“What is it?” Fern asked.
“I should have told you earlier about the call,” she whispered. “I think there’s someone watching the house now.”
Fern stepped back, away from the window, fear drumming inside her ears.
“I have to get to Cal,” she said.
Helen shook her head and stepped away from the door too. “Not if he’sat the Den.”
Fern set her suitcase on the linoleum. “He’s in trouble.”
“Rod is my nephew, and I don’t think he’ll send anyone blazing in here to get you, but if you leave this house… Fern, I think you should stay put. Or we can call your parents and have the police come pick you up. They could bring you safely home.”
At the thought of that, her soul crumpled and ashed like a piece of paper over a flame. She’d chosen Cal. For better or for worse, she couldn’t give up on him. Or let him down by being a coward.
“No. No, I can’t.” Fern rubbed her eyes and tried to think straight. She couldn’t stay here, penned in and waiting, while Cal was at the Den, in trouble. Not that there was much she could do to help him, even if she was somehow able to get there. But Helen was right—if Rod’s men were watching the back of the house, they were also watching the front. As soon as she stepped outside, they’d close in.
Unless they didn’t recognize her as she stepped out.
“Helen, are any of your boarders trim and short?” Fern asked.
Ten minutes later, after convincing Mr. Justin Blake to hear out their request and lend Fern one of his suits, Helen pushed him into the hallway so Fern could change into his clothes.
“What about a hat?” Fern asked, already pinning up her long hair. Mr. Blake—the same man who had kicked the swinging door in the other evening—reluctantly supplied a black fedora. Thereflection in the mirror when she stood before it was still far too feminine, and her scarred half was still visible.
“They’ll see right through the disguise,” she said, whipping off the hat in frustration.
“Who’re you dressing up for?” Mr. Blake asked.
“A few private dicks. They’re watching the house,” Helen lied smoothly, eyes catching Fern’s briefly in the mirror.
“If you walk out with a few of the others here, you’ll just look like you’re leaving for a night on the town,” he suggested.
It wasn’t a bad idea. He convinced another boarder, Paul, to accompany them out the front door and down the street to the nearest cabstand. From there, she’d leave for the Den. Maybe there would be a way to get inside without being seen or having to give a password. She didn’t know what she would do once she made her way inside, but if it took her closer to Cal, she could figure it out then. Staying here was no longer an option for her.
Just before ten o’clock, Fern pulled the brim of her hat as low as it could go while still allowing her to see and joined Justin, Paul, and Helen in the front hall. She couldn’t bring her suitcase, but Helen slipped something stealthily into her borrowed jacket pocket.
“You might find a use for this,” she said softly. Fern placed a hand over the pocket and felt a cylindrical-shaped object. A money roll.
“It’s not mine,” Helen was quick to say. “Cal always makes sure I have a little set aside for emergencies.”
“Of course he does.” Fern’s voice quivered. She hadno idea what would happen as soon as she stepped through the front door. The ploy might work. It might not. But she had to try.
Cal would come for her if she were in trouble. Fern had to do the same for him, and she wanted to, as reckless as that was.
They left through the front door, Helen warning them loudly in her matronly tone that they best be back in before midnight when she locked the door for the night, no exceptions. They waved, Justin and Paul on either side of Fern as they ambled down the front walk. Cars lined the curb up and down the street, though she didn’t see any that stood out in particular. Maybe Helen had been wrong. Maybe no one had been watching the house, and this ploy was all unnecessary.
But as they turned onto the sidewalk, and Paul pulled a flask from his pocket, a car door opened across the street. A man stepped out and looked over at them, resting his arm on the dome of the car. It was a Buick, and it looked like the same one that had been parked at Tom’s farmhouse.
Fern grabbed the flask when Paul offered it and put it to her lips, pretending to take a swig. If she did for real, her hacking coughs would have given her away. Instead, she passed the flask to Justin and shoved her small hands inside her pockets, affecting a jaunty bounce in her step like she’d witnessed in Buchanan and his friends before. With her pulse still pounding in her ears, she and the two men continued to move farther away from the boardinghouse without anyone intercepting them.
“He got back into the car,” Justin said after taking an easy glance over his shoulder before the cross street.
“That didn’t look like a private dick to me,” Paul said. He looked down at Fern. “Aren’t you running with Clean Calvin?”
She ignored him, thankfully spotting the cabstand ahead. “I’ll get your clothes and hat back to you,” she told Justin, thanking him again. And then, she flagged a driver and slid into the backseat, closing the door behind her.
There was no turning back now.
