Guilt pinched his heart. He'd vowed never to use his wealth to get his way, and here he was doing that very thing. But this was for a higher purpose, for the men's welfare and the war effort, not for selfish gain.

"Thirty bucks." Arch pulled out his wallet and counted out bills. "We have a deal?"

Palonsky's eyes lit up, and he grabbed the money and kissed it. "That we do."

14.

Boston

Friday, February 27, 1942

Lillian scooped the last of the ointment from the marble slab into the gla.s.s jar, used the metal spatula to put a pretty swirl on top, and wiped the rim with a cloth.

Her knee rested on the stool she'd finally asked Mr. Dixon to allow her to use. A sore was developing on her stump, and she needed to relieve the pressure. Thank goodness, the druggist had barely grumbled.

Albert picked up a box filled with prescription bags. "I'm making my delivery. Think you and Mrs. Connelly can handle this place by yourselves?"

She smiled at him. "We always manage fine."

"Well, I don't like leaving women alone. It's a safe neighborhood, but-"

"Go. Now." Lillian gave him a mock scowl and pointed to the door.

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned and departed.

Now was the opportunity she'd waited for all week. No new prescriptions waited, and the ointment wouldn't be picked up until five. It was Mr. Dixon's day off, and at two o'clock, Dr. Kane's office would still be open.

Lillian flipped through the prescription file and grabbed the most recent prescription he had written for phen.o.barbital, plus another he'd written for thyroid extract.

Not only had she promised to call the doctor, but it was the right thing to do. When Arch returned from his patrol, she couldn't wait to report what she found out today.

What made her so eager? The investigation . . . or Arch? She couldn't figure out if the man was attracted to her. He was handsome, bright, kind, and he genuinely cared about his crew. What would a man like that want with a broken woman like her?

She shuddered, pushed aside the prescriptions, and wiped down the ointment slab. Gordon had shown signs of darkness and control from the start. She'd overlooked them, thrilled to have found a man who wanted to be with her, only her, all the time. So intoxicating. So dangerous.

She'd never make that mistake again.

Lillian took her mortar, pestle, and spatula to the sink and washed them. Keeping her distance from Arch would be wise, but now she'd promised to work with him on this case. Partners.

Her stomach hopped around. What had she done? So many things could go wrong, and not only with Arch. Mr. Dixon had forbidden her to question Dr. Kane about these prescriptions. What if they were for legitimate conditions? What if the physician questioned her judgment? What if he told Mr. Dixon? She could lose her job. And what if the physician were some huge drug kingpin, and he had his thugs gun her down?

There. She'd gotten the worst scenarios out of her head.

After Lillian laid the equipment on a towel to dry, she marched to the telephone and dialed Dr. Kane's number. The nurse summoned the physician to the phone. Lillian put on her most professional voice. "Good afternoon. This is Miss Avery calling from Dixon's Drugs."

"I don't take questions from clerks, young lady. Put Cyrus on the line."

"Mr. Dixon isn't working today, but I'm a pharmacist too."

Silence, then a long sigh. "All right then."

Not a good start, but Lillian schooled her face into a smile so she'd sound confident. "I'm calling about a prescription for phen.o.barbital for Mr. Norman Hunter."

"Norman Hunter? Not my patient."

"I have a prescription here from you for a man by that name."

"Impossible. My father's name is Norman, and my mother's maiden name is Hunter. I'd remember that name."

Lillian fingered the paper. "That's strange. It was written yesterday and-"

"Yesterday? I didn't see any patients yesterday. I was conducting a symposium at Harvard Medical School. You must have the wrong number. I'm not the only Dr. Kane in Boston. In the future, please be more careful and don't waste my time."

"Sir," Lillian spat out before he could hang up. "The phone number is on the prescription form. It's a printed form like the others you use, a prescription for two hundred phen.o.barbital tablets."

"Two hundred? That's ludicrous."

"I thought so too, but this isn't the only one we've received for large quant.i.ties of sedatives written by you."

"Me? You're mistaken. They must be forgeries. Someone must have stolen a prescription pad from one of my examination rooms. Does Dixon's Drugs no longer take care when filling prescriptions?"

