Lily applied her most persuasive smile. “I’m sorry to pester, Chief, but if you could take a minute to peek at a few writing samples, I’d be terribly grateful.”
She wasn’t the type to ask for much, and the chief knew this. She saw it in his eyes before he sighed. “Fine,” he said and accepted the folder.
As he leafed through the pages, Lily had to resist fiddling with her locket. She recalled Ellis and his fidgeting, and wished he were there to reciprocate with a look of reassurance.
Then the chief bobbed his head. It was his usual sign of a satisfying read, but not a guarantee.
“Who wrote these?” He was still skimming.
A sudden lump formed in her throat. Submitting under a pen name might have been an option if the chief wasn’t a stickler for facts. In his world, there were no near truths. She forced down a swallow. “I did.”
He stopped reading. Slowly, he sat back in his chair. His thick brows were furrowed. “So, you’re not happy with your job.”
“Oh! Gosh, no, Chief. I mean, it’s just fine.” And it was, for the short term. “I thought I could write a column on the side, in addition to my normal duties.” All of which she maintained without issue. If he didn’t count today. She scrambled to remember her speech. “As you might recall, I was the editor of my high school bulletin. And several letters to editors I’ve written have appeared in various papers over the years.”
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The mere act of deliberation prodded her to go on.
“I already have a list of possibilities, mind you. Most would offer a firsthand view of different walks of life. I’d even be willing to go undercover, to show what it’s like to be a vaudevillian or a maid at a plush hotel. If you’re interested, I could also—”
The chief flashed his palm. “Okay, I got it.”
She nodded, fearing she had said too much, hoping she had said enough. “I can do this, Chief. I know I can.”
He drew an audible breath, then let it out. “I’ve got no doubt.” The subtle lightness in his tone caused her to smile. But when he replaced his spectacles and leaned forward, elbows on his desk, she braced herself. “Even so. Our readers expect a certain kind of column, Miss Palmer. They want someone who writes about life like…well, Ed Schiller.”
The instant he finished, she forged ahead, prepared for this argument. “I know what you’re saying, sir. However, this could actually help bridge the gap between our male and female readers in a variety of ways.”
“How ’bout recipes?”
The peculiar question stalled her. “Pardon me?”
“Your folks over in Delaware. They own a deli, don’t they? You must have some nice recipes you could share for the Sunday editions.”
And then she understood. He was referring to the women’s Food section. Right beside columns about fashion faux pas and party etiquette and how to become the perfect homemaker. They were the sorts of topics that a young Nellie Bly had been limited to cover at the Pittsburgh Dispatch before she left for better opportunities, better pay.
Goals aside, a nickel or dime a recipe wasn’t worth the cost of Lily’s dignity. At least not today.
The door rattled open and Clayton blew in. “Chief! Got the scoop on Duffy.”
Tension in the room must have hung like a web because Clayton halted midstep and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “Or…I can come back.”
“Nah, nah. We’re done,” the chief said, to which Lily pinned on a tight smile of compliance. “You find out more?” he asked.
Clayton nodded, reminded of his purpose. “Murdered in his hotel room. At the Ambassador.”
“Any suspects?”
The men scarcely took note of Lily stepping between them to retrieve her folder.
“Cops are questioning Hoff. Some of his henchmen too. But looks more like associates in the Irish Mob turned on him. Police are expecting thousands to show for the funeral. If you’re on board, I could be off to Atlantic City in an hour.”
Clayton emitted such enthusiasm that one would think Orville Wright had just revealed an aircraft that could soar to the moon and back.
Lily would leave them to their celebration.
She closed the door with more force than was prudent. Though who would notice? All of the city room was abuzz with the latest news. Philadelphia’s very own Mickey Duffy, a bootlegger and numbers runner dubbed