Love Comes Calling (15 page)

“What choice have I got?”

“You can tell them to do their own dirty work.” That's what they called it in the movies: dirty work.

As he looked at me his mouth stretched with amusement. “Sure. Just like that. And then they'll turn me over to my boss for all those favors I've been doing for them. I have thought about refusing, once or twice. But the only thing I can figure is I'd find myself in jail. And can you guess how they treat cops in there?”

“But it's blackmail!”

“That's what they call it.”

“And you're not doing something about it?”

“What would you like me to do?”

Something. Anything! Anything but sit beside me on a bench smoking a cigarette, telling me there was nothing he could do.

“There's nothing I can do. I just have to keep on doing favors and hope that if I can save up enough money, someday I can leave this all behind. Skip town. You know?”

He
was
just like me. “Skip town and go to Hollywood.”

Jack smiled. “That's right. Maybe I should go to Hollywood too. I could look you up when I get there.”

“But don't you think—”

“No. I don't think, not anymore. Nothing to be gained by thinking. Most of the cops I know are doing favors on the side for somebody. City Hall. Rumrunners. Bootleggers. So in the end, who really cares?”

“Who really—!”

He held up a finger as he cut me off. “But listen now to what I tell you: You've got to keep clear of all of this. A nice girl like you shouldn't even be seen with me. People might start to get the wrong idea.”

“But . . . what about that kid you were talking about? The one they mentioned on the telephone.” Kid? Listen to me! Griff was ten months older than I was.

“What about him?”

“What's going to happen to him?”

“You can't worry about what's going to happen to other people. I figured that out during the war. The only person who matters is you.”

“But—but what if I know him or something?”

“You don't know him. Might have seen him since you live up on that hill. Or heard of him, maybe. Most people have heard of him. But you don't know him.”

“How do you know?”

“Because people like him don't have time to say hello to people like you and me. Anyway, they're not going to do anything to him if he starts doing what he's told. He's a smart kid. He probably will.”

Griff most definitely would not! “But what if he doesn't?”

Jack narrowed his eyes as if my question had caused him physical pain. “He will. No use thinking too far ahead.”

“But the men on the telephone seemed to think he wouldn't. And they were planning what to—” I clapped a hand over my mouth. I wasn't supposed to be remembering the conversation. I was supposed to let him think I'd forgotten about it. Or hadn't really heard it in the first place.

“I kind of figured that's the way it is. You're too smart not to have remembered what they said.”

Too
smart
? Oh sure! The one time someone thought I was actually smart was the one time I truly didn't want to be. “I guess I—”

“Don't worry. I already told them you don't remember anything. But you've got to stop asking questions.
Now
.”

I must have spent an hour pacing in my room that night. I wasn't supposed to see Jack again, and he didn't want me asking any more questions, so I wasn't going to get any information from him.

But there
did
seem to be a king involved. So that was one thing.

And Griff truly did seem to be in some kind of danger, didn't he? I mean, Jack hadn't actually said so, but he didn't
not
say so either. So . . . from what he hadn't said, I could assume Griff truly was in trouble and that was very bad.

At first the bad guys were just voices on the other end of the telephone lines. But now they were people Jack knew. They seemed to be getting closer and closer. Which just meant that I had to be on guard. And no matter what, I had to keep Griff alive and
that
meant I had to figure it all out before I left for Hollywood in just a week and a half.

I was so close! If only I could figure out who the king was.

But Griff didn't know anything, and Jack wasn't going to tell me anything. If I needed information, it looked like I'd just have to find it somewhere else.

Griff. Mayor. Irish. Telephone men. Jack. Me.

Griff was out. The mayor seemed to be the problem. I didn't know any Irish, and Jack wouldn't tell me anything. That just left the men from the telephone call. I supposed . . . I'd just have to ask
them
who the king was.

I
thought about it the next day at work as I patched through telephone calls. I still had the list of numbers I'd recorded that first afternoon, and that telephone number had to be among them. I just didn't know which one it was. If only I could hear one of the voices again! If I couldn't call all those numbers from work, I had to find a different telephone to use. I'd have to do it from home.

