Cleopatra’s Dagger by Lawrence Carole

Author:Lawrence, Carole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2022-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The next morning dawned gray and unpromising, and for the first time since being hired at the Herald, Elizabeth dreaded going to work. Her resolve of the previous night faded in the dull morning light. She knew if she asked Ferguson for the day off, he would agree, but she feared that he would take her off the story. Dragging herself out of bed, she washed her face and put on a plain gray frock she rarely wore because she did not think it flattered her figure or her complexion. Now she chose it for that very reason. Gulping down a cup of cold leftover coffee, she tied on a bonnet, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and left the flat, carefully double-locking the door behind her.

When she arrived at the Herald, it was after nine. She was glad to see Freddy Evans in the lobby.

“How are you, miss?” he asked. His skin looked pink and sunburned, the freckles on his forehead more pronounced.

“I should think you can call me Elizabeth by now, Freddy.”

“Yes, miss. Are y’all right, then?”

“I’m quite well, thank you,” she said briskly.

“Everyone was worried yesterday.”

Not everyone, she thought. “I’m just on my way to see Mr. Ferguson.”

“Me too. He seemed very excited earlier this mornin’.”

“You’ve seen him already?” she asked as they climbed the marble staircase, the morning light streaming in through the tall side windows.

“I got here a bit early t’day—he was sayin’ we’ve sold a lot a’ papers in the past two days. Seems t’think your story’s the reason why,” Freddy said, scampering up the stairs ahead of her.

Elizabeth followed, and as they neared the second-floor landing, she saw someone just ahead of them. She recognized Karl Schuster’s shambling, awkward gait even before he turned to see her.

“Well, if it isn’t the woman of the hour. Looks like you’ve become a bit of a star. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she answered. “But what—”

“You’ll see,” Schuster said, walking down the hall toward his office. Trailing after him was the same scent Elizabeth had noticed in the supply closet, a combination of lime and mint. A bolt of fear shot through her body. Surely Karl Schuster could not be her attacker. Perhaps he and the man who assaulted her shared the same barber. Or maybe the aroma had already been in the closet prior to her attack—she could not be certain. Lime-scented aftershave was popular; even her father sometimes wore it.

“Miss?” said Freddy. “Y’all right, miss?”

“Uh, yes, I’m fine.”

“It’s true wha’ I said, miss. Mr. Ferguson’s all thrilled t’bits ’bout your story.”

Freddy wasn’t exaggerating. When she entered the editor’s office, Ferguson greeted her with a broad grin, which he wore like a badly fitted suit. On a face not naturally given to such expressions, it was strangely out of place, like a cravat on a goat.

He seized her hand and shook it warmly. “They said I was making a mistake, letting a woman write a story like that, but we showed them, didn’t we, Lizzie?”

“Yes, sir,” she said,

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