“Hannah?”
She turned to see Eleanor Goodenow, her former Drake classmate, approaching. Eleanor sported a lovely walking suit in lavender, which made her moon-sized brown eyes stand out even more.
“Eleanor!”
The two women embraced, and Eleanor kept hold of Hannah’s arms as she stepped back. “We’ve missed you so much. How are you doing? I was so sorry to hear about your parents. Will you be returning to classes in the fall?”
“I’m afraid not.” Hannah forced a smile. “I’m working as a switchboard operator now, and my sisters and I have moved into the city.”
“Can you sneak away for lunch so we can catch up?”
“I’m afraid she already has plans.”
She jolted and whirled toward the male voice behind her. “Lincoln! You startled me.”
“Sorry about that.” His dove-blue eyes held a half-excited, half-mischievous glint in them that said he was anything but apologetic.
“Miss Eleanor Goodenow, may I introduce Mr. Lincoln Cole.” She squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “Eleanor and I were coeds at Drake.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Goodenow.” He tipped his hat in her direction. “And Hannah, if you’d rather spend some time with your friend, I can speak with the fire marshal alone.”
“The fire marshal? No, I need to be there.”
Eleanor smiled. “Well, my friend, I can see you are in good hands. Ring my parents’ house sometime so we can get together.”
“I’ll do that. It was so nice to see you.” Hannah hugged Eleanor again and watched her walk away before turning back to Lincoln. Her gaze dropped to his attire. Why was he wearing a full-length driving coat?
“I wanted to save you the trip of walking to our building. I made us an appointment to speak with the fire marshal at his home. I telephoned him and he’s expecting us.” He swept his arm toward the street, where a shiny, rooster-red automobile was parked. The sun glinted off the brass trim, and the two gas lamps on each side of the automobile seemed to wink at her.
She gasped. “Is it yours?”
“It is. A birthday gift from my aunt. I picked it up from the automobile dealer this afternoon.” His grin widened even more. “She told me she ordered it months ago, but it arrived today. I wanted you to be the first to ride in it.” His brow suddenly furled. “Wait a minute. Will this get you in trouble with the operators’ school? To be seen with me?”
She dropped her gaze to the sidewalk. “Not anymore.”
His excitement crumbled. “No, it can’t be. Hannah, what happened?”
She tried to maintain her somber expression, but a smile exploded on her face. “I graduated today. The first one in my class to be promoted to the real switchboard.”
Lincoln grabbed her waist and hoisted her in the air. She squealed, and he lowered her back to the ground. One woman glared her disapproval, but an older couple approaching them chuckled. Hannah’s cheeks flamed, both from the public spectacle and from the electricity that surged through her at Lincoln’s touch. He, however, didn’t seem to notice her reaction or that of any onlookers.
“We need to celebrate!” He slipped his fingers under her elbow and led her toward the car. “After we see the fire marshal, we’re going for ice cream, and I won’t take no for an answer this time.”
Another lightning strike passed through her. If she did agree to a social outing like this, was she starting down a road that would only bring her grief? She’d had enough of that in the last few months. But when she was with Lincoln, she forgot about the loss of her parents. She might be wanting to kill him, but at least she didn’t think about what she no longer had.
Hannah glanced at the automobile. Lincoln, obviously thrilled with his new toy, nearly bounced with excitement. Her fingers tingled at the thought of touching the red automobile. Since she’d first laid eyes on one of the contraptions, she’d wanted to ride in it.
“Lincoln, what about my sisters?”
“We’ll telephone them.” He flashed her a grin that said he’d won this battle. “You’re a graduate now. You officially know how to use one of those.”
She swatted his arm. “You’re as bad as Tessa.”
“No, I’m good for you.” He helped her step into the automobile.
“Is that a fact, counselor?”
“Yes, miss, I believe it is.” Seriousness flitted across his face, and then the grin bounced back. “But you’ll have to give me the chance to prove it.”
