26. Break-in

Welcome to Dancing at The Royal Jade, a 1960-70s serialized historical novel in the Beaucatcher Chronicles series. Visit the novel's Table of Contents to see all the chapters available to read for free on this website.

Expecting to see Dancing at The Orange Peel and the Kent Creek Chronicles instead? In short, this is my discovery draft and things always change during the creation process, so you'll see "The Orange Peel" mentioned in the first ~20 chapters. That will be changed to "The Royal Jade" in editing and in the published novel. Read all about the name changes here.

Chapter 26: Break-in

Gwen opened Ma’s refrigerator and grabbed the plate of leftovers she’d made for herself. “I’m heading out,” she called to no one in particular as she glanced at her watch. Only two-thirty. She was eager to get back to her apartment even though Nate wouldn’t get there until four. He said his grandmother Harriett wouldn’t allow a soul to leave their family Easter lunch until everyone’s bellies were filled, food put away, kitchen cleaned, and Easter eggs hidden and found.

As Gwen walked the three blocks to her apartment with the spring sun warming the top of her head, she imagined Nate helping an aging woman dry and put away pots and pans. Would he do that? Or would he be like the men in her family and step out the back door for a smoke or a chew while the women cleaned up, after they’d already done all the cooking?

Carter had helped her around the house when they first got married. They’d made a game of taking turns to do the laundry, the dishes, vacuuming. But the more time he spent with her family, the more he acted like Daddy and Nelson, leaving the house chores to their women.

As she approached the apartment house, she balanced the foil-wrapped paper plate in one hand and dug into her purse slung over her shoulder with the other. The phone rang just as she stepped into the foyer. She couldn’t get to it before it rang again.

Mrs. Cosgrove opened her apartment door.

“I’ve got it,” Gwen called, setting her leftovers on the phone table. Mrs. Cosgrove glanced from her to the plate and back again, grunted, then shut the door. Gwen picked up on the third ring. “Hello!”

“Oh, good. You’re there.”

“Nate?” Thank goodness she’d gotten to the phone first.

“I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to visit this afternoon.” He sounded unlike himself, rushed and impatient.

He didn’t have to work on Sundays and Libby had gone to Sivvy’s. The timing for them to finally get together, alone, was perfect. She should have known this was too good to be true.

“The police came to Grand-mere’s,” he added.

“What?” She couldn’t hide her alarm. Was this Grant’s doing? Surely, he hadn’t put two and two together about her and Nate, and then concocted some . . . She quickly reran in her mind last Wednesday at the Chamber when Grant and Nate had first crossed paths. No. No way he could suspect anything about them from that.

Calmer, she asked, “Why?”

“There was a break-in at the club. I need to get over there.”

“Oh!” She plopped down in the chair by the phone table. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” She meant it, but probably not in the way he thought.

“They tell me there’s damage,” he said. “I’m heading there now. ”

“Sure. I—”

“This might take a while.”

She slouched in disappointment. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” What a silly thing to say.

There was a long, awkward pause and then, “I’m really sorry, Gwen.”

She looked up at the ceiling. “Me too.” Libby would be gone all week. They’d have another chance. Or would they? With his hours at the club, maybe not. She wasn’t bold enough to ask.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I have to go now, though. I’ll call you when I know more.”

“Okay. Bye.”

She drew in a long breath as she settled the receiver in its cradle. After unlocking her apartment door and dropping her purse on the chair by the coat rack, she returned to the foyer to retrieve the leftovers. Good thing she’d gotten them. They’d have to stand in for the beef burgundy over egg noodles she’d planned to fix for Nate. Beef Bourguignon. Maybe not the best choice to serve someone who grew up in France. But it was tasty, easy. The meal wasn’t the point, though. She had just wanted to be with him, hoping that getting to know him better would help her sort out why she was so drawn to him. And him to her.

Let down over their scrapped evening, she couldn’t motivate herself to tidy the apartment. No need now. She wandered room to room. In Libby’s bedroom, she picked up shorts and shirts, rejects for the trip to Sivvy’s. The image of her little girl leaning against William in Jerome’s truck came back to her, accompanied by a stinging pang of guilt. Remembering William’s reassurance eased it a bit. Sivvy would have plenty of fun planned for Libby. Like William said, she’d be fine.

Pulling Libby’s bedroom door closed, she glanced into the living room. A single yellow rose petal lay curled on the end table where the bud vase had been. The two roses Nate had brought her last weekend were probably wilting in the vase on her desk at the Chamber. Taking them there had been a mistake. Didn’t matter, though; Grant would have noticed them, either place. By tomorrow morning, they’d be dried and brown, too far gone to bring them home and press the petals in a book to save them.

