fear they would refuse to leave her? Did they assume she just didn’t want them? If only they could have heard her true feelings straight from her…
The thought drew Lily back to the Times article. Aided by memories of Ellis’s old features, the human aspect of them, a revelation formed. While she couldn’t erase her own past, any more than she could ensure a good life for the Dillard children, maybe she could help, even in a small way, with the reunion of another family.
The chief was in his office alone. Now was the time to speak up.
Over the growing activity in the newsroom, Lily gave his door two cursory knocks before letting herself in.
“Chief?”
“Yeah, yeah. Lunch with my wife’s nephew. I got it.” Rising from his chair, he crushed out a cigarette in his ashtray. “I swear to Jesus, if this kid shows up late again—and I mean by two damn minutes—I’m walking out.”
Punctuality ranked only a hair below his penchant for accountability and, yes, truth.
As he unrolled his sleeves and refastened the buttons, Lily maintained her purpose. “Sir, after reading an article today, I was thinking about the Lindbergh case.”
“You and everybody else on the planet.”
“Yes…but, you see, the newspapers keep focusing on the hard facts of the case: the suspects and gangs they’ve ruled out, the searches through houses and ocean liners. Of all the quotes I’ve seen, from the police and Mr. Lindbergh, these are the predominant topics.”
“Miss Palmer, your point.”
“What about Mrs. Lindbergh?”
“What of her?”
“Perhaps an in-depth interview in the Examiner could help. She could talk about her son’s favorite foods and games and lullabies. We could include personal photos of their family, together and happy. A reminder that this is a real child, not just a bargaining chip for a ransom.”
The chief barked a laugh as he pulled on his suit jacket. “Tell that to the kidnappers.”
“That’s exactly what we should do.” Her boldness erased his smile. She eased herself back. “At the end of the day, these criminals are still people. If Mrs. Lindbergh directly appealed to them, to speak of the terror she and her husband are going through, it might prevent the child from being harmed. At the very least, readers might pay keener attention to potential clues right around them.”
“And let me guess. You’re just the one to land that interview.”
When Lily hedged, as she honestly hadn’t contemplated that far, he shook his head wearily. He thought she was being strategic, pouncing on the opportunity of a tragedy.
“I promise, sir, this isn’t about me.”
That wasn’t to say she had abandoned her writing aspirations. The fact that upon retiring, Mr. Schiller had been replaced by yet another sports columnist, of all things, continued to irk her, but that didn’t pertain to the issue at hand.
The chief waved her off as he put on his hat. “Mrs. Lindbergh’s probably been asked plenty and turned ’em down. What makes you think she’d even want the spotlight at a time like this?” His tone made the question rhetorical. He figured his secretary, the non-reporter, had no valid grounds for the suggestion.
Except she wasn’t speaking as a reporter. Nor as a secretary.
“Because as a mother I’d want to be heard.”
She caught herself only after the words were out. By then, the chief was checking his watch, the statement brushed off as hypothetical, and he strode out the door.
The answer to her pitch lay starkly in his absence.
• • •
Lily’s subsequent mood wouldn’t make her the most charming of company today. But since Clayton so rarely asked her out to lunch, as they largely separated their work and social interactions, she didn’t feel right about canceling.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked once they had boarded the elevator.
She knew better than to say a negative word about her boss before leaving the building, but several strangers in front of them were busy with their chatter. She confided quietly: “It’s the Lindbergh baby. I just thought…”
“Ah. Of course,” he said, bewildering her.
“Of course?”
How would he know?
More important, why was he smiling?
He shook his head at her. “Like your mother keeps saying, you worry too much.”
He thought she was fearful about Samuel, of him disappearing in a similar way. But that wasn’t it. Not at this moment. Even so, the patronizing nature of Clayton’s words stung like salt in a recurring wound. She’d endured all the condescension she needed for one day.
“I was referring,” she corrected, “to an article in today’s Times.” Her tone came out a bit strong,