She would call him from home, she decided. Her dress was drying in the heat but was still uncomfortably damp in places, her hair was a mess, and she thought she smelled slightly foul from the lake water. She couldn’t wait to bathe and change into clean clothes.

  Jones raised his eyebrows when he saw Elizabeth, but he was a man schooled in discretion and said nothing. He merely nodded and said, “Good evening, miss,” in his deep voice.

  Elizabeth managed to escape to her room before being seen by anyone else, and within minutes she was easing into a steaming bath filled with rose-scented bubbles. She was tempted to linger, but she was determined to get her telephone call with Kaminsky over with, so she reluctantly stepped out of the tub, toweled off, and slipped into a pair of wide-legged trousers and a cotton lawn blouse. Her mother wasn’t so old-fashioned that they were required to dress for dinner every night.

  The apartment was quiet. Elizabeth heard the radio playing in the kitchen where Mrs. Murphy was no doubt beginning preparations for dinner. James and Rose appeared to be out, and there was no sign of Helen either. The door to her father’s study was closed, and Elizabeth knew he was busy reading the evening papers and wouldn’t appear until Mrs. Murphy called everyone for dinner.

  Elizabeth felt ridiculously furtive as she lifted up the telephone receiver in the foyer and asked the operator to connect her with New York Hospital.

  The telephone in Kaminsky’s room rang for quite a while, and Elizabeth was about to hang up when Kaminsky finally answered.

  Elizabeth told him about her adventures that afternoon, trying to make light of the fear she had felt when she had been pushed into the water. Kaminsky wasn’t fooled.

  “That’s it,” he growled. “I’ll be back in the newsroom tomorrow afternoon. I don’t want you to leave your desk until I get there.”

  Elizabeth felt herself stiffen. “Oh, do stop fussing,” she said, using one of Kaminsky’s favorite expressions. “Nothing came of it, and nothing will.”

  Kaminsky grunted. “That doctor better let me out of here first thing in the morning. If I knew where the nurse put my clothes, I’d leave now.”

  Elizabeth found herself giggling at the thought of Kaminsky showing up in the newsroom in his hospital gown.

  She told him about the camera.

  There was a silence. “The editor isn’t going to be pleased, but there isn’t anything to be done about it. Pitch him the story. That should get his attention.”

  Elizabeth hung up the telephone feeling slightly better. She really was looking forward to Kaminsky being back at work.

  * * *

  —

  Elizabeth was dreading the day ahead. Her nerves were getting the better of her, and she could barely eat the soft-boiled egg Mrs. Murphy put in front of her. Her mother glanced at her and raised her eyebrows.

  “Are you slimming, dear? You look as if you’ve already lost weight.”

  “I’m fine,” Elizabeth said, determinedly slapping butter on her toast.

  She managed to fiddle with the food on her plate long enough to escape any more notice. She was dragging her feet and was startled when she saw the time on the clock. She ended up running out the door without her hat and was about to step onto the elevator when she remembered it and ran back to get it. Jones gave her an odd look as he held the door open for her a second time.

  By the time Elizabeth reached the newsroom, she was out of breath and wishing she could have another bath. The subway had stopped between the Fifty-ninth Street and Fifty-second Street stations. The conductor had announced that the delay was due to an animal on the tracks. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what sort of creature would be roaming the subway tunnels. She’d seen rats the size of cats on the tracks, but the subway never stopped because of them.

  The editor was an older man with a potbelly and hair sprouting from his largish ears. Elizabeth rarely had to deal with him—that was usually Kaminsky’s lot in life.

  But she would have to brave the lion’s den today. She stood outside the frosted-glass door to his office with the worn nameplate alongside it announcing that this was Harry Butler’s domain.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and knocked.

  A gravely voice came from behind the closed door. “Come in.”

  The door squeaked loudly as Elizabeth pushed it open.

  Butler jerked his head up and tossed the papers he’d been looking through back on his desk.

  “Yes?”

  Elizabeth explained about being pushed into Fountain Lake at the World’s Fair and how it had resulted in the loss of her camera. She offered to pay for a new camera, cringing at the thought of the cost. It would put quite a dent in the amount she’d saved up to get her own apartment.

  Butler lowered his bushy eyebrows and stared at Elizabeth from beneath them. She thought he looked like a bull about to charge.

  “This will make quite a story,” he barked at Elizabeth. “The Daily Trumpet will provide you with another camera as long as you keep getting the photographs that scoop the other papers. Good job.” He waved a hand. “Go see Peterson. He’ll get you set up.”

  He looked down at the papers on his desk again and began to shuffle them.

  Elizabeth felt weak with relief as she shut Butler’s door behind her. She went back to her desk and vowed she would work really hard to make the Daily Trumpet proud.

  She glanced over at Kaminsky’s desk. Seeing his chair empty gave her a pang. She could swear the odor of egg salad and onions still lingered in the air along with the ever-present tobacco smoke.

  She was sorting through some photographs when the door to the newsroom opened and Mildred, her headset around her neck, looked in.

