“You’re the elephant’s eyebrows, doll,” he said.
Evie’s face was suddenly too warm. “Someone has to look after you, Sam Lloyd.”
The train rattled to a stop.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to the station,” Sam said, offering his crooked arm. “Gotta put on a show for the adoring fans.”
“Right,” Evie said, threading her arm through his. “For the fans.”
On their walk to WGI, Sam and Evie were mobbed by New Yorkers who were happy to shake their hands and wish them well. They called Sam’s and Evie’s names as if the two of them were movie stars or royalty.
“Tell me the truth, Sam—isn’t that the best sound you ever heard? I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”
“Gee. You might have to keep me on, then,” Sam teased. The truth was, he was enjoying their cooked-up romance a little too much. Whenever Evie looked at him from across whatever room they were working, he got a feeling in his stomach like they were sharing the most delicious secret. It was fun and exciting—the two of them against the world. He dreaded the countdown to the end of it all. Was it too much to hope that he could change her mind along the way?
“Have a swell show, darling,” Sam said, playing his part. He kissed Evie’s hand and turned to the crowd. “Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s hand is. Oh, hold on a second—that’s her glove. Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s gloves are!”
Everybody laughed, including Evie, and Sam’s hopes rose anew. He gave her a you liked that? grin, and he could swear by the way she bit her lip and smiled that she did. He wanted nothing more than to come up with ways to keep her smiling.
“Good-bye, Sam,” Evie said, shaking her head.
As she pushed through WGI’s front doors, Evie glanced back at the scene on the street. The girls beamed at Sam as he charmed them, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. A twinge of jealousy bit at Evie. She’d had the urge to kiss Sam right there so that everyone would know he was indisputably hers. Except that he wasn’t. This was a game. A business arrangement. And falling for Sam Lloyd was the don’t-you-dare cherry on top of a worst-idea sundae.
“Stop it, Evie O’Neill,” she whispered to herself. “Stop it right this instant.”
Evie was startled to see Sarah Snow standing in the deep shadows cast by WGI’s grand gilded Art Deco clock.
“You’ve drawn quite the crowd, Miss O’Neill,” Sarah said, her gaze directed out at the throngs of adoring fans, some of them still shouting Evie’s name.
“Oh. Well.” Evie was suddenly at a loss for words. “You have admirers, too, Miss Snow.”
“Not like yours,” Sarah said, her eyes still on the crowd. “If I did, Mr. Phillips might not threaten to cancel my radio hour. Apparently, my sponsor doesn’t find bringing lost souls to Jesus as entertaining or profitable as reading objects. There’s money for Diviners, but not the Divine.” For just a moment, Sarah’s eyes flashed. But then her placid smile returned. “I must say, I’ve come to admire your courage, Miss O’Neill.”
“My courage?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s quite brave of you to handle all those objects belonging to complete strangers. Why, some people would be afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Evie said.
“There’s our little radio star!” Mr. Phillips boomed. He marched toward her, brandishing a newspaper, a retinue of secretaries and reporters behind him. “Great showing at the fights last night. You two were more popular than the boxing,” he said, holding out the Daily News, where the front-page picture showed Sam and Evie sitting ringside. “I tell you, I wish I had twenty of this girl! I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Not at all, Mr. Phillips,” Sarah Snow answered calmly. “I was just telling Miss O’Neill how much I admire her courage.”
“Whaddaya mean?” a reporter asked.
“Why, the sleeping sickness, of course. After all, we don’t know how people take ill. Anyone could have it. Any object could be contaminated.”
“Say, that’s true,” a reporter said, jotting it down. “You ever get spooked about that, Miss O’Neill?”
“Oh. Gee…” Evie said. She’d never thought about it before, but now the worry wormed its way into her thoughts. What did she know about the objects people brought in? About the people? Nothing, really. Not until she was already pressing into their secrets with her hands, and then it was too late.