“It’ll be close, I heard.” Curly Mulligan adjusted his cap over his namesake hair. “Let’s hope common sense wins out.”
“Common sense?” O’Donnell jabbed one finger in the sky. “How can we have common sense in America? Our president’s the playground bully, picking fights with the Germans, and now the Japanese. Freezing their assets? Cutting off their supply of oil? He’s asking for it, but we’re the ones who have to pay.”
Mary took notes as she passed, but their comments on the news were predictable and didn’t shed any light on the sabotage.
Now where had Mr. Fiske gone? She scanned the busy deck and stepped over an electrical cable. The leadingman stood by one of the ship’s funnels, writing on a clipboard.
Mary made her way over, ignoring further conversations. Mr. Pennington said she could only sleuth if it didn’t interfere with her work responsibilities, and reports did need to be delivered and collected.
Frank Fiske spotted Mary, smiled, and waved her over. “Good morning.”
“Yes, if a bit warm.” She fanned herself, a futile gesture in such heat and humidity, even in her light blue, short-sleeved linen suit. If only ladies didn’t need to wear slips and girdles and stockings that made them sweat in a most unladylike fashion.
She exchanged paperwork with Mr. Fiske. “How’s the separation of the sheep and the goats working?”
He laughed. “I heard that’s what they’re calling it. They disagree on who’s who.”
Mary smiled. They disagreed on almost everything. “Is it helping?”
“Fewer fights, that’s for sure, but now they spend too much time gabbing, getting each other riled up.”
Speaking of getting the men riled up ... “Do you know why Mr. O’Donnell’s here?”
Fiske squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “He’s still here? I’ll have to talk to him. One of my oldest friends, but he’s distracting my men and spreading rumors. What’s he up to?”
Revealing how closely she listened didn’t seem wise. “I think they were talking about the bill to extend the draft.”
Eyebrows bunched together over his deep-set eyes. “I don’t blame them. It’s a betrayal.”
Mary gave him a compassionate look. “Your son would be affected?”
“He’s the only family I have.” His mouth squirmed. “My parents gone. My wife gone. He’s all I have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He’s supposed to be out in November. That was the deal. But now...”
“I know.” If the country went to war while his son was still enlisted, he’d be committed for the duration of the conflict.
Fiske’s expression shifted, and he glanced aft toward O’Donnell and his pals. “I have bigger problems around here than O’Donnell.”
“Mr. Bauer?”
He barked out a short laugh. “You sound like the FBI. They won’t leave the man alone, especially since a section he worked on failed earlier this week, looked suspicious.”
“Oh dear.”
Fiske flapped his broad hand. “It’s not that simple. I inspected his work the day before. It passed. Then the next day it failed when we fitted it to the next section.”
Mary’s mind swam. “Do you think he—someone—altered it after the inspection?”
“I know someone did. And I know who. Found a pair of gloves right there, labeled with a name.”
“Gloves?” A clue Nancy Drew would love. “Whose?”
“A man who keeps misplacing his gloves. A man whose mother sewed his name inside.” Fiske leaned closer. “Ira Kaplan.”
“Oh dear.” Mary glanced over to the tall young man, hard at work with his friends. “Did you tell Agent Sheffield?”
