Max had waved the paycheck in her face.

“Yeah, but I don’t even have a bank account.”

“Well, that’s easy to fix!”

Max had grabbed Beatrice by the hand and pulled her back through the main lobby of the building to the banking floor. The tellers were just closing up for the day. Max dragged Beatrice over to one of the barred windows.

“What am I going to tell my aunt? She told me to bring my paycheck home to her.”

“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Max demanded. “How long are you supposed to be her meal ticket?”

“Oh, I don’t think she’d steal it. She just doesn’t want me to go spending it all. That’s what she says. She wants me to save up so I can afford a place of my own someday.”

“Well, that’s nice. But you can’t just put your whole life on hold, waiting for someday to get here. What if it never does, and then what do you got?”

“What am I going to tell her?”

“Tell her . . . tell her the bank has requested that all of its employees open savings accounts to ‘improve investor confidence.’ ”

Max was a genius. It was as if Mr. Halloran or some executive were talking. That settled it.

Beatrice smoothed the lapel of her new knit top. It was covered in little paisleys and hugged her ribs.

“I like it.” Mr. Halloran grinned. After an uncomfortable pause, he seemed to remember himself and turned toward his desk. “Have a seat. I need you to take a letter.”

Beatrice obediently opened her steno pad. After practicing nearly every day with her Gregg shorthand manual on the bus to and from work, she had mastered a sloppy sort of shorthand. She was beginning to feel like a real professional.

“Attention: Mr. Bruce Paxton, Federal Reserve Board.” He gazed out his window at the Cleveland skyline. “I understand your interest in our recent trading activity; however, I must remind you that the Gold Reserve Act of 1934 has been repealed . . .” Beatrice took notes while he lectured the addressee. She lost all track of the content of his words as she jotted them down in little swishing lines. She was almost able to keep up. He closed the letter with, “President Nixon may have abandoned the country to inflation, but we are banking on gold. We intend to fight this investigation all the way to the Supreme Court.”

Her eyes widened as she jotted down the words. “Is someone investigating the bank, sir?”

“Hmm?” he replied as if he had forgotten she was there. “Uh, no, Beatrice. This is just a formality. Just tag it with my usual closing and type it up.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood to leave.

“Wait, Beatrice. There is another matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

She sank back down to her seat. “Yes?”

“What I am about to tell you can’t leave this room, do you understand? Can you keep a secret?”

She swallowed. “Um. Yes, sir.”

“We have reason to believe that there is a mole working here at First Bank of Cleveland, someone who is trying to sabotage the company from within.”

“A mole?”

“A spy.” His eyes simmered darkly.

Beatrice waited for him to say more. According to the letter he had just dictated, the Federal Reserve was investigating the bank, and she wondered if that had anything to do with it. After a long pause, she had to ask, “What does this have to do with me?”

“You’re friends with Maxine McDonnell, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I need you to find out what special projects she’s working on with Mr. Thompson.”

“You don’t think Max has anything to do with this, do you?” Her stomach sank.

“Her? No,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I just need to know what Mr. Thompson and his team are up to.”

“And you think Max will tell me?”

“She’ll feel more comfortable talking with you. Girl talk. You know.” He winked at her. “Of course, I’m going to need you to keep this conversation strictly between us. Maxine can’t know you’re working for me.”

He walked over to her chair and took her hand. As he gazed down at her, his smile deepened. His eyes darkened. “Can I count on you, Beatrice? Your loyalty will not go unnoticed.”

The way he was standing over her, she panicked he would lean down and crush her with a kiss. She rose from her seat awkwardly and took a step toward the door. “Of course, Mr. Halloran.”

“Randy,” he said, leaning closer. He was still holding her hand.

She shook it firmly just as she’d been taught and then wrenched her hand free, making as if her notes needed sorting. “Of course, Randy. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Wonderful. I’ll expect a report sometime in the next two weeks.”

She nodded and scurried to the door. “Okay, happy Thanksgiving!”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Beatrice.”

Back at her desk, Beatrice shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t escaped when she did. Max had said, “The man’s a shark.” And now the shark wanted her to get information out of her one and only friend.

They had even shaken hands on the whole deal. It was self-defense, she protested, but now she was trapped. Her very job might depend on getting Randy what he wanted. But Max would know something was fishy if she started asking about secret projects.

“Hey!”

Beatrice let out a small squeak. Max had appeared next to her desk, as if on cue. She shook her head a little and tried to laugh casually. “Oh goodness, you snuck up on me.” She wasn’t fit to be a spy.

“You look nuts. I think we need a drink!” With that, Max grabbed her elbow and led her out of the office and down the street to the Theatrical Grille. “Say, what are you doing for the holiday tomorrow night?”

“Oh, I think my aunt has to work. She’s always working the holidays.” Beatrice remembered Doris complaining the week before about the drunks who would wander into the diner late at night on Thanksgiving to avoid spending time with their relatives.

“So are you going back home to Marietta?”

“No, my mother and I don’t . . .” Beatrice trailed off, at a loss for words.

Max’s penciled brows were raised, but her eyes were soft. “Why don’t you forget your silly family and come home with me tomorrow?”

“Are you sure it would be all right with your family if I came with you?” Beatrice was overwhelmed by the generous offer, especially considering what a horrible friend she was turning out to be.

“Are you kidding? I come from an Irish Catholic family. I doubt they’ll even know you’re there.”

Max pushed her way into the Theatrical.

Carmichael waved from the bar and rushed to their side. “Bellas! What can I get you today?”

Max kissed him on the cheek. “How ’bout a couple of screwdrivers? We’re working girls after all—we need all the tools we can get!”

CHAPTER 10

Thanksgiving morning, Beatrice woke up to an empty apartment. Aunt Doris had come in late the night before and left early. Beatrice was getting worried that she hadn’t really seen or talked to her aunt in days. She was relieved she didn’t have to lie about working late when Max insisted on having a drink at the Theatrical or about opening her own bank account, but it wasn’t like Doris to come and go in the dark.

Beatrice peered over the arm of the couch at her aunt’s room. The door was wide open, and the bed was made. Beatrice never went into her aunt’s bedroom. It had been off-limits since she moved in. Even when Doris was gone, Beatrice always respected her aunt’s wishes.

“You can live here as long as you follow two rules—keep your space clean, and stay out of mine,” she’d said with a grin and a smack on the back. Beatrice suspected that taking in her troubled niece was a stretch for Doris. She’d always lived alone, as far as Beatrice knew, and didn’t care much for family. At least, the family didn’t care much for Doris. Her mother wouldn’t even speak her name.