Courting Misfortune

by Regina Jennings

  “Two of your Bible students were at Black Jack’s? You have a very interesting congregation, Mr. Cook.”

  “That’s putting it lightly,” Matthew replied.

  The sergeant chewed on the end of his pencil before swinging forward and pulling two more papers from a pile. “If you’d both be so kind as to fill these out. Just write your story . . . you can write, can’t you?”

  The withering look Calista sent him answered for her.

  “Capital. Write what happened, and we’ll file it with the report. We have officers looking for the man. If he’s still there, as you claim, we’ll have no problem identifying him. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  In Calista’s training, they’d never covered how to write a police report. In most cases, it would behoove the operative to tell the police who they worked for. In her case, she didn’t want Mr. Pinkerton to know what had happened. She’d have to handle this like a civilian.

  “Keep it to the facts of what happened tonight,” she whispered to Matthew. “Don’t write anything beyond that.”

  “You mean, let them think you’re a light-skirts drifting around dark alleys on Saturday night?”

  “It’s better than the truth.”

  Matthew snorted in disapproval, but he stopped arguing.

  Calista wrote furiously, skipping the shady preliminaries and going straight to when she’d been assaulted. She assumed that Matthew was just as eagerly recording his account until he spoke.

  “It’s a disgrace how that officer treated you. Can you imagine being a young woman, uneducated and without recourse, and being treated like that?”

  If Lila needed help, would they have listened to her? “He made assumptions about me based on how I was dressed.”

  “Even so, you deserve courtesy.”

  “Another issue for you to campaign against?”

  His eyes were sad. “What was I thinking, coming here? I had all the answers back in the mountains of Pine Gap.”

  “But you moved somewhere that needed you.”

  “And you did need me tonight.”

  “That’s open to interpretation.”

  The sergeant breezed back to his desk with another police officer in tow. “They found the man you reported. Because of his injuries, they took him to the hospital.”

  “Injuries? Which injuries?” Calista asked.

  The sergeant motioned the second police officer forward to answer. “Lacerated brow, broken kneecap, possible broken ribs.”

  “Was there a knot on the side of his head?” Matthew asked. “Have they determined which blow felled him?”

  “I didn’t note any knots on his head,” the officer said. “The other injuries were more severe.”

  “Told you so,” Calista said, suppressing her smile.

  “Thank you for the report, Officer Rush.” The sergeant’s pen moved swiftly over his form, but Calista bolted out of her chair.

  “Officer Rush?” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “Do you know someone named Della, by chance?”

  Officer Rush was a redhead, and his complexion showed his agitation. “Why?”

  This might be a mistake, or it might be a breakthrough. She was already at the police station. Nothing bad could happen to her here.

  “I’m an old friend of hers.”

  Officer Rush looked at the sergeant, who held up his form and read, “Miss Calista York.”

  “She’s never mentioned you,” Officer Rush said. “Where do you know her from?”

  “We have a mutual friend who introduced us. Her name is Lila Seaton.”

  The officer’s eyes flickered over Calista, then Matthew. His mouth formed a tight line, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Lila Seaton? I’ve never heard of her.”

  Calista looked at the sleeves of his navy jacket so he couldn’t see the skepticism in her eyes. He was lying. This policeman was lying to her. What did it mean? Were there officers on the force involved in kidnapping? Was he covering for someone who was?

  “Maybe I have the wrong Rush family,” Calista said. “My apologies.”

  “Sergeant,” Officer Rush said, “may I speak to you?”

  The sergeant stood and followed him to the other end of the large room.

  Matthew was getting restless. “They have your attacker,” he said. “Why don’t they let us go?”

  Calista shrugged. “We could be asked to identify him. I wouldn’t be surprised if they escort us to the hospital.”

  But what happened next did surprise her.

  The sergeant returned and took her by the arm. “Miss York, please hold your hands behind your back. You are under arrest.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  Matthew jumped to his feet. “What did she do?”

