Anchor In The Storm Part 20

"Thank you. It'd sound better coming from you than from me." She smiled as she set up the scales and lined the pans with parchment paper.

Albert went to the stockroom. "Have any plans this weekend?"

"My roommates and I want to see Bob Hope's new movie."

"My Favorite Blonde? Sounds like a good one. Maybe I can talk my buddies into a movie. Have to drag them from their favorite watering hole, though." He pulled out a large cardboard box. "So your brother and his friends aren't in town, huh?"

"Not that I know." Lillian placed 1.8 grams of weights in one pan, then scooped salicylic-acid powder into the other pan until it balanced.

"I'm restocking the bandages." Albert headed out to the main store.

"Thanks," Lillian called after him. She funneled the salicylic acid into a mortar, replaced the paper, and weighed out 3.6 grams of benzoic acid.

Her stomach felt as sour as if she'd swallowed that acid. If the Ettinger came to port, she wouldn't see Arch anyway. He'd go to Connecticut to see his beloved Bitsy.

Bitsy? What kind of name was that for a grown woman? Sounded like a flibbertigibbet prep school girl.

But Arch had once loved her. Jim said she'd broken up with Arch because he'd joined the Navy and she wanted a rich husband. Well, Miss Bitsy must have changed her mind.

Lillian added the benzoic acid to the mortar and ground the two powders together with the pestle. She had no right to be jealous. Hadn't she discouraged his attention? Didn't she use every opportunity to remind him she only wanted to be friends?

Her throat tightened, and she concentrated on weighing 54.6 grams of white ointment. Then she added a small portion to the mortar and mixed it with the powders.

Besotted. Mary said Arch was besotted with Lillian and was approaching cautiously.

Not anymore he wasn't. She'd been too p.r.i.c.kly for too long, and he'd given up.

Lillian transferred the mixed ointment to the marble ointment slab, sc.r.a.ped the remaining white ointment onto the slab beside it, and combined the two piles with her metal spatula, back and forth, back and forth.

A month ago, she would have been elated that Arch's affections had turned. But now she felt as empty and squeezed out as Mrs. Zimmerman's tin tube.

"Tomorrow." Mr. Dixon jabbed the letter. "Tomorrow the government is taking my quinine."

"We can keep fifty ounces. And we don't get malaria cases here. Our soldiers in the Pacific need it more than we do." Grief flooded Lillian's chest. The American and Filipino forces on the Bataan Peninsula weren't expected to last the week.

Mr. Dixon grumbled, the closest he'd come to acknowledging she was right. "Your s.h.i.+ft is over, Miss Avery. Are you done with your work?"

"I am." Lillian went into the stockroom, hung up her white coat, and put on her taupe suit jacket over her peach blouse. Finally it was warm enough to leave her winter coat at home.

She checked her purse to make sure she had her notepad. At home, she'd transfer the information to a larger notebook.

Mr. Dixon pa.s.sed the stockroom door, set a paper bag in Albert's delivery box by the pharmacy door, then put the bulk phen.o.barbital bottle back on the shelf.

Phen.o.barbital? Lillian held her breath. What if she could trace the delivery? As an employee of Dixon's Drugs, she wouldn't look suspicious making a delivery. Then she could see if Detective Malloy was right about the forgers using vacant apartments and setting checks under the doormat. Lord, should I?

Mr. Dixon and Albert stood by the shelf, counting bottles of quinine, their backs to her.

Lillian located the bag Mr. Dixon had placed in the box. On the upper right corner of the bag, he'd written "Monument Avenue. Paid in full."

It had to be a sign. Lillian s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. "This delivery is on my way home. I'll take care of it. It's paid in full."

Out the door and down the aisle she strode.

Albert called after her, "Miss Avery, you shouldn't."

She just waved and smiled. "It's no bother. See you Monday."

When she was out on Main Street, she walked at a brisk pace and examined the bag. For heaven's sake-that was her building. Opal Harrison was the patient.

Lillian groaned. She'd grabbed the wrong bag. Instead of tracking down a drug dealer, she'd tracked down a sweet little old lady. At least Lillian could deliver her medication.

She peeked in the bag and stopped short. Phen.o.barbital, two hundred tablets, for Opal Harrison. How strange.

Lillian turned up her street, the Bunker Hill Monument lit up in the orange glow of the setting sun. She climbed the steps of her building and rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Harrison opened the door and beamed. "Well, h.e.l.lo, Lillian. You're a few hours early for your piano lesson."

Lillian laughed. "Just a few. I brought your prescription to save Albert the trip."

"Oh, thank you, dear. I'm almost out, and I need it for my rheumatism."

"Phen.o.barbital?" Sedatives weren't used to treat rheumatism.

Mrs. Harrison stared, then blinked her clear blue eyes. "My joints get so painful, it's hard to sleep."

Lillian frowned. "It's a very high dose."

Those blue eyes snapped. "I've been taking it for years. Mr. Dixon doesn't have a problem with it. Why do you?"

