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Thomas stood beside me, watching the enormous wheel rotate. When he caught my eye, I saw a hint of sadness before he covered it up. I reached over and held his hand. He needn’t utter a word; I knew how he felt. What he longed for. I longed for it, too.
It would be lovely to be the sort of young couple who could purchase boxes of Cracker Jack and stand in the massive line for the giant ride. We could talk excitedly about Buffalo Bill’s stagecoach attacks, marvel at how authentic it appeared, our cheeks flushed with the thrill. Once we finally boarded the Ferris Wheel and soared into the heavens, perhaps Thomas could steal a kiss. But we weren’t that couple. We had a murder investigation to conduct.
We followed Noah through a throng of people, Thomas holding tight to me so we didn’t get separated by the masses. Despite the buildings and the new technology on display, the crowds might truly be the most remarkable spectacle yet. Tens of thousands of people meandered around. It was the most people I’d ever seen in one location.
It took nearly two hours of moving at a slug’s pace, but we finally made it to a small building tucked behind the Court of Honor. Giant plants hid it from the view of passersby, and if Noah hadn’t known where to turn, I’m positive we would have walked straight past it.
He knocked on the door, a tap that sounded like Morse code, then stood back as heavy footsteps marched our way. A stout man with red cheeks greeted us. “Mr. Hale, I presume?”
Noah stepped forward and tipped his hat. “Thanks for meeting with me, Mr. Taylor. These are my associates, Mr. Cresswell and Miss Wadsworth.” He swung his arm to include us. The older gentleman narrowed his eyes. “They’re here to observe,” Noah clarified, lying smoothly. “Would you mind if we came in, or should we do this out here?”
Mr. Taylor blinked as if to clear his thoughts, then motioned us in. “It’s best to not draw attention to ourselves. Come in.”
Inside I was surprised to find a tiny but well-organized office. The limited space had been utilized well—four desks were split evenly on each side, creating an aisle; three of them were occupied by young typists. Mr. Taylor brought us to a fifth desk partially hidden with an ornate screen. He pulled a chair around and set it next to two others already there. “Sit. Please.”
Once we’d arranged ourselves, Noah jumped straight into his inquiry. “What can you tell me about Miss Van Tassel? Anything about the last time you saw her, her mood, if anything was odd. Even the most insignificant detail might help. Her family is sick with worry.”
Mr. Taylor sat forward at his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. “She never missed a day of work. Always came in with a smile. I believe she’d only been in the city for a few months, but she kept mostly to herself, so none of us heard much about her life outside of here.”
“She didn’t tell any of your other typists about her personal affairs?” Noah pressed. “No one she might be courting…”
Mr. Taylor shook his head. “When you rang earlier, I called a meeting with everyone. I asked them to tell me anything they knew. Prior to working here, she had a job at a pharmacy on 63rd Street. She never told anyone why she left it; we assumed for the pay. We’ve only been operational in this location for a little over a week.”
Thomas tapped his fingers on his thigh but didn’t interrupt Noah’s interrogation. Noah glanced at us and I could see the defeat I felt mirrored in his eyes. “Did anyone ever meet her here or drop her off?”
“No, I’m afraid—” Mr. Taylor sat back, brows drawn together. “Actually, there was someone. A young man stopped by two days ago. He wore a bowler hat and matching overcoat. Seemed like a reputable fellow. I’m not sure—Dolores?” he called abruptly, flashing an apologetic grimace our way. A young woman poked her head around the partition. “Do you remember what that gentleman came here for? The one who talked to Edna?”
The young woman frowned a bit, then brightened. “I couldn’t hear much, but he mentioned having her money.” She shrugged. “I think he was her old employer, but she didn’t say much once he left.”
Noah thanked Mr. Taylor for his time and we all made our way back outside. Thomas offered his arm and I accepted it. We parted ways with Noah near the front of the Court of Honor. He had to stop by the Pinkertons’ office and it was on the opposite side of the city.
We strolled along, each lost in our private thoughts, when one tiny, almost insignificant detail sprang to mind.
“Wait.” I pulled Thomas to a stop, recalling what I’d seen on a map of Chicago. “Sixty-Third Street; I believe that’s in Englewood. We need to go to that pharmacy straightaway. So far two missing women were last seen in that neighborhood, or had a connection to a pharmacy there—Julia Smythe with her daughter, Pearl, on Christmas Eve, and now Miss Van Tassel.”
And Miss Minnie Williams, Mephistopheles’s actress, had just started working there. I didn’t know her well, but I didn’t want her to cross paths with our murderer, especially since he seemed to stalk that neighborhood.
Thomas nodded toward the sky. It was a dusky rose tinged with purple and black. I stared at the sun dipping into the horizon, wondering how I’d not noticed how late it had gotten. Thomas called for a carriage. “I’m afraid our adventure will have to wait until morning. Most shops close at dark.”
I wanted to argue, to point out that our murderer didn’t care what time of day it was, that he’d still keep up his sinister pursuits, but before I could utter a word, the skies opened up. Hail clattered around us, ensuring that no one would be lurking around outdoors now.
Thomas held his coat over my head, trying to shield me from the worst of it before ushering me quickly into our hansom. We were both quiet as we watched the White City fade behind us. From here, the buildings jutted up from the horizon, like broken fingers reaching toward the sky. It was a morbid thought.
As our wheels clattered over stone and frozen rain tapped at our roof, I hoped it wasn’t an omen of worse things to come.
Typical Victorian Pharmacy, Plough Court Pharmacy, 1897
THIRTY-SEVEN
A GRID SYSTEM
SOUTH SIDE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
14 FEBRUARY 1889
I blew out a breath, glancing from one avenue to the other. Chicago’s streets seemed to devour those who weren’t familiar with them, leaving no morsel behind. “Foolish,” I cursed under my breath. Why I imagined it an easy task, taking a streetcar i
