Hattie frowned. “I’m not at all certain we have the appropriate clothes. Eleanor’s party will be quite elaborate, and she will expect us to dress accordingly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sara agreed. “The clothes you wear should reflect an appropriate degree of display, as well as indicate that you appreciate the time and expense Mrs. Canby has gone to for the party.”
“All the more reason to pen a quick refusal,” Hattie replied. Not to mention, she thought, that they would be under scrutiny the entire evening. Eleanor was throwing down the gauntlet—one misstep and they would be cut from all future social events. She expected Hattie to let it be known to all the guests that she had learned her lesson and would henceforth act according to the dictates of proper etiquette.
How utterly galling.
“You can’t be thinking of not attending!” Charlotte wailed.
“An occasion such as this requires gowns of the finest quality,” Hattie explained. “Satins, lace collars and cuffs, expensive evening slippers—we don’t have either the time or the money to upgrade our wardrobes.” She refused to think of the cash in the safe; she wouldn’t use potentially ill-gotten gains for their benefit.
“But Mona gave us material that is well suited,” Charlotte protested. “All we need to do is remove and reuse some of the lace from gowns Charles had made for you that you can’t wear because of your mourning period. And regardless, Eleanor will expect you to be dressed in a more subdued fashion.” Her expression turned pleading. “Please.”
“And what of your restrictions? You’re still very much on probation because of that stunt you pulled at Fuller’s Ice Cream Parlor.”
“Oh, Hattie! You can’t make me stay home from the most important social event of the season!”
“Charlotte’s right, ma’am,” Tabitha said. “We can take apart some of your other gowns and use the lace from them for Charlotte’s gowns, and use the mousseline de soie that Mona sent to create a gown for yourself.”
“To not attend would be an insult to Mrs. Canby you can ill afford,” Sara warned.
Hattie sighed. “Very well—” She was drowned out by Charlotte’s shriek, then staggered under the force of her hug.
“Come on, Tabitha!” Charlotte said, dragging the poor girl up the stairs. “We must begin at once!”
“Don’t remove any gowns from my closet without my express permission,” Hattie called after them as they scurried up the stairs, then shook her head. She’d be lucky to have even a fraction of her wardrobe survive the week. She dropped onto a hall chair to remove her muddy boots.
“Ma’am.”
Hattie looked over to find Sara hovering by the kitchen door, wearing a troubled expression and wringing her hands.
“Yes, what is it, Sara?”
“If you could come to the back entrance? There’s someone who needs to speak with you.” Sara’s eyes were wide and afraid.
Perhaps Frank Lewis had already sent someone with word of the information he’d sought. “For heaven’s sake, Sara, whoever it is, send them in. And bring me some tea, would you please?”
Sara shook her head with vehemence. “I’ll not take that chance with your reputation, ma’am. This person should not enter our house. If she hadn’t been so insistent, I wouldn’t even have announced her arrival.”
She? Hattie frowned, intrigued. “Very well, though sometimes I think you worry far too much about my reputation. I’m fairly certain it’s irredeemable at this point.”
She rose from the hall chair. After the day’s work in the garden, her muscles protested the sudden movement, but she followed Sara down the hall and through the kitchen to the back door.
Mona Starr stood on the back stoop in the encroaching twilight.
“Mrs. Starr!” Hattie said, shocked. “Please, come in! I’m ashamed that my housekeeper left you to stand outside.”
Mona shook her head, glancing around, clearly uneasy with her surroundings. Though she was immaculately and expensively dressed, her expression conveyed distress. “I’ve come to ask your aid in a matter of some urgency. If you would be kind enough to follow me out to my carriage?”
“Of course,” Hattie replied, even more curious.
“I wouldn’t have come at all if the situation weren’t so grave.”
Hattie stepped outside, shushing Sara’s protests. “Don’t worry, Sara, if the woman abducts me, you can call Chief Greeley to my aid within moments. Nothing will happen.”
She hurried through the gathering darkness behind Mona’s quickly retreating figure. When she rounded the stand of trees at the back of the yard, separating the garden from the alley beyond, she came upon an elaborate carriage drawn by a matched pair of bays. Mona waved her over to the open carriage door.
Hesitating, Hattie wondered what she was getting herself into and whether there really was cause to be concerned for her own safety. She shook her head over her own foolishness. This woman had no cause to harm or abduct her—she’d been listening to Sara and Greeley far too much. With a firm stride, she walked over and peered inside, then gave a small cry of distress.
Frank Lewis lay on the floor of the carriage, unconscious, his face so bloody and bruised she hardly recognized him.
Chapter 10
JORDAN slowly became aware that someone was standing on the porch. Now was not the time for interruptions. Hattie had never mentioned that Frank had been attacked!
“Look, if the room bothers you that much, I can take the bed in …” Her voice trailed off when she saw Jase on the steps, looking tired. Tom stood behind him on the sidewalk. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I thought you were movers.”
“You know, some folks consider hanging the porch swing before sitting in it,” Tom observed with a grin.
“Where’s the fun in that?” she quipped, stacking the diaries and books and rising to her feet. The dog raised his head long enough to scope out the situation, then went back to sleep. A nap in the sun apparently trumped human companionship.
“Got any more of that?” Jase asked, pointing to her mug.
“Sure.” She led the way down the hall to the kitchen. While she reheated the espresso machine, she motioned for them to sit down. “Late night?”
“Closed around three A.M.” Jase rubbed his unshaven jaw. “A few extra musicians showed up, and they all jammed until the wee hours. My no-longer-twenty-something body is feeling the effects.”
Tom turned a kitchen chair around, straddling it with his arms resting along its high back. “You’ll survive once you count up the night’s receipts. And the music was damn good, I gotta say. Keep it up and you’ll become the premier location for live jazz in Port Chatham.”
“A mixed blessing,” Jase muttered, then gave Jordan a grateful smile when she handed him his cup. “Which reminds me, whoever you served that bourbon to by the front door never paid his bill. I found the drink after closing—it hadn’t been touched.”
“Damn.” She stared at Jase, dismayed. “I knew that guy was trouble. I should’ve kept a better eye on him.” And she should’ve asked him whether he worked for Drake, but she didn’t say that out loud.
She paused while pulling the next shot of espresso, frowning. Why would a cop skip out on a bill? That didn’t make sense.
“The money isn’t the problem,” Jase assured her. “It just had me curious. Did you get a good look at him?”
She described him, but he didn’t ring a bell with either of them. “If he shows up again, I’ll find out who he is.”
Jase shook his head. “I don’t want you confronting him. Just point him out and let me handle it.”
She shrugged. If he was who she suspected he was, and if she saw him lurking around the house today, she’d ask him to produce identification. “What’s a ball-peen hammer used for?” she asked, thinking about the pictures she’d seen in the home repair book.