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rang and Kathleen dusted her hands on her apron and went out into the hallway to answer it. She left the door to the parlor open, and Annie heard Voss say gruffly, “I can a nnounce myself, girl. No, I don’t need you to take my coat. Skedaddle, I’m sure your mistress has better things for you to do.”
    Matthew Voss strode into the room, Kathleen right behind him, her cheeks pink with su ppressed irritation, and Annie repressed a laugh. Instead, she said calmly, “That will be fine, Kathleen. I will ring when it is time to let Mr. Voss out.” She watched as Voss stripped off his gloves and pushed them into his overcoat and hung his hat and umbrella on the coat stand. He then shrugged out of his coat, gave it a shake, and hung it up as well. At least it looks like he intends on staying the whole hour. That is a good sign. But he certainly doesn’t sound too pleased. Annie sat up straighter and folded her hands.
    Walking towards her, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper, he said, “Well, Madam Sibyl…or what ever your name is…have you determined that the moon and Saturn are directing me to buy up some other outlandish crop? Or do you need to look to see if my palms have sprouted a new line in the past month? Tell me that means I should sink all my savings into some such nonsense as oil wells in the Central Valley?” Voss glared at her, hands on his hips, his mouth compressed to a thin line.
    Annie raised her chin up and stared back. He impressed her as someone who wouldn’t respect anyone he could bully. And, if he had taken her advice, he would have made money, so she resisted the impulse to defend herself.
    “Hah,” he barked out with his distinctive laugh, “I guess I just might take that advice, no matter how hair-brained it sounded!” A large smile lit up his face, and as he pulled the chair out to sit down, he thumped the newspaper down in front of her. “I picked up the first edition of the evening Chronicle on the way here, and what do you suppose I read?”
    Before Annie could open her mouth, he said, “After dragging their heels for the past three years, the idiots in the state capital have finally decided to fund the next extension of the harbor seawall. Came up with $100,000 to fund not only the bulkhead but wharves, piers, and a roa dway and sidewalk the length of the sea wall. And they stipulate the money has to be spent within the next year. And that means there is going to be a big demand for what, you may ask?”
    “Cement!” Annie crowed.
    “Right you are! A whole lot of cement, both the new fangled Portland stuff and the good old fashioned limestone cement.”
    “And you invested in both companies? Blochman and Cerf, and Davis and Cowell, as I re commended?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I did. I wasn’t going to at first. But, with the tidy profit I made selling the flax and unloading that silver stock when it hit $25 a share, I had enough to buy a stake in both. And you were right They were looking for investors. David and Cowell needed quick cash to buy a nother ship—their business had grown so much. And Blochman and Cerf needed some capital as well. Cerf told me that no one made Portland cement on the west coast, and they had promised the last of their inventory to complete the California Cable Car line up Nob Hill. As a result, they needed to import more so they would be ready in case the City Hall extension went forward. Turns out you were right about that, as well.”
    Just a week after Annie advised Voss to get a bid ready to provide furniture for City Hall, the City Hall Commission announced that they had funded the next stage and that all bids had to be submitted March 1, only two weeks later. She asked, “Did you get a bid in for the furniture for the finished section?”
    “Certainly did, and the announcement caught my chief competitor napping. Smeckleson didn’t have his figures together and way over priced his bid.”
    “Oh, Mr. Voss. You got the contract!”
    “Yep, going to