She swallowed. Oh my. What was she doing? She was with a man who, a few weeks ago, helped the bank take her family’s farm. Now he was about to take her out in an automobile, of all things, to who knows where. She’d always prided herself on her ability to take risks, but perhaps this was going too far.
Lincoln went to the back of the automobile and opened the trunk. He donned a leather cap, pulled on a pair of long, leather driving gloves, and reached inside the vehicle to flip a switch. Then he moved to the side of the automobile and, bending low, heaved a crank. The engine rumbled to life. As if he’d done it a hundred times, he climbed in behind the wheel. With a flourish, he pulled a wide silk scarf from his coat pocket. “The dealer recommended I purchase this too, so the lady in my life could secure her hat.”
The lady in his life? Calm down. It’s just a phrase. He meant nothing by the statement. Still, her stomach rippled like a buggy on a rough road. Another gift? She couldn’t accept this one or any other. Didn’t he remember her feelings about the groceries he’d provided?
The automobile vibrated, itching to take off. Unless she wanted her hat to fly down Court Street like tumbleweed in the desert, she needed to use the scarf he offered. Besides, he bubbled so with excitement, she didn’t want to do anything to squash it.
She accepted the ivory scarf from his gloved hand and ran her hand along the scarf’s soft length. It was truly a fine piece of fabric. Maybe if she borrowed it just for the afternoon, it would be all right.
He adjusted his driving goggles. “As soon as you put it on, we can go.”
With a deft swoop, she draped the scarf over her hat and tied it beneath her chin. “Please tell me you know how to drive this?”
He chuckled. “I guess you’re about to find out.”
With a jolt, the automobile lurched forward, but soon they were puttering along, navigating around carriages, streetcars, delivery wagons, and pedestrians. She relaxed into the cushion of the black leather seats.
“What kind of automobile is this?” Hannah asked as the automobile slowed.
“It’s a Reo Gentleman’s Roadster.” He adjusted something on the steering column. “It has a two-cylinder engine and can reach up to forty-five miles per hour.”
“Forty-five miles in one hour? Can a person even breathe going that fast?”
He laughed. “Mr. Vanderbilt himself broke the record a few years ago by driving ninety-two miles an hour at the Daytona Beach Road Course in a Mercedes. What do you think of that?”
“I think I’m glad you have a Reo and not a Mercedes.”
Conversation came easily to the two of them as he parked the Reo, and Hannah discovered Lincoln’s favorite foods were sugar cookies, mashed potatoes, and beef steaks—in that order. He forced her to admit her affection for coffee, and she happened to mention being partial to chocolate as well.
Since the distance to the fire marshal’s home wasn’t far from the street, she didn’t have time to ask the questions burning inside her about Lincoln’s aunt. And how did one ask how wealthy his aunt was without sounding rude? A person could probably buy twenty fine carriages for what this Reo cost.
Jealousy pinched her. Life didn’t seem fair. She and her sisters had to scrounge for every cent, and Lincoln was being given extravagant gifts.
Lord, forgive me. What an ugly thought. You and you alone choose who to bless and how to bless them, and I thank you for all of the provisions you’ve made for me and my sisters.
By the time they reached the fire marshal’s home, al
l jealousy had dissipated like a puff of smoke. Instead, Hannah’s heart was filled with thankfulness for this opportunity and this man who was going out of his way to help her friend.
The fire marshal introduced himself as Samuel Stock and led them to his parlor. His wife slipped in with a pot of tea and deposited it on the table before leaving. Hannah’s gaze fell on the plate of cookies the woman had left as well. Sugar cookies. Glancing at Lincoln beside her on the couch, she shared a smile and watched him lick his lips.
Hannah surveyed the modest home. The parlor furniture and carpet were worn, but the tidiness of every dust-free corner told her the Stocks were quite proud of their home.
Mr. Stock snagged a cookie, then leaned back in his tapestry-covered chair. “What can I tell you, counselor, that I haven’t already told the police?”
Lincoln leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “Sir, I read your excellent report, but would you mind walking us through your findings?”
