Chapter Twenty-OneThe wind gusted, and dust swirled at her feet as Ruth approached the construction site behind the woolen factory where Devon Smythe had fallen to his death. The company was obviously doing well, since they were building an addition onto the plant. The sweet smell of sawdust hovered in the air. A dozen men swarmed over the three-story frame, shirts clinging to their backs with sweat. Hammers banged in a symphony of staccato drumbeats.
A burly man on the ground shouted at the crew on the scaffolding, and they scrambled to the ground where they retrieved their lunch pails before breaking into pairs and threesomes for their lunch break. Ruth tightened her grip on her pocketbook, took a deep breath, and walked to the nearest group.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I wondered if y
