Free Grim Shadows (Roaring Twenties) by Jenn Bennett

rope.
    The pulleys squealed.
    Someone was shouting.
    Lowe didn’t look up. Just leaned down and scooped her up as the fan dropped—
    Inches above the sidewalk. That’s where they stopped it. She was one extended second away from being crushed.
    Lungs burning, he squeezed her against his chest, a ball of yellow flounce, dark curls, and fragile limbs. Her arms clung to his neck, her heartbeat like a hummingbird’s.
    “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he assured her, speaking against her head so she could feel it.
    As if a switch flipped somewhere inside her, she stopped sobbing.
    A gaggle of women poured out from a nearby shop, shouting in distress. Stella peeled her tear-damp face from his shoulder and panicked when she saw the chaos surrounding them.
    He held a hand up to the bystanders. “She’s fine. Don’t scare her.” He ducked his head to catch her gaze and smiled. “Close one, old girl. You nearly had that last hurdle.”
    She gave him a toothy smile.
    “There you go, right as rain.” The workers lowered the fan to the sidewalk with a boom that shook the soles of his shoes. He adjusted Stella’s weight onto his right hip and sidled around the downed fan. “You recognized your
Farbror
Lowe—and after six months away. Such a smart girl. Now then, let’s find your papa before these men drop the damned thing again.”
    “That kid could’ve injured my man,” the foreman shouted as his workers looked on in silence. “You’re lucky we didn’t drop this thing or you would’ve paid to repair it.”
    Lowe kept his face calm for Stella’s sake and spoke through a tight smile. “You’re lucky I don’t beat your face into a pulp and break both your legs before I get my family’s lawyer to sue your company for negligence.”
    “Now, you see here—”
    Stella made an indistinct noise and looked toward Diller’s Delicatessen, where her father burst from the door in a panic.
    “Stella!”
    “There’s Papa,” Lowe said as he gave one last malicious look to the foreman before striding off.
    “Lowe, thank goodness.” Adam Goldberg met them halfway. “I turned my back for a second. What happened?” He surveyed the scene on the sidewalk and frowned.
    “Nothing a little hot water and salve won’t cure.” Lowe uncurled one of her skinned palms. “Stings,
ja
?” he said, tapping her fingers to show what he meant.
    She flexed her hand and nodded.
    Adam took her out of Lowe’s arms, murmuring a quiet prayer beneath his breath. Once he’d inspected her knees, his shoulders fell. He chuckled the sort of terrified laugh that betrayed relief and fear—a laugh Lowe had heard a hundred times from his old friend.
    “You look as if the desert sun tanned your hide,” Adam said. “And I see you’ve lost a finger. Should I ask?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Fair enough. Hungry?”
    “Famished.”
    “So much for a discreet meeting. Come on.”
    The aroma of corned beef, chicken soup, and dill wafted toward them as they stepped into the delicatessen. Canned goods and bread were sold on one side of the shop, cold food behind a refrigerated counter on the other, and hot meals were cooked in a small kitchen in the back. A short menu of choices was scrawled in chalk on a standing board by the counter.
    Adam set Stella down atop one of four tables near the windows and brushed dirt from her dress while Lowe dug around in his satchel, retrieving a windup toy for which he’d haggled in an open-air market in Cairo. He presented the black cat to Stella with a dramatic flourish. “What do you think? Hold on, you wind her like this.” Lowe demonstrated and set the cat on the table. It rolled and wagged its tail up and down.
    Stella grunted in joy, twisting around to touch it as it moved. A winner. Lowe never knew. She’d rejected half his presents. “She’s grown a foot while I was gone,” he remarked.
    Adam smoothed back her bangs. “Twice as sassy lately, too.”
    An elderly woman came around the counter,