Anchor In The Storm Part 12

After Arch left, Mr. Dixon came down the aisle. "Your friend's visiting you at work?"

"My brother's friend." Lillian set the box aside to purchase later and resumed rearranging the shelf. "He had a medical question."

"Your brother's in the Navy too, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir. All three of my older brothers."

Mr. Dixon grunted, his heavy gray brows jammed together. "Let's hope the Navy treats them better than they treated my nephew."

"Oh?" Her hands rested on the shelf. Mr. Dixon never mentioned his family, and she longed to pry the door open. "How is that?"

The pharmacist nodded toward Boston Harbor. "He served on a battleship, in the fire room. One day the boiler exploded. Some of his buddies were killed, and he was badly burned."

"Oh dear. I'm so sorry."

"That wasn't the worst of it." His dark eyes turned soft. "After he healed, he tried to go back, but he couldn't handle being in the fire room. His nerves, you know."

"I can imagine."

"What did the Navy do?" He flung out one hand. "Wouldn't give him medication. Wouldn't train him in a new rating. Just kicked him out, said he was unfit for duty."

"What a shame."

"All his life he wanted to be a sailor. He found a job at the Navy Yard, but it's not the same."

"I understand."

Mr. Dixon's gaze swam back, as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Yes. Well, we should get back to work."

"Yes, sir." She smiled as she did so. Mr. Dixon might turn out to be a teddy bear after all.

What a strange subway system. The same station had three names-State for the northbound line, Milk Street for the southbound line, and Devonshire for the east-west line. All located beneath the historic Old State House.

Lillian gazed up at the two-hundred-year-old brick building.

"Out of the way, lady."

"Oh, sorry." She darted away from the door. What a hick she was, gawking at the tourist sites. But how could she help it?

In the light of the setting sun, she got her bearings. The Old State House stood at one of those typical Bostonian intersections with half a dozen streets coming from all angles-the site of the Boston Ma.s.sacre, no less. To her left sat Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market.

Now to act like a big-city girl. She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and followed the directions Albert had given her to the restaurant. Pa.s.s Faneuil Hall, turn right, restaurant on the left.

What kind of medical question could Arch have for her? The Navy was full of healthy young men, and the Navy's physicians and pharmacist's mates cared for them. Why would Arch need to talk to a civilian pharmacist?

It couldn't be a ruse to get her alone for dinner. She'd ruled that out based on his character. She mustn't allow herself to fantasize about romance or to a.s.sign cruel motives to her brother's best friend. They wouldn't have been friends for so long if Arch had pathological tendencies.

Lillian pa.s.sed the colonial brick structure of Faneuil Hall, then Quincy Market with its granite pillars. On her left. She opened the restaurant door and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"What do you want?" A plump waitress in her fifties eyed Lillian up and down.

She must look like a saleswoman rather than a customer. She raised a warm smile. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

The waitress harrumphed. "Isn't that swell? All these years we've kept the sunshiny tourists away, and now they find us."

Lillian blinked. "I . . . I live here."

"Yeah? One month? Two?"

Not quite two months. She blinked again. Didn't they want her business? "I'm meeting my friend at five-thirty."

"And she's late too. Figures." The waitress marched into the dining room. "Who's your friend, sunshine?"

Lillian followed, gaping at the woman's back. Why would the restaurant allow the staff to be inhospitable?

At a table to her right, Arch pushed back his chair and stood. "Good evening."

"Well, don't that beat all?" The waitress planted her hands on wide hips. "Blueblood sailor boy and happy little country girl. What a pair."

Arch pulled out a chair for Lillian. "May I take your coat?"

Stunned, Lillian allowed him. Then she sat, steam filling her chest.

"Suppose you want menus. Can't get a moment's rest around here." The waitress slapped two menus onto the table. "Let me guess-lobster for the King of New England and possum for the country girl. Sorry. We're fresh out of possum." She stomped away.

The steam whooshed out Lillian's nostrils. "That's it. I'm leaving." She shoved back her chair and moved to stand.

Arch clamped a hand on top of hers. "Sit."

The strength of his hand alarmed her, but not as much as the warmth of it. "We should leave. She's rude."

A slow smile eased up. "It's Durgin-Park."

Lillian stared at him, trying to understand, willing him to move his hand, willing herself to pull away.

Arch chuckled. "They're famous for their rude waitresses."

"You picked a restaurant famous for rude waitresses?" She eased back into her chair.

"Blame your brother."

"Jim?"

"Jim. He said I needed to a.s.sure you this wasn't a date, so he suggested the least romantic restaurant in Boston. He told me the waitresses were entertaining."

"Entertaining? Jim would think that."

Arch laughed and returned his hand to his lap. "He knew how you'd react. He knew you'd bolt. His way of making sure the evening would be short as well as unromantic. I've been had."

Long tables spread with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. No music or dancing. And the surliest waitress ever. The steam changed form and burst into laughter.

