The Librarian Spy(11)
A tall man in a navy suit stopped midstride, his arm and leg going forward with an exaggerated momentum-pulled motion as he stared at her. “Who’s the dish?” He flashed a smile that revealed a chipped canine. Given his slightly crooked nose and stockier build, he seemed like the sort to have barreled his way through college as a linebacker on the football team.
Based on his baby face, that might have been only a year ago.
“You mean Petri dish?” she amended with what she hoped was a good-natured chuckle. “I only just flew in and am looking forward to cleaning up later.”
“I bet your arms are tired.” He grinned expectantly.
Peggy pushed at him. “Aw, c’mon and leave her be. The poor girl is probably going on about twenty hours without sleep, am I right?”
It was closer to twenty-four, but who was counting at this point?
Ava gave Peggy a grateful smile.
“That’s what I thought. I can’t believe you were even brought in.” Peggy folded her arms and directed her razor-sharp focus toward Mr. Sims.
“I wanted to,” Ava admitted. “I confess I’m a little unsure what I’m even supposed to do.”
They laughed, a joke everyone knew the punch line to but her.
She lightly joined in with a chuckle, so she didn’t appear as left out as she suddenly felt.
“None of us had an idea what we were doing when we got here,” the linebacker said. “I’ll help you get the swing of things. I’m Michael Driscoll, by the way.”
Mr. Sims turned and disappeared into an office with his name on the closing door.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Driscoll.” Ava’s smile stretched across her dry lips. She learned a long time ago that she said the wrong things at the wrong times, only thinking of the right reply several hours later. Usually around three in the morning when there was nothing but the isolating darkness of her room to appreciate her belated wit.
“You can call me Mike.” He put an arm around her shoulders. The cheap scent of rayon informed her of the fabric of his suit despite its immaculately tailored appearance. “Stick with me and I’ll show you the ropes, kid.”
She was likely two or three years older than him, certainly no kid in his book. “I’m certain you can do that without your arm around my shoulders.” She eased out from beneath his hold with a smile to make her words less sharp.
He swiftly withdrew from her, his hands held up in proof of his innocence. “We’ve heard everything about you.” He wagged a finger at her. “You’re smart, dig into research like a bloodhound, and know your way around microfilm.”
It was a reminder of her former self from DC, one who didn’t have to pretend to find humor in jokes she didn’t understand, who knew what went where and why. She nodded, proud of her accomplishments.
“Tell you what,” Mike said. “Gather up all the daily publications and newspapers tomorrow morning and come back here. I’ll show you how to get them all back to DC for filing.”
“Now that I can do.” While she spoke with confidence, she felt only the quivers of trepidation. She had no idea what she was looking for or where she might find it. But after his compliment, she didn’t dare inquire lest she sound stupid.
He offered her a mock salute with two fingers and an amiable wink before sauntering to one of the back rooms.
Peggy gave a good-natured shake of her head. “He’s a piece of work, that one.” She held up a set of keys. “Your bags are still in the car. C’mon, I’ll drive you to your flat. We got you a little place just off Rossio Square, all to yourself and everything.”
Ava hesitated before following Peggy. “Are you sure there’s nothing I should be doing here?”
“You need to get settled,” Peggy said over her shoulder. The flare of her yellow skirt was far more generous than was allowed in DC. Apparently, the cloth ration was not in effect in Lisbon.
They approached the door to leave when Ava put a hand on Peggy’s arm. “Don’t you need a hat?”
Peggy tilted her head. “Why would I need a hat?”
Heat effused Ava’s cheeks. “Won’t you...be...taken for...a...?”
Peggy lifted her brows for Ava to continue.
“Prostitute,” Ava whispered in a rushed breath, glancing around after to ensure no one heard.
To her great surprise, Peggy burst out laughing. “I’m guessing you read that OSS manual on Lisbon?”
Ava straightened her spine an inch taller. “Of course I did.”
“A lot’s changed since they wrote that straitlaced piece.” Still chuckling to herself, Peggy waved for Ava to follow. “C’mon, let’s get you to your new place so you can get settled.”
The ride to Rossio Square only took a few minutes—likely too far to walk, but almost too short to drive. Peggy drove slower, allowing Ava to take in the ornamented sidewalks throughout Lisbon with detailed chunks of limestone and basalt laid out in an ancient art form called cal?ada, a practice dating back to Mesopotamia. Some spreads were in specific patterns and others merely a smattering of stones fitted together like perfectly made puzzle pieces. But the one Ava had most anticipated from her research was that of Rossio Square.
She pulled in a quiet breath as the black volcanic stone and white calcified rock formation came into view, its wavelike pattern shifting against the eyes depending on how one looked at it.