She led them down a short corridor and into a small bedroom. Custom-built shelves lined two walls, and a large bow-front cabinet with glass doors dominated another one. Multiple dolls were artistically displayed on the shelves and behind the cabinet doors.
Eloise hardly knew where to look first. The beautiful costumes, made of a variety of fabrics and adorned with ribbons, lace, feathers, and buttons, took her breath away. She glanced toward Phillip and stifled a laugh at the horrified expression on his face.
He scanned the shelves. “Are any of these Irish dolls?”
“I have this one.” She pointed to a porcelain doll wearing an emerald-green silk dress. A matching cloche with black and silver feathers perched on top of her red curls, which were tied with a tartan ribbon. “Isn’t she lovely?”
“She’s beautiful,” Eloise agreed. “I don’t think she’s one of the dolls mentioned in the letter though.”
“Those dolls are puzzling.” Mrs. Clark tilted her head. “A fisherman, a woman with wood on her back. A little boy. Are they supposed to be a set of some kind?”
“We hoped you could tell us.”
“I’ve never heard anything of the like.” Mrs. Clark pointed at a barrister’s bookcase nestled between two windows that contained a row of books and stacks of magazines. “I read those from cover to cover as soon as they arrived, but I don’t recall reading anything about three Irish dolls like those talked about in that letter. They are a mystery, and I am sorry not to be able to help the FBI.”
“Please don’t apologize.” Eloise rested her hand on the woman’s arm. “You’ve been a tremendous help. And your dolls are absolutely beautiful.”
“They do bring me joy. Especially now that Mr. Clark is gone. Though I’m a member of the Springfield Art Circle, and that does keep me busy—attending the art shows and the exhibits that come around from time to time.”
“If you ladies don’t mind,” Phillip said, “I’m going to step outside for a few minutes.”
“Are you wanting a cigarette? There’s no need to go outside for that. The dolls and I don’t mind a little tobacco smoke. It’s one of those things I miss now that Mr. Clark has departed.”
“Please accept my sympathies,” Phillip said. “But, no, I’m not going out to smoke. Just thought I’d leave you ladies to talk about”—he waved his finger around the room—“all of this. I’m sure Eloise would like to know more about your collection.” He gave her a pointed look. His unspoken message couldn’t have been clearer.
“Oh, yes.” She gestured toward a shelf of porcelain dolls wearing elaborate wedding dresses. “These must be very special.”
“Among my favorites.” Mrs. Clark led Eloise toward the shelf.
Eloise glanced at Phillip over her shoulder. He gave her a nod and left the room. His approval buoyed her confidence, but uneasiness overshadowed those good feelings. While she distracted Mrs. Clark, who seemed to be innocent of any wrongdoing, Phillip would be scouring her home for any evidence that she was lying to them.
When Eloise had role-played distractions with her tradecraft instructor, it had all seemed like a fun game. The reality, especially with someone as unassuming and down-to-earth as Barbara Clark, seemed unnecessarily deceptive.
Maybe Eloise should have stayed in the code room where each puzzling message had a definite solution. Where each number or letter corresponded to another specific number or letter. As difficult as it could be—as it often was—to decode an encrypted message, looking beyond a person’s words and demeanor to see the truth in their hearts was infinitely harder.
Eloise believed Barbara Clark to be a typical Midwestern housewife. But what if she were part of a treasonous plot? Impossible. If so, she wouldn’t have turned the suspicious letter in to the post office. That action alone proved her innocence.
Didn’t it?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Though he’d feigned indifference, Phillip couldn’t get away from all those staring dolls’ eyes fast enough. They gave him the creeps, as if they stared into the depths of his soul. Even though he knew that wasn’t possible, he understood why Mr. Clark hadn’t wanted his wife’s collection spilling into other rooms in the house.
All four of his sisters had their favorite dolls, and he had never minded them. But then again, they’d been played and slept with, loved and cradled and dragged and tripped over. They were nothing like these costumed creatures whose only purpose was to…what? He didn’t even know.
Apparently, Richard had been wise to send Eloise along with him. Not that Phillip was ready to tell his uncle that. He also had to admit she’d been a welcome companion on the long train trip from Washington, DC, to Dayton. Not overly talkative. Congenial. Excited about traveling across the country.
The tickets were in the names of their false identities, and the brother-sister cover story worked out great. No one seemed overly interested in them, and they mostly kept to themselves. They ate their meals in the dining car with an Amish couple who weren’t interested in conversing with the Englisch.
When they first entered Mrs. Clark’s home, Phillip had surreptitiously scanned the room, which was crowded with upholstered chairs and wooden tables with shelves but no drawers. A rolltop desk tucked in a corner was the only place in this room that might hide incriminating evidence.
He quickly searched through its cubbyholes and drawers but found little of interest. Mrs. Clark’s checkbook register didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary. Her savings account had a more-than-respectable balance but not enough to arouse suspicion. He found a ledger that detailed transactions involving her doll collection—ones that she’d bought and sold over several years. The same drawer where he’d found the ledger also contained a folder with legal documents. Birth certificates for Barbara and her husband. The deed to her home, which was hers free and clear. The title to her car, a 1935 Studebaker.
