Murder in Burnt Orange Read Online Free PDF

kitchen, now...”
    â€œGood. You will have it tomorrow. And would you please send Eileen to me as soon as she is free after supper? Thank you, Mrs. O’Rourke.”
    Having thus assuaged her conscience and staved off, she hoped, any threat of rebellion and uprising in her own household, Hilda sat back with her cool drink to wait for Andy.
    Andy had been one of Hilda’s chief sources of information for some time, now. A little older than Erik, he had worked at the grand Oliver Hotel since it opened, to help support his family. Although he had but little formal schooling, he was bright and had taught himself to read and write. He and his friends at the hotel were Hilda’s “Baker Street Irregulars,” her eyes and ears on the world. Especially now that she was confined to her home, Hilda needed Andy’s help.
    He arrived just as Hilda was beginning to look for Patrick’s return. The day was at its hottest, and Hilda was lying on the couch in a fitful nap when Eileen came in and spoke softly to her. “He’s here, ma’am. That boy. He says you want to see him.”
    One day, Hilda thought drowsily, she would ask Eileen why she disliked Andy. “That is fine, Eileen. Show him in. And would you bring us a fresh pitcher of lemonade, please?”
    Eileen sniffed, but did as she was told.
    Andy came warily into the parlor. It was nothing like as grand as the lobby of the Oliver, but the hotel was Andy’s domain. There he wore a snappy uniform and had some status. Here he was only a poor boy in shabby clothes, calling on a lady. No matter that she had been a servant. She was a lady now, and an obviously pregnant lady at that, and Andy felt shy. He was still more uneasy when Eileen returned with a tray with lemonade and fine glasses and a plate of cookies. He wasn’t used to being waited on.
    â€œSit down, Andy. Do you have time to stay for a few minutes?”
    â€œI got to get home soon, ma’am. Ma’ll be needin’ me.”
    â€œI will give you some lemonade then, to cool you, and I will be quick. Andy—what is your last name? I have never known it.”
    â€œMueller, ma’am.” He stood, twisting his frayed cap in his hands.
    That explained Eileen’s attitude, then. The Irish and the Germans in South Bend didn’t mix. Hilda would have to talk to her about that. Later.
    â€œAndy, I need your help. Did Erik tell you what I am doing?”
    â€œHe says you’re lookin’ into the train wrecks, ma’am, and what I say is, you hadn’t better. Sorry if I’m not bein’ perlite, but that’s no business for a lady to get herself mixed up in.”
    â€œSit down, Andy, and have a cool drink. You are not impolite, and it is kind of you to want to protect me, but what harm can come to me here in my own home? And I need to find out what I can, because my mother and Mr. Cavanaugh’s aunt have both asked me to. Now, I want to know what you have heard.”
    Reluctantly, Andy sat and accepted a glass. “Ma’am, I’ve heard enough to know this is pretty risky business, no doubt about it. Some men was talkin’ in the lounge just last week. They never pay me no mind, just like I didn’t have ears or somethin’.”
    Hilda nodded. “I know. It was like that for me, too, when I was a servant. It made me very angry, but it was sometimes useful. What did these men say?”
    â€œThey’d been drinkin’, see, and they wasn’t watchin’ their words. One of ’em, he says, ‘It’ll do the trick, you mark my words. Every railroad man in the state’ll sign on soon as they hear of it.’”
    Hilda frowned. “That does not make sense to me. What did they mean?”
    Andy squirmed in his chair. “It’s not for me to say, ma’am.”
    â€œAndy! This is me, Hilda! Why will you not talk to me? You used to tell me everything. Are you no longer my