Mary darted into Building 39, but she aimed for Agent Sheffield’s office. She’d explain her tardiness to Mr. Pennington later.
The papers rustled in her trembling arms. She flung open the FBI agents’ office door, marched forward, and slapped the notebook on Agent Sheffield’s desk. “This is my final report.”
“Final?” Sheffield arched his sandy eyebrows.
From his corner desk, Agent Hayes gave her his customary silent nod and returned to his work.
“They know what I’m doing.” Mary crossed her arms to conceal the shaking. “They know I record their conversations, and they just threatened me. Plus, I have reason to suspect my roommate might have used my notes for improper purposes. I need to stop immediately.”
“Have a seat.” Agent Sheffield’s expression softened, and he motioned to the chair. “Tell me everything.”
For the next fifteen minutes, she relayed everything that had happened over the weekend with Yvette and Mr. Fiske, as well as the morning encounter with Tucker and Mulligan.
Agent Sheffield expressed great interest in the meeting at Filene’s, perused Mary’s notes, added some of his own, and asked several questions. Apparently both Yvette and Mr. Fiske had moved up on the suspect list.
By the time she finished, her shaking had stopped and her determination to quit the investigation had hardened to certainty.
Agent Sheffield closed the notebook and settled back in his chair with an expression Mary had never seen before on his face—respect. “This is very good. Is there anything else?”
“It’s all in the notes.” How ironic that she’d earned his respect the moment she quit. “Thank you for listening, for believing in me, but there won’t be anything more.”
His gaze stayed on her—level, sure, unbending. “As you wish. You’re a private citizen. However, I suggest you keep your eyes and ears open, remember what you see and hear, write it down later—not in public—and keep me informed.”
“No, thank you.” Mary stood to leave.
But one question tickled the back of her brain. While she’d noted the discrepancy in her report, she hadn’t called attention to it, since it shifted from fact to supposition.
She paused with her hand around the brass doorknob. “I’m sure you can’t tell me, but I’ll ask anyway. When you arrested Mr. Winslow, you said you’d found a bomb. You told Mr. O’Donnell that Mr. Winslow wasn’t arrested for building a bomb, but for possessing one. Yet twice I’ve heard Mr. Fiske state that a crate of bomb-making equipment was found in Mr. Winslow’s basement. He said it was the same equipment used to build the bomb on theAtwood.”
Agent Hayes whipped around and stared at her.
One corner of Agent Sheffield’s mouth crept up. “You’re very perceptive, Miss Stirling.”
“Which is it?”
Sheffield tapped a cigarette out of a case. “When we searched his house, Mr. Winslow was agitated when we went through his kitchen cupboards. That’s where we found the bomb. But when we went down to the basement, he showed no anxiety at all.”
Mary’s hand slipped from the doorknob. If he had a crate of equipment in his basement, he would have been nervous. Agent Sheffield, however, hadn’t stated what he’d found—only Mr. Winslow’s reaction. “What did you find?”
He chuckled. “I can’t tell you that, young lady. I can only tell you what was in the public statement, what Mr. Winslow himself was told—that we found a bomb in his kitchen cupboard.”
Her mouth drifted open. Agent Sheffield had deliberately told her, in a roundabout manner, that they had indeed found a crate of equipment. No one knew except the FBI.
And Mr. Fiske.
And Mary. “Mr. Winslow didn’t know. That means someone else put it there. Someone trying to—”
“I thought you quit, Miss Stirling.”
She sighed. She wouldn’t be in Boston for long anyway. “No promises, but if I hear anything...”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
Mary shook her head and departed. This was how Nancy Drew got herself in trouble too, but Nancy always found her way out.
If only real life came with such guarantees.
Mary and Quintessa sat on Mary’s bed with the door shut, hunched over the section of the notebook dedicated to Frank Fiske.
