Someone to watch over me

something about the body in the old icehouse. Drive me to town, would you?“
    “Don’t you want to hear about the man we found? Or did you manage to overhear my conversation with Jack?“
    “No, you both were speaking very quietly. I just can’t manage two things at once.”
    Robert dropped her off at the newspaper office and went to run some other errands. “I’ll be parked down near the river. Come find me when you’re ready to go home.”
    Lily found Jack Summer in his tiny office, feet on the desk, smoking a cheap cigar and reading a newspaper someone sent him from California. “At least open a window, would you?“ Lily said, waving at the cloud of smoke.
    “Does Mr. Prinney agree I should go to Washington?“ Jack said, struggling with a window that had to be propped open with a stick.
    “Only if you tell us exactly what it’ll cost.“ Jack sat back down, grinding out the cigar with a look of distaste. He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it over. He’d listed round-trip railway fares via New York and on to Washington. A food allowance. And he’d allowed for the possibility of having to stay in an inexpensive hotel for one night.
    “Why the hotel? Aren’t you going to stay with the men you’re interviewing?“ Lily asked.
    “If they have a place for me to bed down, I will. But they’re not exactly expecting company, and I’ll arrive late in the day. I’m not sleeping on the Washington sidewalk, even for a good story.”
    Lily folded the paper and put it in her bag. “This looks reasonable to me. The more I think about it, the better I like the idea.”
    She left the office, with Jack sadly contemplating the cigar as if wondering if it was worthwhile to relight it, and set out to find Robert. While she was walking through town, she saw Edith White and her husband getting out of their automobile. Henry went around and gallantly took her hand to help her out. As they walked arm in arm down the block like newlyweds, Lily noticed that Edith had a very slight limp to her walk. Whatever accident or ailment Edith might have had could account for why she appeared older than her handsome husband.
    As Lily was standing watching the couple, the greengrocer called out from the door of his shop. “Could I have a word with you, Miss Brewster?“
    “Certainly, Mr. Bradley,“ Lily said.
    He gestured toward a bench at the front of the shop. When Lily was seated, he cleared his throat and said, “I hear that Mrs. Prinney is growing her own vegetables. Why is that?”
    The question took Lily by surprise. “We don’t know either.”
    Mr. Bradley took a deep, regretful breath. “Seems to me, Miss Brewster—begging your pardon if I’m speaking out of turn—that we’re all in this mess together. You rich folks up the hill rightly ought to keep buying from the townspeople, or there may not be townspeople for long. We’ll all be on the dole. If the dole lasts.”
    Lily was shocked. This was one of the mildest, most polite men in Voorburg. He must be genuinely upset to speak to her this way but simply had to say his peace.
    “Mr. Bradley, I’ll talk with Mrs. Prinney about this. Today.“
    “Thanks, Miss Brewster.“ Blushing furiously at his outspoken remarks, he almost fled into the safety of his shop.
    Lily sat on the bench for a few minutes more, truly stunned by what he’d said. She realized how hard it had been for him to speak up—and what’s more, from his viewpoint he was right. But how could she tell Mrs. Prinney that all the older woman’s hard work had been unpatriotic?
    Lily wasn’t normally upset by confrontations, but this one had come out of the blue and she was shaken. She started to get up, but her knees wobbled.
    As she perched on the bench, waiting until she was calmer, she was vaguely aware of people passing by. An effeminate young man carrying a stuffed rucksack and a battered violin case, his eyes cast down, was hurrying along as if late for an appointment.
    A middle-aged man who seemed faintly familiar came along next, but she didn’t remember his name. He wore a shabby suit, carried a flattish canvas-and-leather case, and walked briskly, glancing about furtively.
    A young woman down the street near Mabel’s Cafe, wearing what was once a nice red dress but was much too tight on her voluptuous figure, was lounging at the corner of the building, trying to light a cigarette.
    A well-dressed woman driving a car with Vermont plates went