Amerikan Eagle

He kept his face calm, picked up his knife and fork again, then laid them down. “Sarah… the next few days are really going to be hell around here. The FBI, the Secret Service, army and navy, you name it, they’ll be here. Not to mention Long’s bully boys.”

“I’m sure you’re right. What’s wrong, then?”

“You and Toby need to leave town during the summit.”

“Sam, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious. There’s going to be roadblocks, protestors. People out in the streets. Lots of chances for punches being thrown, people getting arrested, maybe even people getting shot. I don’t want you or Toby caught in the middle.”

“We could just stay home.”

“And suppose the Secret Service or the Department of the Interior do some digging, talking to people, and hear about you and your school friends? Or if the Long’s Legionnaires decide to finally act on what they know about the cellar? You two could be in a boxcar headed west before I knew it, before I could do anything about it.”

“Sam…”

“Look, a department employee just got himself arrested, and his boss, the city marshal, couldn’t do a damn thing. Someone who worked for him! How much pull do you think I’d have if anything happened to you and Toby?”

“But my dad—”

“Sarah,” he interrupted. “Your dad, he could help. His summer place up at Lake Winnipesaukee. In Moultonborough. It would be a good place to stay for a few days. Quiet, remote, far away from this madhouse.”

“Take Toby out of school? And not go to work?”

“Schools are going to be closed, Sarah. You know it makes sense. With my brother out there, the place crawling with cops and feds and all that…”

She sat back in the chair. “Sam… okay, we’ll talk about it later, okay? After you eat.”

“Sure,” he said. “But you know it makes sense. Just for a few days. That’s all.”

She took a breath. “Okay. For now—I hate to say this, but after you’re done, I need you to go upstairs and see Walter.”

“Why? What’s up? His typewriter too loud?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s got a visitor up there, and they were talking loud a while ago, keeping Toby awake. You know Walter promised to keep quiet. Could you just remind him, please?”

“Sure,” he said. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah. I hate it when you’re right.”

That should have brought a witty response, but he kept his mouth shut. They ate silently for a little bit, and then, remembering something from the morning, he said, “Sarah, do you know anyone from school who drives a yellow Rambler? Four-door, a big car.”

She sliced a piece of meat. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

He hesitated. Should he tell her the car was connected to his murder investigation? And if he did that, suppose it belonged to someone in the Underground Railroad movement—could he trust her to keep quiet? Sarah might warn this person and—

“Oh, just something that happened when I dropped off Toby this morning,” he led quietly. “Yellow Rambler came up the street, nearly clipped me. Ticked me off a bit, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she said, bringing her fork up to her mouth. “I see.”

No, he thought, you don’t. What you don’t see is that earlier, when you didn’t tell me about Paul Robeson coming to our house, you had kept it a secret from me. And now I don’t know what other secrets you might be keeping. And if I don’t trust you, then our marriage has just taken a big hit, but I can’t say that to you, because then there would be more and more questions, voices and tempers raised, and I just don’t have the energy for it.

So he kept quiet, as a good inspector—and lousy husband—should.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After Sam finished dinner, he grabbed his coat and went to the outside staircase. He trotted up the steps and knocked on the door, calling out, “Walter! It’s Sam. Open up, please.”

It took three more knocks before Walter opened the door. “Sam!” he said a bit too enthusiastically. “How good of you to join us. Of course, I assume you’re here as a landlord and neighbor and not as part of your duties in the constabulary… constabulation… the police force.”

“Walter, can I please come in?”

“But of course!”