The finished table tracked Velvalee’s journey from New York City to Chicago to Seattle to Portland to San Francisco to Los Angeles to Phoenix. Presumably, she’d returned to New York City without sending any more postcards to Mrs. Lankford along the way.
“Let’s see what we learned,” Eloise teased. “Our Miss Velvalee traveled east all the way to the coast, turned left, and headed south. Turned left again. Headed east. Am I missing anything?”
“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Phillip warned, his tone harsh but with a glint in his eye. He tapped the pad. “Let’s check those dates against the dates the letters were sent.”
“Good idea. Dorothy Walker’s letter was dated January twenty-seventh and had a Seattle postmark.” Eloise added a third column for the letters and wrote the initials DW in the row for the postcard that had been mailed from Seattle. Though there wasn’t a postcard from New York, it was safe to assume that was Velvalee’s starting place. Eloise wrote BC for Barbara Clark in a new row created above the existing ones.
“Ruby Lankford’s first letter was postmarked from Oakland,” Eloise said. “Isn’t that near San Francisco?”
“Right across the bay.”
Eloise wrote RL – 1 in the San Francisco row. “Vera Swaney’s letter was sent in February too. Also postmarked Seattle.” She scribbled VS beside the BC in the Seattle row.
“That leaves Mrs. Lankford’s second letter.”
“Which wasn’t mailed until the end of May,” Eloise reminded him. “But the dates for the other four letters show that they were mailed from a city that Velvalee was visiting at the same time. That can’t be a coincidence. She has to be the traitor.”
“I hate to rain on your parade, but right now all we have is circumstantial evidence. We need more proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“She may not be traveling alone,” Phillip said. “Perhaps someone else—a husband, a brother, a cousin, it could be anyone—wrote those letters. Velvalee might not know anything about them.”
“I see.” Annoyance bit at Eloise’s spirit. “You don’t think she did it because she’s a woman.”
Phillip appeared taken aback. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She turned away from him and muttered, “Just like all the others.”
“All the other what?”
“Other men. Those who can’t imagine a woman can do anything besides cook and clean and do the laundry.”
“You’re wrong about that.” Phillip seemed both hurt and amused at her accusation. “Though you’re also right. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone betraying this country. I don’t even understand how those Germans were capable of planning sabotage after having lived here. How could they possibly prefer life in the Third Reich?” He took her hand, his skin warm against hers. “The truth is, until we heard of Velvalee, I assumed the traitor was a man. Richard probably does too.”
“So did I,” Eloise reluctantly admitted.
Phillip chuckled. “Forgive me?”
He was asking her for forgiveness when she was the one acting like a miffed spinster?
“How about we forgive each other?” she said, not daring to look into his eyes. Though it seemed he was avoiding eye contact with her too.
“Are you still going to beat me at gin rummy?”
“Every chance I get.”
“That’s my girl.”
His girl. Perhaps at a different time, in other circumstances. But when this investigation ended, their paths would separate. Only God knew if they’d ever come together again. Young men who went to war didn’t always come home. She wasn’t strong enough to endure that heartache again.
Her focus needed to be on their mission. To find the person—man or woman—responsible for giving information about the navy to the enemy. In the scheme of things, that was all that mattered right now.
“What kind of proof do we need?” she asked.
Phillip released her hand, creating an absence colder than ice despite the warmth of the compartment, and tapped the pad she’d been writing on. “Richard needs this information. He can send agents from the nearest field offices to find out where Velvalee stayed during her West Coast tour.”
“And who else might have been with her.”
“We can send a telegraph at our next stop, that is, if you can encode the message.”
“A substitution code? He’ll need a key.”
“I’ve got an idea for one.”
By the time the other occupants returned, Eloise had written out the coded message for Phillip to send to his uncle. The tension between them had faded away, but something else remained. For a few moments, they’d held hands.
And another thread bound them together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At Vera Swaney’s request, Eloise and Phillip agreed to meet her at an upscale restaurant in a ski lodge located at the base of Almagre Mountain. “It’s also called Old Baldy,” Eloise said, reading a brochure she’d picked up at the Colorado Springs train station. “The altitude is close to ninety-five hundred feet.”
“I wouldn’t mind coming back here in the winter,” Phillip said as he pulled into a parking space.
“Do you ski?” Eloise asked.
“Never have,” Phillip admitted. “How hard can it be?”
Eloise thought back to the afternoons she’d spent on the obstacle course at the FBI academy. With practice and grit, she’d finally made it over the wall within the time limits. Sliding down a mountain on two long pieces of wood should be a breeze compared to that.
They exited the car and, as if by silent agreement, stared at the surrounding mountain ranges with their snowy caps and forests of pines. “This is such a beautiful place,” Eloise said. “I’m grateful God brought us here so we could see it.”
“Me too.” Phillip’s smile suggested his simple words held a deeper meaning, one that caused butterflies to dance inside her. He offered his arm. “We shouldn’t keep Mrs. Swaney waiting.”
