Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (9 page)

"Aren't you supposed to say, 'Extra! Extra! Read all about it'?"

"No," the boy said matter-of-factly. "We don't do that anymore."

Cameron laughed.

"How much is the paper?"

"Three cents."

Cameron lowered his luggage, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a quarter.

"Here's twenty-five," Cameron said. He handed the boy the coin in exchange for a paper. "Go buy yourself a Popsicle."

"A what?"

"Get something nice," Cameron said.

The boy beamed.

"Thanks, mister!"

Cameron shook his head and chuckled as the boy pursued another sale. He slipped the paper in his jacket pocket, retrieved his bags, and continued down Main Street toward Eighth Street and a three-star hotel two train passengers had recommended.

He saw something of interest on every block. Between Third and Fourth streets, he found a tailor's shop, a millinery, and a grocery selling hamburger for ten cents a pound. Between Fourth and Fifth streets, he saw a creamery, a mercantile, and a music store peddling crystal radio sets and the latest in wireless telegraphy. On the next block, he passed a Turkish bath, a cigar shop, and a theater showing
The Monster
. Lon Chaney starred in the black-and-white flick.

Cameron slowed his pace as he crossed Sixth Street and entered a part of town he had never visited but nonetheless knew well. Candice Bell had written frequently and extensively about the businesses on the block, including a drugstore, a law firm, and her place of employment.

Cameron stopped first at Heller's Drug. Owned and operated by a man named Leonard Heller, it was the largest drugstore in Evansville and, according to historical sources, one of the largest in the state. Heller was a fixture in the business community and a financial supporter of newly elected Republican Governor Edward L. Jackson.

The time traveler did not peek into the store. He couldn't – at least from the sidewalk. Banner advertisements covered every window. Some ads touted lotions, liniments, and ointments. Others pushed powders, tonics, and creams. If a customer needed laxatives, antiseptics, or "flesh reducers," Heller's had them too. Depilatories and deodorizers were available on demand.

Cameron paid special attention to a sign near the door, which encouraged customers to ASK ABOUT OUR ELIXIRS. He decided he might do just that on his next visit. He considered the shopping possibilities for a moment and then turned his attention to the business next door.

Like Heller's Drug, the law firm of Pauley, Pearson, and Paine was a big fish in a little pond. It employed ten attorneys and forty staff and maintained four offices in southwest Indiana. Cameron knew this because he had read it in Candice's diary.

He also knew, from the same source, that Candice had dated the firm's junior partner, Richard Bronson Paine, for several months. She had broken off their engagement on Valentine's Day 1925, just thirty days past, for reasons she had not shared on paper.

Cameron pondered that bit of trivia for a moment and then cast his eyes on the main prize, a two-story brownstone office building directly across the street. The
Evansville Post
was more than just a stop on his journey through time. It was his destination.

Cameron took a breath, allowed a car to pass, and crossed the street. As he neared the paper, he noticed two things that gave him pause: closed blinds on the windows and a CLOSED sign on the door. If the
Post
was open for business, it had a funny way of showing it.

Cameron reached the glass front door a moment later, dropped his bags, and peeked through a space in the blinds. He looked for signs of life but saw only empty desks and chairs.

He tried to open the door but found it locked. For some reason, the entire staff of the city's largest newspaper had taken the day off – or taken the mother of all power lunches.

Cameron stepped back and mulled over his options. If he waited for someone to show up, he might wait the rest of the day. If he left, he might miss a chance to obtain a useful tidbit.

In the end, he decided to leave. After riding the rails for nearly a week, he concluded that he needed rest and relaxation more than he needed a glimpse of a ghost.

Cameron picked up his satchel and his suitcase and started again toward the hotel. For the first time since stepping through Geoffrey Bell's magic tunnel, he pushed Candice Bell, mountain caves, and obligations out of his mind. He thought instead of a bath, a meal, and a good night's sleep. It was time, he thought, for a little R and R.

