I

A ll he ever talks about is milk.”

“Milk?” Sarah Malloy echoed. “Oh, because he owns a dairy, I suppose.”

Mrs. Ellsworth nodded. Sarah’s neighbor had dropped in on the day after Christmas to invite Sarah and her husband, Frank, to dine with the Ellsworth family and her son’s new in-laws.

But she had also felt compelled to warn them about the new bride’s father, Clarence Pritchard, and his tendency to talk about his work.

“I suppose that’s only natural,” Sarah said. “He’s rather successful, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, which I’m sure he’ll mention. Oh my, I hope I haven’t talked you out of coming. I’m anxious for you to know Mrs. Pritchard better. She’s such a lovely person, which is probably why Theda is such a delightful girl. But Mr. Pritchard can be a bit of a bore, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage. Malloy can always launch into a tale about his adventures in the police department if it’s truly an emergency.”

“Or perhaps he could tell us about his new life as a private detective. I would be forever grateful. And Mrs. Malloy is also invited, although when I spoke to her about it yesterday, she said she’d be needed to watch the children if I also invited Maeve.”

Sarah smiled at that. Mrs. Malloy and Mrs. Ellsworth had become good friends, as unlikely as Sarah had thought it when her mother-in-law had come to live here. But Mother Malloy would never feel comfortable at a formal dinner party, even at her friend’s house. “Were you going to invite Maeve?”

“I was considering it. I’ve invited Harvey, too, and I thought he might like having a pretty girl to talk to.”

Sarah’s nanny was certainly a pretty girl. “Harvey? That’s Theda’s brother, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m sure you met him last month at the wedding.”

Ah yes, the sullen young man who had drunk too much and passed out. “I’m sure Maeve will be thrilled to be included, but won’t the Pritchards think it odd you invited our nanny to a social event?”

“I’ll tell them she’s Catherine’s governess.”

“Do people still have governesses?” Sarah asked in amusement.

“I’m sure they do somewhere. The Pritchards won’t know, and they’ll be too polite to ask.”

They chatted for a few minutes about the arrangements. Then Mrs. Ellsworth said, “I don’t suppose Mr. Malloy would be willing to do our first step this New Year’s.”

“You mean to be the first man to step over your threshold after midnight to bring you luck?” Mrs. Ellsworth was notoriously superstitious. “Doesn’t Nelson usually do it?”

“Yes, but I thought it would be fun to have someone else do it this time. We just need a dark-haired man to come in with a lump of coal and a few coins right after midnight to ensure us a prosperous 1900.”

“I’m sure Malloy would love to do it,” Sarah lied, easily picturing how he’d roll his eyes if asked to participate in one of Mrs. Ellsworth’s superstitions, “but we’ll be going down to Trinity Church to hear the bells ring in the New Year, and I’m not sure when we’ll get back.”

Mrs. Ellsworth brightened at that. “I suppose you’ll be driving down in your new motorcar.”

“Yes. Gino will drive it, of course. He’s got it running perfectly, which I understand is quite a challenge.” Malloy’s partner had taken quite an active interest in the motorcar and its inner workings, which was fortunate because Malloy had no interest whatever.

“Oh yes, those machines are quite unreliable or so I’ve heard. I don’t know why anyone would bother with them if they could have a horse. But if Mr. Donatelli is with you, I guess he won’t be available to do the first step either.”

“Could Mr. Pritchard do it? Or Harvey?”

“Oh no. They’re both too fair, even if they’d agree. The first stepper must have dark hair, and I have a feeling neither of them would take it seriously in any case, especially Harvey.”

Sarah had to agree, but she chose tact instead. “Young men often don’t take much of anything seriously.”

“Yes, and Harvey is a bit spoiled, I fear. As for Mr. Pritchard, just between us, he isn’t the easiest man to tolerate, either. When he gets started on the subject of milk, well, you can just see from her expression that Mrs. Pritchard would like to murder him.”

• • •

I would only do this for Mrs. Ellsworth,” Malloy said as he crossed the street with Maeve and Sarah to their neighbor’s house that Friday evening. Sarah laid her head on his shoulder in silent thanks as they walked arm in arm.

