So many tankers had been sunk that an oil shortage loomed, threatening war production both in the US and in Britain. Just when they needed more ships and sh.e.l.ls and bullets.

Arch entered the bridge superstructure and climbed the ladder to the pilothouse.

Lt. Emmett Taylor stood behind the helmsman and smiled. "Reports for me?"

"Yes, sir." He handed them to the chief engineer. "Soundings of the peak tanks and voids. All's well."

"Should be riveting reading. Anything else to report?"

Taylor had more experience. Perhaps he'd have some advice before Arch reported to Buckner. "The usual complaints of sleepy sailors."

"Again?" Buckner's voice sounded behind him, from the doorway to the captain's sea cabin.

Apparently now was the time. Arch wasn't ready, but he drew a deep breath and faced the captain. "Yes, sir. I'd like to speak to you in private."

"Very well." He motioned for Arch to follow him to his cabin, where the CO took a seat at the desk.

Arch stood tall, scrambling to organize his thoughts on such short notice. "I've observed two problems. First, some of my men are jittery and suffer from nightmares."

"Make them buck up. We're at war."

With a slow nod, Arch clasped his hands behind his back to conceal the fisting. "It isn't as easy as it sounds, sir. These are good men, volunteers who want to fight for their country. But constant vigilance is a strain for anyone, and the sights we've seen try the strongest souls."

Buckner raised one dark eyebrow. "I refuse to coddle them. This is a destroyer, not a nursery."

"I understand, sir. However, I fear this might be leading to a second problem." He gripped his hands harder. "The drowsy sailors."

"They're lazy. You need to make them buck up."

Back to that again. "I fear the drowsiness is only a symptom. There is some indication the men might be treating their frayed nerves with drugs."

The captain sat forward, his dark eyes piercing. "Drugs?"

"Yes, sir. I . . . I've heard rumors."

"Who? I need names."

Arch measured his words. If the captain cracked down and arrested Hobie, the investigation would be over and the problems would continue. "As I said, rumors. I've discussed the situation with Pharmacist's Mate Lloyd, and he shares my concerns."

Buckner tapped his pen on the desk, over and over, shaking his head. "No. No, I don't agree. I run a tight ship. Very tight. Nothing like that could occur under my watch."

Yet it was indeed occurring. "Yes, sir, but-"

"No." Buckner jabbed his pen in Arch's direction. "They're lazy. You coddle them. They need stronger discipline, and you need to give it to them."

That was an order, and only one response was allowed. A sigh eased out. "Aye aye, sir."

"Dismissed." Buckner waved him to the door. "I'm beginning to wonder if you should be a.s.signed to sh.o.r.e duty."

"I-I'd rather not, sir. I'll make the men buck up. Don't worry." He strode from the cabin. Sh.o.r.e duty? That would kill his career. If the war ever ended, if he survived, if he didn't lose his commission for his weak nerves, what would remain for him? A polite suggestion that he go to the reserves, that he would be better suited for civilian life.

In Concord with Lillian, he'd realized he trusted in his career. What a flimsy anchor. A doctor could take it away with the stroke of a pen. He had to trust in G.o.d as his anchor. Had to.

But without the Navy, who would he be? Just another rich sn.o.b, using people for gain. Oh Lord, not that.

The simple, wholesome life in the Navy had built his character. If he returned to high society, it would all be undone.

Dear Mrs. Lafferty's face filled his mind. The Vandenberg housekeeper had been so good for young Arch-kindly when he needed affection and firm when he needed discipline. And he'd repaid her with betrayal.

His stomach caved in, and he couldn't see for the frenetic twitching of his eyelid. Never again. Lord, help me. Be my anchor.

Arch stood inside the doorway to the bridge superstructure, praying, breathing heavily, his hands groping empty air.

"Excuse me, sir."

Arch sucked in a breath and spun around.

Parnell Lloyd stood in the pa.s.sageway. "Didn't mean to startle you, sir. Do you have a moment?"

"Yes." Arch wiped his palms on his blue trousers. "Yes, I do."

Doc beckoned him deeper into the pa.s.sageway. "I overheard Fish yelling at Stein for not paying attention, and Stein complaining of his nerves, not getting enough sleep. Have you . . . have you had any more incidents with your men?"

"Several."

"I've been asking around." Doc glanced behind him. "The men won't talk to me. They insist they can handle it. But you work with them. Who's having the biggest problems?"

Why was Doc acting so suspicious? "Why do you want to know?"

Doc turned back, all wide-eyed innocence. "I'm responsible for the health and welfare of the crew. It's my job to know."

It was also his job to refer men for medical discharge. "I'll let you know if any man's condition seriously interferes with his work."

"No, it's more than that." Zeal shone in Doc's brown eyes. "I want to find out who's suffering, who might be using medication. I want to help them."

Arch studied the man's intelligent face. Were they working toward the same goal-to find the source of medication on board? Or did Doc just want to drum sailors out of the Navy? "How can you help?"

