The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress

Chapter Twenty-Two





PORTLAND, MAINE, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1930



THE Hotel Eastland sat on the edge of Portland Harbor. It towered eight stories above the small fishing port and boasted an unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean. After checking in, Stella and her mother went to explore the famous heated observatory. Floor-to-ceiling windows and plentiful skylights made the dark clouds and choppy water feel less threatening. The women settled into wicker chairs in a corner and watched the fishing boats and private yachts slip in and out of the harbor far below.

“How long will we stay here?” Emma asked.

“As long as it takes.”

She put down her knitting and looked at her daughter. “As long as what takes?”

“The grand jury to dismiss.”

Emma looked around the observatory. “That could be months.”

“Perhaps.”

“This is a nice hotel, Stella.”

She lifted a cup of steaming mint tea from the glass-topped table between them. “We wouldn’t want to stay in a dump.”

Emma shifted a bit closer. “You just let Fred go because you couldn’t pay his wages. How will you afford this?”

“Fred was a nonessential luxury. And I more than compensated him for his work. I can find money when I need it. I just didn’t need it for him.”

Both women turned when they heard the steady tread of footsteps climbing the wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to the observatory. The concierge strode across the room, hands behind his back. “You requested me, Mrs. Wheeler?”

Stella laughed and nodded toward her mother. “She is Mrs. Wheeler. But I do need something of a favor from your staff.”

“We are here to serve.”

“My mother and I will spend the majority of our stay either in our room or right here. Is that acceptable?”

“It is.”

“I do not anticipate receiving many phone calls over the next few weeks, but I would ask that only close friends and family be connected through to our room. May I provide a list of names to the front desk?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course.”

“And anyone not on that list can be … diverted?”

“That will not be a problem. How long do you expect to stay with us?”

Stella lifted the porcelain cup to her lips and blew on the hot tea. “Let’s just say we’re all going to become very well acquainted.”

If Joe had been found dead in an alley somewhere, it would have made headlines. But the fact that he had disappeared made news—national news, at that. Thankfully, it was his face splashed across newspapers from coast to coast. Had it been Stella’s, she would have had nowhere to hide. As it was, the concierge acquiesced to her request, completely unaware of her identity. He gave a half bow and retreated down the staircase. Emma took up her knitting again in silence, and Stella tried to read a magazine. She tossed it on the table next to her after a few paragraphs and then spent the next two hours staring at the harbor below.