“I’m sure Mrs. Ellsworth would be gratified by your devotion,” Maeve said with a smirk. She’d dressed with particular care this evening, but Sarah couldn’t imagine she wanted to impress Harvey Pritchard. No, Maeve would have a deeper plan.

“I’m just repaying a few debts,” Malloy insisted. “Mrs. Ellsworth has helped us with a case or two.”

“And she saved my life once, which I’ll never forget,” Sarah said. “So that explains why Malloy and I are here, but why are you going, Maeve?”

“Just to be neighborly.” Maeve smiled as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but Sarah wasn’t fooled.

“You don’t have your cap set for Harvey Pritchard, do you?” Sarah asked in mock horror.

“Not likely.” Maeve had attended the wedding, too.

Sarah needed another minute to finally figure it out. “You told Gino you’d been invited, didn’t you?” Sarah and Malloy had often discussed his partner’s infatuation with Maeve and her apparent enjoyment in tormenting him.

“I may have mentioned it.”

“Poor Gino,” Malloy muttered. Sarah had to agree. She had an idea that Maeve’s account of the coming evening would include marked attentions to her from Harvey Pritchard, whether such attentions actually occurred or were even welcome.

They had reached the Ellsworths’ house, and Maeve preceded them up the porch steps to ring the bell.

Nelson Ellsworth answered the door and welcomed them. The Ellsworths didn’t have live-in servants, just a daily maid who was probably busy helping Mrs. Ellsworth with the dinner. “Mother and Theda are finishing up in the kitchen,” he said when he’d taken their coats. He escorted them to the parlor, where the other guests were gathered. “I believe you know my in-laws, Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard, and their son, Harvey.” The Pritchards were seated on the sofa, and Harvey lounged beside the fireplace, his arm draped in what he probably imagined was a debonair pose on the mantelpiece. “And Mr. Donatelli, of course.”

Mr. Pritchard was slow to rise at the entrance of the ladies, but Gino jumped up immediately, smiling a little too smugly. Sarah glanced over just in time to catch Maeve’s astonished expression before she recovered herself.

“Gino,” Sarah said quickly. “How nice to see you.” And what a surprise , although she didn’t say that.

“Yes,” Maeve said through almost-gritted teeth. “You didn’t mention you would be here.”

Gino shrugged inside the tailor-made suit Malloy had insisted he get when they started their detective agency. “I hadn’t been invited yet.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Malloy,” Mrs. Ellsworth greeted them as she entered the room. She was still smoothing her black bombazine gown, probably having just removed her apron. “How good of you to come. And Maeve, so nice to see you.”

When they’d greeted her in return, she turned back to Maeve. “When Mr. Donatelli called on us the other day, Theda and I were telling him about giving our first dinner party. When he asked who was going to be my dinner partner, I realized I had an odd number of guests and invited him to join us. Nelson, get our guests some sherry to warm them up.”

Gino smiled with apparent innocence at Maeve, who wasn’t fooled for a moment.

Sarah and Malloy left them to it and went over to greet the Pritchards. Mrs. Pritchard was an attractive woman who had certainly been a beauty twenty years ago and now, at forty, would still turn a few heads. She smiled and returned Sarah’s greeting, although the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She seemed rather tense, too, which was odd since she was attending what amounted to a family dinner. “Clarence, you remember Mr. and Mrs. Malloy,” Mrs. Pritchard said to her husband in a tone that reminded Sarah of the way she spoke to her children when reminding them of their manners.

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “Met you at the wedding, I think.” He was a tall, angular man who reminded Sarah of a stork, with his beaklike nose and gangly limbs. He shook Malloy’s hand and nodded to Sarah. He didn’t meet her eye, though, and she didn’t think he’d looked directly at Malloy either. If Mrs. Pritchard seemed tense, Mr. Pritchard was downright rigid, and his gaze kept darting around the room, as if he expected something untoward to appear.

