but not enough to disturb the conversing strangers as the door opened on the second floor, where a rewrite man boarded.
Clayton studied her, clearly struggling to identify the problem. “So…you’re upset about what the police said. How they won’t work with Lindbergh’s so-called underworld emissaries?”
Naturally he had read the same article. Perusing the big morning dailies was expected.
“I suppose.” It was simpler to agree at this point.
“Well, I hope you can see why. Those crooks wouldn’t be helping out for nothing. There’d be favors to repay. Classic case of the ends not justifying the means.”
Lily’s mouth went slack. If Samuel were at risk of being harmed, she would stop at nothing to protect him. “And if the child were yours? Would those principles still take priority?”
Several passengers glanced toward Lily. The sudden quiet—from Clayton too—shot heat up her neck. She stared straight ahead, the tension brewing, until the door opened.
“First floor,” the lift operator announced.
Lily followed the group out, anxious for the open air. In the entry, Clayton gently tugged on her arm, guiding her to a stop.
“Lily. If something else is bothering you, anything at all, you can tell me. I hope you know that.”
After a second, she raised her eyes. From the sincerity in his face, the kindness in him, a tide of guilt crested over her. He didn’t deserve such a venting.
“I’m sorry, Clayton. I don’t mean to be irritable.” There was too much to explain, too many confidences to break. “It’s just been one of those mornings.”
His mouth steeped into his usual smile. “Working for the chief? I’d say that applies to almost every morning.”
She found herself smiling back as he planted a kiss on her forehead, a loving gesture that melted away the remnants of her frustration. “I’d bet a nice lunch at the Renaissance would help.”
Aware they were alone in the lobby, she followed an impulse to lean toward him. Or this, she thought and kissed him on the lips. When she drew back, the surprise in his eyes—from a reporter not easily taken off guard—filled her with satisfaction. “Now, shall we go?”
His reaction was morphing into delight. “To anywhere you’d like.”
“The Renaissance will do.” She warmly hooked his elbow, and together, they continued toward the exit. After stepping aside for a few people to enter, they joined the bustling of Market Street. The scent of roasting nuts from a vendor cart provided mild reprieve from wafts of city odors as she and Clayton wound their way toward the restaurant.
Glad to redeem their date, she asked about his newest leads, always guaranteed to launch him into conversation. And though she was listening, a thought pulsed in a corner of her mind. A tiny but persistent sliver.
One of the strangers back at the Examiner, coming through the door…there was something familiar. Those features… Lily knew them…
A block from the restaurant, she stopped. “Oh my God.” She visualized the scene again, verifying.
She looked at him, grappling for an answer. “I-I have to go back. I just realized.”
“What is it?”
There was no time to explain. “Go on in. I’ll catch up with you.” As she rushed off toward the Examiner, the world’s noises dropped away. There was only the thudding of her heart, her heels slapping pavement, and her hopes repeated like a prayer.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please still be there.”
Chapter 23
According to Dutch’s pal at the Los Angeles Times, Alfred Millstone had appeared in the papers here and there over the years. As vice president of the American Trust Company in Long Beach, the mentions would be expected. All of them were trivial except for one: a funeral announcement.
Two years ago, the Millstones’ only child perished in a car wreck. According to reports, no sign of foul play. Then recently, over in New Jersey, the president of Century Alliance Bank took a trip off a bridge—as many a man had since Black Tuesday—and Mr. Millstone had crossed the country to fill the opening.
It now made sense to Ellis. Ruby and Calvin were part of the couple’s attempt to heal, to move on. Start fresh.
In a much smaller way, this was what Ellis, too, had hoped to do by coming here today.
The building was a typical two-story bank in Hoboken, with a tailor shop to one side and a barber’s to the other. To arrive before closing, Ellis had to slip out of the Examiner early, this time steering clear of Mr. Tate. After his mother’s visit and the news from