Nate had no way to know yellow was her favorite color of roses. Yet, that’s what he’d brought her, twice now, after closing The Orange Peel for the night. She had assured him the late hour didn’t matter. Besides, after her neighbors and Libby were asleep felt safer. Less to explain.

Perhaps the break-in situation would get sorted quickly so he could still visit tonight. A vague suspicion she couldn’t name wedged itself amid her hopes. Then doubts that he would come at all slithered in. She pushed away those thoughts by punching up the couch cushions and straightening magazines on the coffee table.

After meandering to the kitchen, she allowed her mind to wander again as she washed two dirty glasses. With Libby gone, he could stay later. She’d need tomorrow morning’s coffee more than ever, so she dried her hands and filled the percolator with enough water for two cups. As she carefully measured the grounds into the metal basket, she imagined pouring one cup for Nate sitting at the breakfast table, his hazel eyes following her every move. A tingle rose at the base of her spine. She snapped the lid on the percolator and quickly shook off the fantasy. Centering the coffeepot on the back eye of the stove, she muttered, “Not likely.” The pot handle still in her grip, she glanced toward the table, locking eyes with his figment. “Maybe . . .”

She set her favorite cup beside the stove and considered putting out a second. She giggled at her silliness then sashayed back to the living room. The sunshine clock above the stereo read only five o’clock. Ergh!

Before she could concoct other fantasies or else boredom set in, she has to find a distraction. Elia Kazan’s The Arrangement, loaned to her by Cheryl, waited on her nightstand. Although Eddie, the main character, was rather unlikable, she was intrigued by his independent, headstrong mistress—also a Gwen.

She sprawled across her bed to read, the same way Libby would do and, except for one trip to the bathroom, she didn’t get up again for nearly three hours. When she finally closed the book, disoriented, she felt no time had passed at all. She returned the novel to her nightstand beside the Westclox travel clock Dennis had given her, a puzzling gift since he knew she never got to travel. It made for a good-enough everyday alarm, though. Sitting open in its fake red leather case, the round face read eight-fifteen. She’d read right through supper time.

Why hadn’t Nate called like he said he would? Her stomach knotted. She questioned herself whether he had actually said he would or not. Perhaps the mess left by the robbers was really bad. If she had a car, if she could drive, she’d go help him. She felt trapped in her own house. But it was her own doing, not learning to drive. Maybe he’d changed his mind about coming altogether.

Even though she wasn’t hungry, she wandered to the kitchen. She picked at the Easter lunch leftovers, but returned the plate to the fridge still full, and retraced her steps to the living room. Perhaps the Smothers Brothers would keep her mind occupied. She enjoyed their political satire and most of their musical guests were good. She clicked the knob on the television, stretched out on the couch, and chuckled through the first skit with Tom, Dick, and Pat Paulson. Soon enough her mind drifted again, relaxed into daydreams of Nate.

As she slipped into the space just before sleep, an image of Grant holding a box of doughnuts jolted her fully awake. Damn. Every Monday, Grant arrived at the Chamber, right at opening time, with a half-dozen glazed Krispy Kremes for her, Dorothy, and Bolden—another routine, like their weekly dinners, that she’d have to break him of. Ever since his ridiculous vow of everlasting devotion last Wednesday, his random drop-bys at the Chamber had increased. Persistence was definitely his strong suit. Bolden had never minded, though. He’d come to expect and even enjoyed Grant’s frequent visits. “It’s good to have an officer close. Extra safe,” Bolden said. He might think differently if he was the one being followed every minute by The Shadows.

Too much was too much, and she was tired of it. Yet, despite her promise to herself that she’d create distance from Grant once and for all, she hadn’t figured out how. Every reason she conjured for pushing him away would raise a fuss—and suspicions—from her family, especially June. Why did they have to care about that guy so much?

She needed to stop this ping-pong of Grant and Nate in her head, get both out of her mind. The unopened bottle of gin she’d brought home from June and Nelson’s last New Year’s Party was high on the top pantry shelf. She went to retrieve it. No lime juice for a gimlet, but right next to the gin was one bottle of Canada Dry tonic water. Maybe this would shorten a long, lonely night.

Thank you for reading! With this being an ongoing work-in-progress, you’re a vital part of my creation process. This story will likely expand or contract as I write. So I encourage and value your comments since my intent, when all chapters are complete, is to edit (heavily) based on what I hear from you and then publish as a print book and an ebook.

I am grateful to you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading and being part of my reading+writing community.

This chapter first appeared on my Substack publication.