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  “Indeed. A scribbled note.” Judson dropped his eyes for a moment before speaking to Wes. “Do not get your hopes up.”

  “He shot me.” Wes enunciated each word.

  Judson held up one hand. “So the note says.”

  Wesley made a noise of impatience. “Then what is the problem?”

  “The note is barely legible.” Judson wiped his mouth with his hand. “It can be inferred that Luther shot both you and Otis for hire but no names are mentioned.”

  Delia watched Virginia turn startled eyes from Wes to Otis.

  “You are worried about the authenticity,” Delia said to Judson.

  “Exactly.” It came out on a sigh. “What if it is believed that the papers were fabricated?”

  “Why would anyone think that?” Wes asked angrily.

  “Because the police chief of Glennon is your friend,” Delia said quietly.

  Wes stared at Judson for several moments in the silence that followed.

  “She’s right,” Otis said.

  “The papers are vague at best.” Judson gave a quick shake of his head. “One can presume that the note originated over there where you were shot. It appears to be hastily written. It looks very much as though it was dragged through the mud.”

  “It’s something.” It came out almost a whisper. Wes cleared his throat as he shifted back in his seat. “It’s something that can clear me.” This was said with more force.

  “I don’t think so.” Judson averted his eyes. “Someone in Washington is already calling to ask questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” Otis asked.

  “About everything. People who know about Wes being shot in the back want answers.” Judson’s eyes went to Virginia at her sharp intake of breath.

  Wes ignored his sister’s shocked face. “I am innocent. You have the man in custody that shot me.”

  “The person from Washington is arguing that you are a traitor to your country.” Judson locked eyes with Wesley. “They stopped just short of accusing me of lying to cover for your disloyalty.”

  Wes huffed out a breath before looking away from Judson. “Yet again I am a thorn in your side. No, even worse. After breaking your leg, I now seek to take away everything else you hold dear.”

  “I was not complaining.” Judson’s voice held anger.

  Wes was shaking his head. “You are a man of the law. You are not accustomed to having your loyalty to your government questioned. You should not be placed in such a situation now. I won’t have it.”

  “I do not require your permission to do my duty.” Judson’s voice was filled with stubbornness.

  “This is getting you nowhere,” Delia said to both of them. “We must focus on the important pieces.”

  Wes scowled at her. “And what might those be?”

  “Until, and unless, you are cleared of treason, you require irrefutable proof of your innocence,” Delia said.

  “You are stating the obvious.” Wes’s scowl remained.

  Delia ignored his comment. “At the moment, your only connection to the fiend is this minion. You need the minion in order to learn the identity of the man who hired him. It is your only hope of explaining why you were shot in the back during battle.”

  Wes opened his mouth to argue then closed it. He looked at Otis.

  Otis aimed his question at Judson. “What have you learned so far?”

  “Nothing of substance.” Judson appeared disgusted at his failure to get the man to talk. “Luther Killian insists he didn’t do anything. He has gone so far as to say that you and Wesley are lying.”

  “We must keep him here,” Wes argued. “It is our only hope of getting anything out of him. Once you release him.” Wes shook his head. “You cannot allow it.”

  “It is too late.” Judson looked tired. “He is to be transported to Washington. I cannot ignore an order from such highly placed people.”

  “I have contacts in Washington,” Virginia said quietly. “I can call them.” She kept her focus on Judson. “Perhaps all that is needed is the word of someone even higher up?”

  “Ginny, no. I cannot ask that of you.” Wes covered his sister’s hand with his own. “Otis and I will deal with this. You need not be alarmed. You’ll see. We’ll work it out.”

  Delia heard the strain in his voice. She was certain his sister could hear it as well. The man managed an encouraging smile with his words. She doubted Virginia Gray was fooled by it.

  “Have you considered having the handwriting of the note analyzed?” Delia asked Judson. “Compared against the other letter found in Araminta and Chester’s rooms. The one you have not yet been able to match to anyone else’s handwriting.”

  Judson shifted his eyes to Wes but it was Otis that answered.

  “I agree. According to the handwriting expert, that one letter was different than the rest. He said the writing was off somehow.” Otis turned to Wes.

  Wes let out a breath then nodded his head in agreement.

  She and Judson took their leave a few minutes later, each of them going in separate directions. Delia returned to the campus. Along the way, she encountered Mena. The librarian was returning from an early morning meeting.

  “You look pensive this morning.” Mena fastened another button on her collar as her gaze focused behind Delia. “You’ve been to Glennon House?”

  Delia considered her words carefully. “Just touching base.”

  Mena began to ask another question but a group of students swarmed around them. As the students continued on their way, they made comments about the upcoming football game.

  “I heard it’s going to be cancelled,” one voice said.

  “I can’t believe that,” another argued. “There’s no way they’ll forfeit another game.”

  Mena lifted her brows at Delia. “I’ve been hearing similar comments all morning. Many of them came from our colleagues.”

  Given the popularity of such games, Delia didn’t doubt it.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know if it will be canceled, would you?” Mena asked. “As last week’s game was canceled over concerns of the influenza.”

