Still, Becky couldn’t help where her heart wanted to lead her. As she went back to her room to finish getting ready for the evening, she took out her pocket sketchbook, the one she carried with her when she and Martha went to town. Becky flipped to a page marked with a pressed daisy.
On the page was a handsome young man with a square jaw. His hair was curly in the front and shaved fine and neat around the sides and back. His eyes were set wide beneath thick, pensive brows, and his lips parted only slightly when he smiled. She’d drawn this picture of Adam when he was across the room at the speakeasy. After she’d finished the sketch, he’d waved her over. She squeezed in next to him after he’d ordered his buddies to make room. He told her jokes and did funny impressions to make her laugh before getting serious. When she looked at him, she saw more than just a handsome young man. She saw someone who was waiting for adventure, for the unexpected to happen. Then he placed his hand over hers and squeezed it tight before letting go.
“It’s Prohibition. We’re breaking the law here,” he said to Becky that night when they were sharing a drink.
“In more ways than one,” she replied.
That memory sent tingles down her spine. She looked at the drawing of Adam. It was a fine rendition if she did say so herself. But as she looked at it again, the drawing seemed to shift. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes.
When she looked down at the sketch, it was no longer Adam but a strange-looking man, the type who would ride empty train cars and sleep in the open for years on end. Becky’s heart pounded. She didn’t draw this picture. She didn’t know who this man was.
She rubbed her eyes again and the strange hobo was gone, once again replaced by the handsome face of Adam White.
Becky swallowed hard. She put her hand to her forehead. A fever might be a welcomed ailment since the Heathcliff boy couldn’t arrive when she was feeling under the weather. But unfortunately, she didn’t feel warm. Was it a trick of the light? Maybe her eyesight was going? Did she get enough sleep last night? Of course she didn’t. She’d been out dancing as usual. That explained it. Becky was sure she was suffering from fatigue. It was nothing a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure. She would be sure to tell her entourage that staying out any later than one in the morning was out of the question.
Still, even as she tried to focus on her plans for the evening, the grimacing face of that dirty bum settled along the periphery of her mind.
Book 1 of The Southern Sleuth: Love and Murder in Savannah is now available everywhere