When they’d all seated themselves and Nelson had served them some sherry, Sarah tried to make small talk with the Pritchards while still keeping an eye on Maeve and Gino, who had joined Harvey at the fireplace. Maeve appeared determined to make the best of the situation and at least get Harvey to speak to her, while Gino seemed content merely to admire her efforts. Completely oblivious, Harvey drained his sherry glass and signaled Nelson for more.

Mrs. Pritchard dutifully answered Sarah’s questions about her health and how nice their Christmas celebration had been, but she kept glancing at her husband anxiously. Was she afraid? Yes, that was fear in her eyes, but why should she be afraid?

Before Sarah could figure it out, Theda appeared and greeted her guests. She was a sweet girl who had inherited only a hint of her mother’s good looks, but Nelson was smart enough to see her inner beauty. The adoring look he gave her said that marriage had only deepened his feelings for her.

After the obligatory welcome, Theda invited everyone to come to the dining room. The table had been set with Mrs. Ellsworth’s best china and silver and a centerpiece of holly and pinecones. Everything sparkled in the gaslight.

Theda directed everyone to their places. Nelson sat at the head of the table and Mrs. Ellsworth had given her daughter-in-law the place of honor at the foot. Theda’s mother sat at Nelson’s right and Sarah at his left. Theda’s father sat at Theda’s right and Malloy at her left. Mrs. Ellsworth was beside Malloy, with Gino between her and Mrs. Pritchard. Harvey was between Sarah and Maeve on the other side of the table. If Gino resented being seated between two older females, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he set himself to being as charming as possible to both of them. If only Harvey had exerted himself half as much, Maeve could have succeeded in her plan to make Gino jealous, but he concentrated on eating and emptying his wineglass as often as possible. The poor maid could hardly keep up, between serving each course and refilling his glass.

They were waiting for dessert to be served when Sarah realized Mr. Pritchard hadn’t mentioned milk once the entire evening. In fact, he had hardly spoken at all. Theda had tried to include him in her conversation with Malloy, but he’d been almost as single-minded about his dinner as his son, responding only sporadically.

Mrs. Ellsworth had been smiling at one of Gino’s remarks when she suddenly said, “You are such a delightfully dark young man. If only you weren’t going to Trinity Church on New Year’s Eve, you could be our first stepper.”

Mr. Pritchard’s head jerked up. “Trinity Church, you say? I don’t suppose they’re holding a proper celebration there.”

For some reason this made Mrs. Pritchard gasp and Harvey mutter something that might have been a curse, but Sarah appeared to be the only one who noticed their reactions.

“They’re holding the same celebration they’ve been doing for the past fifty years, I believe,” Malloy said across the table. “They have a church service and play a few songs on the bells. They’ve got quite a set of them there, as I’m sure you know. Ring out the old and ring in the new, as they say.”

“But nothing special? Nothing to acknowledge the new century?” Pritchard demanded.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Pritchard murmured.

“I believe we’re celebrating the start of the twentieth century next year,” Malloy said, a little puzzled. “At least that’s what I read in the newspapers.”

“Newspapers? Bah, what do they know?”

“Yes, what do they know?” Theda agreed too quickly and too cheerfully. “Mother Ellsworth has made the most scrumptious apple tart for dessert. I can’t think why it’s taking so long to bring it in.”

“Can you imagine saying the twentieth century doesn’t start with the year 1900?” Pritchard said, clearly angry about this for some reason. “Our years have started with an eighteen for the entire nineteenth century. Any fool can see that when it changes to a nineteen, it’s the start of the new century.”

“That’s certainly reasonable,” Theda said with a desperate glance in Nelson’s direction.

“Yes, it is,” he said quickly, if a little uncertainly.

“But time didn’t start with the year zero,” Maeve said.

Everyone turned to her in surprise, especially Mr. Pritchard.

“Well, it didn’t,” she said defensively. “Time must have started with the year one.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Gino asked, clearly amused.

She glared at him. “If the first year was one and a century is one hundred years, the century ends at the end of year one hundred, not year ninety-nine.”

Which was the argument Sarah had been reading about in the newspapers for months as the end of 1899 approached.

