Sunday, June 14, 1942
Time to leave. The taxi would be here in a minute. Robert shoved another roll of socks in a pair of wingtips and stuffed both in the side of his suitcase. He pulled out a sports coat and shoved it in. He closed the lid and tried to get the latch to snap on the case.
The phone buzzed, and he plucked the receiver. “Yes.”
“Mr. Garfield, your cab is here.”
“I’ll be right down.” Robert hung up and turned back to the stubborn case. He didn’t have time to waste. The train left in one hour from Union Station down in Los Angeles. The first small step in what would be a long journey. Finally, the last latch caught, and he nabbed the bag and his keys. He hustled out of the apartment and locked the door behind him.
He kept glancing at his watch as the taxi puttered down the road in a mix of cars and small delivery trucks. A strange tightness in his gut left him slightly nauseous. He hadn’t been this flustered since his first audition. Did it have more to do with the tour or the fact he’d share the trip with his former wife? Add in Audra and his new role as emcee and stand-up comic, and it was no wonder he tensed every time he thought about the caravan. This emcee was ready to lose the lunch he hadn’t eaten yet.
Last week’s screen tests had gone well. While the promised contract hadn’t materialized yet, Artie remained convinced he’d have at least one contract for a good role waiting for Robert to sign when he returned. If it was good enough, he’d threatened to meet Robert wherever the caravan stopped and have him sign it before the studio’s ink dried. Robert’s job was to make the most of the exposure he’d get on this trip. Sell a record-breaking number of bonds. No pressure.
Who was he kidding?
This business was tough, and he’d never had a clear shot to success. He’d crawled his way into roles like most did. But could he do it without sinking to the levels so often required?
The cab pulled to the curb at Union Station with a bump. “Here you go, mister.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. The studio covered it.”
Robert pulled some coins from his pocket. “Well, here’s a tip for getting me here in one piece.”
“Say. Thanks!” The driver tipped his hat. “Have a safe trip.”
“Will do.” Robert hopped out of the cab and strode toward the main doors.
“There he is.”
“That’s got to be Robert Garfield.”
“You bet it is.”
Several men rushed toward him as cameras flashed around his head.
“You anticipating this trip?” A man with a pencil stuck behind his ear fired the question.
“Sure am. It will be a great opportunity to see America and sell war bonds to patriots in cities around the country.” Robert shut his mouth before he said anything fractured and unintelligent.
The lone woman in the group pushed her way to the front. “Do you have a quota of bonds to sell?”
“I’m sure we do, but whatever the quota, I know the American public is generous and will buy even more.”
The bulbs continued to flash, and Robert waved to the reporters. “Excuse me, but I’ve got a train to catch.”
He hurried through the towering, curved arch of the station’s Moorish exterior and into the cool interior. The marble floors were inlaid with an elaborate red, gold, and black zigzag pattern. If he watched it too carefully, he’d stagger down the hall like someone who’d been drinking.
His steps slowed when he caught sight of someone who looked like Audra. Only this woman’s hair was cut in a soft bob that looked like it would tickle her neck, rather than pulled back in the harsh, professional way Audra wore hers.
“No, you dolt, I said to stack them there.”
Robert sighed. That screeching voice could belong to none other than Lana. He pivoted on his heel and there she stood. Her navy tea gown was topped with the silver fox stole, her curls with a plumed hat. A gold cigarette holder dangled from her perfectly manicured fingers. Lana in all her glory.
“If it isn’t Robert Garfield. You were a star once, weren’t you?”
“Hello, Lana.” Funny how one phrase could turn a trip that hadn’t even started into an eternity.
“Maybe you can explain to the porter how I like things.”
Robert pointed to his bag. “I’ve got to find the train. See you there.” He quickened his pace. Note to self: don’t stop at Lana’s voice. He needed to act like her hold had died. Eventually reality would catch up with his actions.
Uniforms filled the halls as he hurried toward the track. Many of the servicemen raced past him while others lingered for a last kiss with the gal on their arm. Still others slept on the floor, a bench, anywhere they could find a spot to rest, hats pulled low over their eyes.
A photographer snapped some shots, the flash popping. Robert wondered which publication he was with but didn’t have time to ask. The big clock dominating the wall in front of him urged him to hustle if he didn’t want to get a reputation for holding the train up on the first day. He’d leave that distinct honor to Lana or another star.
He entered the terminal lined with trains. Scanning the board, he identified the platform where the Hollywood Victory Caravan was stationed. As he read the number of the platform in front of him, he realized it was at the far end of the terminal. Increasing his pace, Robert hustled toward the train, trying to avoid breaking into a sweat.
Mark Feldstein stood in front of the train, a clipboard clutched in his hand. “Mr. Garfield. Nice of you to join us.”
Robert grinned at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re in the first car behind the coal car, berth four.”
“Sure.” He could imagine the soot coming in through the windows.
“Here’s today’s itinerary. The dining car will be open most of the trip. But there are certain hours it will close each day. Orientation is at five, or as soon as the train clears the city. Miss Schaeffer or I will come through to announce the start.”
Robert accepted the sheet of paper. So far everything sounded like he’d expected.
