“Because I want to live my own life,” he yelled, battling the urge to launch himself off the deck into the cold Puget Sound and swim away as fast as he could.
Beata moved forward to cup his cheeks in her hands. “I don’t think you know what you want, älskling, and it troubles me to see you this way.”
“I know,” he said gruffly, his irritation fading in the face of her concern. “But I assure you, I know what I’m doing. The previous jobs were stepping stones. Critical training and invaluable experience. Starting an agency from scratch takes time, but every lawyer, business owner, and law enforcement department within ten miles has my business card. The cases will come.”
Beata dropped her hands and gave him a tight smile. “Then I will do my best to convince your father.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it myself when I land my first job.”
“Until then, why don’t we let the poor man eat?” Emil was about to throw Astrid a grateful glance when she added, “It’ll give him strength for round two.”
Beata squeezed his arm as she passed into the kitchen once more. Astrid followed, sending him a halfhearted, repentant grimace over her shoulder. Once they were out of sight, Emil rubbed his knuckles over his gritty eyes.
This was shaping up to be the longest luncheon of his life.
Thank God his old friend Mack Donnelly had invited him to the Puget Sound Post’s annual New Year’s Eve party. The guest list would be a veritable who’s who of Seattle’s most influential denizens. If there were one place Emil could secure a lead, that would be it. Whatever it required—charm, wit, or sheer persistence—he would not walk away empty-handed.
Chapter 2
Olive Becket gingerly shuffled her father’s aging baseball cards and savored the memory of the last time they’d pored over them together. How she’d clutched them to her chest while she sat in his lap, reading the sporting column together. How he’d smiled with delight each time she recalled the slightest detail about a player.
“I hate these cards.”
She ignored her ten-year-old brother’s heated assertion, accompanied by a scowl and arms crossed over his narrow chest. His reading skills would improve by spring's end, no matter the amount of blood, sweat, or tears required. She flipped over the topmost card and covered the player’s image with her free hand, leaving only the script visible.
“What does this say?”
Robbie gave it a cursory glance, then flopped backward onto the faded patchwork rug with a wail. Apparently, today’s payment was tears. She bit back a sigh and followed him to the rug. Snuggling close, as much for comfort as warmth that blustery morning, she held the card aloft.
“Let’s look at the first letter together. You can do it, Robbie.”
He huffed, but he did as she asked. “It’s a... a K.”
“That’s right. And the next?”
His lips moved as he tried to piece the word together. “Why are there so many Es?”
“Some words are like that. Take it slow, you’re doing fine.”
“Kuh..eee…Kelly! That’s King Kelly.”
“That’s another card,” Olive said gently. “This one is Tim Keefe. Papa loved to tell me how he was the first pitcher to have three seasons with three hundred strikeouts. Imagine the amount of practice he put in, like you’re doing now.”
“I don’t think Tim Keefe had to read letters that ran away from him.”
Her heart pinched at the truth of it, but she refused to let pity creep into her voice. “Maybe not letters, but I bet it was hard to throw a curveball at first, too.”
“I suppose.” He took the next card from the deck and squinted at it. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Cap Anson. Do you remember how we talked about the letter C having two sounds?”
“Oh, you two do my heart good.”
Olive looked up at her mother’s soft interruption. Anna Becket sat a few feet away at the scuffed wooden table in the dinette—if one could call the cramped space in their tiny apartment a dinette—a bundle of fabric in one hand and a sewing needle in the other. A wistfulness twisted her delicate features, which had grown far too frail as of late.
“How your father loved those cards. Never smoked a day in his life, but that didn’t stop him from buying all the Old Judge cigarette packs he could find to complete the set.”
“We know.”
