ON THE THIRD DAY of July, this was how things stood. First, Frankie was still in the kitchen. She had not yet found a way to convince Daddy that she was just as good as Elizabeth and could be doing other things. Second, she had not yet told Daddy about Mr. Stannum. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, only that telling Daddy about Mr. Stannum meant having to tell Daddy that he was suspected of being a spy for Hitler and that thanks to Mr. Stannum there was some sort of proof of it, which was now in Mr. Price’s hands. And when delivering all this bad news to Daddy, it would almost certainly come out that Frankie could have stopped this all from happening if only she’d been anything other than a Number Three and didn’t just sit by and watch.
And why had she been such a do-nothing, anyway? Was it because she wondered, even just a little, if Mr. Price was right?
Oh, and lastly—as if there weren’t enough troubles—she hadn’t yet worked out how she was going to make good on her deal with Seaweed.
This was what you could call a tight spot.
To make matters worse, all day long she had watched Mr. Stannum play the part of a loyal and trustworthy employee, being so agreeable to everyone that Amy was convinced he had come down with the fever. It really burned her up. Perhaps that is why Frankie decided it was time to talk to Daddy. In truth, it was past time, but better late than always a do-nothing Number Three, she figured. So, after she finished work in the kitchen and hung up her apron, and after checking to make sure Mr. Stannum was nowhere in sight, she climbed the stairs in search of Daddy.
Elizabeth and Mother were in the dining room taking inventory of what was needed for tomorrow’s party, and so didn’t notice Frankie in the least as she went past. She climbed the stairs and found the door to Daddy’s office open enough that she could see his shirtsleeves at his desk, as well as his fingers paging through a folder. “Daddy?” she said as she stepped inside. “Can I . . . ?”
But those weren’t Daddy’s shirtsleeves at all.
“Mr. Stannum,” said Frankie, “what are you doing up here? Where’s Daddy?”
“Oh, well, uh,” he said, dropping the folder. “I was just looking for an order your father wanted me to place. For fresh fish and seafood, you know; he found a shop in Baltimore he wanted me to inquire about.” He cleared his throat and then raked his dirty fingernails through his silver hair. He came toward Frankie and the door. “Uh, no luck, though. I’ll just have to wait until he returns and ask him directly.”
Frankie stood firm in the doorway, inspecting him. Those eyes of his were having quite a blink.
Mr. Stannum gave a brief smile and tried to get by. “I think he ran out to the bank. Your father, I mean.” He squeezed by her as she glared at him. What she really wanted to do was check his pockets for anything belonging to Daddy. The rotten thief.
She watched him all the way down the staircase, and once he was gone, she looked around for anything out of place on Daddy’s desk. But the thing was, every last thing was out of place. Heaps and piles, piles and heaps.
Frankie trailed after Mr. Stannum and waited outside his office. He left soon after to talk to Mr. Washington about ground hamburger, and when he did, she snuck in and real quick checked his brown leather satchel.
Empty, except for a small, framed picture of a young man in a military uniform.
She checked the pockets of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of his desk chair.
Empty times two.
“What you doing in here?” said Amy, sticking her head inside.
Frankie jumped. “Nothing.”
“Snoopin’ is more like it,” said Amy.
“Where’s Mr. Stannum?”
“Kitchen,” said Amy. “Lookin’ for what we ain’t done. I reckon he be back right soon.”
“I’m going,” said Frankie. She tore off a piece of paper from a tablet on his desk and wrote in block letters a question that had been on her mind since her first day in the kitchen.
Frankie folded the paper in half, then in half again.
And she slipped it into his jacket pocket.
What was this question? Of course you’d like to know, as it’s only natural to be curious of such things. All will be revealed in due time, my friend. In due time.