“Very logical, young lady,” Pritchard said scornfully, “but there is no logic to when time began. The Gregorian calendar, which we use today and by which we determine that this is the year of our Lord 1899, didn’t come into use until 1582, not year one . There never was a year one, not even with the Julian calendar, which came into use in our year 46 BC. Before that, the Romans didn’t measure time by our calendars or even recognize the concept of BC, so to them it was the year 708 ab urbe condita , which is a year-numbering system used by some ancient Roman historians, although it was never actually used by the Romans themselves, who didn’t number their years at all but referred to them by the names of the rulers in power at the time.”

Pritchard let his very satisfied gaze touch everyone around the table, and for a long moment, no one could think of a single thing to say in response to his lecture.

Finally, Malloy said, “So there was no year one?”

“Never. Not ever. So we can count time the way it should be counted, and the year of 1900 should be the first year of the twentieth century.”

“Clarence, let’s remember we are guests here,” Mrs. Pritchard said a little sharply.

“Nonsense. Theda is our daughter. Besides, I’m sure these people are glad to know the truth instead of that garbage the newspapers are publishing. Something must be done. We only have two days left.”

“What do you propose we do?” Gino asked with apparent seriousness that didn’t fool Sarah at all.

Sarah glared at him this time, and Mrs. Pritchard made a small sound of distress, but he ignored them both.

“We must spread the word,” Pritchard said. “We must tell everyone. This is an outrage. The new century must be welcomed with ceremony.”

Theda had gone pale, Mrs. Pritchard looked as if she really might want to murder her husband, and Harvey had once again drained his wineglass. Before anyone could speak, however, the maid carried in the tray of desserts.

“The tarts are here,” Theda cried with relief. “Mother Ellsworth made them. Did I tell you? They’re so delicious.”

As the maid served the tarts, Mrs. Ellsworth managed to catch Sarah’s eye and send her a silent plea for help. Sarah wasn’t certain what she could do, but after racking her brain, she took advantage of the momentary distraction of the sweet treat to say, “Mr. Pritchard, do you pasteurize the milk at your dairy?”

Harvey’s expression when he turned to her was pure astonishment, and she could feel the wave of dismay from the others, but Pritchard leaned forward so he could see her past Maeve and Harvey. “Of course I do. Do you know that bad milk has killed thousands of children in this city alone?”

“Yes, I do,” Sarah said. “I know that only a few years ago half of the children in New York died before their fifth birthdays.”

“Because of swill milk,” Pritchard confirmed, nodding vigorously. “Some died from the milk itself and some from consumption and other diseases that took them because they were weakened by the bad milk. I call my company Pure Milk so people know that’s what I sell.”

“Do you deliver in this neighborhood?” Sarah asked. “I have two children, you see, and I’d like to be sure they’re drinking the very best milk I can find.” She caught a glimpse of Malloy, who was staring at her in wonder.

“Yes, we do,” Pritchard said, but he got no further.

“These tarts are delicious, Mrs. Ellsworth,” Gino said. “But then, I’ve never tasted anything you made that wasn’t delicious.”

“Mrs. Ellsworth taught me to cook,” Maeve reported, obviously having joined Gino’s blatant effort to change the subject.

“She’s teaching me all her recipes,” Theda said. “I just hope I can learn how to do them as well as she does.”

“You’re all too kind,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I’m sure Mrs. Pritchard is an excellent cook as well.”

And so, by the simple method of not giving him another moment of silence to fill, they managed to keep Mr. Pritchard from causing any further disturbances during dessert. When they were finished, Theda suggested the ladies withdraw so the men could enjoy cigars and brandy, and all the women gladly did so.

As soon as they were safely in the parlor again, Mrs. Pritchard took Mrs. Ellsworth’s hands. “Oh, Edna, I’m so sorry about Clarence. I don’t know what’s come over him. These past few weeks he’s talked of nothing except the new century, and he won’t listen to reason at all.”

