She looked at Gray. “How much do you suppose it costs the Magruders to make a bottle of the cheap vanilla flavoring?”
“Four cents,” he said immediately. “I had Otis figure it out.”
“And how much do they sell it for?”
“A dollar.”
“And do you know how many bottles they sell?”
Gray shook his head. “I know they cook it up by the tanker, but I don’t know how much they sell. A lot, I’m sure.”
And plenty of those bottles would have been sold in Kansas. For each adulterated product, the Magruders pocketed plenty of money, and that meant they were tricking farmers in Kansas, factory workers in Boston, and meat packers in Chicago. All over America, there were people who stood on their feet while laboring hard for every penny, and they had a right to know what they were buying.
“I know the meeting is only going to deal with the military contracts,” Annabelle said, “but why not hold the Magruders’ feet to the fire for every jar of food they sell anywhere in the country?”
“The army isn’t going to entertain discussion about the general food supply,” Gray said.
“Wait a minute.” Caroline straightened as a look of fierce concentration came over her face. “What if they don’tknowourreal aim? Perhaps we focus on a demand to list ingredients on food supplied to the military, get the Magruders to agree, then hit them with a second punch. Demand they treat the general market with the same respect as the military. I can be sure the press is there so they can report on every word. If we play our cards right, we can paint them into a corner.”
It would take a mountain of data to prove the Magruders had been systematically cheating their customers, but Annabelle knew how to start looking.
Forty
Over the next three days, Annabelle worked alongside Gray in the glorious reading room of the Library of Congress, plowing through census records to create a demographic profile of the country. They used commercial reports to figure out how much food was produced and sold within each state. The Bureau of Labor Statistics told them how much the average farmer, factory worker, and store clerk earned. The Magruders’ meeting with the army was fast approaching, so they worked through lunch and dinner to compile their mountain of statistics.
Annabelle loved working with Gray, which was a problem. In four days she would return to Kansas to begin the formidable task of reversing the fortunes of their family farm, but her renewed feelings for Gray were spiraling out of control. Even now, as she watched him at the reference desk, his tall, serious figure was irresistibly attractive to her. He listened intently as the librarian passed him another set of records. His footsteps echoed off the towering marble walls of the chamber as he wended his way through the work tables and back to her. The corners of his mouth tilted in the barest hint of a smile as he set the records on the table before her.
“Two decades of baked bean sales and exports,” he whispered.
“Excellent!”
His face warmed, and he touched her shoulder. “We won’t know until we plow through the numbers.”
“Ahem!” her mother said as she glared at Gray’s hand, and he immediately withdrew it. Maude had been a constant presence for the entire three days. While her father pounced on the extra time in Washington to explore the city, Maude refused to waste money on streetcar fare and insisted on sticking close to Annabelle.
Which was a blessing in disguise. Maude had an encyclopedic memory for the price of every item sold in grocery stores in the entire county of Pottawatomie, Kansas. She knew the price of a bushel of cucumbers, a gallon of vinegar, and a pint of salt, and could therefore estimate how much the Magruders spent to manufacture a jar of pickles.
“Can you cost out the ingredients for a batch of Boston baked beans?” Gray whispered.
“Naturally,” Maude said. Her mother might look grim, but Maude was in her element. All of them were. Working toward a cause wasn’t a chore, it was fun. Yes, her mother could be terse and opinionated, but the moment Annabelle asked for help, Maude was fully committed to bringing honest and affordable food to the working people of America.
In his own way Gray was every bit as patriotic. Their work today wasn’t about advancing Gray’s spice company. Indeed, if they were successful, it would cause additional burdens and regulatory hoops for his business, but his sense of fair play drove him on this mission, and she was proud to work toward this goal with him.
But in four days she would go home. Roy tried to hide it, but he was sweating bullets, being away from the farm this long, and a huge part of Maude’s insane need to pinch pennies was rootedin the farm’s dire straits. If Annabelle could deliver on this one last crusade, she would feel good about returning to Kansas.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Gray strode toward the War Department building, doing his best to show no emotion despite the tension roiling inside him. He needed to surrender most of this mission to the Larkins, and they’d have to play this hand of cards perfectly to succeed in painting the Magruders into a corner. Constantly at the back of his mind was the crushing thought that today might be the last time he ever saw Annabelle. She and her parents were leaving on tomorrow’s train, and she’d take a piece of his heart he’d never get back.
Like all government buildings in this part of Washington, the War Department was built to impress, with acres of gray stone gleaming in the sunlight. Inside it was just as impressive, but in a completely different manner. The columns, pilasters, and beams were constructed of wrought iron, and the woodwork was Honduran mahogany. Alcoves lined with iron provided benches for small gatherings.
Annabelle and her parents had already arrived. So had the Magruders. Father and son stood near the staircase, their heads bent in quiet discussion, but they’d noticed Gray’s arrival. Given the astonishment on Clyde’s face, he had no idea Gray would be here today. Gray nodded to the Magruders but headed straight toward the Larkins, all of whom looked out of place as they stood in one of the iron-lined alcoves. Maude had asked if they should wear the formal attire they’d brought for Elaine’s wedding, but he’d advised them to come in their everyday clothes. Roy wore a plain flannel shirt and brown pants held up by suspenders. Maude’s calico dress was well made but faded from many washings. They were the embodiment of hardworking Americans and would help make the case today.
Gray shook Roy’s hand and nodded to Maude. “Thank you for coming.” He couldn’t even bear to look at Annabelle, but he sensed her presence. Radiant, fresh, and wholesome.
Clyde Magruder was heading their way, an overly broad smile on his face as he held out a hand. “These people are with you?” he asked Gray.
“Miss Larkin is a friend,” he said, offering a perfunctory handshake. “Mr. and Mrs. Larkin are her parents.”
