Cole filled cups for himself and Patsy and then carried them back to the table. The two of them were the only ones awake in the headquarters of Engine Company Twenty-one, even though it was mid-morning. Their crew had changed shifts only a few days earlier, and most of the men were still having trouble adjusting to the new schedule. Loud snoring came from several of the bunks along the wall.
Lieutenant Driscoll came into the room from downstairs as Cole sat down again at the table and slid Patsy's cup across to him. The lieutenant said, "All's quiet, I suppose?"
"That's right," Cole said. "What did Chief Sullivan have to say?" He knew that Driscoll, along with all the other lieutenants in the department, had been summoned downtown for a meeting with the chief engineer this morning.
"He gave us a schedule for a test of the new alarm system," Driscoll replied. "Also, he was letting us know that a photographer will be traveling around the city for the next few weeks, making official group photographs of all the engine companies."
Cole grimaced. "Why is he going to do that?"
"Because good publicity is good for the department," Driscoll explained patiently, with the air of a man who had gone over this issue before. "We always want the fire department to appear in the best light possible, so the city fathers won't even consider cutting our funds when it comes time to establish a budget."
"They'd never do that," Patsy declared without hesitation. "Not as long as they're afraid that the whole city might someday burn down around their blessed ears."
"Well, at any rate, it's going to be done, so you'd better get used to the idea. I'll let you know later when the photographer will be here."
Patsy licked his fingers and slicked down a little of his rumpled thatch of hair. It didn't improve his appearance much, but he grinned and said, "I'll be sure to make meself beautiful."
Annabel Lowell, Cole thought. Now, there was someone who didn't have to make herself beautiful. She was just naturally that way. He remembered the way she had looked in the soft light of the street lamps, her hair dark and luxurious, and the way the sun had seemed to lighten it several shades the next day when it shone so brightly on her. He would never forget her . . .
"There ye go again!'' Patsy said as his fist thumped the table. "Lieutenant, ye might as well send this boy home. He's worthless to us now. His head's full o' moonbeams an' fairy dust. He's in looooove."
Cole leaned over the table and took a halfhearted swipe at Patsy's head, which the genial Irishman ducked easily. "That's a lie!" Cole said.
"I hate to quote an Englishman, but methinks thou doth protest too much, boyo."
Lieutenant Driscoll said sharply, "That's enough of that. I'm not going to send you home, Cole, but we could use some more coffee." He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove, took a sniff of the contents, and wrinkled his nose. "These grounds are going to get up and walk away by themselves if someone doesn't replace them soon."
"All right," Cole said as he got to his feet. "I'd be glad to go to the market, Lieutenant." He glared across the table at Patsy. "At least that'll get me away from this blasted leprechaun for a while."
"Aye, run away," Patsy said. "Ye're just afraid I'll ask ye for a rematch on the chess game."
"Not likely," Cole muttered.
Not while his thoughts were still taken up by the lovely, haunting memory of Annabel Lowell.
****
It was like going home again. Actually, she was going home again, Annabel thought as she walked along Columbus Avenue. Only this area of the city wouldn't actually be her home for another eight decades.
A lot of the buildings were different, but some of them were recognizable enough that Annabel had no trouble figuring out where she was. Her apartment building wasn't there, but another was located in its place. This was strictly an Italian neighborhood now; the Beats wouldn't move in for another forty years. The air was full of familiar, delicious smells. Many of the buildings Annabel passed were either markets or restaurants, much as in her own time.
Up ahead she saw the shop where Lucius bought groceries and produce. It was on one of the small triangles of real estate formed by side streets' cutting across Columbus Avenue at sharp angles. A single-story building, it had large, open doors leading into a shadowy interior, and on the sidewalk in front of the place were bins of fruits and vegetables. A sign over the main entrance proudly proclaimed Avallone's Market.
A slender man with a mustache stood on the sidewalk exchanging greetings with nearly everyone who went past. He was wearing a white apron over work clothes but managed to look dapper in spite of it. He had a friendly smile on his face, and Annabel didn't think he looked the least bit like the bandit Lucius had referred to him as. As Annabel approached, he grinned at her and said, "Hello, lady. Beautiful day today. You need to buy something?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Annabel replied. "I'm here on behalf of Mrs. Frances Noone—"
"Mrs. Noone!" the man exclaimed. "One of my favorite customers! I don't see her nearly often enough. How is she?"