Her pulse leapt—could it be Emil already?
Tugging the sweater into place, she darted to the slim window and pressed her nose against it. Three floors down, a woman stood on the building landing. She rolled her eyes at her eagerness. Of course, it wasn’t Emil. It was a workday. He would be thoroughly occupied with his business. Not to mention their home wasn’t set up for visitors, least of all men. Then the hat tilted back, and a freckled redhead was gazing up at her.
“It’s Winnie,” she said to her mother.
“Goodness, she must be freezing,” Anna exclaimed. “Invite her in.”
Olive waved at Winnie, then hurried to the front door. She paused beside the coat rack. She had some questions for Winnie about the day before. Questions better asked out of earshot of her mother. She pulled on her heavy coat, wrapped Emil’s scarf around her neck, and tucked her hair under a wool cap.
“We’ll be up in a few minutes, Mama.”
She descended the dark stairwell, her footsteps echoing on the wooden steps, until she reached the cramped entryway. She swung the front door open. Winnie stood on the walkway, half-facing the street. She wore a stylish coat that complemented her figure, and her hands were tucked into a white muff that matched her tam hat.
“Is that a new coat? It looks—” Her words cut off when Winnie turned. Her friend’s lips were pinched together, her normally dancing eyes shadowed with worry. “Winnie? Are you all right?”
“I’m all right,” Winnie said, but her serious tone was anything but reassuring. “But we have a problem.”
“About…”
“About yesterday.”
Olive glanced around quickly. Mrs. Spinelli was pushing a pram down the uneven sidewalk, little Walter toddling after her. The milkman was deep in conversation with the owner of Gould’s Market, his draft horse chewing patiently on a handful of straw while he waited. Neither posed an issue. But when she glanced over her shoulder toward her own building, she stilled. The curtain on Mrs. Drake’s windowsill twitched unnaturally. The dragon was probably pressed against it, doing her best to eavesdrop.
“Why don’t we take a walk to the park?” she asked loudly, then added in a much quieter tone, “I think my landlord is watching us.”
Winnie caught on at once. “A morning stroll would do me good.”
Olive leading the way, they walked in silence until they were halfway down the block. “What’s going on? Did I do something?—”
“Oh no, it isn’t you. It’s Rhoda. Have you heard from her, by any chance?”
She frowned. “No.”
“I was afraid of that.” Winnie sighed, a quick gust billowing in the cold morning air. “Something has happened to her, but we aren’t certain what. Apparently, Rhoda was acting oddly after the accident.”
“She hit her head. Could it have been worse than we thought?”
“That’s what Clem thought at first, but it didn’t explain why Rhoda sat in silence, biting her nails. Almost like she was nervous. Or afraid.”
“That doesn’t sound like Rhoda.”
“No, it doesn’t. Clem tried to convince her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t leave the auto behind. Clem sent Jude instead, and while he was gone, Mr. Carlisle arrived. He isn’t a nice man, by all accounts, but Mack said his demeanor was stone cold. And Clem was disturbed by his grip on Rhoda’s arm when he led her away. She tried to follow them, but with her limp, she couldn’t keep up.”
A pit gnawed in Olive’s stomach. She’d known something was wrong with Rhoda. “That’s awful.”
“Then, late last night, a packet was delivered to Longfellow House. No note, only one of Rhoda’s hat ribbons. We threw our coats over our wrappers and piled into Judith’s auto, but no one at the Carlisle House would talk to us. The butler insisted the family was out for the evening, but I’m convinced I saw someone watching us from the upstairs window.”
“Do you think it was Rhoda?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not going to stop searching until I find her.”
“I want to help.”
Winnie came to a standstill, her expression apologetic. “I appreciate the offer, but don’t you have enough going on at the moment?”
Olive’s skin grew tight with the effort not to show how deeply the question wounded her. It was happening again—dismissed because she couldn’t handle her own affairs, let alone others.
“She’s my friend, too.”
