From This Moment (17 page)

She walked up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, in order to have time to gather her thoughts. Which Romulus would greet her today? The pensive, reflective man of last night? Or the
bon vivant
full of irreverence?

“He’s been expecting you,” Evelyn said as soon as Stella stepped inside the managerial wing.

Sure enough, Romulus sprang out of his chair and opened his
office door the moment he spotted her. “Miss White! Another prison-garb ensemble. Tragic.”

So . . . now she knew which Romulus she was meeting. “I’ve brought you the manure advertisement for your approval.”

He grabbed a pair of spectacles and scrutinized the page, inspecting the subtle gradations in tone and pigment as each phase of the lithographic process overlaid a wash of color to create the image.

“Excellent,” he confirmed. “Please proceed with the printing. And here, take this as a sign of my gratitude.” He tossed a slim pamphlet to her. She reached out to snatch it from the air.

Her breath caught when she read the cover. The pamphlet was an alphabetic listing of all the employees on the city payroll. He’d done it! “You’re a miracle worker,” she breathed.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warned. “I’ve already looked at all the men whose initials match A.G. and don’t think you’ll find it impressive.”

Her fingers trembled as she flipped to the page of last names beginning with
G
. Luckily, each employee had his or her department and job title included in the directory. Some of the names were familiar. She’d had fifteen names on her list, and there were an additional twelve here.

As she read, her heart sank. It was obvious what Romulus meant. Arnold Green was a janitor; Alvin Griswald worked as an orderly in the city hospital. She already knew about Avery Gottschalk, an accountant who worked on the third floor of City Hall and was so timid he perspired when she tried to make conversation with him. He couldn’t be the bold, powerful man Gwendolyn had described. None of the others looked promising.

“Tell me more about what your sister said regarding this man,” Romulus prompted.

Stella took a deep breath and closed her eyes. From the mo
ment Gwendolyn had first mentioned A.G., the man had shone like a hero in her sister’s letters. “She said he was powerful. Gwendolyn has always been fascinated with King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Gwendolyn thought King Arthur was like an island of valor surrounded by a sea of corruption. When she first told me about A.G., she said he reminded her of King Arthur, a man battling corruption on all sides. She trusted him because of the swiftness with which he accomplished things.”

Romulus lifted a brow. “Can you give me an example?”

There were plenty to choose from, but Stella relayed the first incident Gwendolyn had told her. “Gwendolyn approached him when she noticed corruption in the Water Commission. A couple of men in the accounting department were charging an extra tax on all new buildings in the city. It was a bogus tax, and the accountants were pocketing the fees. Less than a week after Gwendolyn turned the evidence over to A.G., the men were arrested and terminated from employment. They were forced to repay the six hundred dollars they’d bilked from innocent people, all of which was returned to the victims. A few days later, an article appeared in the
Boston Globe
, exposing the scandal. A.G. must be a powerful man to act on Gwendolyn’s information so swiftly.” She glanced back at the pamphlet listing the names of employees. “None of these men are in a position to wield that kind of power.”

“Is it possible he works for the
Globe
?” Romulus asked.

“I don’t think so. How could a journalist get City Hall to jump like that?” She straightened. “You know powerful people in Boston. Does it sound like anyone you know?”

Romulus removed a slim book from his desk, skimming it with a somber expression. “The only A.G. in my address book is Alfonso Griglio, my shoemaker. I doubt he’s Gwendolyn’s
man.” He closed the book and slid it back into his desk drawer. “Why wouldn’t your sister tell you his name?”

Stella paused. It did seem strange, but given the clandestine nature of what Gwendolyn had been involved in, perhaps she was protecting him. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “The way she wrote about him, it sounded like she was in awe of him. Almost as though she was in love.”

“Perhaps he is a married man and their clandestine meetings involved more than mere business?”

“Absolutely not!” No one raised in the loving household of Karl and Eloise Westergaard would dare intrude on the sanctity of the marriage vow. Gwendolyn knew better than that.

Romulus held up his hands. “No need to lunge across my desk and tear my throat out. I was only asking. What about your sister’s belongings? I assume that, after her death, either you or your parents collected her possessions. Perhaps Gwendolyn had letters or notes from A.G. in her belongings?”

Stella winced at the memory of cleaning out Gwendolyn’s modest apartment. It was a week after the funeral, and her mother was still too despondent to leave her bed, so Stella and her father undertook the task on their own. Her father did his best to lighten the mood by rambling about the various types of chowder served at their hotel’s restaurant. His voice was artificially bright, and he was trying too hard, but she didn’t interrupt. They both needed something to distract themselves from what they were doing.

Gwendolyn’s room was pretty, frilly, and feminine. The clothes hanging in the wardrobe still carried a hint of her vanilla and citrus perfume. When Stella opened the wardrobe doors and that lovely scent surrounded her, she almost broke, but she swallowed back the lump in her throat and dutifully folded the clothes into a box to be taken back home. Meanwhile,
her father was taking the pictures from the walls, still babbling about spicy chowder versus creamy chowder. Stella clung to his mindless rambling like a talisman, anything to keep from dwelling on the last time Gwendolyn had worn this lace blouse or what she’d been thinking in those final moments when icy water closed over her head.

The chatter from her father stopped, and when Stella turned, he was sitting on the bed, staring out the window, his face bleak as tears rolled silently down. He had lost the battle. Stella rushed to his side, and they clung to each other as they both wept.

It took a while to regain their composure, but after they did, they rushed to finish the task. Even at the time, one thing penetrated Stella’s veil of grief and struck her as odd.

