Read Online Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties) by Jenn Bennett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenn Bennett
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handsome.”
Oh, did she, now? Was that Miss Tilly’s polite way of accommodating his broken nose in her assessment? Admittedly, Hadley had been surprised to see him clean-shaven and wearing a decent suit, though the dramatic brown boots that laced up to his knees were a little much. He looked like he was dressed for cavalry duty or hunting quail on horseback.
And why had Father asked a secretary her opinion about his looks instead of asking Hadley? Well, she supposed that was typical. Half the time, she swore he still thought she was a ten-year-old girl. If she told him Lowe had pressed his body against her underclothes, he’d expire from shock.
What do you want, Hadley?
She took one last look out the window. Lowe had finished his chat and was now straddling a bright red motorcycle. Why didn’t this surprise her? Guess the riding boots
were
for a horse, after all—a mechanical one. The engine was so loud, it rattled the closed window.
He tugged his cap down and tapped the kickstand with his boot. My goodness, the man was nicely constructed. He took her breath away. Just a little.
Maybe a lot.
Because as he sped out of the parking lot, she felt unmoored.
And she wished she could’ve been on the back of that motorcycle, riding away with him.
• • •
Lowe took back roads from the museum to the Fillmore District and parked Lulu in an inconspicuous spot. Since the Great Fire, the neighborhood had become home to an eclectic mix of immigrants and working-class families. He’d spent the first ten years of his life in a row house here before his father’s fishing business moved them closer to the Embarcadero.
The block he headed down was the center of the city’s Jewish community; Russian Jews and Eastern Europeans owned most of the businesses here. He passed a Hebrew school, two kosher butchers, and several cigar shops before stepping into a movie theater alcove, where he stood in the shadow of the ticket booth for a minute—just to be safe.
No one was following.
The euphoric scent of freshly baked rye bread wafted from Waxman’s Bakery as he strode to the curb and waited to cross the busy street. Hopefully if any of Monk’s men
were
trailing him, they’d seen him enter the museum earlier and assumed he left the amulet there. He tried to relax, but his mind drifted back to Hadley, which distracted him from what he should’ve been watching: the place he was headed.
Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of yellow darted from the delicatessen sitting catercornered and across the street from him. He turned his head in time to see Stella Goldberg bounding down the sidewalk in a buttercup dress.
For a moment, he was smiling at her plump face as the four-year-old girl silently ran down the sidewalk to greet him. Then he looked up and saw the obstacle in her path.
Two workers were hauling some sort of industrial fan up the side of the building with pulleys and ropes. The square fan was the size of a car hood, and from the way the men were straining, it was heavy. A foreman stood by, directing their efforts while shouting to another man on the roof.
The foreman saw Stella. He shouted for her to stop.
She couldn’t hear him. Stella was deaf.
Unaware of their presence or the danger they posed, she plowed down the sidewalk beneath the rising fan, which dangled from the ropes a story above. And in her haste, she tripped over one of the worker’s outstretched feet and fell facedown on the sidewalk.
Her ragged cry echoed off the building.
The man whose foot over which she tripped lost his balance. The rope slipped through his gloves. The fan plummeted several yards, its shadow growing larger over Stella’s tiny body.
Lowe lunged off the curb and dashed across the road, his own hearing temporarily stunted by the blood pounding in his ears. His long legs carried him out of a Flivver’s path on one side of the road—just barely. He reached the sidewalk in a leap. The foreman was grabbing the slack
Oh, did she, now? Was that Miss Tilly’s polite way of accommodating his broken nose in her assessment? Admittedly, Hadley had been surprised to see him clean-shaven and wearing a decent suit, though the dramatic brown boots that laced up to his knees were a little much. He looked like he was dressed for cavalry duty or hunting quail on horseback.
And why had Father asked a secretary her opinion about his looks instead of asking Hadley? Well, she supposed that was typical. Half the time, she swore he still thought she was a ten-year-old girl. If she told him Lowe had pressed his body against her underclothes, he’d expire from shock.
What do you want, Hadley?
She took one last look out the window. Lowe had finished his chat and was now straddling a bright red motorcycle. Why didn’t this surprise her? Guess the riding boots
were
for a horse, after all—a mechanical one. The engine was so loud, it rattled the closed window.
He tugged his cap down and tapped the kickstand with his boot. My goodness, the man was nicely constructed. He took her breath away. Just a little.
Maybe a lot.
Because as he sped out of the parking lot, she felt unmoored.
And she wished she could’ve been on the back of that motorcycle, riding away with him.
• • •
Lowe took back roads from the museum to the Fillmore District and parked Lulu in an inconspicuous spot. Since the Great Fire, the neighborhood had become home to an eclectic mix of immigrants and working-class families. He’d spent the first ten years of his life in a row house here before his father’s fishing business moved them closer to the Embarcadero.
The block he headed down was the center of the city’s Jewish community; Russian Jews and Eastern Europeans owned most of the businesses here. He passed a Hebrew school, two kosher butchers, and several cigar shops before stepping into a movie theater alcove, where he stood in the shadow of the ticket booth for a minute—just to be safe.
No one was following.
The euphoric scent of freshly baked rye bread wafted from Waxman’s Bakery as he strode to the curb and waited to cross the busy street. Hopefully if any of Monk’s men
were
trailing him, they’d seen him enter the museum earlier and assumed he left the amulet there. He tried to relax, but his mind drifted back to Hadley, which distracted him from what he should’ve been watching: the place he was headed.
Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of yellow darted from the delicatessen sitting catercornered and across the street from him. He turned his head in time to see Stella Goldberg bounding down the sidewalk in a buttercup dress.
For a moment, he was smiling at her plump face as the four-year-old girl silently ran down the sidewalk to greet him. Then he looked up and saw the obstacle in her path.
Two workers were hauling some sort of industrial fan up the side of the building with pulleys and ropes. The square fan was the size of a car hood, and from the way the men were straining, it was heavy. A foreman stood by, directing their efforts while shouting to another man on the roof.
The foreman saw Stella. He shouted for her to stop.
She couldn’t hear him. Stella was deaf.
Unaware of their presence or the danger they posed, she plowed down the sidewalk beneath the rising fan, which dangled from the ropes a story above. And in her haste, she tripped over one of the worker’s outstretched feet and fell facedown on the sidewalk.
Her ragged cry echoed off the building.
The man whose foot over which she tripped lost his balance. The rope slipped through his gloves. The fan plummeted several yards, its shadow growing larger over Stella’s tiny body.
Lowe lunged off the curb and dashed across the road, his own hearing temporarily stunted by the blood pounding in his ears. His long legs carried him out of a Flivver’s path on one side of the road—just barely. He reached the sidewalk in a leap. The foreman was grabbing the slack
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