But . . . what if I called the right number and someone else answered? I'd never know it was the right number then, would I?

I chewed on a nail as I thought about it.

What if someone else
did
answer the telephone?

I could always ask for the man of the house. That's what I'd do. I'd just start calling the telephone numbers. And then, once I'd found the right one I'd . . . well . . . what
would
I do?

A light blinked on the board in front of me. I plugged a jack in and flipped the switch. “Number, please.”

“Tremont-4613.”

I plugged in the other jack and flipped the switch again.
Even if I was able to match the telephone number to one of the voices, I couldn't take that information to the police. Jack had told me not to talk to him anymore. And even if I discovered the right telephone number, it still wouldn't tell me anything else about those men. It was just a number, not a name, not an address—and Griff would still be in danger. I still wouldn't be any closer to solving the puzzle.

I hated puzzles.

Janie would probably be really good at this. She was smart that way.

Another light flickered. I plugged a jack in and flipped the switch. “Number, please.”

Why couldn't I be good at anything? Well . . . I was good at some things, but why couldn't I be good at something that was worth being good at!

I tromped up the stairs behind Doris at noon. The lunch wasn't half bad. I'm pretty sure it was chipped beef.

She leaned close as I finished. “Why the long face?”

“I'm trying to figure something out.”

“Doing one of those crossword puzzles?”

“No. That would be easy compared to this.”

“So tell me what it is. Maybe I can help.”

Maybe she could. “Say you want to find out who someone is, but you only have his telephone number . . . could you do it?”

“Well, sure!”

“But how?”

“Call the telephone operator.”

“Call the . . . ?” But the telephone operator was
me
. “How would I—I mean
she
. How would
she
know?”

“What kind of dumb Dora are you? You call Central, tell them the number, they transfer you to the station, the station transfers you to the right board, and then you ask whatever hello girl answers.”

Which would
still
be me. “I don't understand how she'd know something like that.”

“She'd look it up in the file box. She'd be a B operator just like you. So she'd pull out the card with that number on it, and she'd tell you what address it's assigned to.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, sure! I mean . . . wait—did Janie not tell you?”

“Tell me what?!” The whole conversation reminded me of my economics tests. I was pretty sure I was supposed to know everything on them, but somehow none of it ever made any sense.

“When we go back down to work, I'll show you.”

“See?” Doris was pointing to a box that was sitting underneath the desk part of my board.

I hadn't noticed it before.

She leaned over, pulled it out, and lifted the lid. “There's a card for every number on your board.” She pulled one out and handed it to me.

I read
Tremont-4627
and then eyed the address underneath it. “So each one of my numbers has a card?”

She nodded as she stowed her gum behind her ear. “There's one hundred and fifty of them, one for every number, in case
someone calls with an emergency. That way, you can tell the police or fire department where to go, only you'll never have to because you're a B operator . . . but you could. If you had to. So . . . now you know.”

Lights were already blinking on my board, so I sat down, put my headset on, and went to work with growing excitement. All I had to do was make those telephone calls. Once I recognized the voice and could check the telephone number against the card in the box, I'd know where the call had gone!

I got through my shift without any trouble. I got home without any trouble. I almost made it up the stairs without trouble, but then I heard someone call my name. I slowly turned around. “ . . . Griff?”

“Hi.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “My father's away in Washington for a few days, and your father and I were thinking, well . . . we had kind of thought that . . .”

While he'd been talking, my father had joined him down at the foot of the staircase. “Why don't we all go down to Union Oyster House for dinner this evening?”

“Tonight? Right
now
?”

He shrugged, which is something he never would have done if Mother had been there. “Why not?”

Why not? Because—because I had something important to do. And Griff couldn't just go out traipsing around the city. He was supposed to be lying low. And staying out of sight. He could be murdered at any time! “I'm not really feeling very well.” In fact, I hadn't been feeling very well since I'd overheard that telephone conversation.

Both their faces fell.

“Are you sick?” My father was looking at me with worry
etched into his forehead above his eyeglasses. “Maybe I should send a telegram to your mother.”

