CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I couldn’t help but be reminded of our fellow dinner guests the last evening as I alighted from the carriage. The quiet of the previous day had been dispelled by the bustle of dozens of burly men in rolled-up sleeves and slacks. Wagons pulled by sullen horses were parked around the entire perimeter of the building in which was hidden Wexelman’s office. Stacks of crates and boxes were being pulled off the wagons and marched through a pair of wide doors at the rear of the building.
“Outta the way!” a gruff voice snapped at us as one of the large men stomped toward us with a small crate in his arms.
Ben drew me against his side and we made plenty of room for the busy ‘gentlemen.’ The crowded street meant we’d had to park on the opposite side, and my native guide slid us
