Chapter Thirty-TwoBAKER HOTEL, DALLAS,
June 18, 1930
“I still can’t believe she took my trust,” Clara muttered. She studied the Polk’s directory while finishing her poached egg and fruit compote with whipped cream.
“Calm down,” I said. “You don’t know that. And what would Earl say about this? This puts him in a bad light too. I wouldn’t put it past him to take that money.”
“You take that back. And go see the desk clerk. Get him to find me a city map ’n’ a hired car.”
All Clara could think or talk about was finding Elizabeth Pearson and getting her money back. After breakfast, she paced back and forth, smoking like a Pittsburgh smelter. I thought about calling Schulberg or Teet Carle to let them know where we were, but my first loyalty was to Clara no matter what. If I ratted, she’d ne
