Grace in the Wings Read online

  Grace in the Wings

  A Grace Michelle Mystery

  Kari Bovée

  Copyright © 2019 by Kari Bovée

  Published by Bosque Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947905-01-6 (e-bk)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947905-02-3 (p-bk)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  KariBovee.com

  For my dad,

  I miss you every day.

  Thank you for believing in me.

  Contents

  A Note From The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Did You Enjoy Reading Grace in the Wings?

  About the Author

  Also by Kari Bovée

  Acknowledgments

  A Note From The Author

  The Ziegfeld Follies. What a fantastical experience it must have been to see one of Ziegfeld’s over-the-top, elaborate, and entertaining shows!

  It was so much fun to immerse myself in this colorful, sparkling world, while telling the story of a young, innocent girl who comes to realize that she has the strength and power to navigate life on her own terms.

  Grace Michelle and Sophia Michelle are both fictional characters. Grace was inspired purely by my imagination, but Sophia was inspired by the tragic Ziegfeld actress, Olive Thomas, who was indeed married to Jack Pickford. I feel it is important to note that her ending was not considered death by foul play, or even death by suicide, but death by accident.

  That said, I would like to invite readers to engage in a little suspension of disbelief as they read this book. While I have tried to maintain accuracy, it must be noted that I have taken a bit of creative license with some of the real-life characters and their situations in the telling of this tale for the sake of story—which to a writer of fiction, is the most important thing.

  Chapter One

  APRIL 17, 1920 - NEW YORK HARBOR, NY

  Grace Michelle braced herself for a possible spectacle as she threaded her way through the shimmering swarm of the wealthiest and most famous people of New York City. A wedding reception on a yacht would make anyone giddy, but Grace couldn’t really appreciate the extravagance. Her sister Sophia’s marriage to Jack Pickford promised nothing short of a disaster.

  Grace drew in a sharp breath as she entered the glittering grand ballroom of the yacht Jack’s sister, actress Mary Pickford, had let them use for the occasion. High ceilinged and skirted with rows of windows on each side, the Extravaganza’s ballroom showcased a sparkling nighttime view of the skyline. Gas lamps from the city burned in the distance, their radiance reflecting on the rippling water of the bay. Candle chandeliers lit the parquet dance floor, making everything glow.

  “Champagne?” A tuxedoed waiter approached her with a tray bearing crystal flutes filled with pink bubbly stuff. She raised her hand, declining the offer.

  Grace sought a familiar face in the throng of elegant women, all wearing chiffon and satin gowns, accessorized with diamonds, pearls, and luxurious furs. She looked at the men wearing custom-made, long-tailed tuxedoes but saw no one she knew. Knitted together in groups, the guests sipped champagne or danced the Shimmy and the Charleston, laughing with abandon.

  When the music paused between songs, the white-tied, tuxedoed master of ceremonies, the actor Eddie Cantor, tapped a table knife against his champagne glass, introducing the guests as they entered the room. His eyes shifted to Grace.

  “I’d like to present the sister of the bride, Grace Michelle.”

  A hundred heads turned to look at her, sending a rush of heat to her cheeks. Grace nodded to people as she passed by, her heart in her throat. Her sister was the famous Ziegfeld star, not her; Grace preferred to stay in the background, assisting in the creation of the elaborate costumes for the Follies.

  She pulled at the waist of her beaded, organza dress in an attempt to win a momentary reprieve from her tight corset. On any other occasion, Grace would have been honored to wear the garment designed and crafted by her idol and mentor, Lucile, Lady Duff Gordon, but tonight, wearing a gown made by “the designer of the decade” seemed to sanction, even glorify, the farce that was her sister’s marriage. Grace felt little reason to celebrate.

  Like her, her new brother-in-law walked in the shadow of his famous sister, who was very much in the spotlight. His union with Sophia seemed to be a desperate grasp at the limelight, and ever since they’d begun courting, Sophia had been increasingly lured into his dark web of alcohol, drugs, and gambling.

  When Grace’s eyes landed on her sister, she cringed to find Sophia dressed in a purple satin gown, her lips painted a garish shade of red that clashed with her auburn hair. She should have stayed in her wedding white—it enhanced her elfin beauty. She had once been voluptuous and striking, with a voice that rivaled the angels, but now Sophia’s lithe, twenty-one-year-old body and usual liveliness appeared dimmed from too much alcohol. Where she’d once been Grace’s strong, determined older sister—if only by a year—Sophia now seemed a ghost of her former self.

  Jack, Sophia’s lanky, too-tanned groom, stood with her near the bar, both of them likely readying themselves to give what Grace feared would be theatrical, overly dramatic speeches. Grace scanned the room, searching for colleagues and friends until, finally, her gaze settled on Florenz Ziegfeld Jr., the famous Broadway producer—and her savior. Flo had rescued Grace, aged twelve at the time, and Sophia, age thirteen, when he’d found them, homeless and huddled on the sidewalk near the theater. Captivated by Sophia’s beauty, he wanted to make her a star. He took them in and gave them jobs.

