Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,40

the business.

Solomon stared at the photo for only a few seconds before tapping his finger over Anastasia’s pretty face. “She’s cleaned up well,” he remarked. “What name is she going under these days?”

“Anastasia Rijn,” Clara said.

“How’d you find her?”

“She’s engaged to someone I know. A student who goes to school with Anastasia told me she thought there was something fishy about her. So I showed her picture to a few reporters at work, just to see if anyone had any dirt on her.”

“Makes sense,” Solomon replied. “Salacious scandals are the Manhattanite’s bread and butter.”

“My thinking exactly. Our features editor didn’t recognize her, but he gave me the number of his contact in the Barnard admissions office. I found out that Anastasia Rijn is a foreign transfer student at Barnard, speaks with a foreign accent. But she’s only taking a single class, and I wasn’t able to find anyone who knew about her background. She’s telling people she’s from France, and that she arrived in New York in the spring or early summer, but no one at Ellis Island was able to locate a record of her passage.”

Much as Clara hated to admit it, it seemed Lorraine had been right. There was definitely more to this girl than met the eye.

“You did all that today?” Solomon asked. Clara nodded. “That’s some fine detective work—better than what a lot of real cops were able to turn up on this particular dame.”

“Thank you. So you do recognize her?” She tugged nervously at the sailor collar of her blue-and-white plaid day dress.

Now that it appeared her sleuthing was going to dig up real answers, Clara almost didn’t want to hear them. As soon as she knew for sure that Anastasia was up to no good, she would have to do something about it. It was one thing to long for Marcus from afar—it would be quite another to actually see him face to face.

“Sure I recognize her.” Solomon lit his cigarette and took a drag, filling the tiny room with smoke. “She popped up in a couple of my cases, back when I was still working with the NYPD. This girl’s been into a little of everything—robbing banks, tax fraud, even assault and battery.”

Clara had trouble keeping her breathing even. She hadn’t thought the woman was a bona fide criminal.

“But she was never arrested?”

Solomon shook his head. “She’s a slippery one. She went under a different name every time. Deirdre Fitzsimons, Deirdre Dunwoody, Deirdre Jennings … Last time we were chasing her, we pinned down her real name as Deirdre Van Doren. But then she disappeared on us, like she always does. Looks like she wised up this time and used a totally fake name.”

“You’re sure that’s her?”

He gave the picture another glance. “I wouldn’t bet my life on it. But I’d bet … your life.”

Clara was taken aback. Then Solomon laughed. “That was a joke, sweetheart.”

“Oh, um … okay. Well, ha ha!”

Solomon took a sip of what appeared to be a cup of cold coffee. “This one started early. She’s about twenty-one, I’d say. She’s got a guy who does fake birth certificates and the whole shebang each time she decides to fleece somebody. Could I see that file of yours?” Clara wordlessly handed it over, and he shuffled through the pages. “Sheesh, I would’ve thought a writer would have better handwriting.”

Clara shrugged. “I failed my class in cursive, what can I say?”

Solomon snorted. “You’re feisty. I like that.” He stopped on one of the open pages. “So she’s in college. Must’ve thought she needed to step up her game to get herself hitched to someone who’s really loaded.” He put the file down on his desk. “It’s a little hard not to admire a dame like that, I’ve gotta say. Who’s the fool marrying her?”

“My old b—just, a, um … just a friend.”

Solomon frowned. “Well, if you want to be a real friend to him, you better tell him to run as fast as he can.”

Clara swallowed hard. Solomon was right. The problem was, while Marcus would call Clara a lot of things, a friend definitely wasn’t one of them.

Clara stormed into Hartley Hall looking purposeful.

A few boys in V-neck sweaters and knickers or checkered blazers and trousers sat in cushy chairs in the common area and played poker. Others gathered around a fellow telling an animated story at the bottom of the stairs.

Clara was going to have to send some kind of gift basket to Ricky in Features over at the