. “That one from the new Clark Gable movie?”
His face tightened with effort to ignore my lack of eating finesse. “No, her name is Katherine Duvert. She’s my sister.”
And I was Minnie Mouse. Katie’s skin was pale as a Swede’s in winter; his was a Mediterranean olive tone. Her eyes were a transparent gray, his were nearly black. Different brows, chins, noses—neither of them had any relatives in common unless it went back to Roman times.
He wore a gold wedding band. I’d noticed it when he held the picture. It glinted, new and shiny, in the dim station lights.
I pegged him as the jilted husband, so why sell himself as her brother?