CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
As the train pulled into Spokane, Velvalee considered her two best options. She could take the express to Seattle, the quicker route, or she could go on to Portland then north to her destination. The second option might be the safer one. If she lost her shadow in Portland, he’d never know she had a rendezvous in Seattle.
Phillip Clayton was a clever young man but not clever enough. She first spotted him during a stop at Omaha’s Union Station when he pretended to be reading a newspaper while leaning against one of the marble columns in the terminal. She wouldn’t have given him a second look if not for the mysterious photograph. But she’d studied it, off and on, through all the long hours of travel from New York. By the time she crossed into Nebraska, she’d memorized the laugh lines around his eyes, the wrinkles in his forehead, the slant of his jaw.
Velvalee made the decision then to exit the westward train to Cheyenne. Instead, she took a commuter train to Lincoln, Nebraska, which connected to a route that curved northward to Billings. For a brief time, she thought she’d lost him. But after they entered Wyoming, she spotted him in the dining car playing cards with three soldiers. So unrefined, the heathens. He didn’t so much as give her a glance, and it took all her willpower not to confront him. But she knew he’d only deny any accusations she made.
Knowing his name wasn’t enough. She needed to know why he was following her now. His motives couldn’t be good, but he was obviously resourceful. If she were going to get away from him, she needed help from someone she could trust, and that person wasn’t in Portland.
Her mind made up, she switched trains in Spokane for the express to Seattle. During the long journey, she stared out the window at the passing landscape, napped, and read an Agatha Christie mystery she’d picked up in Chicago, which was much more to her taste than that sordid Mildred Pierce. Even when napping, though, Velvalee was somehow aware of her pursuer.
She jerked awake as the memory wavered in front of her. He wore a chauffeur’s hat low over his eyes. He followed the policeman into her store then left with the fraudulent Elena Piperton. She pulled the photo from her purse, staring at the young couple who, oblivious of the photographer, only had eyes for each other.
Velvalee had barely noticed him in New York. But now she had no doubt that her pursuer was the fake socialite’s fake chauffeur. Eloise Marshall and Phillip Clayton. Who are you really?
The obvious answer terrified her.
Most of the German saboteurs were executed even though they’d been caught by the FBI before they caused any harm. It was a brutal punishment, being strapped to an electric chair while a current zapped through one’s body. They died because they planned to blow up a couple of factories.
She’d written letters, secret messages, to her Japanese friends. A little information in return for money she desperately needed after Lee’s death. To her, it was a simple business transaction. But others might misconstrue the situation, even accuse her of traitorous actions, which definitely was not her intent.
So what if her friends wanted to know which ships were damaged at Pearl Harbor? Which ones had been repaired and were ready again for battle? They’d have found the information another way, which would have done nothing to improve her dwindling financial situation. Her rationalizations didn’t ease the tightening knot in her stomach. Only ridding herself of her pursuer would do that.
That realization ignited a new line of thought. One that calmed her terror and made it possible for her to breathe again. If Phillip Clayton wanted to follow her, then so be it. He could follow her straight into a trap from which he’d never escape. At least not alive.
In the Spokane terminal, both Phillip and the undercover agent joining him for this final leg of the trip boarded the express train. By silent agreement, they took turns napping and observing Velvalee on the long trip. When the train pulled into Seattle, the agent preceded Velvalee off the train. Phillip held back, waiting to be sure she got off at the stop then keeping an eye on her through the windows until it was his turn to exit.
He and the agent trailed her from different angles as she exited the station. Phillip expected her to hail a taxi, which could make things tricky. But to his surprise, Velvalee wandered to a bank of phone booths, maneuvered her suitcase into an empty one, and shut the door. Phillip slid into a booth five doors away from the one she occupied. While holding the receiver to his ear as if he were having a conversation, he scanned the crowd. The agent from Spokane had taken a seat on a bench that allowed him to observe both Phillip and Velvalee.
The minutes ticked slowly by. Phillip tried to curb his impatience by speculating on Velvalee’s conversation. Was she calling a hotel or a friend who could offer her a place to stay? Or was she calling the recipient of the package to let him know of her arrival? Despite Phillip’s best efforts and the revolving door of agents who’d helped with his surveillance, did she know she was being followed?
The loudspeaker crackled, but Phillip couldn’t clearly hear the announcement through the booth’s glass door. Passengers were either being called to board an outbound train or an inbound train had just arrived. A moment later, he suspected it was the former as a swarm of people swept past the booths toward a platform. Phillip lost sight of Spokane, his nickname for the agent. He tried opening the booth’s door, but it wouldn’t budge against the crush of the crowd.
He tried again, and the door opened a crack. He still couldn’t squeeze through. One more try, and he escaped from the booth only to be pressed between it and the swarm. Sidling next to the booths, he squeezed his way to the one before Velvalee’s. It was occupied by a heavyset man who frowned when Phillip stopped in front of his door.