Lillian winced. She didn't want to get her boss in trouble. "Sir, did you write a prescription for Marian Zimmerman for thyroid?"

"Yes. I saw her this morning."

"I have both prescriptions in front of me." She peered at them. "They look identical-the form, the handwriting, the signature, even the shade of ink. If it's a forgery, it's an excellent one. That's why we never suspected anything."

"Never suspected? Do you honestly think I'd write such prescriptions?"

"No, sir." Lillian coiled her finger in the telephone cord. "That's why I called."

"See it doesn't happen again. Or I'll send my patients elsewhere." The receiver slammed down.

Lillian sat hard on her stool. A forger. Not a sinister doctor, but an actual forger. That was a crime.

"My word. I need to call the police." She yanked the phone book from the drawer, found the number for the police department, and coaxed her fingers to dial. After a few explanations, she was funneled to Detective Mike Malloy, and she explained the situation.

"Is the suspect in the store?" the detective asked.

"No, he came yesterday."

"And you're just calling now?"

Lillian released a sigh. "It's a long story."

"It doesn't do any good to call after the fact. Not if we want to catch him."

"But I have his name and address right here."

"Miss, do you think he'd use his real name and address?"

Lillian ran her finger over the forged signature. "Some of the prescriptions are for delivery."

"Mm-hmm. That way they can leave the store immediately and not get caught."

"But someone has to receive the delivery, so-"

"So what? The crooks can use addresses for vacant apartments, leave the cash payment in an envelope under the doormat, and pick up the drugs on the stoop after the delivery boy leaves."

"Oh." She hadn't considered that.

"That's why the suspect needs to be in the store. If it happens again, call us, but don't tip off the suspect."

Lillian rubbed her temple. Mr. Dixon wouldn't like that at all. "I-I will. Thank you, Detective Malloy."

"You're welcome. I'm glad to hear there's a vigilant new druggist in town." He laughed. "But wait till I tell my wife. A girl druggist? What'll they think of next?"

"A girl detective?"

He laughed again, a good, merry sound. "Don't give my wife any ideas."

Lillian grinned. Fewer than 5 percent of pharmacists were women. She might be the world's first female druggist-detective. How fun.

She held up the two prescriptions for comparison. An excellent forger, who had fooled both Mr. Dixon and her.

A chill swept up her arms. A forger this good would be a hardened criminal, and he probably had help. After all, he'd written quite a few prescriptions for a lot of phen.o.barbital, more than any one man would need. Other stores might be filling these prescriptions too.

This wasn't one drug addict forging for his own use. This was a ring. A good-sized ring. And Lillian stood right in the middle of it.

15.

Concord, Ma.s.sachusetts

Sat.u.r.day, March 7, 1942

As soon as everyone stepped off the train at the Concord Depot, Quintessa dashed to the pay phone. "I can't wait to surprise Clifford."

Jim, Mary, and Lillian formed a cl.u.s.ter nearby, but Arch hung back. Even the prospect of an outing with Lillian hadn't lifted his spirits.

Quintessa flipped through the phone book.

"Did you forget to bring his number?" Mary asked.

"Oh, he never gave it to me." Quintessa tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. "His mother's very ill. She won't be around long, poor thing, and it distresses her when Clifford dates, so he doesn't want me to call."

Arch frowned. How strange.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "Should you be calling, then?"

"We've been dating over two months, and I'm a little tired of this. He shouldn't let his mother control him, even if she's ill." Quintessa closed the door of the phone booth.

Lillian leaned closer to Mary. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was married."

Mary gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers. "I was thinking the same thing."

Jim draped his arms around the ladies' shoulders. "You both read too many mysteries. It's making you suspicious."

"Last time I was suspicious, I was right." Mary gave him a smug smile.

Arch approached the group. "Think about it. He won't give her his phone number. He only sees her in Boston on Friday evenings and the occasional weekend. Either he's a milksop mama's boy or he's married."

"Not you too," Jim grumbled.

"Oh, Jim. That's why I love you." Mary kissed his cheek. "You always think highly of people. But I'll talk to Quintessa this evening in private."

The phone booth door opened, and Quintessa emerged with a fake smile. "He can't get away. His mother's feeling poorly. I don't want to sound selfish, but now I'm feeling poorly."