Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [21]
“Central.”
“Who’s this? Where’s Georgie?”
“This is Luke Palmer. I’m the new troubleman. Miss Gail ran to town. She’ll be back any minute. Who can I get for you?”
“I need to talk to Roscoe over at the bank.”
“Just a minute.” He flipped the key to center position, looked at the list Miss Gail left him, plugged the corresponding cable into number five, pulled the rear key backward, checked his notes again, and cranked a handle to the right of his knee with three quick turns.
“Hello?”
Luke flipped the key forward. “Go ahead.”
Returning the key to center, he continued answering the waiting calls. Everything went pretty well unless someone wanted to know what the price of turkeys was, who could deliver wood, or who’d come in on today’s train.
The time spent on the board gave him an appreciation for what Miss Gail did all day—and the pulse she had on the comings and goings of every person in the county. During today’s stint, he’d visited with several subscribers in town and a few out on farms. He’d do well to be a bit more friendly toward SWT&T’s operator. She no doubt had information that would speed up his investigation.
Ding.
“Central.”
“What happened, Mr. Palmer? One minute you were there and the next you weren’t.”
“Please accept my apologies, Miss Honnkernamp. My hand slipped and I jarred loose the cable.”
Miss Gail’s bedroom door opened.
Luke quickly folded his notes with one hand and tapped them into his shirt pocket.
“I called back and there was no answer,” Miss Honnkernamp replied.
He glanced over his shoulder. The setting sun sliced through the front window and screen, turning Miss Gail’s hair the color of cornsilk. She’d repaired it and her face was pink from a recent scrubbing, but there was no hiding the red nose and puffy eyes.
“I was attending to other calls,” he said into the phone.
“Were you?” Miss Honnkernamp’s voice took on a pout. “I didn’t hear anything on the line.”
Miss Gail crossed to the bookshelves and took out a stack of publications. He’d not had a chance to look through all of them, but he knew the ones on top were from the Audubon Society.
“Hello? Mr. Palmer?”
“Yes, ma’am. Who can I connect you with?” He stayed turned around in the chair, watching Miss Gail sift through the pile. She was clearly looking for something in particular.
“Actually, I was calling to, well . . .”
Ding.
Miss Gail looked up, her eyes going from the board to him. But he couldn’t read her expression, backlit as she was by the fading sun. Could she even see what she was perusing?
“Shouldn’t you light a lantern?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t you answer the phone?” she replied.
“I’m sorry?” Miss Honnkernamp said. “Light a lantern? I’m not sure I heard you right. You sound far away. Are you speaking into the mouthpiece?”
Shifting back around, he adjusted the speaking disc. “There are calls coming in, ma’am. Was there someone you wanted to talk to?”
“Well, I . . . of course,” she snapped. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Schmid at the mercantile, please.”
“One moment.” He checked his list, connected her to number four, then answered the waiting call. When he had everyone settled, he took off the earpiece and twisted around, hooking his arm over the back of the chair.
He wanted to come right out and ask her what was wrong, but truth was, it was none of his business. “When does the switchboard shut down?”
“Tired?” She didn’t look up, just kept searching through her stack.
“It’s been a long day.”
“Switchboard closes at five o’clock unless it’s an emergency.”
“How do you know if it’s an emergency?”
“The phone will ring.”
He popped open his timepiece. Four fifty-five.
“You need to check lines two and six,” she said. “They’ve been plugged in for a while.”
Holding the earpiece to his ear, he pulled back on the key for line two, then six. Nothing. He unplugged them, then stood and stretched. “What are you looking for?”
“An article I saw in last month’s publication. It should have been