  “You don’t know your friend very well, do you?” The sergeant used his key to secure the handcuffs. Calista’s shoulders dropped with the weight. “Come this way. One of our prison matrons will deal with you.”

  “Matthew!” She turned, the paleness of her face bringing into sharp focus the bruises on her neck.

  Matthew had never considered attacking a lawman, but his resolution was being tested. “Why are you taking her? She was the one attacked.”

  “Are you her husband?” the sergeant asked. “Or any kin?”

  “No.”

  “Then you have no interest in this.”

  Somehow, despite her efforts to keep the officer from carting her out, Calista maintained her dignity. Already tousled and bruised from her earlier fight, she managed to stay composed, but the sight of her bound was unraveling Matthew’s control. There was fear in her brown eyes, more fear than there had been while she was being choked to death by a thug.

  What was wrong? What was going on? But he didn’t have a chance to ask, because she was dragged around the corner and hidden from view.

  “You can’t just take her.” Matthew pounded his fist against the officer’s desk. “She came to you for help.”

  “You won’t be any help to her if we lock you up too. I suggest you move along.” The officer leaned back in his chair and watched Matthew warily.

  He was right. For whatever reason, Matthew would find no sympathy here. He had to get away. Go for help. He rushed outside with no plan. Where could he go? Who could help? Family. That was where she turned every time. It was only another block to the Keystone Hotel.

  The streets were a blur as he imagined what Calista was enduring. He barely noticed when he passed through the doors of the hotel. Instead of waiting for the elevator, he took the stairs—all six flights—then beat on the door with his heart hammering in his chest.

  “Something better be burning down,” Maisie groused as she opened the door. She already had one arm in her robe and was holding her shoes beneath the other arm.

  “It’s Calista. She’s been arrested.”

  Maisie’s eyes widened. She dropped her shoes and jammed her bare feet into them as she pulled her robe around her. “Calista is a good person. They can’t do that to her. We gotta save her. Spring her from the pokey. You run to the farm and tell Granny. I’ll drum up a following to confront the police.”

  Maybe he should have gone to her uncle instead.

  “Going to Granny’s will take too much time,” he said. “Is there someone in town?”

  “Graham!” Maisie slapped her hands together. “Graham’s in town, and he’s a particular friend of Calista’s. He’s at the train station. He’ll set this aright. C’mon.” She pushed past Matthew, then skidded to a stop. “Wait. What about Howie? I can’t leave him.” She yanked at a frizzy lock of hair in frustration.

  Her concern did her credit, but Matthew had to go. “Graham’s at the train station at this time of night? How can I find him?”

  “Graham?” She snorted. “You can’t miss him. But give me a second. I’ll wake Howie and go with you.”

  “Sorry, gotta go.” He turned and jogged back to the staircase.

  “Tell Calista I love her,” Maisie called,
heedless of the sleeping residents of the hall.

  Matthew nodded as he took off toward the train tracks. He’d always thought that he felt an urgency for saving the lost souls of Joplin, but never had he prayed with the same desperation as he prayed now. It wasn’t right, what they’d done to Calista. Matthew could fight a thug on the streets, but he was powerless against the law. Only God could intervene, and to Him Matthew breathed prayers with every step.

  He needed help, but it wasn’t until the yardman at the train depot pointed him toward an elaborate personal railcar parked off the main tracks that Matthew realized the Graham he was going to find was none other than Graham Buchanan, the railroad magnate.

  What business did Calista have with him?

  Any fool could tell Calista was quality. Any fool knew she was better than a poor miner from the hills of the Ozarks, but it came like a dousing of ice water to consider that she had friends like Mr. Buchanan.

  Despite the hour, Mr. Buchanan graciously received Matthew as a friend of Calista’s. Matthew tried not to gawk at the electric lights in the railcar or the intricate wood paneling in the sitting room on wheels. Because of the urgency, Matthew spent the time telling Mr. Buchanan what had happened to her, but what he really wanted to know was the nature of their relationship.