“That’s all right, Ilsa. I know how men get. My late husband had his own hobbyhorses. He used to have opinions about all sorts of ridiculous things, and as much as he annoyed me then, I’d give anything to hear him spouting off about them now.”

Mrs. Pritchard smiled wanly at that, but she didn’t look as if she’d miss Mr. Pritchard in quite the same way. “And Theda, dear, I’m afraid he ruined your first party.”

“Not at all. I’m sure we’ll look back and laugh someday,” Theda said with forced cheerfulness. “Let’s sit down and forget all about it.”

But they couldn’t forget about it for long because they soon heard Mr. Pritchard shouting.

“Oh dear,” his wife said, rising to her feet and wringing her hands helplessly. “I never should have let him come.”

The parlor door flew open and Pritchard was there, his face alarmingly red and his eyes wild. “Come along, Ilsa. We’re leaving.”

“But Father, we were going to play charades and—” Theda tried.

“Ilsa, get your coat!” Pritchard thundered, ignoring his daughter completely.

Theda’s face crumbled and Nelson, who had come in behind his father-in-law, hurried to her side.

“Really, Mr. Pritchard,” Gino was saying, “we agree with you completely.” He and Malloy had followed their host from the dining room.

But Pritchard wasn’t listening. He was throwing coats off the hall tree until he found his own and his wife’s.

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Pritchard whispered to Mrs. Ellsworth before taking her coat from him and allowing him to hustle her outside.

Pritchard stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Are you coming, Harvey?”

“No, I’ll make my own way home.”

Satisfied, Pritchard pulled the door closed behind him and his wife.

For a long moment the others were all too stunned to even move, and then Theda burst into tears. As Nelson tried to comfort her, Mrs. Ellsworth fetched a small glass of brandy and made her drink it.

“I don’t know what could have come over him,” Theda said between sobs.

“He’s always been a strange bird,” Harvey said, “but lately, he’s been stranger than usual.”

“Has something happened recently to cause him strain or anxiety?” Sarah asked him.

He gave her a startled glance and said, “Of course not” a little too quickly. Then he turned to his sister. “Little bug, I’m going to scamper. Don’t give the old man another thought. He’ll probably forget this even happened by tomorrow.” Before anyone could stop him, he made his escape.

“I think we should go, too,” Sarah said.

“But we were going to play charades,” Theda wailed.

“We’ll do it another time,” Mrs. Ellsworth promised before escorting the last of her guests into the foyer. “I’m so sorry this happened. I have no idea what could have set him off like that.”

“You don’t need to apologize to us,” Sarah assured her. “You’re not responsible for any of this, and obviously, Mr. Pritchard is not himself.”

“He certainly isn’t. The worst thing I’ve ever seen him do is bore people with the history of milk production in New York City,” she said sadly.

Malloy helped Sarah with her coat while Gino picked up his and Maeve’s off the floor and assisted her. By mutual agreement, Gino went home with them. Malloy’s mother was surprised to see them back so early, and they had to tell her about their strange evening.

“I almost choked when you asked him about pasteurizing his milk, Mrs. Frank,” Gino said when they’d finished the tale. By then they were drinking coffee in the parlor.

“I was just trying to distract him, and it was the only thing I could think of.”

“It was brilliant,” Malloy said, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“I just want to know which one of you got him all riled up again after the ladies left,” Maeve said.

“It was Harvey,” Gino said. “Although I can’t figure out what he said that made the old man so mad.”

“I can’t either. I thought he was actually trying to agree with him,” Malloy said.

“What did he say exactly?” Sarah asked.

The two men exchanged a glance as they tried to remember. “Something about how he’d bet most people agreed with him about the turn of the century being this year, I think,” Malloy said.

“Oh, that’s right, and then Pritchard said something about how Harvey would bet on anything, and the next thing you know he’s yelling something about his milk trucks and . . .” Gino gestured helplessly.

“It didn’t make much sense,” Malloy admitted.

“Sounds like he’s losing his mind,” Mrs. Malloy said. “Mrs. Ellsworth always did think he wasn’t quite right.”

“She warned us he can be rather boring on the subject of milk,” Sarah said, “but this was something else entirely.”