  Now, dressed in a dark tailcoat and trousers with a red waistcoat, stiff winged collar shirt, and white bow tie, he looked like a lion lording over his pride. Flo’s face glimmered with amusement as he swirled a glass of brandy in one hand and lifted a fat cigar to his lips with the other. His expression seemed to convey that all was well and everything was going smoothly, but Grace recognized a slow burn rising to the surface.

  He strongly objected to Sophia’s marriage to Jack, but Grace surmised he couldn’t resist attending the event. All his stars—past, present, and future—were there. With the magnetic showman in the room, no one would ever suspect that the bridegroom’s famous movie star sister had paid for everything. Grace knew that Flo could—and would—take credit for “the social event of the year.”

  Grace cautiously approached him.

  “Darling.” Flo’s eyes danced when he saw her. “You look divine.”r />
  “Thank you, Flo. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Well, much to my disappointment, I couldn’t change Sophia’s mind.” He took a drag from his cigar and let the smoke linger in his mouth before releasing it. “She was set on marrying the scoundrel. He’s filled her mind with false promises of a film career, you know, and taking her off to California.”

  Grace and Sophia had not spoken much in the last few weeks. Like Flo, Grace found it hard to understand why Sophia would surrender her position as star of the Ziegfeld Follies and follow Jack clear across the country to an uncertain future.

  “Might as well part on good terms, then, right?” Flo added.

  Grace stood on her tiptoes and delicately kissed his cheek.

  A tinkling sound filled the room, and all eyes turned to Sophia, who stood tapping a thin metal swizzle stick against her champagne glass.

  “Attention, everyone,” she said, standing beside the bar. Her tiny frame swayed against her groom. “I’d like to make an announcement, please.”

  The voices in the room quieted, all but the background noise of the waitstaff busying themselves with their duties.

  “I would like to say a few things.” Sophia patted at the damp curls on her forehead. A sheen of perspiration glowed on her skin, and traces of lipstick smeared her mouth. She looked pale, gaunt—not the picture of a blushing bride.

  “First, I’d like to propose a toast to my wonderful husband.” She raised her champagne flute and pressed it against Jack’s face. He pushed the glass down a notch and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

  An approving murmur rippled through the crowd.

  “Thank you for marrying me,” she said, raising her glass again. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Grace drew in a deep breath, hoping Sophia’s speech wouldn’t last long. She didn’t like the sallowness of Sophia’s skin or the way she teetered unsteadily between Jack and the bar.

  “And secondly, I would like to propose a toast to my beautiful sister.”

  All eyes turned to Grace again. Fire crawled up her neck, but she held her head high, determined to conquer the anxiety welling in her chest.

  “As some of you know, Grace and I were orphaned at a young age.”

  Grace trained her eyes to the floor and tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat.

  “Losing our parents in a train crash was horrible, of course, but Grace and I have always been there for one another. For a while, we lived in the streets, had nothing, and sometimes went hungry for days. Then Flo—the wonderful, magnetic, generous Flo Ziegfeld Jr.—found Gracie and me.” Sophia lifted the champagne glass again, and this time it slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor. A waiter swooped over, gathered the glass shards in his gloved hands, and hurriedly disappeared. Sophia reached for another full glass from the bar and gulped some down without missing a beat.

  “As I was saying . . . Flo, the Great Ziegfeld, the most famous showman on Earth, discovered my sister and me on the streets and took us in by promising many things: I’d become his newest sensation, become his star.” Sophia held her arms aloft. “I would be adored, he said. Provided for. My baby sister would be cared for.” She glowered at Flo. “And we were, we were . . . but all that generosity came at a price.”

  Grace’s mouth felt suddenly dry. Sophia, please, please, please don’t insult Flo, she thought. Not here, not now.

  “I . . . I adored him, loved him, worshiped him.” Sophia’s voice faltered, and Jack pulled his bride closer and whispered something in her ear. When he looked up at the crowd again, his smile twitched in an odd, disconnected way.

  “Flo said he would leave his wife for me,” Sophia blurted.

  Grace sucked in a breath and gasps echoed through the room. What had she just said? He’d been like a father, to both of them, not a paramour.

  Grace looked over at Flo, who flinched, then composed himself in an instant. He raised his cigar to his lips, took a long drag, and then exhaled, expelling the smoke in a steady, linear stream. The guests’ uncomfortable murmurs buzzed around them.

  Sophia was drunk. That’s why she’d said it, Grace thought. She’d just wanted to get back at Flo, angry that he had refused to give his blessing for her marriage. It couldn’t be true.

  When Sophia opened her mouth to say more, Jack removed the champagne glass from her hand.

