Still a redhead, thanks to monthly trips to a local salon, Daphne was an attractive woman with a Greenwich Village look about her. She favored berets and scarves and long skirts and lace-up boots. Daphne’s bohemian, artsy sensibilities had drawn her to the Settlers’ Club in the first place. After all, the club had been founded by a gentleman who had abhorred the stuffiness of other clubs in the city. He had wanted people with a sense of adventure, people who appreciated the arts. He also believed that women should be accepted as members in their own right. What better place to meet interesting people? Daphne had thought twenty years ago.

As Daphne sat in her apartment reading her favorite newspaper, the New York World, which featured a story about an old man who was retiring from his job as a doorman at the Plaza after more than fifty years of service, she sighed. He’s seen a lot, she thought. And so have I, living on the ground floor of this joint.

She put the paper down. Time to get dressed. After all, today I am a working actress.

Daphne had managed to get a job as stand-in for one of the actresses in the film shooting at the Settlers’ Club that day. It’s true it wasn’t like having a real part, but at least she’d meet people in the business. And she needed to meet new people. Members of the club were dropping like flies.

She heard Thomas’s voice outside in the hallway. She ran to the peephole and stole a look. He was walking by with a young woman who looked so familiar. Who was she?

“Wait a minute!” Daphne whispered. “I just saw her picture in the paper. That’s Regan Reilly, and she’s a private detective. Thomas must have called her in!”

“Are you sure you don’t mind staying in Nat’s apartment?” Thomas was asking.

Stay in his apartment! Daphne let the peephole snap shut. I don’t have time now, she thought. But I’ll go up there later with a tray of my cookies, and I’ll offer to be of service in any way I can. I’ll tell her about those meat-market parties held across the hall from Nat’s that don’t welcome women of a certain age!

“There is a season, turn, turn, turn,” she trilled as she ran to her bedroom to get ready.

9

Regan followed Thomas off the elevator and down the red carpeted hallway to Nat’s apartment. The walls were covered with framed collages of black-and-white photos capturing decades of Settlers’ Club parties.

“A lot of history here,” Regan said.

“One hundred years of history, Regan,” Thomas said as he unlocked the heavy wooden door to Nat’s apartment. It opened onto a foyer with wood paneling. To the right, Regan could see the spacious living room.