A hostess wearing a simple black dress adorned with gold accessories met them at the entrance to the restaurant. When Phillip gave their names, she smiled warmly. “Mrs. Swaney is expecting you. If you’ll follow me, please.”
She led the way through a spacious dining hall with huge wintry landscapes hung on paneled walls through open French doors to a secluded patio. Only one of the white-clothed tables was occupied. The woman hid her eyes behind dark-tinted glasses. Neatly coiffed white hair and flawless makeup gave the impression that she’d just stepped out of a beautician’s chair.
“Your guests, ma’am.” The hostess scanned the contents of the table—bite-size appetizers, a basket of freshly baked breads, exquisite glass jars of various jams, a chilled dish holding pats of butter in the shapes of golden coins, a carafe of orange juice, and a platter of sliced fruits. “Is there anything else you require?”
“Not at this moment.” The woman’s cultured voice held the hint of an accent that Eloise couldn’t place. She turned her attention to her guests. “Please join me. Would you prefer coffee?”
“Not for me, thank you,” Phillip said warmly as he pulled out Eloise’s chair for her.
Mrs. Swaney seemed to shift her gaze from Phillip to Eloise, though the glasses made it hard to know who or what she was looking at. “I’m fine,” Eloise said, though she didn’t feel fine at all. A place like this was out of her element, and she didn’t understand the reason for the over-the-top hospitality. Sugar was were already rationed, and there was talk of other items being rationed too. Meat and dairy. Even clothing and shoes.
After dismissing the hostess with a mere nod, Mrs. Swaney poured juice into three translucent glasses. “This is such a lovely place,” she said. “I prefer discussing any unpleasant business in majestic surroundings whenever possible. The mountains calm my nerves by reminding me that I am but a wisp amidst such grandeur.”
“Why do you expect our business is unpleasant?” Phillip asked.
“You’re
from the government.” She wrinkled her aristocratic nose. “An investigative branch of the government. How could it be anything but unpleasant?”
“We’re here about a letter.” Eloise accepted the basket of breads that Mrs. Swaney handed her. “One purported to have been written by you.”
“I do write my share of letters, so it is possible. To whom is the letter addressed?”
“To Señora Ines de Molinali,” Eloise answered. “She supposedly lives in Buenos Aires, Argentina.”
“‘Purported.’ ‘Supposedly.’ Is there anything you know for a fact?”
Eloise felt the comment as a rebuke, though she had to admit the question was a valid one. Everything about these letters so far involved guesswork and supposition. Even her ideas on the possible solutions for the jargon code hadn’t yet been verified.
“We know of four other letters written to the same address,” Phillip said. “The women whose names and return addresses were used for those letters knew nothing about them.”
“May I see the letter purportedly written by me?” She put a slight stress on purportedly while giving Eloise what might have been an amused look. It was impossible to know with those opaque lenses hiding her eyes. And impossible to know the reason behind Mrs. Swaney’s amusement.
Eloise handed her the letter. “This is a copy. The original is at our FBI headquarters in Washington.”
“‘Our’? Are you an agent too, then? I didn’t realize young women could hold such positions. How modern of you.”
The words might have been a compliment except for the slight edge given to them. Again, as if Mrs. Swaney found the idea of women agents amusing. And beneath her.
“Miss Marshall is a consultant.” Phillip’s warm tone exhibited pride. “Her expertise is cryptoanalysis.”
“Oh my. That’s a big word one doesn’t hear every day.” Mrs. Swaney took the paper and scanned it. “Is this a transcript?”
“It’s a copy,” Phillip said.
“I don’t type my correspondence. Such a gauche thing to do for personal letters.” Her eyes dropped to the end. “This does resemble my signature; however, I did not sign this.” She placed a finger on a paragraph in the letter. “This is odd.”
Phillip exchanged a glance with Eloise. He leaned forward. “What is?”
“This line about my son. I did meet him when I was in Seattle.” She placed the paper on the table. “And all this about the dolls. I met a woman who was staying at the same hotel. She owns a doll shop in New York City.”
Eloise’s nerves went on high alert, but she took her cue from Phillip, who remained calm despite this possible confirmation of the true identity of the letter writer.
“Did you mention your son to her?” He asked the question with all the gravitas of one asking about the weather. One of the instructors had told Eloise that agents needed to stay detached. This real-life example solidified the importance of that lesson. She wasn’t sure she could have asked the question without her voice trembling with excitement.
“Yes,” Mrs. Swaney said. “I believe I did. We were both in the lobby, you see, and she had this magnificent doll with long dark hair and a satin dress. I thought something similar would be the perfect present for my granddaughter, so we struck up a conversation. One does such things when traveling, of course.”
“Do you remember her name?” Phillip asked.
“Velvet something or other.” Mrs. Swaney waved her hand as if the name didn’t matter. “I thought at first I’d found a suitable companion to tour the local museums and art galleries, but she turned out to be a dreary bore. Dolls seemed to be the only topic of conversation of any interest to her. And, of course, she wanted me to purchase not only one doll for my granddaughter but an entire collection. The child is only six, and while I can be accused of being an indulgent grandmother to the sweet girl, I am not tastelessly extravagant.”
