The Dollhouse(38)

Three weeks away. It’d be close. She nodded and walked out of the room. Jason followed her to her cubicle and leaned against the partition, hands in his pockets.

“So what’s next, Ms. Lewin?”

His overly formal tone annoyed her. As did Tyler’s “chick-lit” comment. “I have to make some more inroads with the ladies on the fourth floor. I’ll need a couple of days. In the meantime, I’ve found some information about Darby McLaughlin.”

“Which one is she?”

“The one with the scar on her face.”

“The one who’s out of town, and you haven’t lined up yet, even though Tyler thinks she’s the focus of the story.”

“Right.” He was quick, obviously. She continued on. “You see, there’s this book of spices.”

“A what?”

“A scrapbook of descriptions of spices from 1952, with mementos and things like that tucked inside. I’m going to dig in a little deeper, see if I can find out some more background. Darby didn’t create it. Someone named Sam Buckley did, but she saved it all these years.”

“What makes you think this scrapbook is important?”

“There’s an inscription inside that mentions waiting until the coast is clear and then they’ll make a run for it, that kind of thing. My guess is it has something to do with her accident.”

“How did you get it?”

“One of the neighbors had it.” Another lie. “Do you want to see it?”

“Sure.”

She’d wrapped it in plastic and placed it in her bag on her way out the door that morning, hoping to find the time to study it further. Jason leaned over her desk and leafed through the pages. He fingered the delicate material with a gentle touch. “It’s beautiful.”

The magic of the drawings and scribblings was undeniable. “Even better, smell it.”

He leaned in and sniffed. “Powerful. Like walking into a Moroccan bazaar. Amazing, after all these years.”

“And if you look in the back, there’s an old menu to some jazz club. We could re-create that time period in the story, focus on 1952, what it was like to be a woman in New York City.”

“You seem to be very caught up by this Darby woman.”

“I am. She has this air of royalty about her, but not in a pampered way. More like she’s a force to be reckoned with, like she makes her own weather.”

“Superstorm Darby?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure. Kind of like that.” She needed Jason on her side, if only to back up her ideas with Tyler.

“How many ladies are left?”

“Ten. One’s in the hospital, but I know she’ll be happy to be interviewed when she’s out. Another has already given me the green light. Give me a day and I’ll see if I can line up some more. It’s going to be slow going, as they’re all pretty reclusive.”

“Okay. You call the shots.”

Rose nodded and put away the book.

If only she did.





CHAPTER TWELVE



New York City, 1952


Stella stood just inside Darby’s room, biting her lip.

Darby had assumed the knock at her door was Esme, hoping to get some time away from Mrs. Eustis and chat, and was surprised to see Stella. For a few seconds, neither girl spoke. Then Stella heaved a deep sigh and placed her hand just inside the doorframe.

“Darby, I know you’re angry with me,” she said. “I should probably let things lie, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Walter in the park. I feel so awful. I want to make it up to you.”

Darby didn’t want to be reminded of that evening. “If you’re worried I’ll tell Mrs. Eustis that you were sneaking boys into the hotel, I assure you I won’t.”

“No, of course I know you wouldn’t do that.” Stella gave a dismissive wave of her manicured hand. “I was just hoping you’d come with me to the afternoon tea and fashion show. Please.”

Saturday’s list of events included a showing of coats and hats in the solarium. Anyone with a bit of sense would know that fashion shows weren’t for girls like Darby. But she had no desire to speak such humiliating words to Stella.

“I have too much work to do,” she said instead. That much was true, anyway.

Stella lowered her voice. “I don’t want you to think I’m like the other Ford girls. I only hang around with them because the agency likes us to be seen together.” She paused and offered Darby a wicked smile. “Plus, they attract all the best boys. But today you can meet my dear friend Charlotte. I think you two’ll get along swimmingly.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You remind me of her. She’s in publishing, smart as a whip, speaks her mind. And though she comes from an upper-crust family in Boston, she isn’t at all a snob. She’s on the twelfth floor, with some other career girls.”

Career girls in publishing. The words enticed.

Stella jumped on her hesitation. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise. And if you don’t, you can leave anytime.”

True. It wasn’t like she’d be trapped in the dark with a groper. She nodded.

Up on the eighteenth floor, the day was sunny and clear, rendering stunning views across the city through the solarium’s glass walls. The length of the space had been made into a kind of runway, with wrought iron chairs placed along the walls, while a trio played classical music at the back. Stella waved at a striking-looking girl who had saved a couple of seats. There was only time for quick introductions before Mrs. Eustis stepped up onto the raised platform at the top of the runway.