“Which reminds me,” Maeve said. “What is swill milk?”

“Probably what you were raised on,” Mother Malloy said.

“I thought I was raised on cow’s milk.”

“Cows fed with swill,” Sarah said. “That’s the leftover mash from breweries. Instead of throwing it away, they’d feed it to cows.”

Maeve frowned. “But why? I thought cows ate grass.”

“Only if they’re on a farm where there’s lots of grass,” Malloy said. “Years ago, they used to have farms with cows right here where the city is now.”

“That’s right,” Mother Malloy said. “There was a wall on Wall Street to keep them from wandering downtown.”

“Really?” Maeve marveled. “A wall?”

“How do you think that street got its name?” Mother Malloy said.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

“But the city got bigger and they tore down the wall and built houses on the farmland, so there wasn’t any place for the cows to graze close by anymore,” Malloy continued, “so they started keeping the cows in big warehouses in the city and feeding them swill.”

“But I know they keep cows out on the farms upstate and bring the milk in on the trains,” Gino said.

“They do now,” Sarah said, “but we didn’t always have trains and when we did, we didn’t have a way to keep the milk cold, so the cows had to be nearby.”

“Now they put the milk in big metal cans and cover them with ice,” Malloy said. “But we haven’t been able to do that until recently.”

“And they only started pasteurizing milk in the city a few years ago, so even if the milk was fresh, it might still be contaminated.”

“You asked Mr. Pritchard if his company pasteurizes his milk,” Gino said. “Does that mean not all of them do?”

“That’s exactly what it means. And some companies are still keeping cows in the city and feeding them swill.”

“But isn’t milk just milk? If it comes from the cow, why does it matter what the cow eats?” Gino asked.

“Swill must not be as nourishing as grass,” Sarah said. “Swill milk is thin and kind of bluish, so dairies would mix things like starch or chalk or even plaster into it to make it whiter.”

“ Plaster? ” Maeve cried.

“And it would also make babies drunk,” Mother Malloy said.

Everyone turned to her in surprise.

“Drunk?” Gino echoed. “Babies got drunk on milk?”

“Of course. Swill is what is left when they make whiskey. Why wouldn’t it pass into the milk?”

“How horrible,” Maeve said with a shudder.

“As I mentioned at dinner, lots of babies died from drinking bad milk,” Sarah said. “I guess I can understand why Mr. Pritchard is a bit enthusiastic about the subject.”

“But no babies die because of New Year’s Eve,” Gino said, “although a lot of people do get drunk, so why is he so enthusiastic about that?”

No one had any idea.

“At least New Year’s Eve will be over in a few days, so Mr. Pritchard can go back to just talking about milk,” Malloy said. “Are you really going to start having his milk delivered here?”

Sarah smiled. “We already do. We switched to Pure Milk as soon as Nelson and Theda became engaged.”

“It was Edna’s idea,” Mother Malloy said. “But I didn’t see any reason not to.”

“Nor did I,” Sarah said. “Theda will probably inherit the dairy or at least part of it someday, so we’re doing our part to support it.”

“Someday might come sooner than she expects if Mr. Pritchard doesn’t stop being so obnoxious about the new century,” Maeve said. “Did you see the way Mrs. Pritchard looked at him when he started ranting?”

“Fortunately, wives don’t murder their husbands just because they’re embarrassing,” Sarah said.

“If they did, there wouldn’t be any husbands left alive,” Malloy added with a grin.

• • •

F rank braced himself against the leather seat and once again cursed himself for buying a motorcar. Why anyone thought this was an improvement over a horse and carriage, he had no idea. Whizzing along like this, they were all freezing, even though they were completely bundled up, with woolen underwear beneath their clothes and dusters over their heaviest coats and mufflers wrapped up to their hats.