Doc huffed out a breath. "Honestly, sir, I don't know. The physicians have some success with rest under heavy sedation, but not many patients return to duty."

"So once they enter the hospital-"

"I know. I wish I could treat the symptoms on board and keep them on duty."

Apparently that's what the men themselves were trying to do. Arch opened his mouth to tell Doc about Palonsky, about Hobie selling him phen.o.barbital. But something about Doc's shining zeal shut his mouth.

Did Doc want to supply the men with sedatives? He had access to medications through the Navy. Or he could tap into a ring on sh.o.r.e. What if he were the source on the Ettinger? What if he wanted Arch to tattle on the men so he could find new customers?

As much as he wanted to trust Doc as an ally, it seemed wise to treat him as a suspect.

Arch set his hand on the pharmacist's mate's shoulder. "I wish you could help them too. If I hear anything you should know, I'll tell you."

"Thank you, sir." He departed.

Yes, Arch would tell Doc anything he should know. Nothing more. He didn't have much information anyway. Hobie sold the drug to Palonsky but wouldn't reveal where it had come from. Arch had Palonsky flush it down the head so he wouldn't be caught with it.

The watch was almost over, so Arch headed to the quarterdeck to brief his replacement.

No progress in the case. No progress in his career. No progress with his nerves. Why couldn't he at least have success with Lillian?

Sure, she'd opened up to him. But then she'd flinched from his touch. She wanted his friendship but nothing more.

When women were interested in him, they only wanted his money. And now a wonderful woman didn't want his money-but she wasn't interested in him. Why couldn't he find someone who loved him for himself?

Arch groaned. Maybe it wasn't possible.

18.

Boston

Monday, March 23, 1942

Lillian slid the pan of scalloped potatoes into the oven and set the timer.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Mary sat at the kitchen table, her chin resting in her hands.

"Nope. It's my night to cook. Sit and relax."

Mary poked through the bowl of sh.e.l.led peas. "Now it's your turn to solve a mystery. It's such fun. You need a Nancy Drew name, like The Secret of the Sedated Sailors."

Lillian scooted a kitchen chair in front of the counter, rested her left knee on it, and opened the paper-wrapped bundle of pork chops. "The Affair of the Pharmaceutical Forger?"

"I like that. Mine was The Case of the Shipyard Saboteur." Mary sighed and brushed her dark brown hair off her shoulder. "I miss my notebooks. I kept records of conversations, organized by suspects."

"A notebook." Lillian scooped some grease from the can by the stove into the frying pan. "Maybe I should keep a record. We have prescription files at Dixon's, but they're arranged by prescription number. It's hard to look for trends."

"Oh yes. You could make a log of the suspicious prescriptions."

Lillian smeared the sizzling clump of lard in the pan. "I like the idea. I could see which doctors are involved. Ever since I scared away Mr. Jones, we haven't had a single sedative prescription in Dr. Kane's name. Now they come from two other physicians. But the patients insist that Mr. Dixon fill the prescriptions. He never asks questions."

Yvette Lafontaine breezed into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator. "I'm sorry, dear ones. The French patriots have an emergency meeting tonight."

"Oh." Lillian scrunched her lips together. "Dinner won't be ready till six-thirty."

"Keep a plate warm in the oven, ma pet.i.te amie. I'll grab a bite of cheese for now. Those Vichy swine are destroying my beloved France, collaborating with the n.a.z.is. So little we can do from America, but we must do something."

"I understand," Mary said.

"Look at me, turning into an American and eating 'on the run.'" The elegant brunette frowned at the cheese. "Oh well. Au revoir." She dashed for the door.

Lillian smiled and plopped the pork chops into the pan. "They're keeping you and Yvette busy at the Navy Yard, aren't they?"

"They sure are. The shipyard is running two shifts a day. There's so much work, so many ships being built and repaired. At least I always know when the Ettinger pulls in to port."

"Are they back?"

"No." Mary's mouth curved into a smile. "You look eager."

"Goodness, no." She salted the chops.

"You don't want to see your brother?"

Lillian grabbed the pepper shaker. "Of course I do. I didn't mean it that way."

"I know what you meant." Mary's voice lilted.

She'd backed herself into a corner. All she could do was keep busy. She opened the can of tomato soup, spooned it over the pork chops, and lowered the heat.

Mary's chair squeaked. "I love watching you and Arch together."

"We're not together." Her face heated, and not from the stove.

"I know, but I still love it. Last year when Arch was dating Gloria, he was all smooth charm, but they never had long, deep talks like you do."

"We just talk as friends, mostly about the case." That wasn't entirely true. Once again, she was closing herself off.

Lord, help me. Help me open up. Lillian pushed the chair away from the stove and sat. "I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

Lillian shook her head. She couldn't speak.

"Arch?" Mary said. "Why, you don't have to do anything really. Just show an inkling of interest. He's already besotted."