Before she could react, the glass was slapped out of her hand.
Allene jerked back in surprise as the glass flew to the wall, shattering on impact. Jasper’s uncle stood next to her, eyes wide with anxiety. She would have recoiled if she wasn’t in shock. She’d never met the man before, and the aggression of his action made her want to flee her very skin.
His skin was sallow, his jaw stubbled with gray, and he wore an undershirt stained yellow near the armpits. Old baggy trousers were tethered in place with brown suspenders, and his bald pate was scantily covered in wisps of greasy hair.
But his eyes—those eyes—deep set and staring with concern and intelligence. The irises may have been a different shade and ever so dark; they were also very much Jasper’s eyes.
“What are you doing, young lady?”
“I’m sorry—I was thirsty and . . . I’m sorry!”
“No, I’m so sorry, miss. That boy should have told you so. You shouldn’t be drinking that.”
“Why?”
He started cleaning up the pieces of broken glass. “Because you could have died.”
Allene crossed her arms, slowly regaining her composure. “Well, that’s exaggerating. It’s only apricot brandy.”
“It was apricot brandy, before I drank it,” he corrected her, before searching out a broom in the corner. “It’s filled with mostly wood spirits now. I can make a dollar off of it someday, but it’s not fit to drink now.”
“Wood spirits? You mean methyl alcohol?”
Jasper’s uncle stopped sweeping the glass shards into a dustpan to stare at her with those inkblot eyes. “You’re Allene, aren’t you?”
“That I am.”
“You must be that girl in the photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one Jasper keeps hidden in his textbooks. He never lets me get close enough, but I’m sure he looks at it every day.”
Allene’s face went crimson.
“It’s kind of you to call on my nephew, but you shouldn’t be here. A nice girl like you. The boy works so durned hard, and he don’t know how to be a gentleman anymore. Neither of us do.”
“Well,” Allene said, “more reason to have some womenfolk around.”
He straightened up and bent his head closer. “I don’t know about that. Jasper said good-bye to your uptown kind years ago. You do yourself a favor and stay away, miss.”
He may have resembled a common gutter tramp, but warmth glowed in the crinkle of his eyes despite his words, a warmth she wished Father possessed. If she didn’t know better, Allene would think that Uncle Fred was protecting her from Jasper.
Somewhere in the apartment, a door slammed and footsteps came from down the hall. Jasper swung around the kitchen door and raised his eyebrows.
“Ready? Your cab is waiting.” When he saw his uncle, his nose wrinkled. “Fred, you need to put a shirt on when company’s over.”
“I didn’t know company was over until the company almost killed herself.”
“Excuse me?”
Allene waved her hand. “Long story.” She turned to Jasper’s uncle and smiled brightly. She liked him, even if he didn’t want her there. “But do put on a shirt. Then you can walk me to my cab.”
Uncle Fred shrank away from her. “No, miss. The sun and I, we don’t get along.”
“But it’s cloudy outside, with a lovely breeze,” she insisted.
“No, miss,” he said, and patted the doorway. “These walls are all I need. Even the windows, I don’t like ’em. I might fall right out into the sky and never find my way back. Jasper, you walk her out and come right back now. Be quick.”
“Very well.” Allene and Jasper were headed to the front door, when Allene turned. “Oh. I left my purse in your room.”
“I’ll get it.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
She trotted down to Jasper’s room and picked up her purse from the chair. She glanced quickly around at the piles of textbooks and saw a single book lying squarely in the middle of his mattress. A small paper-ish square stuck out from the page edges. A bookmark.
She cocked an ear toward the hallway and heard Jasper murmuring with his uncle from a distance. Quickly, she leaned over to open the book and pulled out a photograph. A fairylike girl sat in a chair, staring at the photographer with a small, delicate smile. It was Birdie.
“Birdie!” Jasper’s voice sounded sharply from the hallway, and Allene dropped the photograph, her heart pounding with vexation and confusion. She scrambled to gather her purse and went to the hallway, where she was shocked to see Birdie gesticulating wildly at Jasper. Little Holly was cowering behind her sister, sobbing. Birdie turned to Allene, surprised only for a moment.
“What on earth is going on?” Allene demanded.
Birdie choked the words out, her eyes huge with terror. “Something’s happened to Mother. I think she’s dead.”
CHAPTER 15
Jasper could hardly believe his ears.
“What do you mean, you think she’s dead?” Allene asked.
Holly flapped her hands, howling. Jasper had never seen the girl before. In the midst of the chaos, he thought, Oh. Well, that explains a lot. That’s why Hazel Dreyer got kicked to the curb from the Cutter house. He remembered she’d been wearing some frumpy dresses around the time that she left. Now he knew what she had been hiding. God, Hazel had been stunning in her day—beautiful enough to be a film star with that stunning figure and large, catlike eyes and cupid-bow lips, always perfectly rosy. Jasper hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her when he came to visit. Apparently, Mr. Cutter hadn’t been able to keep more than his eyes off Hazel Dreyer.
Little Holly tried to jump into Birdie’s arms, but Birdie looked too done in to hold Holly like an infant.
“Holly, hush,” Birdie tried to console her, but she herself looked almost crazed with fright. Allene reached into her purse and pulled out a shiny wrapped peppermint. She offered it to the girl the way you’d give a peanut to a circus elephant, pinkie akimbo.
“Here. Take it,” Allene offered.
Oddly, Allene’s awkwardness shifted the girl’s focus. She took the candy and stepped closer to Allene, who seemed worried that the child might spontaneously hug her.
Allene turned to Birdie. “Go on. Tell us what happened.”
“She was fine this morning. Just a big headache last night, but it wasn’t anything unusual. Holly and I went out to get a chocolate phosphate, and when we came back—” Birdie stopped, her mouth pursing into a knot, before gasping. “The door was open. Wide open and unlocked. She was by the door and sprawled out on the floor. She wasn’t breathing.”
“Good God. Did you call the police?” Uncle Fred asked.
“Yes. We were at the station for three hours, and Holly’s been in hysterics the whole time. They finally let me go so I could get Holly out of there.”
“Of course.” Allene turned to Jasper. “Do you have a telephone? I’ll ring Lucy and Dawlish to pick up Holly from here and take care of her until things have settled.”
Birdie’s body sagged as tension dropped from her shoulders. “Are you sure?”