  “Now, darling.” He slipped an arm around her waist, his voice rasping with exasperation. “You’ve had a bit too much champagne.”

  Sophia pressed her hands against his chest, pushed him away, and pointed her finger at Flo. “He betrayed me, broke all his promises, ruined me, and now he’s turned Gracie against me.”

  Jack grabbed Sophia’s hands and held them close to his torso, his jaw flexing. Sophia turned her tear-stained face to Grace.

  “You’ll see, Gracie,” Sophia’s voice dripped with sadness. “You’ll regret turning against me. He’ll use you, too.”

  Grace rushed to her sister, wrenched Sophia out of Jack’s embrace, and shook her shoulders. “Stop it, Sophia! Don’t say such things! How could you?”

  Stars burst bright in Grace’s eyes and her cheek was burning. Sophia had slapped her—hard.

  A frantic tug on Grace’s arm refocused her attention. Fanny Brice, Flo’s most famous comedienne, slipped a firm arm around Grace’s waist, and urged her toward the door. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here. Sophia isn’t herself. The only way to end this is to bring the curtain down.”

  Grace felt glued to the floor and watched as Sophia sank into Jack’s arms and burrowed her head into his chest, sobbing. Despite Sophia’s unimaginable accusations, Grace wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but the tug on her arm persisted.

  “Come along, honey,” Fanny urged.

  Grace finally surrendered and left the room, guided by Fanny’s common sense.

  Chapter Two

  MAY 1, 1920 - NEW YORK CITY, NY

  Grace’s body swayed back and forth with the rhythm of the carriage as it wheeled its way down Broadway. Through the window, she could see motorcars speeding by in the whirling white snow of the early morning. Despite the roar of traffic, trolley cars, and the bustling crowd, Grace focused on the sound of the horses’ hooves clopping on the street and the squeaking of the carriage wheels.

  Suited businessmen and ladies with parasols scurried about. The city’s majestic brick and stone buildings buffeted the late spring winds that whipped through the streets. As they passed the southwestern corner of Central Park, the shop windows lit up and came alive with extravagant displays designed to lure rich women into their impressive establishments. A horse-drawn trolley’s bell dinged as Grace’s carriage passed by.

  Springtime in New York provided constant contradictions. Even as the promise of sunshine and blooming flowers beckoned around the corner, relentless cold often descended upon the lively city. Two weeks earlier, at Sophia’s wedding reception, the night had been unseasonably warm, with a crisp breeze blowing through the air, but this spring day a light snow whirled through the city.

  But Grace didn’t mind. The wintry blast mirrored the ache in her heart. Her last words with Sophia still haunted her. Grace squeezed her eyes shut to force the recollection away and placed her gloved hand on her cheek to soothe the sting that still burned in her memory. And since that night, Grace had not been able to look Flo in the eye. The thought of him and Sophia together, as a couple, still seemed unimaginable. Flo’s affairs were legendary, but not with someone he had embraced as his own child.

  Flo avoided her, too—proof of his guilt. He busied himself with finding a new headliner to replace Sophia. In fact, they had spent days without seeing each other at all, which made it easier for Grace, but she knew she’d have to face him sooner or later.

  The pale sun rose into a gray sky, promising to warm the city, but the air left Grace feeling chilled. She pulled the luxurious ermine coat Flo had given her closer around her body. Grace chided herself for her lack of
enthusiasm. She’d been asked by Lucile to design a few costumes for Sophia’s replacement—whoever that would be. Grace knew she should be bursting with happiness at the honor, but given the circumstances, the opportunity held little thrill.

  Grace reached into her clutch and pulled out the newspaper clipping the doorman at the Ansonia had given her a few days ago—an article from Variety about Sophia’s wedding and reception. Missing her sister, she looked at it now and again. The publicity photo of Sophia they had used, one of Grace’s favorites, brought tears to her eyes. In the photo, Sophia wore a whimsical, girlish expression, and her auburn hair hung in ringlets below a wide-brimmed hat. She looked so much like their mother. Grace clasped the clipping to her chest and stifled a sob. She hadn’t heard from Sophia since she’d left.

  The carriage pulled up to the towering white beaux arts columns of the New Amsterdam Theater. As Grace waited for the driver to open the door, she reached into her clutch again and grabbed a few coins. The driver helped her out, and she paid him.

  She entered the gray marble building through the Forty-First Street side entrance and made her way down the narrow, low-ceilinged hallway to the costume room. Sounds of feet tapping in rhythm to the rich tones emanating from a piano echoed throughout the building.

  Grace drew in a breath, readying herself for the day. Full dress rehearsal days meant hours of yelling, begging, arguing, cursing, and exhaustion because Flo demanded absolute flawlessness. He made it his solitary mission to perfect every single dance step, hemline, and musical score, managing all the details down to the props and lighting gels.