The Dollhouse(59)

“Ended up working at The New Yorker. She never married, from what I heard, never wanted to. Died in her sixties, while hang gliding in the Alps. What a way to go.”

Stella’s sharp memory and deadpan delivery made the time fly by. Exactly an hour after they started, the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway signaled the end of the interview.

As they began packing up, Rose broached the subject of Darby again. “Did Miss McLaughlin ever have a young friend who visited? A girl?”

Stella eyed her uneasily. “Yup. I saw them meet up a few times outside the building. Darby never bothered to introduce me, but that was her way. Most of the other women think she’s a bitch, but I like it. She doesn’t waste my time, and I don’t waste hers.”

“So you don’t know the girl’s name?”

“No.” She cocked her head. “But once I heard the girl call Darby something odd. Christina, Tina, something like that. I said to Darby later, ‘What, you got a new name?’ Darby told me it was a private joke.”

On the way back to the city, Jason chuckled.

“What’s that for?” asked Rose.

“I can’t help but wish I’d been born back in the day. Stella was one hell of a firecracker. She must’ve driven the boys wild.”

An unpleasant twinge ran through Rose. Jealousy. Of an eightysomething-year-old lady? No way.

She shook it off. “The more we dig into Darby’s story, the stranger it becomes. What’s with the girl calling her Christina?”

“Maybe that’s her alter ego, a crazy, martini-swilling lady of the night.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out at this point. I wish we could get Stella to dish out more details on the day Esme fell. She knows more than she’s saying.”

“You saw how she closed down. She’s not going to go there.”

“Ditto with Malcolm on Sam. I’ve tried to reach him a couple of times since our interview. Radio silence.”

Jason sighed. “So far, all we know is Darby was planning an escape with Sam, Esme fell, and Darby ended up living at the hotel for decades.”

“Maybe Esme was in love with Sam and they battled it out on the roof?”

“Does that make the mystery girl the love child of Darby and Sam?”

“More like the love grandchild.” Her head spun with possibilities. “Lots of questions.”

“And no one is willing to talk.”

“Not yet.” Rose stared out at the Hudson River as their taxi cruised over the bridge back to the city.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



New York City, 1952


Close your eyes.”

Darby did as Esme instructed. She’d arrived at the club a bundle of nerves. They’d rehearsed in her room at the Barbizon the past week, whispering the harmonies so no one passing by could hear, and even adding some dance steps. For a time it had been a joke, a lark. But late tonight they were scheduled to sing backup for Annie Ross after she headlined at Birdland. Waking up early to get to class on time was bad enough, but Darby’s lack of concentration had become more than evident at Gibbs. This morning she’d gotten another warning for her constant tardiness, and in the afternoon’s post she received a harsh letter from Mother demanding accountability for her poor grades. The head of the school wrote in the comments that Darby seemed “befuddled and unmotivated,” and Darby’s mother had underlined the three words in a heavy black pen, adding an exclamation point for further emphasis. She was not pleased.

“Now open them.”

Esme stood before her in the green room of the Flatted Fifth, holding up two silver dresses, one draped over each arm. The material was slightly shiny and cut on the bias.

“Who are those for?” Darby dreaded the answer.

“For us. For tonight. We’ll make a splash wearing these under the lights. No one will even notice Annie Ross.”

Darby fingered the silky material. “Where did you get them?”

Esme blew through her lips. “Phooey. I thought you’d be squealing with joy. The lady my aunt cleans for gave them to her. You know those Park Avenue types. She said neither one fit and she was going to toss them out.”

“Why wouldn’t she return them?”

“Who knows, who cares? Here, try it on.”

Darby slipped behind a screen set up in one corner and slid the dress over her head. It gently curved around her hips before narrowing around the knees. The neckline offered a hint of cleavage and emphasized the smooth line from neck to shoulder. After Esme changed, too, they stood together in front of the full-length mirror.

She laughed. “We look like twins.”

The door to the green room opened and Sam appeared.

“Wow.”

Darby blushed. “Esme found these.”

He stepped back and whistled. “The joint is going upscale tonight, I can see that much.”

“You know it.” Esme winked and turned her back to Darby. “Unzip me. I’ve got a few things to do before showtime and I don’t want to get it dirty.”

“And grab an apron while you’re at it,” said Sam to Darby. “My father’s away tonight and I’m going to change up the menu. I could use some help.”

“Is that a good idea?” Esme shrugged the dress off and Darby stifled a gasp. To his credit, Sam turned to face the door, shielding his eyes with his hand.