  “No, but it reminds me that I’ve been wanting to check on Blanche.” Delia looked in the general direction of the infirmary. “I feel guilty that I haven’t made the time yet. I keep thinking that her concerns haven’t been given the consideration someone in her profession deserves.”

  “There you are. I was hoping I’d run into you.” Alexander Boardman beamed at Mena.

  Delia nodded a greeting at Mena’s arborist.

  “What brings you here?” Mena’s return smile appeared less warm.

  “A meeting on campus.” Alexander took a step closer to Mena. “Will you be free for the midday meal? We could go to one of the restaurants in town.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Mena said smoothly. “I already have plans on campus.”

  Delia thought of the lunch Mena would be having in the dining hall.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting to your meeting?” Mena asked.

  Alexander frowned at his watch. “Yes, you are correct. I lost track of time when I was looking for you in the library. I don’t want to keep George and Arthur waiting.”

  “George Ellis and Arthur Hildebrand?” Delia asked politely.

  Alexander’s smile came easily. “Indeed, you are correct. We are meeting about the new game preserve.”

  “Makes sense,” Mena said. “George teaches commercial law and commercial geography whereas Arthur teaches agriculture and botany.”

  “I’ll try to catch up with you later,” Alexander promised as he began to walk away.

  Unwilling to lose sight of Mena, he walked backwards until he bumped into a student. Mena and Delia watched him apologize profusely.

  “We’re probably having another meatless meal in the dining hall,” Delia said.

  “I have a particular fondness for your cousin’s cooking,” Mena replied.

  Chapter Three

  “Excellent. Rememb
er to sit up straight but you should feel comfortable in your position. Elbows in close, not jutting out. If you feel that you are not able to reach the keyboard correctly, you should take the time to adjust your seat accordingly.” Delia paused next to a student. “Wrists up. You do not want to rest them on the keyboard.”

  “Yes, Miss Markham.”

  “You don’t want to look down at the keys.” Delia continued moving through the room. “Later in the course, we’ll be covering the keys so you cannot see the letters.”

  She heard several groans over the clattering noise of the typewriters. Her eyes went to the clock. “And that’s it for today. Please practice your finger exercises. They will help, I promise you.”

  The rhythmic noise of the typewriters was replaced with the hectic sound of nearly fifty students as they readied to leave the room. Papers were pulled from the rollers. Chairs could be heard moving across the floor. Books were gathered, conversations began, and students formed lines to and from her desk at the front of the room as they deposited their assignments for the day. She would need to grade them quickly so they could be returned in their next class session.

  Delia spoke with several students as they went through the motions of departing. When all but a few were gone, she turned to erase her notes from the board. By the time she finished, the room was empty. Delia gathered the assignment papers and placed them in a drawer in her desk. She removed her purse at the same time. Within minutes, she was waiting in the front of Glennon Hall for the next trolley car to pass by.

  Her mind returned to the information Judson had shared earlier. She pieced it together with what she already knew. Wesley Glennon was shot in the back during battle. Otis Hart was also shot, presumably because he took aim at the shooter. If Wesley and Otis could be believed, that shooter was Luther Killian. It was further presumed that a man hired Luther for reasons not yet ascertained.

  Of course, every bit of that could be false. It was equally possible that Wesley was shot in the back while running from battle. Luther Killian has maintained his innocence. Though Judson found something in Luther’s belongings that could indicate he was hired to shoot Wesley Glennon, that scribbled note was vague at best and offered no names. It could have been written at any time. It could be referencing anyone.

  Except for the word of Otis Hart, there was no evidence supporting Wesley’s claim that he was shot in the back while facing the enemy in battle. Would Otis lie to protect Wesley? If so, why? That was something she’d yet to uncover. The true relationship between the men. Yes, she knew they fought together on the battlefield. Would that be enough to bond the men into a lie? Certainly, the stakes were high enough. It was genuinely a matter of life or death.

  From what she had learned of Wesley Glennon so far, she believed he was a man who would do anything to protect his family. Having the current head of the family labeled as a traitor to his country would paint the entire family with the same brush for generations to come. She doubted he would willingly allow that to happen.

  When the trolley car reached her stop, she stepped down to the paved street in town. All around her, people were moving about. There were pedestrians walking along the sidewalks or crossing the streets. A green ice wagon with white lettering drawn by a mule lumbered along. It caused congestion of motor cars and horse-drawn conveyances behind it. A variety of motor cars could be heard. In some cases, they could even be smelled, the fumes of the outdated models turning heads of pedestrians as they passed.

  It was but a short walk to her destination. Though the day was somewhat on the cool side compared to the warm weather of previous days, it was a pleasant enough excursion. She passed by several shops along the way, pausing periodically to peek into windows. The last window she looked through was at the office of the Glennon Daily News. She saw Nessie inside at her desk. The budding reporter was busy at her typewriter.

  Delia stepped inside and crossed over to Nessie’s desk. “Good morning. Another article?”

