Read Online These Shallow Graves by Jennifer Donnelly - Free Book Online Page A

be a comfort to your family, not a source of further distress. Will you do that for me?”
    â€œOf course, Uncle Phillip,” Jo said, forcing a smile.
    He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “That’s my good girl,” he said, releasing it.
    Jo rose to leave, and Phillip walked her to the foyer. As Harney held her coat, her gaze once again met that of her ancestor. There was a challenge in the admiral’s hard gray eyes.
    Fac quod faciendum est. It seemed to Jo as if he’d spoken the words aloud.
    â€œOh, Jo, I’ve just remembered something,” Phillip said. “I saw Mrs. Aldrich yesterday. She invited Caroline and Robert to Herondale next weekend. Gertrude Van Eyck and Gilbert Grosvenor, too. She wondered if your mother might be persuaded to allow you to join them. Would you like that? If so, I’ll have a word with Anna. It would only be a small, private gathering of close friends—nothing to offend the proprieties—and I think a change of scenery would do you good. The country’s just the thing to rid the mind of morbid thoughts.”
    â€œI would like that very much. Thank you, Uncle,” Jo said. She kissed him goodbye and walked down the stoop to her carriage.
    But it wasn’t Herondale she was trying to figure out how to get to as Dolan opened the door for her.
    It was 23 Reade Street.

“How does one get inside these things with no bell and no butler?” Jo wondered aloud.
    She was standing at the door of a boardinghouse, looking through its glass panes. Gas light from a single sconce flickered in the shabby vestibule, illuminating a rusty radiator and some empty milk bottles. A narrow staircase led to the upper floors.
    Jo raised her gloved hand and knocked, but no one answered. As she was about to knock again, a man on the sidewalk behind her bellowed so loudly, she jumped.
    â€œHey, Tommy! Tommy Barton!” He waited for a few seconds, then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “Barton, you lazy bastard! Open up!”
    Above Jo’s head, a window was raised. “Chrissakes, Al, what do you want? I’m asleep!”
    â€œNot anymore. Press is down at the Trib. Chief says get your ass over there on the double!”
    Additional profanities were uttered, the window was slammed shut, and Al trotted off. A minute later, a young man—bleary-eyed and tousled—hurtled down the stairs. He flung the door open and barreled past her. Seeing her chance, Jo caught the door before it could close.
    â€œExcuse me, sir!” she called after him. “I’m looking for Edward Gallagher. Could you tell me on which floor I might find his apartment?”
    Tommy Barton stopped and turned. He looked her up and down. She was wearing a matching slate-gray jacket and skirt. The suit was from two seasons ago. It was plainly trimmed but cut well. Her hair was in a simple twist, anchored with a jet comb.
    â€œMe, I gotta go all the way over to Della McEvoy’s to get a girl, and no matter which one I pick, she don’t look nothing like you,” Barton said. “Whose house you from, sister?”
    What an odd question, Jo thought. “My own, of course. In Gramercy Square,” she replied.
    Tommy Barton let out a whistle. “Uptown girl, eh? They must pay ’em well at the Standard. ”
    Jo blinked at him, puzzled. “I wouldn’t know anything about Mr. Gallagher’s financial arrangements. If you would be so kind …”
    â€œSecond floor. Second door on your right. Go easy on him.”
    Jo nodded uncertainly. “I shall,” she said. She stepped into the vestibule and looked around. The walls were dingy, the linoleum worn. The sour reek of cabbage wafted through the air. Someone was shouting.
    Go home. Now, a voice inside her said. This is insanity.
    And it was. She’d taken a dreadful risk. Earlier that day, she’d removed her father’s house key from his desk and a