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from the day he and Robert had helped me move into the two upstairs rooms. Lately, she’d begun spoiling Eddie with treats from her homey kitchen, unaccustomed delicacies he had come to eagerly anticipate. Like several other tradespeople who kept shops along the street, Fanny Goodman occupied small living quarters behind the store. Since I had opened my law office upstairs, I’d found it a warm, cheery haven offering hot tea, fresh baked goods, and surprisingly stimulating conversation.
    Mrs. Goodman might look like a typical old-fashioned grandmother, but in reality she was a shrewd businesswoman and a great advocate of women’s suffrage. Ten years earlier, she had been one of the organizers behind the first annual meeting of the California Women’s Suffrage Society here in San Francisco. It was a cause she continued to support with great energy and fervor. I could count on Mrs. Goodman to supply me with the latest letters and essays from the brave women championing this worthy movement.
    “You’ve a nerve, Eddie Cooper,” she scolded good-naturedly. “What you mean is, have I had time to bake today.”
    Eddie grinned a bit sheepishly but made no effort to deny the accusation. “Well, you do make the best pudding and cherry pie in the city, Mrs. Goodman. And that’s the gospel truth.”
    “Listen to the boy,” Fanny tittered, looking enormously pleased. “You’re shameless, that’s what you are, Eddie Cooper. As a matterof fact, I found a few minutes this morning to make up some brown Betty. You wouldn’t be interested in a bit of that now, would you?”
    At the boy’s eager response, she led the way through her shop and into the tidy kitchen that comprised one of the three rooms—along with a bedroom and a sitting room—located behind the store. Eddie’s eyes grew very wide at the tray of apple dumplings cooling on the windowsill. With a brisk nod, Fanny Goodman motioned for him to take a seat at the kitchen table, where she promptly served up several pockets of dough filled with delicious-smelling baked apples with a dash of cinnamon. Lastly, she poured him a glass of fresh milk from the icebox.
    “There now,” she pronounced. “That ought to fill even your stomach, Master Cooper.” Waiting only long enough to see his enraptured expression upon biting into the first dumpling, Fanny motioned me back into the millinery shop.
    “There was a woman asking for you this morning,” she informed me, straightening a perfectly orderly line of gloves displayed on one of the counters. “She seemed to be a timid sort. Looked real disappointed to find you were out, like it had taken all her nerve to come here in the first place.”
    My interest was immediately piqued. I’d had few enough clients—at least those who could afford to pay for my services—since leaving Joseph Shepard’s law firm. To have missed being here to greet my first real client was disheartening. “Did the woman leave her name?” I asked. “What did she look like?”
    “She wouldn’t leave her name, though I asked. But she was attractive and looked respectable enough.” Fanny sniffed as her trained eye surveyed the hats, bonnets, scarves, gloves, and other ladies’ accessories that were tastefully displayed throughout the tidy shop. “Her gown was plain but clean and neat, although her hat was from last season, and not a style I fancied, even when it was new. Still and all, she seemed nice. I told her to come back later this afternoon.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I let on that youwere out on an important case. Oh, I almost forgot. Your brother Samuel is waiting for you upstairs.”
    She rolled her eyes and smiled. “I swear that young man could charm the angels out of the heavens if he had a mind. I let him in with that spare key you gave me for safekeeping.” Her face grew suddenly worried. “I hope that was all right.”
    “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Goodman.”
    Leaving Eddie to enjoy his feast, I hurried