waiting for him to change his mind, she wisely dashed off with pennies secure in her fist. In a blink, she crossed the road and started up the long dirt drive that led to another house.
A drop of sweat trailed down Ellis’s cheek. The afternoon sun bore down on his back, his shoulders. Weight accumulated as much from the air as the pressure of the waning day.
Don’t give up yet. Lily’s words echoed back to him.
A downward glance, and he realized he was still holding the sign. He could always take a picture of the chalked words, include the house in the background. It wouldn’t be nearly as powerful as the original image, but better than nothing.
He opened the car door, set the sign and flowers on the front seat, and retrieved the loaded camera from his satchel. Rising too fast, he banged his head on the ceiling. The vehicle creaked from the impact, and Ellis gritted his teeth through his cursing.
He was rubbing the sore spot under his felt hat when he glimpsed the girl, stopped at a large apple tree beside the house across the way. She was waving a smaller boy down from a branch, presumably with news of her big sale.
Despite the throbbing in Ellis’s head, the makings of an idea came to him. They slid together like beads of sweat, like raindrops pooling on glass, forming an altered shape.
He had the sign and the setting. All he needed was a pair of boys. Maybe a brother was playing inside. Or a cousin, a friend.
If not, heck, the girl would do. With her boyish clothes and hair pulled back, who would notice? Only a few had actually seen the first photo, and likely none of them with a close eye. It wasn’t a tactic Ellis preferred, but a reporter’s success often depended on his ability to be resourceful.
Besides, if three pennies so easily raised the girl’s spirits, maybe her parents would feel the same about two dollar bills. It would be no different from, say, paying models for a fancy advertisement in Ladies’ Home Journal.
He checked his pocket watch. Half past twelve. No time to debate.
Leaving his car, he grabbed the sign and headed across the road.
Chapter 6
Lily surveyed the newsroom from her desk, ensuring discretion before lifting the receiver of her upright phone.
Ever since she declined Ellis’s invite that morning, the notion of reconsidering had nagged at her. And why wouldn’t it, given the meal scheduled at her boardinghouse? Every Tuesday without fail, supper featured steak and kidney pudding with extra onions, a favorite dish of no resident but her British landlady.
In all honesty, the appeal of an outing was less about the food than the company, as the rest of Lily’s night would entail reading a book in the sparseness of her bedroom. Still, anything resembling a date wasn’t an option with anyone but Samuel. The recollection of this made her miss him even more, spurring her to sneak in a quick call.
The female operator came on the line.
“Yes, hello,” Lily replied. “I’d like to place a long-distance call, please.”
“Could you speak up, ma’am?”
The commotion of the room buzzed about her, a steady rise toward the daily deadline. Holding the neck of the phone, she brought the mouthpiece closer. “I said, I’d like to make a call.”
“The number?”
Before the details could tumble out, a man appeared in Lily’s periphery. She swiveled in her chair to find Clayton Brauer with a page in hand.
Lily’s grip on the phone tightened, her chance to connect with Samuel vanishing.
“Ma’am?” the operator pressed.
A cigarette plumed at the corner of Clayton’s mouth. He flicked her a nod in greeting. His eyes, light brown like his close-cropped hair, held the same self-assuredness woven into everything about him—from his broad stature and smooth voice to his snappy suits and polished wingtips.
“I’ll ring back shortly, Operator. Thank you.” Lily replaced the earpiece on the cradle as Clayton removed his cigarette and exhaled.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss Palmer.”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t you.” She pretended to search through paperwork on her desk. “I swore I had the number right here, but now I’m just not seeing it.”
In the uneasy pause that followed, she imagined his reporter’s gaze, inquisitive and doubtful, studying her every move. Yet when she looked up, his focus was aimed at the chief’s closed door. Its glass pane provided a clear view of the meeting inside. Why was he being so snoopy?
“Mr. Brauer?” Her tone came out sharper than intended, a lingering