“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” She almost smiled at the intrigued look on Jim’s face. “Excuse me, but I think the police will want to talk to me.”
“I’ll see you Sunday.” Jim winked at her. “Unless you’re in jail.”
“I won’t be.” Her fingerprints on the bottle would be expected, and since she’d called Mr. Pennington’s attention to the tampering, she wouldn’t be considered a suspect.
As she worked her way through the crowd to the stage, her Nancy Drew theories seemed more and more plausible.
She’d discounted her instincts, but she was right. If only she’d pressed Mr. Pennington further and investigated more.
Who would do such a thing? And why?
Did a political rival want to harm Senator Fuller or his wife? Did someone hope to keep theEttingeroff the seas? Did someone want to discredit the Boston Navy Yard? Was it a saboteur?
A thrill tingled up her spine. Not only did she have an excursion to anticipate, but she had her very own mystery.
2
Boston
Sunday, March 23, 1941
Jim pressed his hand to the doorjamb and inhaled the smoky scent of old wood as he left Paul Revere’s house. In 1775 the hero might have touched this same spot on the night he rode into history. He gazed up the muddy gray clapboard wall to the overhanging second story. “‘Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.’ I can’t believe I’m in his house.”
“Not anymore, you aren’t.” Arch Vandenberg draped his arm over Gloria Washburn’s shoulder and sent Jim a droll look. No matter how hard Arch tried to act middle class, he couldn’t shed the upper-class affectation of boredom.
“Isn’t Boston the most fascinating city?” Mary tipped back her head and turned in a circle, her spring coat rippling around her legs. Nice legs.
Nice legs wouldn’t turn her into the bubbly blonde type of girl Jim preferred. Just as well. Since theAtwoodwould ship out soon, Jim didn’t want the complication of a romance.
“I thought we’d see even more history this week.” He gave her his best attempt at an evil grin. “The hanging of a young secretary on Boston Common for sabotage.”
She laughed and headed north up the hill, past a triangular plaza. “Thank goodness, no. They questioned me for about ten minutes and sent me on my way. According to the newspapers, the police are fixated on the senator. They think a political rival or his jealous lover wanted to harm him or his wife.”
A note of doubt in her voice led him to quicken his step and catch up. “You don’t agree?”
“I don’t know.” Light blue eyes narrowed. “The papers are drawn to the sensational, of course, but with all the division in the country right now, all the intrigue, I hope they look into it thoroughly. Hundreds of shipyard workers had access to that bottle.”
The last person Jim wanted working on his ship was a man inflamed by politics. He hopped off the sidewalk and crossed the cobblestone road. The hearty smell of tomatoes and garlic from the Italian restaurants made his mouth water. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs sounded good, even with the lobster roll he’d had for lunch still cozied up in his stomach. Boston agreed with him.
“Jim,” Arch called from behind. “I thought you said Mary was quiet.”
“I did. I’ve heard more words from Mary Stirling’s mouth today than all through high school.”
She lowered her head and tucked brown hair behind her ear, revealing a smile. “I can talk when something interests me.”
“You can sing too.”
Her gaze jerked up to him. “Sing?”
If he knew her better, he’d give her a playful nudge. “We shared a hymnal this morning, remember? You sing well. You should join the choir.”
“Heavens, no.” Alarm flashed across her face, same as when her boss called her onto the platform at the launching the other day.
“Stage fright?”
Ripples crossed her forehead. “I don’t like to call attention to myself. Besides, there are so many hams in this world. Let them have the stage.”
“Looks like your choir actually needs more sopranos.” His church in Ohio teemed with the songbirds.