  She glanced at Kaminsky’s desk.

  “Where’s Kaminsky? I’ve got a story for him. The fellow says it’s big.” Mildred took a bobby pin out of her hair, pried it open with her teeth, and reinserted it where it was holding back a deep wave that swooped down toward her right eye. “Has he gone to the gent’s?”

  Elizabeth looked up from the pile of photographs on her desk.

  “No. He’s not here. He’s in the hospital.”

  “What’s he got?” Mildred cracked her gum. “Nothing catching, I hope.”

  “The doctor says it’s bronchitis. Hopefully he’ll be getting out today.”

  “Do you want to talk to this fellow? He says there’s been another murder out at the World’s Fair.”

  “What?” Suddenly Elizabeth was all ears.

  Mildred transferred her wad of gum from one side of her mouth to the other.

  “I said this fellow claims there’s been another murder out at the World’s Fair. He said he was there when they found the body.”

  “Did he say who it was?”

  Mildred rolled her eyes. “Nah. He might be a complete kook, for all I know. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Sure.”

  Elizabeth turned to Kaminsky’s empty desk helplessly. Why wasn’t he here? This was big—they couldn’t miss it. So far the Trumpet had had the most thorough coverage of Flo’s murder. They couldn’t drop the ball now.

  She would have to do it herself. She could take notes, and later Kaminsky could write the story. And they would have pictures now that the camera situation had been resolved.

  * * *

  —

  Elizabeth got off the train at the World’s Fair terminal. When she walked outside, she noticed there was a feeling of suppressed excitement in the air. It was early—the fair hadn’t been open for long and the crowds were still sparse, despite the cloudless blue skies.

  That feeling of excitement increased as she walked through the amusement zone. A rather large crowd had gathered at the Gimbeltown stop for the Gimbels Flyer, a narrow-gauge railway that promised “a trip around the world” as the train wound through the Hall of Nations and various other sections of the fair.

  Elizabeth worked her way through the crowd until she had reached the front.

  Several stocky policemen, their legs spread wide and feet firmly planted, held the crowd back with outstretched arms. Elizabeth craned her neck to see what was going on.

  The ambulance she’d seen parked outside the first-aid station the day before was pulled up close to the train tracks where the Gimbels Flyer sat idle, looking out of place with its colorful and jaunty paint job. Two uniformed attendants stood next to an empty gurney. One of them was smoking a cigarette while the other one chatted with a policeman. A second gurney was off to the side, and there was a woman lying on it, her feet propped up on a pillow.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” the woman next to Elizabeth said. “You don’t expect one murder, let alone two.” She touched her carefully permed brown hair as if to reassure herself that the excitement hadn’t disturbed it. A liberal amount of gray strands threaded their way through the tight curls.

  “I’m from the Daily Trumpet,” Elizabeth said, holding out her press pass.

  “Well, I never,” the woman said. She put a hand to her rather flat chest, which even the ruffles on the bodice of her dress couldn’t disguise. “I’m Alma Grace Hickson,” she said.

  “Did you see what happened?” The caller hadn’t given Elizabeth many details, only that a body had been found in the amusement zone of the fair.

  “The poor woman fainted dead away,” Alma said, opening her protruding blue eyes wide. “Imagine. And her being pregnant on top of it.”

  Elizabeth pulled out the pad she’d taken from Kaminsky’s desk and began jotting down notes.

  “Is that the woman who found the body?”

  “Yes, she was the one. Poor thing. She went to get on the train—the Gimbels Flyer, it’s called—and suddenly she screamed and fainted dead away, crumpled to a heap on the pavement.”

  “Do you know who the victim is?”

  “I didn’t get a good look. One of the security guards happened to be nearby and he kept everyone at bay until the police arrived, although they did let this one woman through. She said she was a nurse and had smelling salts in her purse.”

  “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”

  “It was definitely a man,” Alma said. “But I couldn’t see anything more.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “You’ve been most helpful. Thank you.”

  Alma’s thin lips stretched into a smile.

  The crowd shifted briefly and Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a body slumped over in one of the train cars. She pulled her camera from its case, edged her way closer, and snapped several pictures.

  “Hey,” one of the policemen gestured at her. “Step back, please.”

  “Daily Trumpet.” Elizabeth held out her press pass.

  The policeman wrinkled his forehead then waved to her.

  “Okay, come on. But don’t get in the way.”

  “I won’t.” Elizabeth paused. “You don’t happen to know who the victim is, do you?”

  “Sorry, no. We’re waiting on the medical examiner and the detective they’re sending out. We’ll probably know more then.”

  “Do you know what killed him?”

  “Look, lady, I told you all I know. I was told to stand here and hold the crowd back, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She glanced at the woman lying on the gurney. She must be the one who found the body. It would certainly be worth talking to her.

  “Excuse me.” Elizabeth tapped the policeman on the shoulder.

  He turned around with a grunt. “What do you want now?”