He didn’t care. All he needed was a quick peek to ensure Velvalee was still on the phone. Since the booth’s wooden seat faced the phone, her back would be to him. As long as she was focused on the phone and not the crowd outside the booth’s door, he’d be able to get a glimpse of her shoulder without her seeing him. Before making his move, he scanned the crowd in search of Spokane. Too many travelers blocked his view.
It was now or never. He took a half step toward the booth, but Velvalee’s shoulder wasn’t against the door. The woman admittedly had a tiny frame, but the booths weren’t that big. He took another half step forward, and his stomach dropped to the floor. The door to the booth was closed, but Velvalee was gone.
He smacked the door in frustration then noticed something on the seat. A recent Agatha Christie novel called N or M?. He took another quick and futile look around for Velvalee and for Spokane, then he retrieved the book. Why had she left it behind? As he flipped through the pages, he found a photograph that made his blood run cold.
He and Eloise stood beside each other at the St. Louis train station, eyes only for each other. She’d been crying, and it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to pull her into his arms and kiss away her pain. And while he was caught up in that moment, he’d let down his guard. Someone had snapped their photo, and he hadn’t even been aware that they were being watched.
Now he held the evidence of his negligence. A chilling photograph with a black X drawn across Eloise’s body.
A thousand questions raced through his mind. Who had taken the photo? How had it ended up with Velvalee? Why hadn’t he realized someone was watching them? More important than any of them—where was Eloise? He needed to call Richard. He needed to know she was safe in New York.
As he entered the booth to make the call, the photo fluttered to the floor, landing upside down. He picked it up and read the writing on the back. Someone had written their names near the top. Below their names, someone else had scribbled a frightening message.
Taxi stand. Five minutes. Or Eloise pays with her life.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
If only Eloise hadn’t been so eager to play the part of Elena Piperton. Because of that decision, she couldn’t join the agents staking out the Chinese restaurant or at Isaac Hirano’s house.
She h
ad promised to stay inside the car and out of the way, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Velvalee knew Eloise as a wealthy young woman she’d met in New York City. There could be no plausible explanation for her presence in Seattle should the two women accidentally meet.
But how could they expect her to stay at the hotel and twiddle her thumbs? At the very least, she could wait for their return to the field office. If she was there, then she’d hear a firsthand account of what happened at the rendezvous when they returned. Besides, Phillip would be trailing Velvalee from the train station. Eventually, he’d come to the field office. When he did, she wanted to be there.
She walked the few blocks to the Vance Building but hesitated outside the entry. Her cheeks burned with the memory of her last visit—how she’d run away like a tormented child. She thought she’d put the past behind her, but in that moment—seeing her father’s face, reading about his new life—the past had crashed down around her once again.
Most of those feelings had been reconciled after the confrontation with her dad. Perhaps those that lingered would be put to rest after she talked to her mother. She dreaded the visit and was relieved when it had to be postponed so she could deliver Velvalee’s package to the Seattle post office.
For now, though, her embarrassment needed to be set aside for more urgent matters. She took a deep breath and entered the lobby. She approached the receptionist’s desk with a forced smile. “Do you remember me?” she asked, mustering as much confidence as she could gather. “Act like you belong,” an instructor had said, “and others will believe you do.” She hoped that little gem of wisdom worked on FBI staff who had probably heard it for themselves. “I’m Eloise Marshall. I was here not too long ago with Phillip Clayton.”
“I remember you.” The woman’s tone seemed both amused and dismissive at the same time. A nice trick if you could achieve it. Eloise wasn’t sure she ever had or ever could. “It’s not often I see one of the Bureau’s finest carrying a ladies’ handbag.”
Eloise didn’t allow her smile to falter but instead infused it with warmth. “I imagine not.” Her unspoken but clear message was that not every man was as considerate as Phillip, and his masculinity was enhanced not threatened by his action.
The receptionist released a breath, as if she didn’t have time for small talk. “What can I do for you, Miss Marshall?”
“I came to see Special Agent Suran’s secretary. Is she in?”
“Have a seat. I’ll let Rebecca know you’re here.” She picked up the phone’s receiver. “While you wait, you can read the paper if you’d like. But, please, don’t run away with it this time.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Eloise settled on the couch but didn’t have long to wait before Rebecca entered the lobby. She perched on the edge of the couch, her body angled toward Eloise.
“Welcome back to Seattle.” Despite the pleasant expression on her face, her eyes seemed guarded. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I couldn’t stay away.” Eloise glanced at the receptionist, who pretended to be busy at her typewriter even though the keys were silent. She lowered her voice. “Please don’t make me leave. Perhaps I could help with the filing or type correspondence.”
Rebecca tilted her head, considering the request, then stood. “Why not? Let’s go to my office.”
Eloise summoned all her willpower not to throw a triumphant look at the receptionist. But she felt the glaring daggers in her back as she passed through the door into the field office’s inner sanctum. When the door closed behind them, she let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.
Rebecca chuckled as they walked the corridor to her office. “Don’t let her highness get to you. She’s jealous of any woman who has done better for herself than she has.”
“Why would she think that about me?”
“You’re not sitting at the front desk, are you? Unfortunately, she lacks a few attributes that are necessary to move out of reception to a secretarial position.”
