The Girl In The Glass by James Hayman Read Free Book Online Page A

defense, telling Daddy what she and Moseley had been up to. It wouldn’t sit well, since she was only fifteen at the time. Anyway, Jolley had been giving her sly glances and creepy smiles ever since. She told him if he didn’t cut it out she would tell Daddy he was a habitual Peeping Tom. So far she hadn’t bothered. She preferred the threat to the reality.
    Jolley took Aimée’s suitcase in one hand and Julia’s in the other. He offered to take the dress-­bag Aimée was carrying, but she held on to it. The dress was a secret. She’d had it made specially for her dramatic entrance at tonight’s party. The dressmaker, the best in Portland, had been instructed to duplicate the design in an old book Aimée had found in the Penfield library. Hidden Masterpieces of American Art. She’d actually had to steal the damned book, since it wasn’t allowed to circulate.
    Once safely in her room, Aimée locked the door, took the dress from the bag and tried it on. She opened the book to the appropriate page. Propped it up and compared her image in the full-­length mirror to the one on the page. A perfect match. Identical. She just had to get the hair, makeup and timing right. If she did, there was absolutely no doubt that she’d steal the limelight from everyone else. Daddy, the governor, the famous author, the movie star, and also, alas, poor Jules. Fantasizing about their likely reaction to her performance gave Aimée immense pleasure.

 
    Chapter 8
    A T T H R E E T H I R T Y in the afternoon a cab deposited McCabe at his front door. He handed the cabbie twenty bucks and told him to keep the change.
    Wobbling toward the front door, he started digging around in his pockets for his keys.
    The driver, a round-­bellied black man in his fifties, leaned out the window of the cab. “What floor’s your apartment on?”
    McCabe turned and appeared to be giving the question serious consideration. “Three,” he finally said.
    “Long way up,” said the driver.
    “Yup,” said McCabe, looking up at his windows on the top floor.
    The driver exited the car, put one arm around McCabe’s shoulder and told McCabe to do the same. He took McCabe’s key, opened the door and returned the key, then side by side the two of them struggled up three flights of stairs.
    “Anybody else live here?”
    “Yup.”
    “Your wife?”
    “Nope. My little girl.”
    “Your little girl? How old?”
    “Eighteen.”
    “Okay,” said the driver and rang the bell.
    Casey answered after two rings, looked first at McCabe and then at the man who was holding him up.
    “There’s my little girl,” slurred McCabe.
    “This your father?” asked the driver, not wanting to leave a strange drunk with the wrong daughter by mistake.
    Casey sighed. “Yup. That’s him. Where’d you find him?”
    “Picked him up at Tallulah’s. Drove him here in my cab. Where’s he sleep?”
    Casey directed the cabbie to McCabe’s bedroom. After her father had been deposited on the bed, she thanked him. “Have you been paid?”
    “Yeah. Gave me twice what he should have.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here. Take this,” he said, handing her a five. “What’s left will be more than enough.”
    When the cabbie was gone, Casey stood in her father’s bedroom door. “All right, what the hell is this all about? It’s the middle of the damned afternoon.”
    “Please don’t. You sound exactly like Kyra. It’s all right. I just spent the afternoon with Maggie at Lou’s pouring my heart out.”
    “You told her about Kyra?”
    “About that and everything else. I did a lot of talking.”
    “And a lot of drinking?”
    What McCabe detected in her voice was more like concern than disapproval. “Yup. Seeking solace in the demon rum.”
    “You know, I’m the kid in this family. You’re the one who’s supposed to be giving me lectures about stuff like that.”
    McCabe held up a hand. “Please. No lectures.”
    “Well, I’m glad you were