Murder in Burnt Orange Read Online Free PDF Page B

friend?”
    â€œWell, see, it’s like this, miss. I ain’t forgotten how good you’ve been to me. But these men—they’re nasty. I seen a lot of men, in and out of the hotel, what you’d call gentlemen, and the other kind. And these guys, they give me the willies. I reckon they’re gangsters, or the next thing to it, and I don’t want nothin’ to do with ’em. Nor I don’t want you havin’ nothin’ to do with ’em.”
    Hilda looked at him thoughtfully. He was as pale as his sunburned complexion would allow. “You are frightened.”
    â€œYou bet I am! And I ain’t usually scared of nothin’, you know that.”
    â€œI know you are brave. Can you tell me why these men frighten you?”
    â€œIt’s nothin’ you can put your finger on, miss—ma’am.”
    â€œCall me ‘miss,’ Andy, as you used to. It is more friendly.”
    â€œYes, miss. These guys—it’s just sort of the way they talk. Not loud, but kind of hard, like they’re used to gettin’ their own way. And they dress fancy, but not like real gentlemen. Too fancy, sort of. And—I dunno, miss. I think any one of ’em’d kill you as soon as look at you, and that’s the truth.” He looked at her anxiously.
    Hilda frowned and bit her lip, and suppressed a small yelp as the baby kicked her, hard.
    â€œMiss?”
    â€œIt is nothing. A little trouble with my stomach.” Too late she remembered that the stomach was not mentioned in polite society, any more than a baby’s movements. Perhaps Andy didn’t know that either.
    â€œAndy, did anyone know that you were coming here today?”
    â€œNo, miss. Leastways, I didn’t tell nobody, and this house is on my way home, sorta. And I gotta be gettin’ along, miss.”
    â€œYes. There is one more thing I need to know, Andy. No, two. Do you think these men are anarchists?”
    Andy shook his head slowly. “I don’t rightly know what they might look like, miss, but the pictures I seen of that guy, the one who killed the president, you know?”
    Hilda nodded.
    â€œWell, these men don’t look nothin’ like him. He looked kinda wild-like, you know? These guys look fancy, like I said.”
    â€œI understand. But then why did you tell Erik you thought it was anarchists who planned the train wrecks?”
    â€œThat wasn’t me, miss. Some of the other boys, they got to arguin’ about it. The bell captain, he told ’em to shut up, ’cause they were gettin’ to talkin’ too loud. But I never thought that.”
    â€œCould they be union organizers, do you think? The troubles this year in Russia and in Chicago started when the police tried to stop the unions.”
    â€œMaybe, I guess. Only I’ve seen some of them union men, when they come through town, Mr. Debs and Mr. Gompers and them, and they didn’t look like—well, I dunno. And I gotta go, miss, really! Ma’ll be worryin’ about me.”
    â€œTake the cookies with you. And come back tomorrow, if you can. I need you to ask the other boys some questions, and to keep your eyes open.”
    But, Hilda admitted to herself when he had gone, she knew very little she hadn’t known before. And she had, at the moment, no idea what to ask the bellboys to do.
    And who were Mr. Debs and Mr. Gompers?
    She asked Patrick when they sat down to supper.
    â€œYou’re slippin’, me girl. I thought you read the papers. Pass the potato salad, would you, darlin’?”
    â€œI remember something about someone named Gompers when I went through the papers today, but I did not read very carefully.” Hilda passed him the bowl of salad, after taking a second helping for herself.
    â€œSamuel Gompers is only the leadin’ union man in the whole country, that’s all. He’s president of the American Federation of Labor, and