"I've never been one for practical jokes, but I'll have to get him back." Arch picked up a menu. "Now, I need to choose my entree, because, sadly, they're fresh out of possum."

Lillian smiled and opened her menu. No possum listed, but lobster was, along with steak, shepherd's pie, turkey, and seafood. Oh, and the desserts! Indian pudding, bread pudding, Boston cream pie . . .

"Know what you want, or you need help reading the menu?" The waitress had returned.

Why not play along? "Well, they never learned me much in that ole country schoolhouse, and them words are mighty big, but I reckon I'll have this here chicken potpie. And some beans. Beans is good eatin', all we get down on the farm."

The waitress raised one eyebrow, and one corner of her mouth twitched as she wrote down the order.

Arch gaped at her, much as he had the night they'd met.

"And for you, Your Majesty?"

"Um, pot roast. The New England pot roast, please. And the Boston baked beans."

Lillian looked up at the waitress plaintively. "Go easy on him. He ain't never had beans at that there palace of his."

"Crazy tourists." The waitress strode away.

Lillian grinned in triumph. She'd played the waitress's game and struck Arch dumb. "So what's your medical question?"

"My medical . . . ?" He made a funny face, ran his hand over his hair, and then gave her a charming smile. "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

"You did ask me here for a reason."

"Yes, I did. And thanks to that little exchange, now I know not to get on Lillian Avery's bad side."

"Right. Your question?"

Arch's face sobered, and he folded his hands on the checkered tablecloth. "What do you know about combat fatigue? Sh.e.l.l shock?"

Lillian smoothed the skirt of her burgundy wool suit. "We didn't study that in pharmacy school, but it's a type of anxiety reaction."

"Do you know how it's treated?"

"Not off the top of my head, but other patients with anxiety are treated with rest and sedatives. Why do you ask?"

Arch's mouth shifted from side to side. "Some of my men are jittery. They've seen horrible things, been through horrible things. They can't sleep, and when they do, they have nightmares. They complain about their nerves."

Like Mr. Dixon's poor nephew. "What does your doctor do?"

"We don't have a medical officer. Most destroyers don't. We have a pharmacist's mate, a bright fellow who wants to become a doctor. He also mentioned sedatives, but he can't dispense them unless it's an emergency."

"That makes sense. They're habit-forming."

Arch twiddled his thumbs. "The men don't want to talk to Doc or to a physician, because the Navy might label them as weak, malingerers, cowards-and they could be surveyed out of the Navy. They don't want that. They want to serve their country."

"I understand." But Lillian frowned. Why was he asking her about this?

In the dim light, Arch's eyes were as navy blue as his uniform. "Here's my question. Some of my men are groggy in the middle of the day. I thought one man was drunk, but the ship is dry, and his breath smelled normal. Then a few days ago, I saw one man pa.s.s something to another, like a pill. An hour later, both men were groggy, 'doped off,' as they say."

Lillian rested her forearms on the table. "Do you think they're taking drugs?"

"I don't know. That's what I wanted to ask you."

"Those symptoms are consistent with sedative use. But if your pharmacist's mate isn't prescribing pills, where would they get them?"

"That's why you're here."

Lillian gazed at the ceiling and tapped one finger on her elbow. "They could get a prescription from a Navy doctor, or even from a civilian doc-my word! Dr. Kane."

"Dr. Kane?"

"Yes. Do you remember me telling Jim about a prescription for an unusually high quant.i.ty of phen.o.barbital? Dr. Kane wrote it. He writes lots of these prescriptions."

Arch's eye twitched. "Phen.o.barbital."

"It's a sedative." She scooted forward in her chair. "My word. What if he's running a mill of sorts, seeing all these sailors and prescribing phen.o.barbital?"

Arch rested his chin in his hand, his fingers covering his mouth. "Could be."

"Or . . . or he might only see a few sailors, and they distribute to their friends. That would explain the high quant.i.ties."

"That's illegal, isn't it?"

"Yes, and dangerous. All medications have side effects, and the barbiturates are habit-forming and can be fatal in overdose, especially when combined with alcohol. I knew something fishy was going on. I just knew it."

Arch's hand slid down to reveal a smile. "You look excited."

Lillian laughed. "Maybe I am. I do like mystery books. Oh, I knew I should have called Dr. Kane. Of course, if he's up to no good, he won't admit the truth, but I have to do something."

"See what you can find out on your end, and I'll see what I can find out on board."

"Are you going to play Sherlock Holmes? I could see that."

"Yes, Watson. For what it's worth. The men won't talk to me since I'm an officer, but one of my sailors is an excellent actor. I'll see if he's willing to make some inquiries."

Lillian held up both index fingers and brought them together like magnets. "You work from your end, and I'll work from mine, and we'll solve this thing."

"Partners, then?" Arch smiled and held out his hand.

She stared at it. She didn't relish the idea of working with him, but as a pharmacist, how could she not get involved?

Lillian shook Arch's hand. "Partners."