Dru Faust and the Devil's Due

Part 17

I outlined my plan to Alexandra as we once again took the streetcar south into town. West of the university was an affluent neighborhood, all stately Victorian homes and tree lined streets. I'd done my best to make my friend look like a respectable member of society, instead of a flapper fond of wearing men's clothing and smoking in public. The dark blue sailor dress and matching cloche almost made her look like a lady, but nothing could hide the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

We disembarked at the end of the street. I had my pin from the Widow's and Orphan's Association, and after a quick search of Mother's jewelry box, I pinned hers onto the collar of Alex's dress.

There was no sign a massive party full of illegal booze had raged at the house on Fifth Street just two nights before. It was quiet and well kept, a brightly colored Victorian in shades of sage and violet, with a tower on one side and a white porch wrapping around and disappearing at the back. Nestled in the crook where the tower joined the rest of the house, a massive lilac bush dripped with fresh blooms, the fragrance wafting toward us on a gentle breeze and noticeable from three doors down. A carriage house had been converted into a garage; a spot of oil on the packed earth between two rows of tire tracks marked where an automobile usually stood.

Two doors down, an old woman sat on her porch, enjoying the breeze and sipping iced tea. The mail truck rounded the far corner, coming to a stop. The mailman leaped out and began delivering his letters. It was quiet. Idyllic. It made the newer neighborhood we lived in, full of tidy bungalows, seem posed and false; this was natural elegance, whereas our neighborhood of mostly middle class families who had only just found financial security during the manufacturing boom of the Great War looked like some old face stretcher, an old woman applying too much makeup in an effort to look younger or more stylish. It would never be able to compete with this regal neighborhood.

If the look of it made me pause, Alexandra was unaffected. She, of course, grew up in a house much like the one we were approaching, though the Grant home had more the look of a brick fortress, and was much larger.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

"Nothing. Just taking a look around." I jogged to catch up, and we rang the bell.

A pinched-faced blonde maid answered. "I help you?" she asked in broken English.

"Yes. My name is Dru Faust. We're with the Policemen's Widows and Orphans Association. Might we speak to the lady of the house?"

She frowned, but eventually stepped back to let us into the foyer. "Wait here," she ordered, then turned on her heel and marched down the hall.

As soon as her back was turned, Alexandra pointed to the open door on our left, which lead into a parlor. "Through there. It's on the left. Behind the bookcase," she whispered.

I darted into the cozy parlor, tip toeing across the rug until I reached another door. This one was partially open. Peering through, I slipped inside and closed it behind me.

I found myself in a formal library, one that probably belonged to a lawyer or someone in politics, if the gold-leaf titles I glimpsed were any indication.

"On the left, behind the bookcase..." I muttered. Immediately on my left was a heavy mahogany bookcase. It appeared too heavy to move, and didn't stand out in the slightest from the rest of the well appointed office. There were always stories in the paper–or sometimes around the dinner table after Mother had been called in to help with a raid–of clever places people hid contraband. I felt all along the side of the bookcase, all the while listening for footsteps. The click of heels on wood made me pause, but it was only the lady of the house returning to talk to Alexandra. Her voice was muffled, but Alex's carried just fine as she launched into her pitch. I tried to search a little faster.