“Such as?”
Rebecca counted off each attribute on her fingers. “Diplomacy. Tact. Her tendency to take an instant dislike to someone for reasons known only to her.”
“If that’s true, I’m surprised they keep her here at all.”
“They’re men. And she has other attributes that make up for her failings.” Rebecca’s eyes danced with amusement. “I’m no expert, but apparently her legs rival Betty Grable’s.”
“Lucky her,” Eloise replied, her tone lighter than her heart. Now that she was here, the burden of waiting seemed even heavier. Though the typewriter keys from the secretarial pool pounded out an irregular clatter, the offices were silent. Were all the agents involved in the stakeout?
“Please give me something to do,” she said. “Anything to take my mind off this operation.”
“It might be hours before they return.” Rebecca’s soothing tone was meant to ease Eloise’s jitters. But nothing could do that except for Phillip’s arrival. Suddenly unable to trust her voice, she merely nodded.
“All right then. I understand you have a math degree.”
“I do,” Eloise managed to squeak out. She exhaled a short breath and straightened her shoulders. “What can I do to help?”
“It’s a thankless job.” Rebecca retrieved a thick folder from her desk. “But it would be a big help if you could review the agents’ expense reports. They’re not great at keeping records, so someone must match the receipts with the entries and check the totals. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Getting lost in a world of numbers would distract her from mindless speculation on the operation.
Rebecca pointed to a desk she could use that came equipped with paper, pencils, and a calculator. With a glance at the wall clock, Eloise opened the folder and sifted through the stacks of forms and receipts.
How much longer before the agents return, Lord? Before Phillip arrives?
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Velvalee sat upright on a bench near the taxicab stand, her suitcase at her feet and her handbag, stuffed with a few thousand dollars she’d removed from her safety deposit box, resting in her lap. The purse hid the revolver she held in her right hand. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And bold moves.
The plan she’d concocted during her last hours on the express was based on one giant assumption. If she was wrong, then her world threatened to crash down upon her. But she would not be taken without a fight.
While in the phone booth, she’d broken the no-call rule. When Isaac answered, she said she needed to cancel her reservation to attend an emergency garden club meeting.
“Understood,” he replied.
“The rats are causing me a great deal of trouble. I have a solution but will need your assistance.”
“Anything else?”
“I wish to hire a boat. Perhaps you can recommend someone.”
The pause lasted too long for comfort, but Velvalee hadn’t broken it. After all the information she’d provided, she refused to be abandoned in her time of need.
“It may not be possible.”
“Make it possible.” She took a deep breath and softened her tone. “I bring a gift.”
She’d hung up before he could say any more. Her next step had been to bait the trap for Phillip Clayton.
Now she waited for him to join her. When he did, she would test her assumption. She only needed enough leverage to persuade him to cooperate. As long as he was unsure of that Marshall woman’s whereabouts, she’d have it.
Phillip left the book and the message in the phone booth then hustled through the crowd to the taxi stand. If the Spokane agent checked the booth soon enough, he’d know where to find Phillip and Velvalee and he’d see the message Phillip had added: Confirm Eloise in NYC. Find her.
Outside the station, he spotted Velvalee sitting on a bench with her back to him. A gutsy move on her part. Though perhaps that was because, at least for now, she held all the cards. Given
her ticking clock, he hadn’t called his uncle to check on Eloise. Was she still in New York or had she returned to DC? Perhaps she’d finally gone home to visit her mother. Phillip prayed for any one of those to be true.
He rounded the bench, stood in front of the Doll Woman, and tipped his hat. “Mrs. Dickinson.”
“Please have a seat, Mr. Clayton.” She gestured to the space beside her. “Or should I say, Agent Clayton.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“I prefer you don’t.” She spat the words with the ferocity of a substitute teacher corralling a bunch of rowdy boys.
After a moment of deliberate hesitation, he took the seat. Let her believe she had the upper hand. They both knew he could physically overpower her anytime he wanted. They both also knew he wouldn’t.
“So, you are with the FBI. Interfering…” She mumbled the rest under her breath.
“And proud to be.”
“What about the delightful Miss Piperton? Or should I say the deceitful Miss Eloise Marshall? Do you know her whereabouts?” She glared at him as if she had the power to make him melt into a puddle of water. Did she honestly believe she could intimidate him with a look?
He held his gaze steady. “She’s under the watchful care of the FBI.”
“Is she?” One eyebrow arched, forming a sharp, penciled angle. “I’m sure you’re an excellent poker player, but this is not a game. We know exactly where Miss Marshall is.” A sinister smile twisted her lips. “And she’s not where you think.”
His blood turned to ice, and his jaw involuntarily flexed, a bluffing tell he was usually skilled at concealing. If they’d been talking about anyone but Eloise…
“If you harm her in any way—”
She interrupted him with a harsh laugh. “We don’t want to harm her. Though she deserves a slap or two for pretending to care about my dolls the way she did. I am not a fool, Mr. Clayton. I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”
The Cryptographer's Dilemma Page 24