“Is your sister in here?” Violet asked. She felt that Miles was on his feet, coming to join her. He gasped when he saw the cover and Violet blushed on his behalf. Miles was easily shocked and she knew he’d be worthless from here on. His sense of propriety had been offended. “Can you point her out to me?”
Abby nodded.
“Of course.” She took the magazine from Violet and flipped to the center section. A series of eight photographs were arranged across two pages. They showed a girl who looked like a younger version of Abby. In the first image she was dressed like a normal teenager, in pleated skirt and fuzzy sweater. But as the images progressed, she was stripped and placed into a painful looking harness while two hooded men pinched and twisted her nipples. “That’s her. It would just kill my father to know these pictures existed.”
“I imagine,” Miles whispered.
“How did you come across this?” Violet asked.
Abby shifted in her seat. “A male friend of mine says that he found it in a gentleman’s club to which he belongs. He recognized Maggie and brought it to my attention, as he knew that I was concerned about her.”
Violet flipped through the magazine, looking for some clue as to when it had been produced. She found a small notice on the last page, instructing the magazine’s readers to keep an eye out for the special ‘XX-Mas’ issue. She wasn’t sure what sort of schedule the publisher of this magazine kept, but it appeared that this issue of STAG had been produced within the last month or two. “Have you confronted Mr. Morehouse?”
“Yes. I approached his home yesterday. He was very angry to see me and told me that Maggie had no desire to see me or anyone else in our family. I confronted him about the magazine and he told me that she was old enough to decide what she wanted to do with her body.” Tears welled up in Abby’s eyes and she looked on the verge of breaking down. “I have to speak to her! I have to know that she’s okay… that she’s not being forced to… do these awful things!”
Violet reached out and patted the girl’s shoulder. She honestly wasn’t sure Abby really wanted to find out those answers. What would be worse for her — that Maggie was being forced into these acts… or that she wasn’t being forced at all?
“You have an address for this Morehouse character?”
“I do.” Abby took a deep breath to steady herself and pulled out a small slip of paper.
Violet looked at the address and then passed it on to Miles. It was in a bad neighborhood, one that was frequently a hangout for prostitutes and opium addicts. “And Morehouse… what does he look like?”
“He’s tall. At least 6′4″ and he’s built like an athlete. He keeps his hair very short, almost military short. And his eyes are… well, they’re mean looking. He has a small scar on the left side of his mouth, too. It makes it look like he’s always smirking.”
“Do you know what he does for a living?” Miles inquired.
“No. I have no idea.”
Violet offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I tell you what, honey. We’ll get started on this first thing tomorrow. We’ll have some facts on your sister’s condition in no time.”
“You can’t begin sooner than that?” Abby asked, her voice beginning to sound so immensely sad. “I was hoping you’d start right away.”
“Well,” Violet said but Miles immediately cut her off.
“I’ll take care of it myself,” he said. When he caught Violet looking at him with a surprised expression, he placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder and pulled her aside. “I can start looking into it while you’re at the movie premiere.”
“You gallantry is showing,” Violet teased. “That girl’s young enough to be your daughter, remember.”
“I don’t have any prurient interest,” Miles said, though his eyes said otherwise. “I just feel sorry for her. Besides, all I plan to do is stake out his house and follow him around. Maybe I can catch a chance to talk to our client’s sister.”
Violet pursed her lips, considering it. Miles wasn’t used to fieldwork but he was right… it all sounded pretty cut and dry. “Okay. Just be careful.”
“I always am, darling.” Miles turned back to Abby, who stood up in anticipation. “Like I said, I’ll be starting work straightaway.”
Abby smiled gratefully and retrieved one last item from her purse. It was two one hundred dollar bills, which she placed on the desk. “I hope this will be enough.”
Violet’s eyes lit up but she kept her voice calm. “More than adequate.”
Abby nodded quickly and moved to the door. “You’ll contact me as soon as you learn anything?”
“The very second,” Miles assured her. When the door was closed, Miles plucked up one of the one hundred bills and examined it. It was crisp and looked brand new. “Was it my imagination or were there several more of these in that purse of hers?”
“I saw that, too. Looks like Miss Whitehead is quite the wealthy one.” Violet looked at Miles with affection. “Do take a gun with you. Please?”
“I never touch the things.”
“This Morehouse character might be violent.”
“Then I’ll just have to run like I have the devil at my heels and scream for your help.”
Chapter II
Violet wore a sleeveless black dress that accentuated her slim waist and full hips. A matching black purse and black heels completed the ensemble, giving her the look of a dangerous but alluring woman. Her ever-present cigarette was held tightly in one hand as she and Clint Jacobs walked towards the Loew’s Grand Theater. A massive crowd was assembled outside, forcing the closure of Peachtree at Pryor Street. It was an ice-cold night but Violet hadn’t let that change her choice in attire: this dress flattered her and was sufficiently fancy for an event like this.
Spotlights swept across the sky with huge beacons of light and every now and then the crowd would go wild, cheering as one of the stars of the film exited their vehicles and waved to them before entering the theater. As they got close enough to spot whom was eliciting the latest round of applause, Violet felt a rumble of surprise go through her. Striding towards the front entrance was a group of old men, several of them sporting Confederate uniforms.
“Who are they?” she asked Clint.
Jacobs grinned. He was nattily dressed in a tuxedo and he sported just the tiniest bit of makeup around his lips. Jacobs was a frequent sufferer of cold sores and they had a habit of appearing right before major public outings. Violet had helped him hide the latest outbreak as best she could. “Those are Confederate veterans,” he said. “Guests of honor for tonight.”
“Hmm. What must Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh think of us? It’s bad enough that some folks around here don’t want to recognize that we’re in the 20th Century without dragging out the Civil War all the time.”
“I imagine it won’t change what they already think,” Jacobs answered. “You heard that Gable wanted to boycott the opening, didn’t you?”
The two of them were squeezing past the gawkers and approaching one of the theater’s ushers when Violet gasped. “No! Whatever on Earth for?”
“Well, the Negro actors aren’t here. You know the rules: Negroes can’t sit with Whites in the theater. Gable was incensed and refused to even come out for the big event. Hattie McDaniel, the woman who plays Mammy in the film, convinced him to come.”