“I think that’s all for now. Go get settled, and we’ll see you at the meeting.”
“Yes, sir.” Robert saluted Mark and then headed down the train until he reached the first sleeper car. He hauled his bag up the narrow steps and shuffled into the hall. He laughed when he saw the stars someone had pinned to each berth’s door. He didn’t need a number. All he had to do was locate his name on a star.
He opened the door to his berth and threw his bag in, loosening his shirt collar and pulling off his tie. The room wasn’t large. It’d feel downright cozy by the end of three weeks, but Robert was pleased he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.
He settled in on the narrow bed. Might as well catch some shut-eye while he waited for things to start.
Sometime later, he was startled awake when someone knocked on the door. “Time for the meeting. Everyone to the dining car.”
Robert sat up and rubbed his eyes. He stumbled to his feet, surprised to feel the rhythmic motion of the train rumbling down the track. He pulled a tie out of his bag and laced it around his collar. After knotting it, he grabbed a brush and smoothed his hair. The sounds of banging faded. Time to join the others.
Audra leaned against the wall in a corner of the dining car. Booths lined the outside walls, the backs providing a tiny bit of privacy. Linen tablecloths covered the tables, each with a small vase containing a single daisy sitting on top.
Mr. Feldstein told her he’d insisted the dining and lounge cars be between the men’s and women’s sleeping cars. Hopefully they would build a natural separation and avoid some of the mishaps from the first caravan. As Audra watched the open flirting as the stars gathered with air kisses and hugs, she doubted that would be enough to keep the amorous apart.
As the dining car filled, Mark rapped a hand on the bar. “Ladies and gents, we are under way.”
Muted applause broke out.
“It’ll take us several days to reach D.C. That’s good since we’ll need the time to plan who does what in the show and rehearse. I’ve got some great scripts, but you’ll have the freedom to create your own material starting tonight.” Mark ran through the details and general rules. “Remember, first and foremost we are on this train to sell war bonds. The government has assigned a quota to this trip, and personally, I’d like to see us beat it—and the amount raised by the first caravan. Let’s show them we can work even harder.”
The stars shifted in their seats, and Audra wondered if Mark would notice the signal. Time to move things along.
“Audra Schaeffer is on the tour to help with logistics. If she tells you something, assume it comes from me.” Audra waved from her spot on the wall then faded back against it. “Dalia Carver will be in charge of costumes and set pieces. We’ve got a good many in the baggage car, but will collect more as we need them.”
A woman with a Rita Hayworth figure and olive-colored skin curtsied from the other side of the car. She looked more like a star than the one who would own their costumes for the tour.
“All right. Grab some supper. Finish unpacking. Then, be back here by eight for rehearsals. You’re dismissed.”
The stars dispersed one by one, with a few collecting in the corners of the car. Mark approached Audra. “Tonight take notes and get a sense of the personalities. We’ve got more than a few egos on board. We can’t accommodate all of them when it comes to building a program. But we’ll minimize the bruising.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Relax until eight. You won’t get much opportunity for that on this trip.”
He had no idea. It might sound like a fun trip, but Detective Franklin had given her no indication he knew who had killed Rosemary. She had as good a chance as he did of learning something important. And that was her true priority. She could grab a sandwich after the performers.
She jostled down the swaying aisle, across the car’s walkway, and into the lounge car. Behind the lounge car, she’d reach the sleepers that housed the women making this trip. There were twelve sleeping berths to a car, and Mark had placed her in the first one of the first women’s sleeping car. He said she had to keep the men away. She’d wanted to laugh at that suggestion but had nodded instead. How did he think she could stop a determined man? Especially if she hoped to get any sleep while on board.
A few people gathered in the lounge car. She swayed as the train rounded a bend on the tracks and found herself falling against a bolted-down chair. Robert reached up and steadied her.
“I’m so sorry.” She pulled from the contact, heat flaring up her neck as several of the men laughed.
Robert made a show of looking up and down the car. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Ignore those lugs. They’ve forgotten any manners their mothers taught them. Here, have a seat if you’ve got a minute.”
She eyed the vacant chair then decided she might as well. “For a moment.” She looked at the book he held. “What’s that?”
He flipped it over. “My Bible. I thought I’d take a few minutes to read. I have a feeling our berths are going to feel mighty small by the end of this trip.”
“Oh.”
“You seem surprised.”
“It’s not the book I expected.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the magazines, Audra. My faith is very important to me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She stood and straightened her skirt. “I won’t keep you from your reading.”
He studied her with a knowing look in his eye. “You are up to something, Miss Audra Schaeffer. Promise me it won’t get you in trouble.”
Audra met the questioning interest in his gaze and almost shared the burden. She sank onto the vacant chair next to his.
He reached out and touched a curl where it had slipped into her face. “I like what you’ve done with your hair. The bob looks very nice.”
Her heart raced as he stroked her cheek. Could she trust a star, especially one listed in Rosemary’s book? One who affected her with a mere touch?
No, she wouldn’t make any promises to Robert. Not when any trouble she found would be worth it if she could identify her sister’s killer.