Scandal in the Secret City Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Diane Fanning

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Christmas 1943

  PROLOGUE

  April 1943

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  August 1943

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  December 26, 1943

  Chapter Six

  Thanksgiving 1943

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  December 27, 1943

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  January, 1944

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Recent Titles by Diane Fanning

  Fiction

  The Libby Clark Mysteries

  SCANDAL IN THE SECRET CITY *

  The Lucinda Pierce Mysteries

  THE TROPHY EXCHANGE *

  PUNISH THE DEED *

  MISTAKEN IDENTITY *

  TWISTED REASON *

  FALSE FRONT *

  WRONG TURN *

  CHAIN REACTION *

  Non-fiction

  BABY BE MINE

  GONE FOREVER

  HER DEADLY WEB

  INTO THE WATER

  MOMMY’S LITTLE GIRL

  OUT THERE

  THE PASTOR’S WIFE

  A POISONED PASSION

  SLEEP MY DARLINGS

  THROUGH THE WINDOW

  UNDER THE KNIFE

  UNDER COVER OF THE NIGHT

  WRITTEN IN BLOOD

  * available from Severn House

  SCANDAL IN THE SECRET CITY

  A Libby Clark Mystery

  Diane Fanning

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  This first world edition published 2014

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition published in Great Britain and the USA 2015 by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

  eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2014 by Diane Fanning

  The right of Diane Fanning to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Fanning, Diane author.

  Scandal in the secret city.

  1. Women scientists–Fiction. 2. Oak Ridge (Tenn.)–

  Fiction. 3. Murder–Investigation–Fiction. 4. Detective

  and mystery stories.

  I. Title

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-07278-8404-6 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-527-8 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-568-0 (ePub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland

  FOREWORD

  The story in this book is a work of fiction. The characters, with the exception of cameo appearances by historical figures, are fictitious as well. The Secret City, however, did exist. It was created out of forest and farmland by the federal government in the early 1940s as part of the war effort. It was not on any map.

  As the United States entered World War Two, military and industry began a partnership to end that war by developing a weapon more fearsome than any ever seen before. They established one of their top secret development facilities on 52,000 acres of Tennessee land in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.

  In a far shorter time than anyone would have thought possible, they built a secret fenced-in city of 70,000 residents dedicated to ending the war. Corporations recruited chemists and engineers from all over the country along with a huge cadre of high school-educated women to work as Calutron girls.

  The scientists knew they were working with Uranium, but only the top management among them knew the final goal of the facility. The Calutron girls knew even less. They were trained to monitor and adjust calibrations of the control panels but had no idea what their adjustments affected.

  Originally, it was identified as the Kingston Demolition Range, in the announcement of its existence that Congressman Al Gore sent to his constituents. It was then called the Clinton Engineer Works. We know it today as Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

  In this high-security environment, people with disparate geographical locations, education, upbringing and social standing were tossed together in close proximity, breaking down the barriers that kept them apart in the real world.

  It was a happenstance of dormitory room assignments that brought together country girls Ruth and Irene Nance and the more urbane and highly educated chemist Libby Clark. What happened in the Secret City intertwined their lives and transformed all three women.

  CHRISTMAS 1943

  ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.’

  Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

  PROLOGUE

  I spent a solitary day this Christmas. It was an unsettling experience but I made the most of my time alone, taking a walk, reading my new book, relaxing to Christmas carols on the radio. Just before ten that night, I snuggled in an armchair by the cozy warmth of the coal stove, reading one more chapter before going to bed. Sudden, loud pounding on my front door made me lurch to my feet. I winced as the book hit the floor with a thump but didn’t pause to pick it up on my way to the door. Only bad news comes late at night. I flung open the door with dread.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ two voices shouted.

  ‘Ruthie!’ I couldn’t believe my old roommate was standing on my doo
rstep. ‘I didn’t think you were coming back until Sunday.’

  ‘Changed our minds,’ Ruth said. ‘Hey, you haven’t met my sister. This here is Irene. Irene, Libby. Irene doesn’t work in our building, she’s got a job up at the guest house.’

  The two young women slipped off their shoes and stepped inside. Irene reached her hand forward and said, ‘What do you know, what’d you say?’