  Nessie discreetly turned to check behind her. Most of the men in the office were busy with their tasks. One appeared to be working on the newspaper press. A few were clustered together as one member of the group shared a story that had the others laughing.

  Nessie nodded toward the paper in her typewriter. “I’m working on the list of names.”

  Delia didn’t have to ask what that meant. “Of those whose numbers have been drawn for the draft.”

  “Yes. We don’t yet know everyone, of course. Only the first one hundred numbers were sent out through the telegraph soon after being drawn. The remaining numbers of the seventeen thousand were sent to the district boards.”

  “It will take a while until those are given out,” Delia guessed.

  “It may be a matter of days.” Nessie pressed her lips together as though trying to contain her excitement.

  Delia lifted her brows. “You’ve figured out a way around it?”

  “Not entirely.” Nessie looked around again before showing Delia a page with a list of numbers and their corresponding names. “But I did get a promise that the numbers would be given to me first as soon as they are received. This is but the first few that have already been processed. It will take a while for the board to match up all of the numbers.”

  “You’ll have the scoop on the names of those being called up.” Delia nodded approvingly. “You’ve been working on making business contacts.”

  “I have.” Nessie looked proud of herself. “Is that why you’ve come?”

  “No.” Delia was the one to check the rest of the office this time before leaning a little closer to Nessie. “I wondered if you had any luck searching for the man that I described to you.”

  “The one you thought was fairly well off?” Nessie’s eyes fell to a folder on the corner of her desk.

  “Well dressed, brown hair. I believe his eyes were also dark. He had full facial hair,” Delia prompted.

  “I’ve been focused on the story out at the abattoir.” Nessie motioned to her typewriter. “When I haven’t been here working on something else.”

  “I understand.” Delia straightened. “It’s only been a very short time since I asked you to look for him.”

  “A matter of only a day or two.” Nessie’s eyes narrowed at Delia. “Which leads me to believe something else has happened. You never did tell me why you were looking for this man.”

  “And I cannot now. I’m sorry.”

  Delia pictured in her mind the last time she’d seen the man in question. He was standing at a street corner next to Luther Killian, the man with the scar on his face. At the time, she assumed they were two strangers who happened to be standing on the same corner. It was only afterward that she remembered Luther turned and spoke to the man.

  Delia thought of the budding reporter’s interest. “Your story at the abattoir. You still believe they are skirting the laws?”

  “I believe they are operating below standards.” Nessie cringed when she heard a voice coming closer to her desk. She quickly began hiding the papers on her desk.

  Delia looked over Nessie’s head briefly then flashed a smile as she pressed her hands together. “And the lace! You’ll never believe how fine it is. Will you be able to include a photograph in the newspaper to show the detail? It perfectly matches the stitching of the trim in her gown.”

  Delia watched as the man previously coming toward them now pivoted on his heel and quickly walked toward the rear of the office. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “I’ll have to remember that trick,” Nessie murmured with a grin as she ducked her head.

  “But Nessie, as soon as you have the time…”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for the man you seek,” Nessie promised.

  Delia began backtracking toward the trolley stop. This time, she walked on the other side of the street so she would have different shop windows to peek through. She paused when she saw a particularly fine example of a silk shirtwaist.

  “With cotton being needed f
or the war, they’re focusing more on silk now for separate waists.”

  Delia turned toward the voice. “Mrs. Gray.”

  Virginia offered a polite smile as she shifted her eyes to the clothing in the window. “The color of that one reminds me of a dress I once had. It was part of my trousseau.” Virginia’s smile seemed less stiff now as she continued on. “I only ever wore it once while on my honeymoon in France. I didn’t think it particularly flattered me, to be honest, but it was designed by a rather famous modiste.” She shifted her focus to Delia as though suddenly aware she had said more than she’d intended. Her smile disappeared. “Back then, I thought of such things as important.”

  “Back then, such things were important,” Delia said with a gentle smile.

  Virginia’s lips curled up just a bit. She nodded at a placard in the window. “The Women’s Liberty Loan parade to show support for our soldiers. Are you planning to attend?”

  “I hadn’t considered it yet. It might depend on my schedule.” Delia turned toward the sound of the trolley. “I should get back to the campus.”

  She left Virginia standing at the shop window still staring at the silk waist. It occurred to her that the brief exchange was the first normal conversation she’d ever had with the woman. She was surprised Virginia had spoken to her at all. It seemed the only time Delia had interactions with her was to give more bad news.

  After retrieving the assignment papers from her desk, Delia graded them in her apartment. It was after dinner when she made her way to her cousin’s house. She found Hazel in the kitchen. There were large pots on the stove. Glass jars were lined up on the kitchen table.

  Delia stood near Hazel to look over her shoulder. “Spiced beets?”

  Hazel hummed agreement. “The last from the garden.”

  Delia took in Hazel’s appearance. There was a strand of hair loose from its pin. It dangled down on Hazel’s cheek. She reached up and tried to tuck it back into place.

  “It seems a bit much after the day you’ve already had at work,” Delia said.

  “The canning drive,” Hazel muttered. “I haven’t been keeping up.”