There was nothing to indicate what Mr. Clark had done for a living, though he’d apparently made good money. True, the house was a modest one, but it was well-maintained and the furniture, even though there was too much of it in Phillip’s opinion, was of fine quality. He needed to ask Mrs. Clark about her husband and pray she didn’t fall apart on him. Widows seemed to have a habit of tearing up whenever they talked about their dearly departed. Even the ones who didn’t seem to like their husbands very much when they were alive seemed to become upset when the subject was broached. At least that’s what he’d noticed growing up and as an agent.
He wandered into the kitchen. The aroma of baking pies made his stomach rumble. Maybe he should have accepted Mrs. Clark’s offer of those breakfast muffins. Except for a mixing bowl and a few other items near the sink, the kitchen was as immaculate as the rest of the house. Four chairs surrounded a round oak table covered with a cheery floral cloth. He opened a few drawers and cabinets but found only what he’d expect to find in a kitchen.
The window over the sink provided a view into the backyard. A tool shed stood in a rear corner. To one side, a victory garden boasted rows of sweet corn and vining tomatoes. He also recognized green beans, cabbage, cucumbers, and squash.
Hearing voices coming his way, Phillip eased out the back door, closing it softly behind him, and jogged around to the front. Hands tucked in his pockets, he leaned against the fender of the borrowed car and whistled a tune. Mrs. Clark would never know he hadn’t been here the entire time patiently waiting for Eloise to join him.
He straightened as both women emerged from the house. Eloise carried a small cardboard box. “Mrs. Clark wants to help our investigation in any way she can. These are the letters she’s received from other doll collectors. Maybe there will be something to help us.” Her tone sounded hopeful, as if she couldn’t wait to dig into the correspondence.
“That’s very kind of you,” he said to Mrs. Clark as he took the box from Eloise. “On behalf of the FBI, let me thank you for your cooperation and your loyalty to your country.”
“Who else would I be loyal to?”
she replied. “Two of my sons and a son-in-law are overseas, though no one can tell me where.”
“I’ll pray for your family,” Eloise said. “Thank you again. For everything.” She headed for the car but paused when Phillip didn’t join her.
“I’ve been admiring your home,” he said. “Nice place. The kind of place I’d like to own someday.”
“Yes, well, it’s been my home since Mr. Clark carried me over the threshold. Seems like only yesterday we were that young and foolish. Time has a way of passing by when you’re not paying any attention.”
“That’s true.” Phillip took a long, admiring look at the house. “What kind of work was Mr. Clark in, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Insurance sales. Unlike so many others, we made it through what they’re calling the Great Depression without too much harm. What a time that was.”
“We should probably go now,” Eloise said. “Thanks again, Mrs. Clark.”
“Before we do,” Phillip said, “I’d like to express my condolences for your loss, Mrs. Clark.”
“What loss?”
Stunned by the question, Phillip narrowed his eyes. “Of your husband.”
“I didn’t lose my husband.” Her voice hardened, and her face flushed.
“I…I’m sorry,” Phillip stammered then glanced at Eloise, though he couldn’t say why. For support? For help? He was certain Mrs. Clark had referred to her husband in the past tense more than once. “I got the impression…I mean, for some reason…I thought you were a widow.”
“He’s gone to Virginia, though no one knows what got that notion into his head, and no one cares either. I hear from him now and again. But I didn’t lose him.” She crossed her arms. “You might say he lost me when he came home one too many times smelling of the drink. We all make our choices. He made his and I made mine.”
Phillip had no idea how to respond. He’d certainly stuck his foot in his mouth, but how did he get it out?
Eloise stepped around him and touched Mrs. Clark’s arm. “You’ve been a great help to us today. I’ll do everything I can to be sure your letters are safely returned to you. Goodbye now.”
“Thank you for that assurance, honey. Now you take care of yourself.” Mrs. Clark shifted her gaze to Phillip, and the smile she’d given Eloise turned into a frown.
Eloise tugged on his sleeve, and he followed her to the car with a backward glance. Mrs. Clark glared after him.
“I should apologize,” he said softly.
“We should go.” Eloise tugged on his sleeve again.
As he opened her car door, she waved to Mrs. Clark. “Goodbye. Take care.”
Mrs. Clark returned the wave. “You too.”
Phillip half-raised his hand, but Mrs. Clark turned on her heel and marched back into her house. Eloise tilted her head as she slid into the seat, but he definitely heard a giggle. He handed her the box of envelopes and closed the car door. As he rounded the car to the driver’s side, he sensed he had totally lost control of this situation, but he wasn’t sure how. Anyone hearing Mrs. Clark talk about her husband would have made the same assumption he did, wouldn’t they?
He eyed Eloise as he slid behind the steering wheel, but she was engrossed with the contents of the cardboard box. More accurately, she was pretending to be engrossed with the contents while her shoulders shook with silent laughter.
He cranked the ignition and backed out of the driveway. “Enough,” he finally said. “Just tell me what happened when you were alone with the kindly Mrs. Clark.”
