Killing Gifts Read Online Free PDF Page B

scurrying back inside the car behind her. Instead, she scolded herself. After all, she was the one who didn’t want to be treated like a helpless baby. She hurried to the next car and congratulated herself on her bravery.
    The thrill was beginning to fade after Gennie had traversed three more cars full of sleepy, bored passengers. She decided to try just one more. As soon as she entered the next car, she had that delicious naughty feeling she got each time she tried on a stylish gown, especially when the bodice was cut a shade low for Shaker comfort. She had found the club car. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the acrid mixture of cigar and cigarette smoke. The few women in the car sat close to the door, reading or chatting. Despite the early hour, several men relaxed in stuffed easy chairs around small tables, sipping what looked to her now practiced eye to be whiskey.
    Gennie was not the least bit shocked, and she was pleased with herself for this evidence of worldly sophistication. Fascinated by the scene before her, she took in every detail, from the worn but plush easy chairs to the waiter dressed in a crisp white jacket. Only slowly did she realize that every eye in the car had turned toward her. Some of the male gazes gleamed with appreciation. The women looked her up and down with grudging admiration for the new rust wool suit that hugged her slight frame and the small swirl of a hat perched amid her curls. Gennie knew these were well-off women; they envied her appearance, not her relative wealth. In fact, without Grady’s help, she’d more likely be traveling in a boxcar. Gennie drew herself up with pride, as much as she could manage with a mere five feet of height.
    She took a step into the club car, trying to look as if she belonged in such a place. A young man sitting near the middle of the car eyed her over his whiskey glass. He put down his drink, stood, and started toward her. Gennie’s heart climbed up her throat. With a quick, nervous smile, she spun around and made for the exit. With more speed than grace, Gennie traversed the coupling and opened the door to the passenger car she’d recently left. She found herself inches from the sinister man she’d seen in the terminal. His eyes widened as if he recognized her and didn’t expect to see her there. She noticed his eyes were bloodshot; perhaps the club car was his natural habitat. With a murmured “excuse me,” she slid past him and hurried back toward the safety of Rose.

FOUR
    D ULCIE M ASTERS LEANED HER FACE TOWARD THE SPICY warmth of the baked bean soup bubbling in the Hancock Shakers’ biggest stovetop cauldron. Today she wasn’t feeling so ill, but she always seemed to be cold. And hungry. Maybe the Ritz wasn’t serving up baked bean soup to the rich, but the lumpy red-brown stuff looked mighty tasty to Dulcie—better by far than her suppers before she’d come to work for the Shakers, when she was lucky to have a potato. She’d gone without for so long that her wispy brown hair had started to fall out, but now it was growing back nice and fluffy again. She reached up and smoothed her hand over her head.
    â€œNeed me to chop any more onion for that soup?” Carlotta DiAngelo’s hand hovered over a large, yellow onion. “Dulcie, you here today?”
    â€œWhat?” Dulcie started and spun around.
    â€œOnions?” Carlotta’s thin, sharp-featured face tightened in irritation, like an impatient fox waiting for something interesting to chase.
    Dulcie shook her head. “No, save it. Winter’s got some time to go yet.” It wouldn’t do to run short of food; then the sisters might decide it was too risky to share their meals with the hired help. They might even let her go, her and Carlotta, and maybe even her fiancé, Theodore, and then there’d be nothing. Dulcie turned back to the soup to hide her pale, expressive face, in case it showed any