Flora called “checkmate” after two hours of intense play, and Gilbert sighed and leaned back in his chair, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with a handkerchief while shaking his head.

“You’re obviously cheating,” he said. “But I haven’t figured out how.”

He hadn’t beaten her yet.

“That’s me,” Flora admitted. “Big cheater. I’m just trying to make you a better loser. You’re such a baby about losing.”

Gilbert tucked the handkerchief back into his breast pocket and considered this for a moment before giving her a quizzical look.

“Why didn’t you and Bill ever have any children?”

Flora’s expression changed from cheeky grin, the triumphant, possibly cheating winner of the chess game. All the muscles in her face that had been holding up the cheeky grin went slack, the dimples disappearing completely. She picked up the queen and knocked over one pawn, then watched it roll back and forth on the polished surface of the board. A full minute passed before she spoke.

“We tried.”

Gilbert said nothing, but quickly pushed himself up from his chair and went to her. He stood behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bending his forehead down until it touched her crown.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Flora let just a few tears roll down her cheeks before wiping them away with the back of her hand. She was never one to wallow. Things had finally gone their way, and she wouldn’t let the past ruin it. Together they had achieved the impossible, and managed to disappear from Wooster without a trace. Gilbert and Flora were now independent, financially secure, and grateful that neither one would have to struggle and scrape for money, or suffer petty humiliations at the hands of ignorant, undeserving fools.

But an even greater goal had been achieved through the clandestine, carefully orchestrated embezzlement of the Wayne Building & Loan. It was one the newspapers hadn’t guessed at, and likely never would. It was something that was always in the back of Gilbert’s and Flora’s minds, a small nugget of truth sitting quiet and undisturbed, as it was at the tender moment the two were sharing in front of the chessboard. It was at that very moment that Flora’s husband, Bill Parker, the Bill Parker of the rage and the shotgun and the scorched tire marks, appeared in the doorway.

Chapter 27

Bill Parker had met Flora Jacobs in New York City not too long after the Depression, in the sawdust-strewn backstage basement room where Madame Ososki held her acting classes on Monday and Wednesday mornings. Bill had fallen for Flora instantly, like he had with a number of women. But he told himself this one was different. He’d told himself that with all of them. Flora, with her smooth skin, quiet elegance, and the pronounced dimples in her cheeks that appeared when she smiled, and also when she put on what Bill called her “disapproving face.” Although she mainly used that one during scenes. At least he was pretty sure it was just for scenes. Yes, Flora was different. Flora really was the one for Bill. He was at least eighty percent sure this time. Seventy-five at the very least. You couldn’t blame him, though. It was hard to be sure with actresses.