“In front of the lady?” The fire marshal’s voice was gravelly.
“I find the study of fire investigation quite fascinating.” Hannah poured the tea and passed the fire marshal a cup.
“In that case, let me get a piece of paper, and maybe I can sketch it out for you.” He looked at Hannah. “It’s easier for you ladyfolk to understand with pictures.”
When the fire marshal went to his rolltop desk to retrieve paper, Lincoln snickered. “Apparently, he doesn’t realize how intelligent you are.”
“It’s so frustrating! He assumes I’m not able to understand because I’m a woman.” She scowled at the man, whose back was still to them. “And by the way, how do you know if I’m intelligent? You barely know me.”
“I knew the first day we met. You challenge everything.” He broke off a piece of sugar cookie. “For the record, I’m not stupid either.”
Mr. Stock returned with a pad of paper and set it on the table in front of him. “A fire will talk to you if you let it.”
“Excuse me?” Hannah set down her cup.
He repeated the statement more slowly, as if that would help her “inferior” womanly mind grasp what he was saying. She wanted to throw her tea right in the lap of the condescending man, fire marshal or not.
Lincoln laid a hand on her arm as if reading her mind. “You mean the remains of the fire will tell you how it was started?”
Mr. Stock beamed at him. “Yes, my boy, you got it. First thing I do is dig through the ashes when I get to a scene. I’m looking for various signs and patterns formed by the fire.” He drew a box on the paper. “Let’s say this is a wall and the fire started on the floor in front of it.”
Hannah watched him draw a crude fire at the base of the wall. “So you determine the point of origin by the heaviest char, correct?”
Mr. Stock jerked his head up. “Well, as a matter of fact, I do, young lady—among other things. I look for the place where the most damage was done. Was your father a fireman?”
“No, sir. It seemed like a logical thing to look for. But how can you tell if a fire has been deliberately set?”
“Hold your horses.” The fire marshal marked a V on the paper wall. “Fire normally follows a V pattern on the wall unless some kind of flammable liquid was used. If there was, you might find other patterns depending on what was used to start the fire.”
“Can you give us an example of what you would be looking for?” Lincoln asked.
“Seeing patterns on wood floors or linoleum, finding rags, or smelling kerosene are all clues to arson.” He drew three different boxes on a second sheet of paper and a bottle on its side in one box. “About a month and a half ago, before these two recent fires, there was a fire set in a Western Union repair cart. We’ll probably never find who did that one, but we think it was set with a bottle of whiskey with a rag stuffed in it, because we found glass shards.” He looked at Hannah. “He would have had to light the rag on fire, you understand?”
She clenched her teacup. “Yes, I do.”
“Why haven’t we heard about that one?” Lincoln asked.
“A supply cart isn’t as newsworthy as a building.” Mr. Stock scratched his temple with the end of the pencil. “It could have been the first fire this arsonist started, or it could have been someone else altogether—even some kids pulling a prank. Like I said, we’ll probably never know.”
“How were the two recent fires started?”
Mr. Stock drew a stick of dynamite in the middle box. “The April 18 fire, the one at the Western Union supply shed, was caused by an explosion. Most likely dynamite.”
Hannah gasped. “Are you certain? Perhaps it was a natural gas explosion.”
He shook his head. “It’s easy to tell the difference between a regular fire and when something explodes, because the burn damage is deep and jagged. Things are broken and burned to different degrees. It wasn’t gas because of the location of the crater.” He tapped the box. “We found evidence that shows whoever did this one understood how wires and switches work.”
Which must have led to Walt becoming a suspect. Hannah glanced at Lincoln and shivered. This didn’t bode well for her friend.
“In the April 20 fire, the one at the Western Union manager’s carriage house, the arsonist used a strange tactic.” Mr. Stock drew a thick line across the third box, with several balloon-shaped objects hanging from it. “He used several rubber hot water bottles filled with oil and tacked them to the rafters. When the bladders heated, each one exploded, spurring the fire on.”