“No,” Phillip said with a small shake of his head. “My mother always says good taste doesn’t come with a price tag, but bad taste is horribly expensive.”
Mrs. Swaney emitted a gracious chuckle and patted Phillip’s arm. “Your mother and I agree on that. If she ever finds her way to Colorado Springs, please have her give me a call.”
“I’ll surely do that.”
“She must be so proud to have a son serving the government during these difficult times. How fortunate you didn’t have to go overseas. Believe me, that’s a mother’s worst nightmare. My own son is vice president of a small manufacturing firm so it’s essential he stay here on the home front. Otherwise, I’d be a nervous wreck.”
“You’re very fortunate,” Phillip said.
Eloise sensed his tension increase when Mrs. Swaney said he was fortunate he wasn’t in the fighting. Obviously, he didn’t feel that way, but he managed to keep his tone polite, obsequious even.
“Could the woman’s name have been Velvalee Dickinson?” he asked.
“Perhaps. In all honesty, I put the entire episode out of my mind.” Mrs. Swaney pushed slightly away from the table. “I must run now, but please stay as long as you want. The bill has already been settled.”
She stood and Phillip rose too, helping with her chair. “Thank you for your time and for your hospitality. Eloise and I are glad to have met you.”
“And I you.”
For a moment, Eloise expected the woman to pinch Phillip’s cheek.
“If you think of anything else, please notify me.” Phillip drew a card from his jacket and handed it to her. “You can leave a message for me at that number.”
“I will do that. Ta-ta.”
She left, gliding away without a backward glance or even an acknowledgment of Eloise’s existence.
Phillip returned to his seat and took a long sip of his orange juice while his eyes danced with amusement.
“Velvet something or other,” Eloise said. “She must mean Velvalee.”
“I would think so.” Phillip glanced toward the French doors as if searching for someone. “Mrs. Swaney wasn’t much like our other interviewees, was she?”
“Mrs. Swaney pretended I didn’t exist.”
“I know.” He chuckled then graced Eloise with a teasing smile. “Now you know how I felt. Aren’t you glad you had me along?”
“Glad but not tastelessly glad.”
Phillip laughed. “They’re all alike, these society women. Proud and snobbish.”
“Is your mother like that too?” Eloise wished she could have taken the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth, but Phillip simply gave her a strange look then burst out laughing.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because of what you said she said. About bad taste being expensive.” Phillip leaned closer, and for a moment Eloise wondered if he was going to pinch her cheek…and how she’d respond if he did.
“I made that up, sweetheart.”
Ah! The Bogart impression was back again.
“My mother has much more in common with Mrs. Walker than with Mrs. Swaney.” He grabbed a muffin then glanced at Eloise’s near-empty plate. “You heard what the grand old lady said. ‘The bill has been settled.’ We aren’t going to get another meal like this until we get back to DC. And maybe not even then.”
Eloise helped herself to a miniature torte and took a bite. It was mouthwateringly delicious, and she realized she was hungrier than she’d thought. “What is our next step?”
“A phone call to Uncle Richard. And then, unless he says otherwise, we return to headquarters.”
“Ending our trek around the United States.” She said the words lightly, but they weighed heavily on her heart. Despite the serious nature of their mission, she’d enjoyed the adventure. Flying on a plane—something she’d never done before. Seeing the Pacific Ocean and the Rocky Mountains—something she’d never dreamed would ever be possible.
Spending time with Phillip—not something she’d wanted when she joined the team. But now she had memories with him that she never wanted to fade away
, that she had tucked into a safe place in her heart.
She wanted to find the person responsible for the letters—whether that turned out to be Velvalee Dickinson or someone else—to discover if she was right that they were written in jargon code. But she didn’t want her adventure with Phillip to end—a secret she had to keep from him for the sake of the mission. For the sake of her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Phillip and Eloise donned their sibling roles again and boarded a bus for the trip north to Denver’s FBI field office. The route skirted the eastern edge of the San Isabel National Forest. Phillip would have much preferred hiking the trails within the forest instead of bouncing around on a bus. Or just about anything else for that matter. Eloise sat by the window, seemingly asleep, though he didn’t believe she actually slumbered. She’d been quiet since they left the lodge where they’d met Mrs. Swaney. It seemed as though she had something on her mind; but when he’d asked her about it, she simply smiled her pretty smile and brushed him off. Just like Janie when she thought he was being too nosy about her love life.
But he hadn’t asked Eloise about her love life. Only what had her so deep in thought. Though maybe that’s why she was so deep in thought. She was thinking of her love life. In all their travels together, she’d never mentioned a boyfriend, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have one.
From the ski resort, they’d returned the car they’d borrowed from a deputy at the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office, and Phillip had called his uncle. Richard’s secretary had been glad to hear from him and relayed a message from her boss, who wasn’t available to talk at the moment. She instructed Phillip and Eloise to go to the nearest field office so they could make a secure phone call. Richard had important information he needed to give them. After Phillip ended the call, one of the deputies was kind enough to give them a ride to the bus station.
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