“Don’t see how he could,” she said. “Weak as a kitten. But he does go in and out of that old office of his, pretty much every day.”
When Oscar asked for more specific information about Cameron’s office, Kate Sparrow led them out onto the street, and from the corner she pointed out a building at the intersection of Tenth and Greenwich. “Second floor,” she said. “Side entrance.”
They went back to their lunch and Jack started where Oscar had left off.
“Do you see women coming and going as well, women who might be patients?”
She shrugged. “It’s a busy corner, and he’s not the only one with an office on the second floor. I do see his granddaughter, because she takes him lunch every day. I notice her crossing Sixth Avenue because she’s always lost in her thoughts, and many times she’s come close to getting herself run over. It’s almost funny, the way she looks up and scowls at the driver, like he was in her way. But now that I think on it—”
Anna gave her an encouraging smile.
“Nora hasn’t passed by for two days at least. Maybe he’s laid up.”
Oscar said, “So Cameron has a granddaughter—”
“Nora Smithson,” Kate said. “A beauty, tall and slim with hair like corn silk. She married the oldest Smithson boy, just last year. She used to work with her grandfather but now she clerks in the apothecary, does Mrs. Smithson, as she’s called nowadays and don’t nobody dare forget and call her Nora. The whole family’s like that.”
She wrinkled her nose as if she were smelling something unpleasant, and that made sense to Anna. She remembered Nora Smithson’s condescending and judgmental manner all too clearly.
Anna glanced at Jack. “Could I have a couple of minutes alone with Mrs. Sparrow, do you think?”
When the men had shut the door behind themselves, Kate Sparrow grinned widely. “I was hoping you’d send them away. Can’t really talk about some things, not with men thinking so loud in the background.”
Anna managed a smile. “My feelings exactly. So if I can be blunt—”
Kate leaned forward, nodding.
? ? ?
OSCAR BOUGHT A paper cone of peanuts and they walked over to the corner to look at the office building Kate Sparrow had pointed out. Like most of the buildings in the neighborhood it had seen better days; rain and weather had scoured most of the paint from the boards and the roof sagged. But on the ground floor a cobbler, a leather goods shop, and a confectioner were doing brisk business. Every window in the top two floors advertised a business in bold black paint on glass: dentist, bookkeeper, sign painter, textile importer, employment agent, dressmaker. It wasn’t until they rounded the corner onto Christopher Street that they found what they were looking for: another entry, and above it a window identifying the offices of Dr. J. M. Cameron on the second floor.
They were debating whether to go up and have a look when the door opened and a woman came out, slender and fairly tall, carefully groomed and dressed, a fringe of almost white-blond hair just visible under the brim of her bonnet.
Oscar tilted his head toward her and took off in pursuit, leaving Jack to finagle his way into the doctor’s office on his own. He went up the stairs at a trot and walked along a dim hall until he stood in front of Cameron’s office at the far end. He knocked, waited two beats, tried the knob, and found it unlocked, and no wonder: inside the small waiting room was empty, without a single piece of furniture.
From an inner room he heard a scuffle of feet and a head poked out from around a corner. A younger man with a salesman’s smile. “Hello! Hello, come in. Are you here about the ad?”
“I was looking for Dr. Cameron.”
The smile froze and then melted away. “Dr. Cameron’s retired,” he said. “Last week. He was the first tenant when the building was new, almost fifty years ago and now he’s retired.”
He came forward and held out his hand. A dry, firm grip and the smile was back in place. “I’m the landlord, Jeremy Bigelow. Don’t suppose you might be in the market for office space? Great setup for almost any business. Waiting room, office, two rooms for storage or client meetings or whatever—”
“I suppose I could have a look while I’m here,” Jack said, and followed along.
The rooms had been scrubbed and painted, with only the vaguest smells left to indicate that this had been a medical practice. While Bigelow talked about square footage and foot traffic and the neighborhood, Jack looked out the window onto Christopher Street, wondering if Cameron had really retired, or if he had gone into hiding.
Bigelow wanted to know if he could show Jack anything else of interest.
“Would you happen to have an address for Dr. Cameron?”
Bigelow did not. “But his granddaughter is at the apothecary just across from the el station—” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the right direction. “Nora Smithson. She could help you, I’m sure.”