Miles Knopf stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. He was some ten years Violet’s senior and was a shockingly thin man. His pride and joy was the pencil-thin moustache he cultivated on his upper lip, greasing it until the ends jutted out in sharp little points. “And I suppose the orphanage is singing your praises this morning?”
“Of course not. I left it for them anonymously. No need attracting more attention to myself than I already get.”
Miles took a sip of coffee. “When are you going to stop wearing black?”
“When I’m finished mourning my husband.”
“Walter’s been dead for almost four years. That’s three years longer than you were married.”
“Sometimes I think you’re jealous of a dead man,” Violet said pointedly. “I wear black because I like black. Isn’t that enough?”
“Your entire wardrobe looks like you’re readying for a funeral.”
Violet wiped at a bit of crumb on the corner of her lip. “What’s eating you today, Miles? It’s got to be more than just Armitage’s men turning up in my bedroom. You’re acting like a catty old woman.”
Miles sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Business is slow, that’s all.”
Violet carefully examined the cheese-covered grits before her and took a small bite. They were still a bit hot but the deliciousness encouraged eating on despite the discomfort. “What are you talking about? I just got back the orphanage’s money and took down some of Armitage’s goons. Sounds like we’ve been plenty busy.”
“That’s free work! It doesn’t pay the bills!” Miles leaned forward. “Look… your husband was my partner and he was a damned fine detective. After he died, you convinced me to let you come onboard and I haven’t regretted that even once. But you’re spending so much time playing Robin Hood that you’re driving us out of business!”
Violet chewed slowly, thinking things through. Miles was right enough, she supposed. The general public thought of Miles Knopf as Atlanta’s premier private detective but the truth was that he was nothing more than the “face” of the agency. He handled the contracts, dealt with moneylenders and attended society functions. It had been that way even when Walter had worked with him. It had been Walter who’d put his life on the line tracking down cheating husbands and thieves.
“I’m sorry, Miles. Tomorrow I promise we’ll get to work on some paying cases.”
“Why not today?”
“Well, tonight’s the big premiere. I’m going with Mr. Jacobs.”
Miles knew Clint Jacobs well. The president of a local bank, he was a pleasant enough fellow. A confirmed bachelor, Jacobs was known to favor the company of other men… though he frequently went out with Violet for appearance’s sake. It was a satisfactory arrangement for both: Violet got to attend some of the swankiest affairs in Atlanta while Jacobs got to maintain his standing in the community. The premiere that they were attending was for Gone With The Wind and it was the climax of three days’ worth of festivities. Mayor Hartsfield had played his role as host to the hilt and the events had included a parade of limousines featuring stars from the film, false antebellum fronts on businesses and homes and a costume ball.
Miles cleared his throat and Violet stopped eating. She knew this mannerism well. It always preceded an admission on Miles’ part, usually about something that he knew would make Violet unhappy. “Think you could spare a few minutes in the office this afternoon?”
“You scheduled a meeting with a client, didn’t you?”
“It shouldn’t take long.”
Violet set down her silverware and examined Miles coolly. “What’s the case about?”
“I’m not sure yet. That’s why we’re meeting with her.”
“You must have some idea.”
“She’s looking for a missing relative. Her sister, I think.”
“I hate missing family members, Miles. It depresses me.”
“Well, this one seems pretty cut and dry.”
“I thought you didn’t know much about it.”
Miles took a deep breath and grinned. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”
Violet resumed eating her breakfast. “You love me for it.”
THE DETECTIVE OFFICES of Knopf and Cambridge were located on Spring Street, on the top floor of a three-story building. They were nice enough to present the image of a successful company but not so opulent that their clients expected to pay through the nose for service.
Miles was sitting behind his desk when Abby Whitehead arrived. Violet was perched on the edge of the desk, her long legs crossed. Both she and Miles were smoking, taking turns dropping their ashes into a brass tray on the desktop.
Abby was a delicious young thing, in her mid-twenties and golden haired. She had striking green eyes and was so long-legged that she gave the impression of being a young colt, newly given her freedom. Her breasts were high and as round as little apples. She wore a knee-length white skirt and a yellow blouse that caught the emerald of her eyes. In her right hand she held a small purse. She looked like such a ray of sunshine that the dark-clad Violet almost felt like shielding her gaze from the sight. The only thing that ruined the overall bright and sunny effect was the moistness of Abby’s eyes and the way her bottom lip kept trembling. The combination of beauty and vulnerability was intoxicating and Miles was on his feet in a hurry, offering her a seat and a drink. She accepted the former but refused the latter, speaking with a voice that was so soft and quiet that Violet had to strain to hear.
“What can we do for you, dear?” Violet asked.
“I’m here about my sister. Her name is Margaret but everyone calls her Maggie. She’s only seventeen years old and she’s not… she’s not very wise in the ways of the world.”
Violet looked at Abby’s pretty face and wondered if the girl in front of her knew much about those things. She looked as innocent as freshly fallen snow.
“A few months ago she began dating a man named Morehouse. Sidney Morehouse. He’s much older than she is and I tried to tell her from the beginning that his interest in her wasn’t right. But she wouldn’t hear anything negative about him.” Abby chewed her bottom lip so harshly that Violet thought she was going to draw blood. “Finally, just before Thanksgiving, she called me to say that she wasn’t going to be joining us at our family dinner. She was going to spend the holiday with Morehouse instead. I tried to talk her out of it but she wouldn’t listen. That was the last time I saw her… in the flesh.”
Violet cast a glance at Miles but she quickly realized that her partner wasn’t really listening to the girl’s words. He was staring openly at her with such a puppy dog expression that it was all Violet could do not to laugh aloud. Turning back to Abby, she blew out a long plume of smoke and asked, “What did you mean, honey? The last time you saw her in the flesh? How else would you see her?”
Abby opened the clasp on her purse and withdrew a rolled up magazine with trembling hands. She held it out to Violet, being careful not to actually look at it herself. Violet accepted it, knowing what it was before she’d even taken a glance. It was a cheaply produced erotic magazine, the cover of which showed a black and white image of a young brunette nude on her knees. The model had a gag stuffed into her mouth and her hands were tied behind her back. Her eyes somehow managed to convey both arousal and fear. Across the top of the image the banner headline blared
STAG MAGAZINE: ALL THE BEST YOUNG GIRLS IN NEED OF PUNISHMENT!
Violet had seen such things before and she knew too much about the sordid world in which they were created to ever find them sexy. They catered to ‘forbidden’ fantasies and everyone had those… Even Violet herself found nothing wrong in indulging in them from time to time, but most of the girls in these underworld publications were not truly there by choice. Monetary and physical coercion sometimes forced young women into situations that would haunt them the rest of their lives.