When she reached the corner of his desk, she turned to face him. Something in him capsized. The previous two times he had met her, she had been wearing her Red Cross uniform, and she had been stunning then, but today she was an absolute knockout. Her lips were a dewy brick red.

He gestured for her to be seated, and walked around to his own chair. He took satisfaction in its important-looking size, settling himself into it. “Well, you’re up early, Miss Wallace,” he said.

“I wanted to be sure to catch you, Mr. Mickelson,” she said, and smiled. Even her teeth were perfect, he thrilled. “It’s kind of you to remember me. I won’t take much of your time, I know how busy you are. It’s just—I need to ask you a favor.”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Well, Mr. Mickelson, there’s been quite a decline in donations to the Red Cross, now that the war is over. People don’t seem to understand, there’s just as much that needs to be done now as there ever was! I suppose I shouldn’t have come here; the chapter president will be furious if she finds out. But I just thought—you were so nice, before, and after those two stories you did about St. Francis, I understand there was—well, a spike, they said, in donations. And I thought perhaps if you could—let everyone know that the chapter still really needs the money and even the time—we’ve lost so many volunteers, people getting back to their old lives, you know. And there are so many people who still need the chapter’s help!”

Harry, watching her lips move, had heard perhaps half of what she had said. “Are you still volunteering at the hospital?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Well, maybe I could come out and visit you, then. People liked those stories I did on you—on the hospital. Especially they liked the follow-up, because they felt they already knew you.”

“Oh, I don’t mean it has to be a story on me.”

Harry dismissed that with a wave, sat forward in his chair and picked up a pencil. “Of course it does. The readers loved you. They’ll want to know what’s happened. So, let’s start with some preliminary questions.”

“Well, all right,” she said. “If you think it’s the best way to raise money for the chapter.”

“All right, then.” He chewed briefly on the end of his pencil, straightened his tablet on his desk. “As I recall, you were engaged to be married to a pilot over in the Pacific?”

She cast her eyes down at her hands, which clutched her purse on her knees. “Yes,” she said. “You have a good memory.”

“You’ve got to, in the newspaper business,” he said. “So—is he—?”

She looked up. “He was killed.”