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Page 12.

In the gloom of a tavern—which smelled richly of beer, bread, and meat, as well as coffee and cigar smoke—Kate sipped at a mug of beer as she sat in a corner reserved for the female gender. She ate a corned beef sandwich with a gherkin on the side. She was flush, on vacation, and feeling good. She wore traveling clothes, and had a carpet bag on one side. Indianapolis was her next destination. Leaning upright against the wall beside her was the wooden trunk containing all her earthly possessions.

A piano player pounded out a raggy waltz full of rhythm and mischief. The bar brimmed with the noise of working class men in cheap black suits and stained bowlers. They told jokes and laughed raucously. The bartender juggled glasses in the air. Smoke floated in a gray-blue layer.

Emily, the older domestic from the house, entered with a businessy look and a package the size of a book, wrapped in plain white paper. Emily wore a coat over her domestic’s uniform. Kate had been expecting something like this.

Spotting Kate in the corner, Emily walked toward her.

Kate pretended to ignore her. Best play it cool.

Emily said: “Claire dearie, or whatever you call yourself now that you’re no longer working with us—how are you?”

“Fine, until you came in.”

“I came to show you something, Claire.”

“Don’t scheme too much—you’ll hurt your head.”

“Speaking of schemes! Oh I seen how you operate. Very clever, girl. The boss ain’t such a bad egg—just a bit weak for silky young skin. Likes to wander his fingers under a girl’s dress for a little feel now and then.”

“I wouldn’t know—you tell me.”

“If you say so. I got a business preppy-sition for you. Seeing as how clever you are.”

Kate yawned and said: “I’m listening.”

Emily put her package on the table and said: “I seen how you went after him. There’s a maid here and there that will let herself be stroked for a dollar, without anything serious more. Or a look at something pink. It happens. But you, my girl, you bring it on and then whack them on the peckie. No no no! Bad boy! Pay up or else!”

“You already got a load of gin on, this time of day?”

“Deny it then. I don’t care. I’m not here to make trouble. See what I got.”

Kate casually hoisted her beer and eyeballed the package. With the white paper, it looked pharmaceutical. “I don’t deal in stolen opiates of any kind. No cocaine, heroin, pills, or needles.”

“Nothing like that, Claire. This is right up your alley. Take a look.”

Unwrapping the package, Kate saw a stack of letters. “What are these?”

“Them are love notes.”

Kate examined one love note, on fine paper. “They’re unsigned. What good is that?”

“Does the name Spreckels mean anything to you?”

“Spreckels. The sugar people. My no-longer boss’s employer.”

Emily said: “That’s right. I bet you never worked there. They got a huge mansion here in town, with lots of serving staff. I’m surprised you ain’t gotten keen on that, but here’s your chance.”

Kate started reading one letter after another.

Emily said: “Twenty bucks, they’re all yours.”

Kate said while reading: “John Spreckels was having an affair with a young lady. He must had been quite gooey to write these.”

Emily said: “Oh it was all noise. You know how men are. Promise anything for a little coussy.”

Kate glowed as she held up one letter. “What do you know? Here’s one from her to him. She’s a domestic!”

Emily said: “Was, dearie, was. This girl, Charlotte Barnard, was a total lag, if you know what I mean. The dust was faster than her.” She made slow dusting motions with a dumb face. “Mrs. Spreckels let her go. If the girl had your tits, she’d ‘a gone right to the old lady with her story.”

Kate kept reading. “No money in that. She’d ruin her references. Spreckels probably paid her to shut up and leave town, without his old lady getting wise.”

Emily said: “Want them? Twenty bucks. I ain’t offering again.”

Kate said: “Where’d you get these?”

Emily said: “Charlotte. She asked me to safeguard them for her until she could burn them, but she left town and never came back.”

Kate said: “You know where she went?”

Emily said: “Michigan somewheres. She won’t find work in this town for a long time. You know how the grapevine goes, especially for temporary help. The slightest bad word or a dirty look, and you’re finished. Like you are, here, as of now.”

Kate said: “Memories are short. Takes a year or two and nobody remembers.” She patted her hand on the letters. “They’re nice, but they are unsigned—not even initials?”

Emily, still on the topic of blackmail, said knowingly: “Or you use a different name again.”

“Don’t try to be more clever than you really are, Emily.”

Emily said: “The point is—it really happened. I know two girls who saw them a couple of times, slipping into his office with that look between them. Point is—he’d remember it, if you chose to bring it to his attention. You’re the only one I know that has that much nerve.”

Kate said: “How do I know you didn’t forge the letters? I pay you, and there really was no Charlotte Barnard.”

Emily said: “You can find some samples of his handwriting to compare if you want. I swear—they are the real thing.”

Kate said: “Ten bucks.”

Emily said: “Fifteen.”

Kate said: “I’ll bring the money to your apartment. Where do you live?”

Emily packed the letters away and rose. She scribbled on a card and said: “There’s my address. Come up for a drink and some fun, eh?”

A swirling mist descended upon the harbor. Lights went on early, and people hurried about looking cold. Lanterns burned aboard moored ships as the fog deepened.

Kate stood in the shadows of a narrow alley, dressed in dark clothing. She kept her eye on a battered door of no particular color across the way.

As dusk fell, the first tendrils of fog crept up from the harbor.

The alley reeked of poverty. It abounded with dirty children and drunken women and sallow men whose arms bore needle tracks. This quarter was a mosaic of empty faces with idiot grins and missing teeth and vacant eyes. People moved about like shadows, like the half-dead, ghosts already.

A lamplighter came by with his wick on a stick, singing off-key. It was kind of a nice little ditty, soaked in brandy and nudged up and down the scales with schoolboy effort, but also an air of resignation amid gray beard stubble. He sang too softly to leave an echo as he passed through like a leaf falling from a tree.

A woman shouted, a door slammed, a man cursed, a dog barked, a child cried, a dove fluttered, a flying bottle shattered. And so it went.

The battered door opened and a drunken Emily staggered forth.

Kate watched as Emily lurched down the lane and into a tavern.

A ghostly shadow, Kate crossed the alley in a few blinks of the eye.

Kate groped her way up a dark, dank, smelly stairwell.

She came to a door, and rattled the knob, but it was locked.

She looked left and right.

She held her purse over her elbow, and smashed a small glass pane in the door. Reaching in, she unlocked the door and entered.

She fumbled on the walls, found a gas lamp, and lit a faint yellow light. Gas whispered and sputtered softly around her as she searched.

She tossed the place, throwing things into a pile in the middle of the room. There wasn’t much to search. All of Emily’s meager possessions flew onto the bare floor in minutes.

In the bedroom, Kate found the letters buried amid dirty linen in a corner on the floor. Slipping the package under her arm, she headed back down the stairs. From the doorway, she peered left and right. Then, walking calmly, she disappeared into deepening night and fog.