Fortunately, the city streets were still crowded at this late hour as people roamed around, waiting for the stroke of midnight that would mark the beginning of the New Year, and the crowds kept Gino from going much faster than five miles an hour. The motorcar could go up to twenty miles per hour or so Gino had informed him. Frank couldn’t imagine why anyone would need to go that fast. Five miles per hour was enough to rip your eyeballs right out of your head, which was why they all had to wear goggles in addition to the cotton dusters that protected their clothes from the dust and dirt of the streets. Someone should really come up with a way to protect them from the wind, at least.

“Get a horse!” some wit hollered from the safety of the sidewalk. Frank glared at him, but Sarah and Maeve waved gaily. Sarah seemed to be enjoying herself, even if her elaborate hat kept threatening to blow off, and Maeve was positively thrilled. She’d claimed the front seat beside Gino, which was fine with Frank. He much preferred sitting in the rear seat—the tonneau—with Sarah, snuggled under the fur lap robe.

At last they reached Trinity Church, or near enough, and found a place to park along Broadway. The grounds around the church had filled long ago, and pedestrians were spilling off the sidewalk and the grassy median into the wide street. The racket was nearly deafening, as seemingly every reveler had purchased a tin horn from the peddlers making their way through the crowds. A few other motorcars had also pulled up along the street.

“Look at that phaeton,” Gino said. “Come on, Maeve. Let’s get a better look at her.”

Without so much as a backward glance, Gino hopped down and assisted Maeve to the ground so the two of them could go off to question the phaeton’s owner, who would probably be thrilled to discuss it with them. The decision to select a gasoline-powered vehicle over an electric- or steam-powered model had been a difficult one, and Gino enjoyed arguing their reasons with people who had chosen differently.

“Are you warm enough?” Frank asked Sarah.

“Oh yes, although I imagine riding in the motorcar will be much more pleasant in warmer weather.”

Frank wasn’t so sure, but he said, “At least we have a place to sit to listen to the bells.”

“And almost as good a view of the crowds as if we were in the bell tower,” she said.

She was exaggerating, but only a little. The tonneau was at least a foot higher than the front seat of the vehicle, putting them well above street level. The design had something to do with the mechanical structure of the vehicle, although Frank hadn’t understood it when Gino explained, and he wasn’t really interested in finding out more about it.

They sat for a few moments, watching the people milling about and tooting their horns and taking surreptitious sips from hip flasks. Everyone seemed to be having a good time except one gentleman who was lurching through the crowd and stopping to speak to anyone who would pay him the slightest heed. Whatever he was saying apparently met with no one’s approval because, without exception, each person or group of people he addressed turned away from him after a moment or two.

“Is that . . . ?” Sarah asked, peering through the night as the man passed under a streetlamp. “Could that be Mr. Pritchard?”

Frank looked again and realized she was right. He was closer now, and Frank caught the words new century being shouted over the din from the crowd and the tin horns. “Oh no. He’s trying to convince people they should be welcoming the new century.”

As they watched, Pritchard approached three men who were laughing at something one of them had said. After a few moments, their smiles faded and one of them started shouting at Pritchard. More words were exchanged, and one of the men gave Pritchard a shove that sent him staggering.

Frank was half out of his seat before Pritchard got his balance, and Sarah grabbed Frank’s arm and pulled him back down. “He won’t thank you for coming to his rescue,” she said.

She was right, but Pritchard was going to get himself into real trouble if he didn’t stop accosting people. “We can’t just let him go.”

“No, we can’t,” she said. “But he’s coming this way.” She started waving. “Mr. Pritchard!”

Frank waved, too, and Pritchard finally noticed. He moved toward them, a puzzled frown on his face, and Frank noticed he seemed a little unsteady on his feet. Had he been drinking? Certainly, most of the crowd had been.

“How nice to see you, Mr. Pritchard,” Sarah said. “Is your family here as well?”

Pritchard peered up at them, still frowning uncertainly as if trying to bring them into focus. “Malloy, is it?” he finally said. “Theda’s neighbors.”

“That’s right.” Sarah glanced around. “I don’t see Mrs. Pritchard. Is she with you?”

“No. Stayed home. I have to do this by myself. It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, “but it’s getting late. The bells will start ringing pretty soon. Why don’t you climb up and sit with us?”