“She took a shine to me.” Eloise’s radiant expression showed she was pleased with herself. As she should be, considering she’d given him time to search through at least a couple of rooms. It was impossible to search the other bedrooms with Mrs. Clark there, but he doubted he’d have found anything incriminating even if he had. Eloise had also managed to get the letters. The odds were against finding anything useful in them, but they couldn’t afford to ignore any possible leads, no matter how slim.
“Bonded over creepy dolls, did you?” he teased.
“More like over men.”
Phillip gave her a sideways glance. Her eyes still shone with humor. “So, you knew about the husband,” he said. “You couldn’t have given me a signal? A sign? Something?”
“I tried to get you to leave, but you insisted on being a gentleman.”
“That doesn’t usually get me into trouble.”
“Nor should it. I think it was admirable of you to offer your condolences.”
“Be honest. Didn’t you think she was a widow from the way she was talking?”
“I did. Luckily, she told me about Mr. Clark’s exploits before I made the same mistake you did.” She paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “He’s a moonshiner.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I am absolutely not.”
“So that’s where she gets her money. She’s got quite a bit socked away in a savings account.”
“She refuses to take his ‘ill-gotten gains,’ as she called them. She told me her husband was a respectable businessman who managed to keep his head above water for a couple of years after the stock market crashed. But seeing what had happened to his friends and colleagues changed him. So many of them were ruined through no fault of their own. Eventually, he decided to give up the conventions of society and make his own way.” Eloise lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And he always did love to drink.”
“What a story.” Though not much could surprise him. Any agent who’d been in fieldwork for any length of time soon learned not to make assumptions about anyone—a lesson Phillip had temporarily forgotten. He maneuvered onto a main highway and headed west.
“Aren’t we going back to the train station?”
“We’re going to the Indianapolis FBI office to drop off those letters.” “But I want to read them.”
“We’ll both read them. Then we’ll send them to Richard for analysis.”
“What kind of analysis?”
“We’ve got experts who can tell if any of the letters were typed on the same typewriter as the Clark letter. If we find the typewriter itself, then that gives us evidence against the traitor.”
“How do they do that?”
“Not my area of expertise. It has something to do with the individual letters, how they hit the paper, that kind of thing. Amazing how accurate they can be though.” He grunted as he slowed to take a curve. “Not the kind of work I’d want to do, but I’m glad somebody does.”
“I’m not sure it’s much different than my job. Staring at messages. Trying to find the patterns in what looks like a random combination of letters and numbers.”
Another job Phillip was glad he didn’t have to perform. He couldn’t imagine being stuck in an office all day every day. He’d go stark raving mad within a week. After being on the road, conducting interviews, and tracking down a traitor, Eloise might feel the same. That thought led him back to something she’d said earlier.
“What men?” he asked. From the corner of his eye, he noted her perplexed expression. “You and Mrs. Clark bonded over men. Plural. Her husband and who else?” It wasn’t until the question was out of his mouth that he realized how intrusive it sounded. They had talked about various topics while on the train, but both had steered clear of anything too personal. Not even their families. “Stuck my foot in my mouth again, didn’t I? Twice in less than an hour. Must be a record.”
“She asked why I wasn’t married.” Dots of pink highlighted Eloise’s cheeks. Phillip realized he wanted to know the answer to that question too, but he didn’t dare ask it. Instead, he stayed silent, hoping she’d fill in the silence with an explanation. Did she have a beau who’d gone overseas? Someone who had asked her to wait for his return? Or had his leaving driven them apart? She was too attractive not to have caught some man’s attention.
What did you tell her? Phillip wanted to shout out the question. Seconds passed and she said nothing. That nothing seemed to
speak volumes, but Phillip couldn’t decipher the message. He gave her another sideways glance. She stared out the windshield, seemingly deep in thought, slightly turned so he could only see her profile.
Her mood had turned pensive with the change in the conversation. There was something vulnerable in her expression, as if she were no longer inhabiting the same world he did but was caught in the past. The softness of her jaw, the uneasy set of her shoulders, reminded him of Nancy. How often had he caught her pining for a love that couldn’t be? Who was the man, if such a man existed, who had hold of Eloise in much the same way?
A strange feeling irked its way from his gut to his heart. Jealousy? No, it couldn’t be. Maybe an odd kind of protectiveness. Similar to how he felt for his sisters when their hearts were bruised.
Except the feeling went beyond that—he couldn’t hide from that truth no matter how much he wanted to. And yet he didn’t want to acknowledge it either. He couldn’t. The mission was too important to give in to any silly romantic impulses. They were brother and sister, at least as far as the mission was concerned. They were themselves only when conducting their interviews.
He had to regard her as a sister. This minute, today, and always. He was too much of a professional to do anything else.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Doll Woman shook her head at the New York Times’s bold headline announcing the military tribunal’s sentencing of the German saboteurs who had been captured by the FBI. She had no sympathy for the condemned men. Obviously, they were incompetent fools, or they would not have been caught.
Who cared about the Germans anyway? Despite the fact that both her parents were of German descent, she certainly did not. She considered it her good fortune that Otto and Elizabeth Blucher had moved from eastern states to settle in Sacramento before their children were born. Her childhood, and that of her younger brother, was as sunny as the weather.
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