CHAPTER 11: CAMERON

Tuesday, March 17, 1925

Cameron rinsed his straight razor in a sink full of water, looked in the bathroom mirror, and went at it again. He didn't care much for shaving with a machete, but he did it anyway. He did it because disposable plastic razors were not available in 1925 and because he didn't want to look like a wild man from Borneo when he met Candice Bell for the first time.

He carefully shaved his right cheek, rinsed the blade again, and then went after a few chin hairs that had survived their first assault. When he finished mowing his nine o'clock shadow, he set the razor aside, splashed water on his face, and then dried himself with a towel that had come with his room at the Vanderburgh Hotel.

Cameron placed the towel on a rack, returned to the mirror, and took one last look at a bloke he knew well. With brown eyes, a rugged face, and curly black hair he had cut to Roaring Twenties standards, he looked a lot like the American actor Adrian Grenier and not like a man who had not dated anyone seriously for nearly six years.

He finished his business in the bathroom, stepped into the main room, and assessed his new home. With bare walls, an iron bed, a pine dresser, and a desk and a chair fit for an eighth-grader, the chamber looked more like a dorm room than a "deluxe suite" in a three-star hotel.

Cameron didn't mind. Room 208 was clean, cheap, and functional. That made it practically perfect for someone who didn't plan to stick around for more than a few weeks.

He walked across the room, opened his closet door, and pulled out one of two suits he had brought to the past. He had given the other to a hotel clerk who delivered clothes to a local dry cleaner three times a week.

Cameron put on the clean suit, combed his hair, and then walked to the desk that was his makeshift office. He sat down in the plain wooden chair, spread a small stack of papers across the top of the desk, and quickly reviewed his dossier on the Indiana Belle.

He had read the personal letters, diary pages, newspaper articles, and other documents more than a dozen times. He had read them so often that he felt like he knew the woman better than he knew himself and certainly better than he knew another person. He had made this human being his mission. Now it was time to take that mission to the next level.

Thirty minutes later, Cameron shuffled the papers together, threw them in his satchel, and looked at the one new document he had added to his arsenal: a copy of the
Evansville Post
. He had picked up the paper when he had dropped off his suit. Sometime after he had left the
Post
, the staff had returned to the building and put out the next day's edition.

Cameron scanned the paper and looked for Candice's name. He found it in the staff directory on page two but not attached to any of the day's stories. If she had produced an article for the current edition of the morning publication, she had not produced it with a byline.

Cameron returned to the headlines and caught up with the news. He did not need long to see that he was in a different time. Police in Kentucky had broken up a major bootlegging operation. President Coolidge announced a new trade policy with Mexico. In
six
Indiana cities, the Ku Klux Klan planned to march in St. Patrick's Day parades.

The time traveler had wondered the night before how Americans celebrated St. Patrick's Day in the age of Prohibition. Now he knew how at least some of them did.

Cameron moved from the front page to the interior pages and looked again for anything that might prove useful to him as a visitor to Evansville and the past. He remembered from his research that something important had occurred here in March 1925, but he could not recall what. No matter, he thought. He was a native now and would have to roll with the punches just like the people born into this time.

A few minutes later, he folded the paper, placed it in his satchel with the documents, and closed the flap. He got up from his chair, lifted the bag off the desk, and walked to a door that led to a hallway, a stairwell, and the lobby.

Cameron collected his fedora from a hook on the wall, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. No one saw him leave his room or even exit the building. For all practical purposes, he did not exist. He was a shadow that moved from place to place in a foreign time.

He pondered that fact for a moment as he started down Main Street and headed toward his first destination. If he were, in fact, as invisible as he felt, he would not stay that way for long.

Thirty-one days after opening Mary Murphy's parcel and starting a journey of discovery, Cameron Coelho was finally stepping out. He was about to make his mark on yesteryear.

