We headed back to the mansion and ran through all the possible scenarios along the way. Who had motive to kidnap Daliah. Why didn’t she put up a fight and tear that dressing room up trying to get away? She was constantly surrounded by adoring fans. How did she disappear without anyone noticing? Did they grab her by surprise? Was she drugged? Nothing we came up with made any sense. Essie and I sat dumbfounded around the kitchen table each of us with a tall glass of whiskey in hand. Chef came in shortly after we arrived and started slamming cabinet doors, jumping in our conversation and distracting us with stupid conspiracy theories about sandwich thieves possibly hoping to ransom her for his secret ham sandwich recipe. We were running out of liquor and ideas when Luscious Pinkney barged in, grabbed himself a glass and poured himself a drink with the last of the booze.

“Where have you been?,” he said shaking his balding head in disbelief. “You left me here with no back up. There was too many of ‘em. My knife wasn’t big enough to fight off a crowd that size.”

Ruby cut her eyes at the old man, “What in the world are you going on about now?“

Luscious slammed down his drink and pointed to the foyer.

“Those crazy Downtown Neighborhood Association people,” He said. “About five or six hundred of them bust up in the house tonight.”

“You’re over exaggerating Lucius,” I growled. “There’s only about 5 members in the entire organization.”

Then Lucius glared at me and pointed his pocket knife my way.

“Your momma was leading the pack, white boy,” he said. “She bust in here with all her fancy pants friends and said we was bringing low life riff raff into their neighborhood. She said Lady Gladys had found a legal loophole to allow us to stay here, but her will didn’t say nothing about letting that low life jazz singer and all that Hollywood trash come around for parties. She said it would be over her dead body that we were going to take over her neighborhood.”

Lucius took out an old handkerchief and wiped his sweaty brow.

“There might have just been five of them, but they were mad enough to kill,” he said. “It was like a rich lady lynch mob. You have watch out for them white folks. Things don’t go their way and they lose their minds. Don’t let the pearls and mink stoles fool you. They can get violent real quick. Come up up in here trampling over all my grass and acting crazy.”

Chef slammed a silver sandwich tray down on the marble kitchen counter.

“Speaking of crazy white folk, Miss. Dalia’s manager is the worst of all,” Chef said. “He works that poor girl night and day. He’s no good. He wouldn’t hardly let her enjoy my sandwiches - kept saying there was better ways to die. He’s your man. I tell you. He probably worked that poor girl to death then sold her body parts to the highest bidder to squeeze the last little bit of cash out of her that he could.”

Essie grabbed the car keys then grabbed me.

“Come on Rubie we got two new leads - Dupree and your mama’s snooty friends,” she said.

I expressed my doubt as a tripped along behind Essie but it was no use. Essie was desperate. She demanded that I follow every lead and at that moment those two were all that we had.

Essie came to a screeching halt outside the Desoto Hilton. It was Savannah’s finest, most exclusive hotel. Dupree was staying in the presidential suite. She didn’t seem daunted by the fact that the Desoto was segregated. She shoved her way past the doorman and had dragged me onto the elevator before anyone could verbalize an objection. When the elevator doors opened to the top floor, Essie walked into Dupree’s room without knocking. He was standing on the balcony looking out over the city when we barged in.

“What did you do to that girl?.” she shrieked. “I don’t care if you ruin me. I don’t care if I lose my money and my club. I don’t care what you do to me. But If you harmed her I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Dupree slowly turned around. His icy blue eyes were filled with tears.

“You’ve got to find her Essie. Find my girl before it’s too late. All these crazy people. These old men coming after her. She’s still just a kid. My little girl. I would never hurt you Essie. Those were empty threats. I just wanted you to help me get her back. You have no idea how many men have tried to seduce her. You can’t imagine how the industry moguls try to use her. I worked her so hard because I was putting everything she earned into a trust fund for her. I found a private boarding school for her in the Caribbean. A place where she could live like a normal kid and get out of limelight; a place where I could reemerge as a black man, be her father again and not her manager.”

Essie gave Dupree a bear hug and they burst into tears. I was dumbfounded.

“Uh, can someone clue me in on what’s going on?,” I said.

Essie and Dupree sat me down and explained the whole complicated story. During the Depression things were hard for everyone, but they were terrible for poor sharecroppers in the South. As a poor black, illegitimate son of a white planter in Statesboro, Ga., Dupree was an outcast with ad almost nothing to offer his wife and young daughter. But by reinventing himself as a white man in Atlanta, he thought he could make the most of his paradoxical appearance. But while he worked to reverse his fortune, his wife died. The girl was sent to Savannah to live with relatives who quickly recognized her talent for singing and put her in the church choir. Essie helped her make ends meet by allowing her to perform at her nightclub. When the girl became a big hit, Essie’s entrepreneurial instincts kicked in and she was briefly blinded by dollar signs . when the blue-eyed Dupree showed up with a phony contract and a plan to take his girl on tour, disguised as a white concert promoter. Their complicated scheme had worked. They had all grown rich. But now, with Dalia missing, both he and Essie would have traded it all for the poor but proud family to be back together on their farm.

I left the tearful couple to come to terms with their regrets. It was obvious that Dupree had nothing to do with Dalia’s disappearance. I needed to explore my only other lead and that wasn’t going to be easy. I walked out of the Desoto Hilton and headed a few blocks down Bull Street to one of the most stately downtown homes in Savannah. I was second only in value and status to the estate of the late Lady Gladys. It was the home where I grew up and a place that my mother had not allowed me to return to since I had disgraced the family with my drinking, gambling and race mixing.