  I couldn’t help grinning at the latest slang and replied with some of my own, ‘Doing swell.’

  Ruth continued, ‘Yep, Irene meets a lot of important people working up at that place.’

  Irene shrugged. ‘Who knows? Those cats act like they’re important and they’re treated like they’re important, but I don’t know who they are really. There was this funny-looking, little fella with a big gap between his front teeth here last month. He spoke with an Eye-talian accent – couldn’t quite figure that one out – I thought we were at war with Italy. But anyway, he said his name was Mr Farmer. An Eye-talian named Farmer? I just said, “swell”.’

  ‘The all-purpose answer,’ I laughed. I wondered if Mr Farmer was actually the brilliant physicist Enrico Fermi – the description did fit the photographs I’d seen of him. And he certainly would be important enough to have a code name.

  ‘Sure is cold out there tonight,’ Ruth said. ‘But we brought something back from home that’ll warm us up.’

  Both girls reached up under their skirts and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. ‘Good old Tennessee sipping whiskey,’ Ruth said, ‘made right in our hometown.’

  ‘How did you get it through the gate?’ I asked.

  Ruth snickered, ‘We stuck it in our underpants and slipped it up under our waistbands to hold it in place. They might be particular about security, but there are still places they wouldn’t dare search.’

  ‘Or at least, they’d better not try,’ Irene added. ‘We were raised on this stuff – put it in our bottles from the time we were babes. It’s a sin it’s illegal in this part of Tennessee – downright un-American.’

  ‘Oh, stop it, Irene. You’ll have Libby thinking we’re a bunch of backwood moonshiner trash.’

  ‘Well, Grandpa, did …’

  ‘Irene!’ Ruth scolded.

  Irene laughed. ‘Ah, Libby knows I’m just joshing. Still, this stuff is Killer Diller. Have you ever had any, Libby?’

  ‘No, I can’t say that I have.’

  ‘You’re in for a treat, honey. It’s pretty loco, but we live in a dry county, too, and yet we make barrels of hooch,’ Irene said.

  ‘Not any more,’ Ruth added. ‘They’re still distillin’ alcohol but instead of using it to make this fine whiskey, it’s all going to fuel for torpedoes. It’s a good cause but it sure is a high price to pay.’

  ‘How did you manage to get these bottles, then?’

  Irene and Ruth exchanged a grin. ‘Uncle Reuben!’ they said in unison.

  ‘He was a taster before the war,’ Ruth said.

  ‘And he was a smart one,’ Irene added. ‘He saw the war coming long time afore it got here. He spent a couple of years buying a bottle a week to tuck away in his cellar.’

  ‘Now,’ Ruth said, ‘he’s got cases of this mighty fine stuff. He’s not too willin’ to part with it but he said since we were doing work to end the war, least he could do was give us each a bottle for Christmas.’

  ‘God bless Uncle Reuben,’ Irene said, hoisting her bottle in the air. ‘Well, gotta run. My fella’s waiting.’ Irene stuck her bottle back under her skirt and was gone.

  Ruth slipped out of her coat and said, ‘Got any glasses?’

  I went into the kitchen and pulled two juice glasses out of a cabinet. Ruth filled them both with whiskey. ‘Now, sip it slow,’ she warned.

  I brought the glass to my lips, hesitating for a moment before taking a tiny sip. My tongue went numb and burning heat sped down my throat and into my stomach. I felt my eyes pop and my jaw drop. ‘Oh my!’

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ Ruth said while laughing at what must have been a comical expression on my face. ‘Packs a lot more kick than that puny 3.2 Barbarossa beer.’

  I nodded and dared to take a second sip; this swallow was different. I felt a warm, soothing smoothness as the liquid trickled down. I felt as if I were glowing from the inside out. I led Ruth back into the living room where we both sat on the floor in front of the coal stove.

  ‘That Irene is somethin’ else, Libby. Just as I think she’s a pig-headed, selfish little thing, she does or says somethin’ sweet. Like on the ride back on the train, she said that we oughta give you one of these bottles and split the other one and I said that was a good idea. So I’ll leave this one here when I go,’ Ruth said.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ I objected. ‘Take it back to the dormitory and give some other girls a treat. It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to sit around here drinking alone.’ I hadn’t been raised in a teetotaling household but I’d heard plenty of stories from Prohibition of friends and neighbors whose lives were destroyed by excessive consumption of bathtub gin and corn whiskey distilled in someone’s barn. I just didn’t feel comfortable with anything stronger than sherry around the house.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Absolutely. Now, tell me about your Christmas.’

