Free Louise's Gamble by Sarah R Shaber Page B

the new one. The fur collar nestled luxuriously around my neck. I turned, searching for a full-length mirror. I looked deeper into the long salon, where an older woman, gray-haired, dripping with bracelets and rings, modeled a breathtaking sheared beaver greatcoat. A young woman wearing a calf-length mink, with another fur coat draped over her arm, was with her. When the younger woman reached out to adjust her companion’s collar I saw she wore a wide gold bracelet and a wedding band encrusted with diamonds.
    Something intuitive made me duck behind a pillar before I consciously understood why. The young woman turned to beckon for a salesgirl. It was Alessa.
    Shock forced heat into my face, and my heart missed a beat. Several beats. How could this be possible? Alessa was a poor refugee. The woman I saw was wealthy and aristocratic in her looks and bearing.
    My legs wobbled like jelly, and I felt like I was floating in the air. I recognized the signs of a fainting spell, but I forced my back against the pillar hard. I used both hands to squeeze the back of my neck and the stars receded. Thank God.
    I must have absorbed some of my lessons from ‘The Farm’, because despite my shock I didn’t step out from behind my pillar to gape at the two women. Instead I stayed behind the pillar and watched the Fur Salon exits so I could see the two women when they left.
    Then I heard her voice, answering the older woman’s Italian – or maybe it was Sicilian – in familiar accented English. It was Alessa, there was no doubt about it. The two women passed by my pillar hideout on their way out of the Salon.
    I knew I shouldn’t follow her; I didn’t have enough training to tail her expertly, and if she spotted me it would ruin the operation. Still trembling, I hung up the fur-collared coat I hadn’t even admired myself in and collected my parcels.
    I assumed my best gossipy expression and located the saleswoman who’d waited on them. She was hanging up the gorgeous coat Alessa’s older companion tried on. ‘Those ladies,’ I said to her. ‘I can’t help wondering who they were. They wore such wonderful clothes and jewels.’
    The saleswoman was miffed that they hadn’t bought the coat, because she broke a famous Woodies’ rule and answered me.
    ‘That’s the Dowager Countess Lucia Oneto and her daughter-in-law, Alessa. They’re Italians or something. Very rich.’ She continued tidying up the rack of furs. ‘Would you believe,’ she said, ‘the daughter-in-law talked the Countess out of buying that coat? Said she should buy war bonds instead.’
    I couldn’t tell if the saleswoman admired Alessa or if she was angry to lose a sale. Probably, a little of both.
    ‘Do you know where they live?’ I asked.
    ‘I’ve said too much already,’ the saleswoman said. ‘I could get fired.’
    I took the elevator up to the Tea Room to settle my nerves and think of what to do next. The menu was reduced from its usual extravagance because of the war, but I ordered a cup of tea and a slice of honey cake.
    By the time I’d finished my tea my shock had subsided. Random questions raced through my mind. Why was Alessa posing as a poor refugee when she was a Sicilian countess? Was her husband, the supposed count, alive and in this country? Was the Oneto family important? Were they involved in Alessa’s plan, or ignorant of it? Who was Alessa’s asset? He must be involved somehow in the Port of New York, but Alessa lived here in Washington. How did they communicate?
    My only task, during my brief stint as an OSS agent, was to get the name of the Mafia sleeper Alessa said her asset possessed before the next slow convoy left New York Harbor for Casablanca. That was it. No matter who Alessa was, no matter who her asset was. OSS would want nothing to interfere with this operation. I certainly could do nothing about what I’d discovered today until I briefed Melinsky on Monday.
    That left the rest of the weekend for me to brood about why