She sucked in a breath. "I-I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Mrs. Harrison's shoulders slumped, and she covered her eyes with her hand. "I'm sorry. It's been a bad day. My hip's acting up."

"That's all right." Lillian took a step back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Nonsense. We can't leave it like this." She held the door open wide. "A little music. That's what I need. Play me 'To a Wild Rose.'"

"If I do, you'll really be angry with me."

"Nonsense, sweet girl." Mrs. Harrison led her into the apartment, which smelled like chicken soup. "Have a seat. Let me get the sheet music."

"I already have it memorized." But not mastered. At the top of the sheet music, the instructions read, "With a simple tenderness," something Lillian lacked.

Mrs. Harrison eased into her armchair. "Take a deep breath and pour your heart into it."

If she varied the volume and held some of the notes, that might do the trick. She launched in, but the song sounded disjointed and stilted.

When Lillian finished, Mrs. Harrison folded her hands over her belly. "You're playing with your head, a.n.a.lyzing how to make it sound as if you played with your heart."

Lillian stood. "I'll try again tomorrow. I had a long day at work."

"Of course, dear. Tomorrow you'll do fine."

No, she wouldn't. Her playing was as wooden as her leg, because it came from her wooden heart.

21.

Buzzard's Bay, Ma.s.sachusetts

Sat.u.r.day, April 4, 1942

"Now we'll see if these bucket-brigade convoys do what they're supposed to." Jim took a bite of corn bread.

"Mm-hmm." In the wardroom, Arch stirred his navy bean soup. Only Hayes and Taylor were having lunch now, at the far end of the table, while the other officers performed their duties.

Over the next few days, the Ettinger and two smaller naval vessels were working their way down the coast, escorting empty cargo s.h.i.+ps returning from England, then they'd return north with s.h.i.+ps laden with oil and goods from the Gulf and the Caribbean.

Jim wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm not too upset we're turning around at Hampton Roads. Can't say I want to see 'Torpedo Junction.'"

Cape Hatteras had earned the grim nickname, a play on words with Glenn Miller's. .h.i.t song "Tuxedo Junction." Arch scooped up more soup, careful to select a chunk of ham. "Buckner disagrees. Where better to hunt U-boats?"

Jim chewed, eyeing Arch. "Thought the convoy would cheer you up."

"It does."

"You've been glum all week. Ever since your dinner with Bitsy."

"Do you blame me? My only night in Boston, and I spent it fending off my former girlfriend. She made it sound as if she'd changed, but I saw no evidence. Same friends, same shallow talk, same angling."

Jim sipped his coffee, still eyeing him. "You never asked about my evening."

"You already told me. Clifford's married, and Quintessa's heartbroken." Why were men like Clifford safe on land while brave merchant marines died by the dozen?

"You didn't ask about Lillian," Jim said.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, but she was as glum as you are."

"Because of Quintessa? Or did something happen at work?"

One corner of Jim's mouth jerked up. "She was in high spirits until I told her you weren't coming. She was disappointed."

Arch b.u.t.tered his corn bread, applying an even layer all the way to the edges. "That's the polite thing to say."

"No, it was genuine. And when I told her where you were, she went pale. She covered, but I know her. I'm afraid she's softened up to you."

b.u.t.tery crumbs of corn bread rolled in Arch's mouth. That was the best news he'd had in weeks, but he kept his expression impa.s.sive and swallowed. "And if she has?"

"What? Do you want my blessing or something?"

Arch fixed a serious gaze on the man who had been his best friend for over six years. "Yes, I do."

Jim laughed and shook his head. "For what it's worth, you have it. I've been watching. You treat her well, and I think you're good for her. But I warn you, if you hurt her in any way-"

"You'll hurt me worse. I know."

"I'm more worried Lillian would cause you serious bodily damage."

Arch grinned. She was certainly capable of it.

But he tempered his elation and returned to his soup. Just because she missed him didn't mean she'd fall in love.

The familiar waters off Narragansett spread before Arch, choppy and gray. He stood on the wing of the bridge in the cool air, taking stadimeter readings.

He gazed through the telescope of the handheld device at a s.h.i.+p in their makes.h.i.+ft convoy. He dialed in the mast height of the merchantman, then turned the cylindrical scale on the bottom of the stadimeter until he aligned the top and the bottom of the s.h.i.+p in his vision. Then he read the scale to discern the distance of the s.h.i.+p from the Ettinger and recorded it on his clipboard-seven hundred yards.

Warren Palonsky approached. "Sir, may I have a word with you? I'm off duty."

"Very well. Why don't you look busy and record my readings?"

"Aye aye, sir." He picked up the clipboard.

Arch glanced around, but they were alone on the wing. "You wanted to have a word?"

"Yes, sir." His smile stretched wide. "The case broke wide open."

"What happened?"

"Hobie was lying, no surprise. He got the drugs from someone else, only he didn't tell his source he had a new customer."

Arch returned to the stadimeter. As junior officer of the watch, he had duties, and none of them involved drug dealers. He measured the next s.h.i.+p. "Position three-two, distance seven-five-oh yards. Record it there."