  ‘We had so much fun! Christmas morning, we opened presents and the best part of that was watchin’ our little brother. Nothing like a kid to make Christmas special.’

  As I listened, my mind drifted off like wisps of smoke in a breeze to those long ago Christmases when Dad was still alive. The bittersweet memories stirred up comingled feelings of happiness and sadness that left a dull ache in my chest. I shook it off and turned my full attention back to Ruth. ‘Sounds like you were having a great time. Why did you come back early?’

  ‘Oh, it was Irene’s idea. She’s really been worryin’ me. She’s been edgy all weekend like somethin’s bothering her. On the ride up, I thought maybe she was afraid I’d tell Ma she’s seein’ a married man. So I told her I wouldn’t say a word. She just snapped at me saying she didn’t care what I said to Ma. Then, she started on me about returnin’ earlier than we planned. She didn’t let up the whole time we were there.’

  ‘Did she say why?’ I asked.

  ‘She said she missed her boyfriend, but I think there’s somethin’ more to it. She was so touchy and when she didn’t think anyone was lookin’, she had this awful expression on her face like she was standin’ in front of a firing squad. Even Ma noticed. Asked her what was wrong.’

  ‘What did she say to your mother?’

  ‘She didn’t really answer. She just got on Ma’s case for agreein’ with me about the two of us being roommates. She reminded Ma that she wasn’t a kid no more and that I wasn’t her mother and she was real tired of my bossiness. But I can’t boss that girl around. She don’t do nothin’ I say anymore. Hey, forget about my sister. She said she wouldn’t stay out late tonight so I’ll see her soon enough in the dormitory.’

  We chatted and sipped for a couple of hours, slipping back into the easy exchange we had developed when we lived jammed together in a room built for one occupant. It was pleasant to set aside the turmoil of the world around us and be nothing more than two women who enjoyed each other’s company. The commonalities of our childhoods had drawn us together while work, our relative positions in the workplace and even the war itself faded into the background.

  Around one in the morning, Ruth pushed herself to her feet and said, ‘I’d better get up and get going while I can still walk.’

  ‘You want me to walk you to your dorm?’ I offered.

  ‘If you do that, Libby, who’s gonna walk you home?’

  Why didn’t I think of that? I shook my head, stirring up a wave of dizziness that made me realize how tipsy I felt. I had to focus hard to untangle my thinking and respond. ‘I’ll watch you go down the street. And you come back soon. We can listen to some radio shows.’

  ‘Do you like Fibber McGee and Molly a
nd The Shadow?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘They’re two of my favorites – it’s a lot more fun when you have someone to laugh with or get scared with.’

  ‘I’ll be back for sure and we’ll listen together.’

  ‘I wonder if we’ll ever have television in our homes?’ I mused, not realizing I’d spoken out loud until Ruth responded.

  ‘Television? You mean moving pictures in our house? You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘I saw one at the Chicago World’s Fair a few years ago. I thought we’d have them by now.’

  ‘Maybe after the war, then. A lot’s gonna change after the war,’ Ruth said.

  The falling temperatures after nightfall made the steps treacherous. We helped each other down to the boardwalk. ‘You could stay here, Ruthie.’

  ‘Nah, if I don’t get back to the room, Irene will be worried. I’ll be all right. You be careful going back up those stairs.’

  I watched Ruth’s back as it grew smaller and then disappeared at a bend in the road. I went back up the steps with exaggerated care. I thought about banking the fire or cleaning up the kitchen but it just seemed too much. I dropped face forward on the bed believing I’d rest for just a minute and then get up and take care of everything.

  Next thing I knew, early morning light was streaking into the bedroom under the curtains. I was clutching myself from the cold and my head was pounding so hard, I could hear it. It took me a moment to realize that the noise was coming from the front door, not a hangover. I rolled over and sat up. The alarm clock read 7:30. Although I was usually up by that time, on this morning, it seemed far too early. Served me right for enjoying a little too much whiskey the night before.