While the Sweetheart Singers warbled her theme song and Mr. Forman purred the show’s introduction into his microphone, Evie dabbed at her face with a handkerchief and looked out at the audience, where people waited hungrily with their objects. Her mind was on Sam. Theirs was supposed to be a pretend romance, nothing more. But then Sam had saved her life, and she’d kissed him. She’d wanted to kiss him—that much was clear. His kisses had been passionate and tender and dizzying; Evie hadn’t wanted to stop. When the party broke up at last, and Evie headed home, she glanced through the taxi’s rear window to see him standing there in the middle of the busy street watching her leave, his hands shoved into his pockets, a sweet grin on his face as the cars and taxicabs zoomed around him, horns honking angrily. The deal with Sam was supposed to make Evie’s life easier. Instead, she was more confused than ever.
“And don’t forget that the Sweetheart Seer will be the special guest of the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult at tonight’s grand Diviners exhibit opening, beginning at the spooooky stroke of deepest midnight! That sounds rather crrreepy-crrrrawly , Miss O’Neill,” Mr. Forman prompted.
“Yes. Rah-ther,” Evie said tightly. Through the glass of the engineer’s room, she could see Mr. Phillips, who did not look pleased to have his radio used in such an unscripted fashion. “Shall we bring up our first guest, Mr. Forman?”
Mr. Forman took the hint. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the Pears Soap Hour stage—Mr. Bob Bateman!”
To polite applause, a handsome man came forward. He seemed sweetly nervous. “How do you do, Miss O’Neill?”
“I’m doing much better now that you’re here,” Evie shot back, enjoying the audience’s laughter. “How can I be of help to you today, Mr. Bateman?”
“It’s awfully nice to meet you. You’re such a swell girl and all.”
“Gee, Mr. Bateman, that’s awfully sweet of you to say,” Evie said. “Oh, you brought me a comb. Golly, I hope this doesn’t mean that my bob looks a fright!”
More laughter. It was a great audience, a great show—one of her best. She hoped Mr. Phillips was paying attention.
“Oh, no, Miss O’Neill. You look beautiful,” he said, and Evie actually blushed.
“Careful there. This young lady’s engaged to a Diviner,” Mr. Forman interjected, to the crowd’s delight.
“He’s a lucky fella,” Mr. Bateman said, and Evie’s smile wobbled just a bit. She no longer knew what game she and Sam were playing.
“This comb belonged to my best pal, Ralphie,” Mr. Bateman said, and Evie snapped back to the moment.
“Oh. Uh-huh,” she said.
“He died during the war.”
There were clucks of sympathy from the audience.
“Gee, I’m sorry,” Evie said. “My brother was a war hero, you know.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that. I figured you might be sympathetic to an old Army man like me. The thing of it is, when he was over there, Ralphie married a French girl on the quick, but I don’t know her name and, well, the family has been trying to find her all these years. I’m sure you understand. I thought maybe you could get a name for us?”
“Of course,” Evie said quietly. She put her hand on Mr. Bateman’s. “I’ll do whatever I can.”