Her own letters to Gwendolyn were not in the room. Nor were there letters from her parents, an address book, her calendar, or any other documents of a personal nature. Gwendolyn hoarded things like a magpie, but it seemed the room had been stripped of everything that would shed light on Gwendolyn’s private life. Only a few books and her jewelry box remained.

“Did the jewelry box look like it had been plundered?” Romulus asked after Stella had explained.

She shook her head. “Gwendolyn didn’t care for jewelry, but what few pieces she owned were there. Mostly it was just a box of stray buttons, a few hatpins, and a tiny little key I could never figure out.”

“What kind of key?”

“I don’t know. None of the drawers in her apartment had locks on them, and it was too small for any door. I put it back in the box and forgot about it.”

“So you’ve done nothing with that key?” Romulus looked aghast.

“What would I do with it?”

“Take it to every bank within walking distance of your sister’s apartment and see if it opens a safe-deposit box.”

Stella frowned. She’d heard of safe-deposit boxes but had never owned one, nor did she believe her sister had one . . . but if Gwendolyn had something very valuable or dangerous, it made perfect sense that she would have kept it somewhere safe. Her mind whirled, but Romulus had not stopped talking.

“You’re going to have difficulty getting to that box,” he warned. “Banks are famously protective of safe-deposit boxes, and merely having the key won’t get you access. Did your sister leave a will?”

“No.” What sort of healthy young woman with no responsibilities had a will?

“Then the contents of the box will go to Gwendolyn’s nearest living relative. I believe it would be your parents.”

“I don’t want to involve them in this,” she said quickly. “They can barely function, and I want to be sure I can find the box before I raise the possibility with them.”

He nodded. “Most of the banks are in the financial district. I’d be happy to accompany you, as I’m dying to know what’s in that box.”

She smiled in reply. It would be good to have him as a guide, for she knew almost nothing of Boston outside of City Hall. Just the thought of spending more time with him made her heart speed up. The magnetism that hummed between them seemed to get stronger at each meeting.

Or was she as delusional as poor, pathetic Daisy, who’d fled the office in tears only a couple days ago? The last thing Stella wanted was to join the ranks of pitiful women trailing after Romulus with forlorn hope in their eyes.

But she wasn’t a pitiful woman. She was a strong one who was willing to fight for what she wanted.

And she wanted Romulus White.

Romulus looked forward to squiring Stella through the financial district in search of the bank box that matched the key found in Gwendolyn’s jewelry case. He would be patient, pleasant, and the soul of decorum as he helped her on the ludicrous quest to explain her sister’s death.

The girl drowned. He was convinced of it. After all, he’d heard every word as Dr. Lentz tried to explain the situation to Stella, who clearly didn’t want to hear it. Perhaps it was only natural. Who wanted to think that a healthy, vibrant young woman with her life stretching before her could be snuffed out so quickly due to an unlucky slip on a bridge? Dr. Lentz had excellent credentials and was a man of sterling reputation. Romulus wouldn’t use him as a reviewing consultant for
Scientific World
if he didn’t have personal faith in the doctor’s abilities.

He spent the morning escorting Stella to three banks clustered along Milk Street and Water Street, asking the clerks if Stella’s tiny bronze key opened their boxes. Three banks, three negative replies. Only four more banks to visit, but it was a small price to pay in exchange for luring Stella ever closer to employment at
Scientific World
. Neither money nor prestige seemed to matter to her, but help solving her family problems did. He wasn’t above using gratitude as bait to get her onboard at the magazine.

Besides, it was no burden to escort a stunning woman down the fashionable streets near Post Office Square. He enjoyed watching Stella turn heads as they strolled down Water Street. She had class and style, but most important, she had the heart and soul of a lion.

He needed to be on guard with her. He’d always been an unrepentant flirt, and Stella seemed game, but he needed to
pull back. If all went according to plan, Stella would soon be working for him, and that made her untouchable.

He held the door as she swept into the muted interior of a formal bank lined with ferns in brass planters, imported carpets that muffled footsteps, and the smell of old money.

He lingered in order to fully appreciate the way Stella’s fishtail skirt was cut to a perfect flare at her ankles as she walked to the bank counter. It wasn’t an easy style to wear, but Stella carried it off with aplomb. It also revealed that she had a superb figure beneath all that polished cotton twill. He tore his gaze away and dragged his thoughts back to respectable territory, then followed Stella to the front counter, where a balding man with horn-rimmed glasses sat behind the teller’s window. Stella extended the key.

The clerk eyed the key and nodded. “You will be wanting access to your box, ma’am?”

Romulus bit back a smile. They were at the right place.

“Yes,” Stella said a little breathlessly, but the clerk’s next words wiped away her smile.

“I’ll just need to see your paperwork for access to the box,” he said.

“It’s my sister’s box, actually. She died last December, and I am her heir. I’d like access to her box, please.”

The clerk’s brows lowered. “Allow me to summon the bank manager,” he said delicately.

The distinguished gentleman who emerged from the back office looked as rigid and starched as his high-stand collar. He expressed the proper condolences upon learning of Gwendolyn’s passing but explained the bank would need to see either a will or a form transferring ownership and signed by a judge before he could permit access to Gwendolyn’s box.

It was bad news. Romulus already knew there was no will,
and getting the attention of a judge to hear the case could take weeks or months. Given Stella’s agitation, he doubted she’d have the patience to wait that long.

“My sister and I had no secrets. Might she have added my name to the list of people authorized to see the box?”

He could tell where Stella was heading with this. If Gwendolyn had made such a list, it was likely her parents or perhaps even the mysterious A.G. would be on that list. The bank manager excused himself to check the paperwork, and when he returned, he carried a notebook and a troubled look on his face.