  “I’d like to talk to that young woman lying on the gurney over there. I understand she found the body.”

  “It’s fine by me. Just keep out of the way, like I told you.”

  Elizabeth walked over to where the gurney was parked. There was no shade and the woman’s eyes were closed against the sun. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on her face and on her neck, where she’d untied a bow and unbuttoned the top buttons of her pink-and-white-checked maternity top. Her legs were propped up on two pillows and her ankles were swollen and red.

  Her eyes fluttered open as Elizabeth approached, and she put up a hand to shield them from the sun.

  “Are you a nurse?” she said to Elizabeth. “Is my baby going to be okay?”

  She put her hand on her stomach.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Elizabeth said, although she had no idea if that were true or not. “I’m with the Daily Trumpet.”

  Elizabeth showed her press pass, but the woman barely glanced at it.

  “A reporter?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Yes, sort of.”

  The woman moved her head back and forth on the pillow.

  “The nurse gave me smelling salts. She said I fainted.”

  “What’s your name?” Elizabeth said.

  “Laura Cunningham.”

  “Mine’s Elizabeth Adams.”

  Laura smiled weakly. Suddenly she clutched at her skirt.

  “Oh, what have I done? I shouldn’t have come. If something happens to the baby, it will be all my fault. Robert will be devastated.” She moaned and twisted the fabric between her fingers. “I only wanted one more outing before the baby came. The gals wanted to make a trip to the fair and they talked me into coming along. Lucille said no harm could come of it and that I owed it to myself to get out while I still could.”

  “Where are your friends?”

  “They wanted to go on the parachute drop and obviously I couldn’t do that, so I thought I’d take the Gimbels Flyer around the fair while I waited for them. How was I supposed to know I’d find a dead body in one of the cars?”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Laura sniffed and wiped a hand under her nose.

  “The train pulled into the station and a few people got off. It was early, so the fair wasn’t crowded yet. I was walking toward the train, intending to get on, when I dropped my purse. Can being pregnant make you clumsy, because it’s sure doing something to me. Anyway, my bag opened up and my lipstick rolled out. By the time I managed to pick it up and close my purse, the conductor was ringing the bell to announce that they were about to leave the station.”

  Laura took a deep breath.

  “I figured I’d better hurry. Many of the cars were empty, but the one closest to me had someone in it. I figured he wouldn’t mind if I rode with him. I thought the fellow was resting his head on the back of the seat in front of him, but when I got on I realized he was dead!”

  Laura burst into tears.

  “I screamed, and then I guess I fainted. I banged my shin on the side of the seat. The nurse said I’m going to have a nasty bruise.”

  “Did you see the man’s face? What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know. Youngish—maybe about my age. I’m going to be twenty-six next month. Robert said wouldn’t it be funny if the baby came on my birthday.”

  “Did you notice anything else about the man?”

  “Not really. It happened so fast. Everything went dark, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up lying on the ground with this woman holding smelling salts under my nose.”

  “Would you mind if I took your picture?” Elizabeth put her hand on her camera case.

  “Oh, dear,” Laura said. “I’m afraid I look a mess, but I suppose it’s okay. It will be exciting to have my picture in the paper. I’ll be able to show it to the baby when it’s grown.”

  Elizabeth sensed the crowd behind her stirring. A man was hurrying toward the scene. He had a bag in one hand and his hat in the other. Elizabeth assumed he was the medical examiner. Perhaps there would be more news after he’d examined the body.

  Another man suddenly appeared, hurrying after the medical examiner. He was wearing a gray suit and a striped tie that he had loosened enough to undo the top button of his shirt.

  The uniformed officers stood straighter as the man approached. He pulled a badge from his pocket and flashed it at them, and they parted to let him through. Elizabeth assumed this was the detective they had been waiting for. Even though she knew Marino wouldn’t necessarily be assigned to the case, she was still slightly disappointed.

  She edged a bit closer to where everyone was clustered around the body. She took a deep breath and tapped the detective on the shoulder.

  He turned around and glared at her. Elizabeth wanted to shrink into a puddle on the ground and then dribble away, but she forced herself to hold her ground.

  “Elizabeth Adams. Daily Trumpet,” she said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Preferably a front page story.”

  The man put his head back and roared. “At least you’re honest,” he said when he’d stopped laughing. “But we won’t know if there’s a story until the medical examiner is finished. For all we know, the fellow had a fatal heart attack and there’ll be nothing for your paper to print.”

  “So you don’t know how the victim died?”

  The detective shook his head. “Just make sure you stand back and don’t get in the way.”

  Elizabeth suddenly felt foolish. She’d jumped to the conclusion that a second body meant a second murder, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. The detective was right—it might turn out to be natural causes and not much of a story at all.

  Elizabeth could see that the medical examiner was still bent over the body, although the policemen tried to shield the scene from view.

  She pulled out her camera so she could get some shots of the general scene. She took a few pictures of the train, the station with Gimbeltown in big letters, the policemen holding back the crowd, and the men clustered around the body.