The professor glanced toward the hallway. “Where’s Simon?”
“He had an urgent call to place.” She no longer asked who he spoke with behind the closed office door. His answer was always the same: a business associate. He didn’t bother her with the particulars of his business. Once she’d asked to visit the stable where he bought and sold horses, but Simon laughed so hard that she thought he might injure himself. To this day, she didn’t know what amused him.
He still traveled often to Cleveland, but at least he brought back cash now for her and Greta’s basic needs along with a few extras like their night out at the theater. He’d also managed to obtain enough money for a new car to replace the dented one. A Packard Darrin convertible, leprechaun green. Even better, he’d purchased a new buggy for Greta.
They still didn’t have enough to hire a sitter for the baby, but the professor often rocked Greta in the evenings and the housekeeper, while not as fond of children, was willing to watch Greta in a pinch.
The professor trailed her into the kitchen. “What movie did you see?”
Izzy sighed.“Black Dragons.”
“Was it worth the fifty cents?”
“Heavens, no.” In fact, it was probably the worst movie she’d ever seen. The main character’s mission was to kill off members of a spy network, and his behavior kept changing, depending on who he was meeting with. Even now, after watching the whole film, she didn’t know if Dr. Melcher was meant to be a hero or villain. And how could one cheer for the villain?
A waste of two perfectly good quarters, in her opinion. Money they could have saved for a better film.
She filled a bottle with evaporated milk before adding water and a spoonful of dark Karo syrup for Greta’s last feeding tonight. While she wouldn’t tell her husband, she’d begun to appreciate the older man’s company. At least he, on occasion, was willing to converse.
“Who was the black dragon?” Professor Farrow asked.
“The doctor.” She shivered at the memory. “He changed the faces of spies so no one would recognize them, but then he started killing his former patients and I’m still not sure why.”
As much as she liked a good mystery and even a little intrigue, she hated watching any film noir. Now she’d probably have nightmares about dragons.
Why would anyone pay to watch a movie that stole their sleep?
He glanced down the hall, the office door closed. “Simon probably liked it.”
“I suppose he did,” she said, not wanting the professor to think she was criticizing his son.
“When he was younger, he always wanted to be a spy.”
She held the bottle to Greta’s lips, and as her daughter drank, she studied the professor. It had never occurred to her before, perhaps because he’d been her professor at Winfield and then her enemy at home, that he was also a parent. A father who probably cared at one time for his sons. Perhaps fed them their bottles and rocked them when Ruthie was away.
What had split their family?
Simon rarely spoke about his older brother, and the professor never mentioned him. She didn’t know much of anything about Clarence except Simon was trying to keep him from pilfering their mother’s estate.
Perhaps Clarence had children of his own. More grandchildren for the old professor.
“What about your other son?” she dared ask.
“My other son?”
She winced, fearing again that his memory was slipping. “Simon’s brother,” she clarified. “Clarence. What did he want to be when he grew up?”
When the professor shook his head, a shadow of sadness darkened his gaze. “Simon is my only child.”
Had Ruthie been married before? If she’d had a son from a previous marriage, that could explain some of the turmoil.
He nodded toward Greta. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
On the second floor, across from her and Simon’s bedroom, was a guest room they’d converted into a nursery. When Greta finished her bottle, Izzy tucked her into a wooden crib, singing until she slept.
By the time Simon came to bed, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, Izzy had already slipped between the covers. He’d treated her well tonight. Bought her popcorn and a cherry soda. Perhaps they were rounding a corner to something better.
“Was it an espionage call?” she asked, trying to make light after the dreadful spy scenes.
