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and said, “I hear that Mrs. Prinney is growing her own vegetables. Why is that?”
    The question took Lily by surprise. “We don’t know either.”
    Mr. Bradley took a deep, regretful breath. “Seems to me, Miss Brewster—begging your pardon if I’m speaking out of turn—that we’re all in this mess together. You rich folks up the hill rightly ought to keep buying from the townspeople, or there may not be townspeople for long. We’ll all be on the dole. If the dole lasts.”
    Lily was shocked. This was one of the mildest, most polite men in Voorburg. He must be genuinely upset to speak to her this way but simply had to say his peace.
    “Mr. Bradley, I’ll talk with Mrs. Prinney about this. Today.“
    “Thanks, Miss Brewster.“ Blushing furiously at his outspoken remarks, he almost fled into the safety of his shop.
    Lily sat on the bench for a few minutes more, truly stunned by what he’d said. She realized how hard it had been for him to speak up—and what’s more, from his viewpoint he was right. But how could she tell Mrs. Prinney that all the older woman’s hard work had been unpatriotic?
    Lily wasn’t normally upset by confrontations, but this one had come out of the blue and she was shaken. She started to get up, but her knees wobbled.
    As she perched on the bench, waiting until she was calmer, she was vaguely aware of people passing by. An effeminate young man carrying a stuffed rucksack and a battered violin case, his eyes cast down, was hurrying along as if late for an appointment.
    A middle-aged man who seemed faintly familiar came along next, but she didn’t remember his name. He wore a shabby suit, carried a flattish canvas-and-leather case, and walked briskly, glancing about furtively.
    A young woman down the street near Mabel’s Cafe, wearing what was once a nice red dress but was much too tight on her voluptuous figure, was lounging at the corner of the building, trying to light a cigarette.
    A well-dressed woman driving a car with Vermont plates went into Phoebe Twinkle’s shop. Lily hoped Phoebe would sell her several of her most stylish hats.
    Lily finally got up, knees still shaking slightly, and went to find Robert. The spotless butter-yellow Duesie was parked in front of the small house Chief of Police Howard Walker currently occupied, with the front room serving as his office. She was surprised that he apparently was still living here. It was so close to the river and the train tracks that it must be hard to sleep between the deafening sounds of the trains. Not to mention that the house actually sat a little lower than the tracks and often flooded when there were heavy rains. It was a bad place to have to live and work.
    The two men had seen her approach, and Walker opened the door to her as she raised her hand to knock. “Come in, Miss Brewster. Robert and I are having a cold beer. Would you like one?“
    “Anything cold sounds good to me,“ she said, fanning herself with her small flat handbag. “It’s getting awfully hot, and the heat makes the river stink. How do you stand living here?“
    “I won’t have to for much longer,“ Walker said. “Jack Summer and his cousin Ralph Summer, my deputy, are moving to a house that’s been abandoned, and I’m getting their adjoining rooms in the boardinghouse next week. The place smells of old cabbage, but at least it’s farther up the hill and is shaded by trees.”
    He brought her a glass of beer and turned the creaking electric fan so she’d get more of the air. Lily sat down in a straight chair at the table and took a long, cold drink before saying, “So whose body did Robert find?”
    Both men shrugged. “Nobody knows,“ Robert said, “but Chief Walker’s been on the phone to Albany. There was a label in the mummy’s suit with the name of a tailor in New York City. We’re going to run down there tomorrow and see if they can match the measurements to anyone. What’s the name of the place again?”
    Walker said,