“He wasn’t impressed. Kaplan did work in that area.”
Mary’s heart sank. “I hope you’re wrong.”
“Me too. He’s a good kid, a hard worker. I like the boy, I do, but he and his buddies want us in that war. They don’t care who gets hurt.”
“Does Mr. Pennington know?”
“All the details are in the report I gave you.”
“Thanks.” She headed for the catwalk.
Heinrich Bauer walked in the same direction, about ten feet in front of her.
“Hey! Hey, Kraut!”
Bauer stiffened and stopped, then plowed forward.
“I’m talking to you.” Ira Kaplan marched over, arms swinging high. “Nazi.”
Mary hung back, pulled out her notebook, and watched wide-eyed.
“I am not,” Bauer said.
“Sure you are. You’re a stinking Nazi.”
“You know nothing.” His voice was hard and stiff.
“I know one thing. You stole my gloves.” Kaplan shoved him.
Mary sucked in a breath. A crowd formed, sheep on one side, goats on the other. Wouldn’t anyone break this up? Where was Mr. Fiske?
Bauer stumbled, then straightened. “I am not a thief.”
“You’re a thief and a saboteur, and now you’re trying to frame me.” Panic chased around the edges of Kaplan’s voice. “The FBI’s questioning me, but I know what you did. You stole my gloves, altered your work after Fiske’s inspection, then—”
“I did not. You know nothing.” Bauer stared him down, then turned for the catwalk.
“Thief, saboteur, coward!” Kaplan rushed at him, and the men erupted in shouts, urging them on.
Why wouldn’t anyone help? Mary searched the crowd, pushed her way toward where she’d last seen the leadingman. “Mr. Fiske!”
He was already on his way, elbowing workmen aside. “Break it up!” He shoved Bauer and Kaplan apart like Moses parting the Red Sea. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Some of the older men grabbed Kaplan by the elbows.
He strained against them. “Let me go. Let me at him. He’s the saboteur.”
Fiske stepped right in front of Kaplan. “Back off and let the FBI do their work. They’ll catch the saboteur.”
“Yeah? Then why is Bauer running free?”
“They can’t arrest a man without solid proof.” Fiske patted Kaplan on the shoulder, a gesture both fatherly and menacing. “You should be very glad of that.”
“What?” Kaplan’s dark eyebrows twisted. “What do you mean by that?”
Mary knew perfectly well what he meant, and she scribbled as fast as she could in her notebook.
“All right, boys, back to work. All of you.” Fiske’s voice didn’t allow argument. “Kaplan, you’re taking the rest of the day off. Without pay. I’ll deal with the union.”