Lincoln’s brow scrunched. “If they all exploded, then how do you know this is what happened?”
Mr. Stock looked at him as if Hannah’s stupidity was catching. “Because we found them still hanging. We were able to put the fire out before they all caught fire.”
Lincoln straightened his shoulders. “Sir, have you discovered many arsonists who have set more than one fire?”
“A few.”
“Do they usually change the way they start the fires?” He pointed to the three boxes. “From a bottle of whiskey to dynamite to oil-filled water bottles—it seems like a stretch to think it’s the same person.”
The fire marshal scowled. “I gave the detective my findings. They’re all connected to the Western Union, so it seems fitting whoever set the fires has a beef with them.” He stood up. “I’m sure the Western Union people are resting easier, now that we’ve got the right man in jail.”
“Why do you say that?” Lincoln helped Hannah to her feet.
“Stands to reason. There hasn’t been another fire since he’s been there.”
Hannah sucked in a breath. She hadn’t thought about that, but it was true. An arrow of fear shot through her. If Walt wasn’t the arsonist, then whoever did it was still out there. What if his next fire wasn’t a shed or an empty building?
17
Controlling the power of the engine gave Lincoln a heady feeling. No wonder Mr. Vanderbilt enjoyed racing automobiles. Racing these beauties would be an easy thing to love.
He glanced at Hannah. She’d complained about the pins coming out of her hair and flying to who knows where. Secretly, Lincoln was glad the pins were gone. Her hair had blown loose despite the hat and scarf. He liked seeing her silky hair down—very much.
He gripped the steering wheel to keep from reaching out and touching her tresses. “Hannah, you’re awfully quiet. What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking.”
“About?”
“We know Walt didn’t do this, but who did? There’s a fire starter out there. What if someone is hurt or killed in another fire because they’ve stopped looking for the real arsonist?”
Lincoln pushed up the throttle on the steering column, and the Reo responded with more speed. His gut clenched at Hannah’s words. He’d been thinking the same things and pondering the fire marshal’s comment about there not being any fires set since Walt’s arrest. That would not bode well for them in next Monday’s hearing. He didn’t want to upset Hannah, but the w
ay things looked, he feared Walt would be bound over for trial.
“Let’s put the case out of our minds for now.” Lincoln turned onto Locust Street. “I believe you and I have a graduation to celebrate, and I know just where to take you.”
“Remember, you said ice cream. I’m not dressed for anything else.”
He glanced at her. She looked beautiful in her sailor-collared white shirtwaist and black walking skirt. He had no trouble imagining taking her anywhere. Still, he understood her concern. “What you’re wearing will be fine where we’re going. I promise.”
Even at driving less than the Reo’s full speed, they neared their destination on Walnut Street in half the time it would take in a carriage. Lincoln pulled the automobile to the side of the street in front of Rogg’s Drug. After tugging off his goggles and hat, he smoothed his hair with his hand and turned to Hannah. “This okay?”
“Absolutely, but for the record, I generally don’t indulge before dinner.”
He chuckled. “Hannah, I’m surprised at you. You seem like a girl who’d be happy to eat dessert first.”
“W-well, I am.” Her cheeks took on a rosy glow. “You simply caught me off guard. That’s all.”
“Don’t worry. They have food too, and I plan on us having both.” He exited the Reo and came around to assist her. “Haven’t you been here before?”
She shook her head and scanned the front of the drugstore. “If we were lucky enough to get ice cream treats, it was at a little drugstore nearer our home. But I’d heard some of my Drake classmates talk about Rogg’s.”
A bell jangled on the drugstore’s door as they entered. Hannah stepped inside the doorway and gasped. He didn’t blame her. Lights illuminated the long marble-topped fountain and flickered off the polished nickel spigots. Soda glasses and leaded shades sparkled in the mirror behind the elaborate fountain.
Slipping his hand beneath Hannah’s elbow, Lincoln led her toward the display. “May I introduce you to the longest soda counter in the world.”
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