Deadlier Than the Pen by Kathy Lynn Emerson

Author:Kathy Lynn Emerson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pemberley Press
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Diana arrived in Bangor, a city of some 17,000 souls, in late morning on the special Sunday "paper train." She was stiff and sore after sitting up all the way from New Haven. All the minor injuries she'd sustained over the last week throbbed in unison.

At the depot, a conveyance waited to pick up passengers for the Windsor Hotel. Since it sounded a respectable sort of place and the driver looked clean, she hobbled over and allowed him to assist her into a seat. Her meager baggage was hoisted into the back, landing with an audible thud. Diana scarcely noticed. She was too tired, and her ankle felt as if it had swollen to the size of a ripe melon.

After a few minutes, when it appeared that she was to be his only passenger, the driver mounted the box and clicked his tongue at the pair of bays in the traces. They set off through a goodly city Diana was in no shape to appreciate, although she did notice a few of the same signs of spring she'd seen in Manhattan before the blizzard. There was still some snow on the streets, but wheels had all but replaced runners on most of the horse-drawn vehicles and she caught sight of a robin on one brown and muddy lawn.

The driver noticed the direction of her gaze. "Bangor Tigers'll be back soon," he said enigmatically.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's the true sign of the season. The first woodsmen come back to the city after the winter in the wilds. Best not to go out unescorted at night for the next few weeks, and stay away from Exchange Street and Peppermint Row. Those fellas are no great respecters of womankind, if you know what I mean."

Bemused, Diana thanked him for the warning.

The Windsor was a presentable place, bigger than she'd anticipated but relatively inexpensive at $1.50 a night. Grateful for small favors, Diana checked in, spending Jerusha's last fifteen cents to tip the porter. This ensured that he'd bring up kindling and a hodful of coal and light a fire for her. A few hours later, warm at last, Diana fell into an exhausted sleep that lasted well into the next day.

Much restored, although she was still limping a bit, she made her way to the Bangor office of the Western Union Telegraph Company. A scene of chaos and disarray met her. The clicking out of dots and dashes sounded like the buzz of angry bees.

"Moving," a harried-looking fellow told her. "We'll be in our new digs downstairs a week from today."

In the meantime, confusion reigned. Diana was obliged to wait while the young man consulted his supervisor, who in turn sought the guidance of the manager. Diana had plenty of time to fret.

If Foxe had not responded to the telegram she'd sent from New Haven, she would be in dire straits. She couldn't even afford to eat unless he wired money, having exhausted the funds Jerusha had lent her with this impetuous journey to Maine.

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