Read Online Louise's Dilemma by Sarah R Shaber - Free Book Online Page A

hurried down the dock towards shore, but were stopped by a coast guardsman with a war dog on a leash. The guardsman was wrapped up in a heavy pea coat, scarf, and foul-weather trousers and boots. The dog wore a warm wool coat too, navy blue with the USG insignia. Laced-up canvas booties protected his feet. Other than that he didn’t look much like a war dog. He was a poodle!
    ‘Ma’am,’ the seaman said, touching his cap. ‘I’m Petty Officer Silva, Coast Guard port security.’
    ‘Is something wrong?’ Joe asked.
    Instantly, the petty officer was on the alert, casually slipping his submarine gun from his shoulder to his free arm. ‘You’re not an American, sir? Russian?’
    Joe spoke excellent English, but he trilled his ‘r’s softly, and occasionally substituted a ‘t’ for a ‘th.’
    ‘No, Czech,’ Joe said, reaching into his coat pocket for his papers before being asked. ‘I have a British passport and an American visa.’
    Petty Officer Silva leafed through Joe’s passport. ‘How do you come to have a British passport, sir?’
    ‘I lived in London for years, teaching Slavic Languages at London University. When the war began I was recruited to teach here for the duration,’ he said.
    ‘Very good,’ Silva said, handing Joe’s papers back to him. ‘And you, ma’am?’ he said, nodding in my direction.
    ‘I’m a file clerk. I work for the government.’
    ‘Enjoying a nice walk on this freezing cold morning?’
    ‘We were looking at a friend’s houseboat,’ Joe said.
    The petty officer slung his submachine gun back over his shoulder. He gave a sign and his dog stood, wagging his tail. It must have been the canine sign for ‘at ease’.
    The dog was jet black, his thick wiry hair cut evenly over his muscled body.
    ‘Can I pet him?’ I asked.
    ‘Sure, now you can.’
    I scratched the dog behind the ears, and he licked my hand. ‘I’ve never seen a poodle war dog before,’ I said.
    ‘Poodles are smart,’ the petty officer said, ‘and strong. They’re real dogs. It’s too bad civilian owners give them those sissy haircuts.’
    Joe opened the café door for me, and we found a seat at a table. The elderly Negro waiter came and took our order for coffee. ‘We got plenty left since it’s Saturday,’ he said. ‘Sugar, too.’ When he returned with our cups the coffee was dark and hot. Feeling started to return to my hands.
    ‘I hate it when you’re questioned because of your accent,’ I said.
    Joe shrugged. ‘Can’t be helped. People are frightened and suspicious. It could be worse. Imagine if I was Italian, or French, or even German.’
    I lowered my voice. ‘What if someone decides to check out your job?’
    Joe shrugged that off too. ‘The JDC has the connections to protect me. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ Joe drained his coffee. ‘I have to go to the office today,’ he said, reaching for my hand. ‘Let me take you home first.’
    ‘Not necessary,’ I said. ‘I have to work today too.’
    As instructed by Agent Williams, I stood outside the Washington Public Library, one of Andrew Carnegie’s stunning contributions to his country, huddled up against the leeward side of the great stone staircase, as if waiting for a friend to pick me up.
    At the exact prearranged time an old square-bodied Ford Woody station wagon with regular DC license plates pulled up to the library. Williams was driving, his fedora, with its silly yellow feather stuck in the ribbon, pulled low over his face. I hurried down the steps. Williams leaned across the front seat and opened the door. I slid inside.
    Williams shifted gears. ‘I figure,’ he said, ‘that we should get to the Martins after Leroy goes to work. That way we, or rather you, can question Anne again. You don’t need a cover. I’m just your driver, by the way.’
    ‘We should avoid St Leonard,’ I said. ‘I might be recognized, and then everyone in the town would know the Martins were getting a second visit from the