On the Rocks: A Willa Cather and Edith Lewis Mystery by Sue Hallgarth Page A

diamond-shaped panes, the hearth created a luxuriant sense of warmth and well-being.
    Their evening discussions often carried over several days. Recently, except for the disruptions brought by Mr. Brown’s death, they had been concentrating on the economy, which seemed to be thundering out of control. Money, money, money, headlines in The New York Times continued to roar. People everywhere gossiped about flappers and speakeasies and talked about grabbing the brass ring, jazzing it up, and living high on the hog. Loose women, loose liquor, and too much loose change, Willa observed during dinner, proposing a toast to loose women. Never in favor of temperance, Willa and Edith maintained a well-stocked wine cellar in New York, for which their summers in Canada proved useful. Pesky Prohibition, Willa called it. But Margaret insisted that the Twenties’ roar had grown dangerous, deadening everyone’s ears to sharp cries from the working class.
    Willa and Edith were hopeful about Hoover. His handling of the food crisis after the war had been brilliant, Willa pointed out. But they all knew Hoover would never tackle the most pressing social issues, or end the suppression of labor unions, or reverse the trend to devalue women and their work. Even his Law Enforcement Commission sidestepped central issues surrounding poverty and crime and the free-wheeling use of federal firearms once bootlegging became a felony.
    Margaret was more interested in the cooperative efforts of the Women’s Trade Union League. Co-ops were both practical and highly effective, places where individuals could help themselves and each other at the same time. And Governor Roosevelt, she said, was doing interesting things in New York. His wife Eleanor, Willa pointed out, was doing even more interesting things, going into partnership with Marion Dickerman and Nancy Cook to run a school and start a furniture factory at Val-Kill. Now there was innovation.

VIII

    “B UTTON , BUTTON , WHO ’ S got the button,” Jacobus sang out, leading Constable Daggett into the sitting room to interrupt the evening’s conversation.
    “I do,” Edith pulled the tiny crimson object from its hiding place in her jacket pocket and placed it exactly in the center of Daggett’s calloused palm.
    Daggett studied the button carefully, then slipped it into the inner pocket of his wallet.
    “Well,” he pulled out his tobacco pouch and settled into the chair closest to the fireplace, “tell me where you found this.”
    The circle of expectant faces turned toward Willa, who recounted her discovery and recited the reasons she and Edith settled on the site they had determined as the scene of the crime.
    Daggett himself was the next focus of inquisitive stares. He returned their looks. Jacobus, Coney, and Felix he already knew, and now Miss Cather and Miss Lewis, but he still needed introductions to several of them, Winifred Bromhall, Margaret Byington, Ethelwyn Manning, and Alice and Mary Jordan. They had been absent during his earlier visit. He recognized the Jordan name, “The two of you have a cottage near the road to The Whistle, I believe?”
    “We have one of the cottages on the hill above Miss Cather and Miss Lewis, yes,” Alice Jordan volunteered.
    “Did you happen to see Mr. Brown or anyone else pass by yesterday afternoon?”
    “Not a soul, except Mr. Sharkey and young James. They were heading toward North Head sometime before noon, I believe. And later Miss Briggs, but you know about her.”
    Winifred Bromhall looked up expectantly, but no one said anything further about Miss Briggs or the rumors in the village. Daggett crossed one knee over the other.
    Alice Jordan’s brown eyes, slightly magnified behind glasses, matched the warm tones of her hair, parted in the middle and swept back into a bun. People might think her stern, but he guessed she was shy. Too much humor and warmth came through those glasses, despite her reserve. Quite right for a woman who headed up the