CHAPTER 12: CAMERON

Cameron looked at the receptionist, saw the annoyance in her eyes, and weighed the pros and cons of asking the question again. He decided to be difficult.

"She's really not here?"

The woman stared at the visitor.

"She's really not here."

"Where is she?" Cameron asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"When will she be back?"

The receptionist returned to her work.

"I can't tell you."

Cameron glanced at the nameplate on the desk, noted the name, and considered a different approach. Perhaps he could catch more flies with honey.

"Look, Mrs. Franklin, I just want to know when Miss Bell will be back. I don't know how long I'll be in Evansville and would like to speak to her about a strictly professional matter."

Mrs. Franklin, a thin, stern-looking woman of about fifty, lifted her eyes from her work and stared at Cameron as if deciding whether to kill him or grant his wish. She frowned, pushed her chair back, and stood up.

"Wait here," she said.

The receptionist turned around and retreated to the middle of the smoky newsroom, where three men talked, laughed, and slapped backs. She approached the nearest of the men, pointed at Cameron, and uttered a few words the visitor could not hear over the clatter of typewriters.

The man glanced at Cameron, said something to Mrs. Franklin, and nodded a few times when she spoke back. He returned to his friends about the time the receptionist returned to her desk.

"This is your lucky day," Mrs. Franklin said to Cameron. "Mr. Grant, our managing editor, has agreed to speak to you. He can answer any questions you have about Miss Bell."

"Should I wait for him here?" Cameron asked.

"Yes. He'll be with you shortly."

A few minutes later, Mr. Grant, a boyishly handsome man in his early thirties, escorted the other men to the lobby. He smiled and extended a hand as he approached the visitor.

"I'm Thad Grant."

Cameron shook the hand.

"Cameron Coelho."

"I'm told you wish to see Candice Bell," Thad said.

"I do."

"Are you a friend?"

"No," Cameron said. "I've never met her."

"Then what is your business with her?"

Cameron fidgeted as Thad, the other men, and Mrs. Franklin looked on. He had not expected to answer that question before an audience of four.

"I'd like to speak with her about the social customs of Indiana," Cameron said. "I understand she's something of an expert on the matter."

"She is," Thad said. "Candice is our society editor and the author of dozens of articles that have appeared in national journals and magazines."

"I know. I've read some of them."

"Are you a writer yourself?"

"No. I'm a doctoral student," Cameron said. "I came here from Providence, Rhode Island, to gather information for my dissertation."

"Did you just get into town?"

Cameron nodded.

"I arrived yesterday. I stopped here around two but found the place closed. I didn't think newspapers ever closed on weekdays."

"They normally don't," Thad said. "
We
normally don't. We closed the office for two hours yesterday so that the staff could attend the funeral of a former publisher."

"I see," Cameron said. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss."

"Thank you."

Cameron saw why Candice had written fondly of Thaddeus Grant in her diary. He was a friendly and sensitive man, the kind of person most people would want as a supervisor.

Cameron gave Thad and Mrs. Franklin thoughtful glances and then focused on the business at hand. He started to ask again about Candice's whereabouts when the largest man spoke up.

"Did you say you were from Rhode Island?"

"I did," Cameron said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Richard Paine. I'm a partner at the law firm across the street."

The men shook hands.

"It's nice to meet you, Richard."

"The reason I ask about Rhode Island is that I'm from your neck of the woods," Richard said. "I grew up in Brockton, Massachusetts."

Cameron felt his stomach turn. The last thing he needed was a question about New England. He knew as much about the region in 1925 as he knew about quantum physics.

"How did you end up in Indiana?" Cameron asked.

"I attended law school in Bloomington and took a job here shortly after graduation," Richard said. "I've lived in Evansville since 1910."

Cameron did not like where the conversation was headed. He did not like it at all. So he turned to the fortyish man between Thad and Richard and changed the subject.

"How about you? Are you from New England too?"

"Oh, no. I'm a Hoosier, born and bred," the man said. "I'm Leonard Heller."