“No! No. I'm not sick. Not exactly. It's just that I have a headache . . .” A headache named Griff. And another headache named whatever those men with the voices were named.

“Your grandmother always said the cure for a headache was a brisk walk down one side of Beacon Hill and up the other.”

Which had never made sense to me, because if you went down one side and up the other, then you'd have to walk all the way around the bottom in order to do it. Why couldn't you just go down and up the same side?

“It will do you good to get some fresh air. Come on. We won't take no for an answer.”

Oysters and clambakes! If Griff weren't so set on going out all the time, then maybe I'd actually be able to save him. It would serve him right if he got murdered while we were having dinner!

At least we didn't have to eat oysters. Father obeyed that “never in a month without an
R
” rule to the letter, so we had clams. And sarsaparilla to wash them all down. I'd persuaded Father to sit at a booth way back in the corner and insisted Griff sit beside the wall in the deepest part of the shadows. But then the waiter recognized Griff and told the manager, and then the manager must have told the cook, because pretty soon everyone in the restaurant had come over to talk to him about football. I might as well have just put a target on his chest.

I tried sitting right next to him and leaning forward so
anyone trying to get to him would have to go through me first, but he just put his arm up along the back of the booth and pulled me in close to his chest, talking over my head to all of his fans.

Honestly—I don't know why I was trying so hard to save him!

I stuffed more clams into my mouth than I should have, trying to hurry things along and get dinner over with, and then I had to figure how to chew and swallow all of them without gagging.

But he took his time.

Once he'd finished, I was all for going straight back to the house, but they wanted to walk to Faneuil Hall.

“Why?”

“Because it's a nice night. And there's no reason to hurry.” My father was decidedly lacking in urgency.

Griff bumped my arm with his elbow. “Can I buy you an ice cream?”

“No!”

He blinked.

“After all that food? I couldn't eat another bite. And neither should you.” There. Could we go now?

“I think I could manage.”

“But—but—it isn't safe. Just—look at all these rough characters!” I gestured about, but the passersby didn't look very dangerous. Just then, however, a tall man walked into view. “See!” But . . . it was a policeman. One who looked a lot like Jack. I tried to hide behind Griff, but the cop kept coming closer.

“Janie?”

It was him! There was no use hiding now. Caught between trying to get Griff home in a hurry and trying to keep him from Jack, I decided Jack posed the greater danger. I stepped toward him, away from Griff. “Janie. Yes. She's . . . well . . . she's doing well. Very well.” I linked my arm through his and drew him away from my father and Griff. “As well as can be expected, her mother dying and all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop talking.”

“But why—”

“Stop it!”

He frowned. Griff was watching us, so I smiled and patted Jack's hand. “I'm sure she'll be happy to know you inquired about her. I'll tell her when she gets back.” I stood on tiptoe, intending it to look like I wanted to kiss his cheek.

He obliged by stooping.

“Just don't ask me any questions right now. About anything!” I whispered the words into his ear and then kissed his cheek. “Bye.”

He caught me by the elbow. “What kind of game are you playing?” He was looking beyond me at Griff. “Isn't that—”

“
Not
who you think it is.”

Griff was peering at us. “Ellis?”

“Ellis? Again?” Jack was looking down at me. “Was he in that play too?”

Oysters and clambakes! I smiled again. “I wish I could tell you more, but I haven't heard from Janie myself. Don't worry though. Like I said”—I pulled my arm from his—“I'll tell her I saw you.” I turned around, grabbed hold of Griff's arm, and tugged him away.

“Who was that?” He was looking back over my shoulder at Jack.

“One of Janie's friends.” So to speak. He was a friend I'd made while I was pretending to be Janie.

“Janie . . . ?”

“Winslow. Cook's daughter. You remember—she's the one who always—”

“Warned us not to do whatever it was you always wanted us to do. I remember. And you know what?”

“What?” I dared a glimpse back over my shoulder. Jack was still standing there watching us.

“She was always right.”

Yes, of course Janie was always right! Except for this one time. She'd come up with a plan that was much more like me than it was like her, and look where it had landed us all. In big trouble!