Read Online Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page B

then to Sven and the others. Mama will think I should know all the answers by now, but she will be pleased that I work at finding out. And someone might know something, a little hint that might lead me to bigger ones. And you, Patrick, you will ask at your church. We work together, ja ?”
    â€œJa,” he echoed. “But you’ll be careful what you ask, darlin’? Somewhere around, there’s someone who doesn’t mind who he kills.”
    â€œAnd you, too, be careful.” She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Pah! Your hair still smells of smoke.”
    â€œAh. It always does for a while, after a fire.”
    â€œI never noticed it before we were married, when you were still a fireman.”
    â€œThat, darlin’ girl,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her properly, “is because you never let me get close enough so’s you could tell.”
    A few clouds had gathered in the sky, but instead of moderating the heat, they seemed only to intensify the humidity. Hilda felt completely wilted when she stepped out of the carriage at her church. She was early; few people had gathered outside, so Hilda went inside, where it was stifling, even with the windows wide open, but at least she could sit down in the pew her family always used.
    They came in just before the first hymn, so Hilda had no chance for more than a greeting. Sven, she noticed, smelled slightly of smoke. Or maybe it was just that the church was near the scene of the fire.
    â€œSven, Patrick and I would like to come to dinner today—if it is all right with you and Mama,” she said as soon as the last prayer was said, the last hymn sung, the final blessing pronounced.
    â€œYou have found out something!” said Mama in Swedish.
    â€œNo,” Hilda replied in the same language. “Anyway, not very much. But it has been a long time since we have had dinner together.”
    Patrick and the carriage arrived just then. The distance to Sven’s small house was not far, but Hilda was not expected to walk even a few blocks, especially not in the heat.
    â€œToday, I think,” announced Sven, “we eat outside. A picnic we have!”
    â€œHooray!” shouted Erik, tossing his hat in the air.
    As tables were brought outside, cloths were laid, and all the girls bustled in the kitchen, Hilda had the unusual pleasure of sitting and watching. Mama might be perfectly willing to have Hilda investigate murder and mayhem, but she was not about to have her helping in the kitchen on a hot day!
    After Sven and Erik and Patrick had arranged the tables and chairs to their liking, there was little for them to do but watch the womenfolk arrange the meal. Hilda sat down next to her older brother.
    â€œSven, what happened yesterday? No, I know what happened. Why did it happen? What do people say?”
    â€œSome say it was no accident. The men at the plant think the brakes must have failed, and if they failed, there might have been a good reason.”
    â€œWhy do they say that? Do they know who might have done it?”
    Sven paused and looked around. Hilda’s four sisters were bringing out dish after dish of herring and potatoes and salads. Erik was getting in their way, trying to sample everything. Mama was supervising the whole operation in the kitchen. Nevertheless, Sven lowered his voice to a whisper only Hilda and Patrick could hear.
    â€œSome odd things have been happening in the paint shop. Men we don’t know come in and talk about how bad our working conditions are, how we ought to organize. Most of us pay no attention, but they come back and come back, and some of the men, the young ones who know no better, are beginning to listen.”
    â€œWho are they?” asked Hilda eagerly.
    â€œI tell you, we don’t know. They give names like Schmidt and Sovinski and Svenson, but they are not German or Polish or Swedish, this I know. And worse, Hilda, there have