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Racketeering, the mayor cried, and vowed to put any “Diviners, ghost hunters, or other disreputable types taking advantage of gullible New Yorkers” out of business. To make matters worse, Evie hadn’t been able to get Woody to accompany them on a mission ever since the night he’d staked out a supposedly haunted warehouse with them and it turned out to be raccoons in the walls.
“You know how long it took me to live that down in the newsroom, Sheba? Don’t answer—I still haven’t lived it down. Every day, some joker leaves me a little drawing of a ghost raccoon on my desk. My editor put the kibosh on the whole ghost angle. And anyway, I’m busy trying to hunt down leads on this Project Buffalo story whenever I can,” Woody said, lowering his voice.
“You mean when you aren’t gambling,” Evie complained.
Woody’s voice was a shrug. “I can do both.”
A few days later, Evie returned to the Winthrop spattered with mud after they’d chased down three ghosts in a moonlit field behind a filling station in Astoria. The expedition had left Evie exhausted and filthy, but also strangely giddy. There was something about the energy boost from exterminating the ghosts that felt good. Powerful. It made her want more.
As Evie approached the front desk, the night manager gave her a once-over before pasting on a smile. “Good evening, Miss O’Neill.”
“Good evening, Mr. Williams. I’ve been meaning to ask: Is it true that the Winthrop does not rent rooms to Negroes?”
Mr. Williams looked surprised. “Why, yes. That is our policy.”
“It’s a terrible policy. I’d like you to change it.”
“Why, Miss O’Neill, the Winthrop’s policy is only for the comfort of its patrons.”
“Well, gee, I’m a patron, and I’m uncomfortable with your policy,” Evie said.
The night manager was very polite. “I’ll alert Mr. Stevens to your concern, Miss O’Neill.”
“Yes. See that you do.” Evie sniffed and twirled her mud-splattered beaded handbag.
“There are two messages for you, Miss O’Neill.”
Evie smiled as she read through the first one, a letter from Jericho:
Dear Evie,
I hope this letter finds you well. There’s nothing much to report from my letter dated two days ago, except to say that I miss you two days more than I did then.
You really should see the rose garden here. It’s beautiful, like you.
Fondly,
Jericho
Evie smiled and tucked the letter into her brassiere until she could add it to the pile of Jericho letters in her underwear drawer. The second note was addressed Attention: Evangeline O’Neill. There was only one person who called her Evangeline, and Evie was already angry before she read Will’s message.
Please don’t make the same mistakes I did, Evangeline. I waited too long with Cornelius.
Come to me before it’s too late. Will.
Come to me. Like a command. Same old imperious Will. Evie tore up the note and tossed the pieces in the wastebasket.
When Evie arrived for her radio show the next evening, Mr. Phillips took her aside. “Evie. I’m not happy about this ghost business.”
“Oh, but Mr. Phillips! I’m simply trying to keep the city safe,” Evie said, batting her lashes, all innocence. “My intentions are good. Just like Miss Snow’s.”
“Yes, well,” Mr. Phillips grumbled. “Can you try to make the good seem less… unseemly? We don’t want to scare off your sponsor, remember.”
“Sure, Mr. Phillips,” Evie promised. But how did you make a very real threat seem like anything other than the danger it was?
On the air, Sweetheart Seer Evie kept everything light and breezy and entertaining, just like Mr. Phillips had asked. She helped people find missing family trinkets and reassured them that their lost relatives had truly loved them while they were alive. She told them what they wanted to hear, and they were happy for it. “May the good spirits look after you,” Evie intoned at the end of the show, blowing kisses to the audience as she exited the radio stage to warm applause. That bit she’d stolen from Sarah Snow. When Evie passed Sarah in the WGI dressing room, “God’s foot soldier on the radio” didn’t look pleased.
Sarah caught Evie’s eyes in the mirror as she pinned a fresh corsage to her dress. “The only spirit who can look after us is the Holy Spirit, Miss O’Neill.”