Frank had to bite his tongue to keep from rescinding the invitation. The last thing he wanted to do on New Year’s Eve was play nursemaid to a drunken man he didn’t even like, but Sarah was right to want to help him. The crowds would get even more unruly when the bells had finished their toll, and Pritchard probably wouldn’t get off with just a shove the next time he offended someone. “Yes, climb up, or you can sit in the front, if you prefer. We’ve got an extra lap robe, too.”

“Can’t. I’ve got work to do. There’s not much time left.” Without another word, he turned and stalked off, back into the crowd.

“Do you think I should go after him?” Frank asked her.

“I don’t think he’ll come back with you, but we should at least try. He looks almost ill.”

He did, too. Drunk or sick, he shouldn’t be wandering around alone, annoying strangers. “I hate to leave you here alone.”

“Look, Gino and Maeve are coming back.”

And they were, talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. “I’ll go after Pritchard, then. Make sure Gino stays with you and Maeve, though.”

But by the time Frank had climbed down from the tonneau, Pritchard had disappeared into the darkness, swallowed up by the throngs. The streetlamps didn’t really help, because if someone wasn’t directly under the light, they were in the deep shadows and even harder to see. Pritchard’s height should have made him stand out, but either the city was full of tall men tonight or Pritchard had vanished. Frank could see little beyond the people jostling one another around him.

After what seemed an eternity of fruitless searching, the Trinity bells struck the hour and the crowd erupted into celebration. Tin horns bleated and hundreds of people beat on anything that would make noise, creating a deafening din. When the twelfth chime had died away, the bells began to play “Auld Lang Syne,” and the crowd joined in, singing the familiar words with much enthusiasm and little harmony. When it was finished, the crowd began to shift and shiver, like a pot of water beginning to boil. Everyone, it seemed, had someplace to go. Many were probably heading to saloons to get even drunker than they already were, while others were heading to parties or other celebrations. The Trinity bells began another song, although Frank didn’t listen closely enough to identify it.

Left with little choice, he allowed the surge of the crowd to carry him back to Broadway, where he found the motorcar again. Maeve had climbed into the back with Sarah, where they were huddled under the fur lap robe.

“No luck?” Sarah called when he was close enough to hear her.

He shook his head.

The bells continued to ring. Now it was a hymn, he thought. The Episcopalians had different hymns than the Catholics, and Frank hadn’t been in a church since his first wife had died, so he couldn’t be positive, but it sounded like a hymn. He climbed into the empty front seat beside Gino. “Maybe we’ll see him go by.”

But of course they didn’t. A good portion of the crowd waited until the bells finished their concert, and Frank and his crew waited until even they were gone, and still no sign of Pritchard. Gino finally got out and turned the crank to start the engine. They were back at home before Frank realized what his fruitless search had cost him.

“I didn’t get a kiss at midnight,” he informed his wife, who was only too happy to rectify the omission.

“I didn’t get a kiss either,” Gino tried.

But Maeve said, “I’m sure Mrs. Frank will be happy to kiss you, too.”

• • •

F rank and Sarah had invited her parents for New Year’s Day dinner, and they’d had a lovely day. Mr. and Mrs. Decker thoroughly enjoyed the Malloy children, even though neither child was related to them by blood. Sarah had adopted Frank’s son, Brian, and they had both adopted Catherine, the child Sarah had rescued. Such legalities hardly mattered anymore, though. They were a family now.

Mrs. Malloy and Maeve had just taken the yawning children up to bed when the doorbell rang. Their maid, Hattie, answered it and announced that Mrs. Ellsworth had come to call. But when she appeared in the parlor doorway, she plainly hadn’t come to call at all. She’d obviously just thrown her coat on without bothering to button it, and she wasn’t even wearing a hat. Her expression could be described only as frantic.

“Oh, Mrs. Frank, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we’ve just had the most awful news. Mr. Pritchard’s been murdered.” 228aK45v/bKqtbkL1F5ie3a9z9Rn3CJMqtSwrL4FHDXnGrTp/djzClW7J5EJ2lEw