  “She involved the police?” The gentleman raised a teacup and sipped a long draw. When Matthew had realized that he was going to meet a Mr. Buchanan, he’d expected an elderly gentleman, not this young, competent man. “That’s an unusual choice, considering her profession.”

  Matthew stared at his untouched cup, wanting to throw it against the silk-lined walls. He was the one who’d waved down the officer, not Calista, so the blame fell on him. And it rubbed him wrong that Calista had seen fit to share her secrets with this sophisticated man. But if Mr. Buchanan knew her profession, maybe he should know everything.

  “She’s looking for someone named Lila Seaton,” Matthew said. “The names Della Rush and Gerald Mason have also been spoken, but I don’t know what any of it’s about. She didn’t tell me the details of the case.”

  Buchanan’s smooth brow wrinkled. “So she asked Officer Rush if he knew Della Rush, and that was why she was arrested?”

  “He didn’t appreciate the question, but it wasn’t until she asked about Lila Seaton that he decided she couldn’t walk free.”

  “Interesting. I suppose we’d better make a phone call and see what we’re to do about it.” He picked up his cup and saucer. “Follow me to my office.”

  They hurried down a carpeted corridor to an adjoining car. Of course Graham Buchanan didn’t use the depot office. He had an office with a telephone on his train. Would wonders never cease?

  “Operator? Connect me with Chicago, if you please.” Keeping one foot on the floor, Buchanan sat on his desk and motioned Matthew to a leather wingback chair.

  Matthew shook his head, too anxious to sit.

  “Thank you,” Buchanan said. “The Pinkerton Agency, please. Robert Pinkerton, if he’s available.”

  Pinkerton? Matthew’s eyes bugged. They were going to call Mr. Pinkerton at this time of night? Again, Matthew marveled at the turn his life had taken. Growing up, he’d heard about the exploits of the Pinkertons, but he’d never thought he might meet one. Much less kiss one.

  “Mr. Pinkerton? Sorry to wake you. This is Graham Buchanan here. I’m in Joplin, Missouri, and a mutual friend of ours has run into some trouble.”

  Matthew crossed his arms over his chest, but that didn’t feel right. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband but still couldn’t stop fidgeting as he tried to imagine what was being said on the other end of the line.

  Buchanan darted a look at him, then nodded. “I have a man here she trusted. I don’t think he knows your side of it, but he witnessed what happened at the station. I’m going to put him on the line.” He offered the receiver to Matthew. “Here you go.”

  Matthew balked. He was going to speak to the infamous Pinkerton? But it was for Calista. My, but she got him doing things he never thought he’d do.

  “This is Matthew Cook. How can I help you?”

  The voice was rough and clipped. “Tell me exactly what happened—every word she said, and why you were at the police station in the first place.”

  “Yes, sir.” Matthew related the attack that he’d walked into. He gave substantial details concerning Calista’s injuries, but the director seemed impatient with his recital, so Matthew moved on to what had happened in the police station.

  “The trouble started when she asked the officer about someone named Lila—”

  “Don’t say that name,” the director snapped. “There are ears everywhere, and if this incident is any indication, the local justice might not be our ally.” There was a long pause. “My office won’t be able to help her from here. It would only bring her more trouble. Put Mr. Buchanan back on.”

  Matthew handed the receiver back, still unsatisfied that he didn’t have any answers, and Buchanan’s stilted conversation wasn’t enlightening. Finally, he hung up.

  “To the police station we go.” The rail magnate drained his teacup and pulled on a hat.

  “It’s fortunate that you have all this at your disposal,” Matthew said as they left the office behind.

  “I am fortunate, no doubt about it,” Buchanan replied without a touch of humility.

  “And also fortunate that you aren’t worried about Calista’s straits.” Buchanan’s buoyancy made Matthew’s agony all the harder to bear.

  “Listen, brother.” Buchanan stopped at the corner and turned to Matthew. “If Miss York is determined to follow this path, she’ll face worse situations than this. She has to learn how to cope.”

  What was worse? That Buchanan didn’t seem to be worried about Calista, or that he knew her better than Matthew did?

  “What’s the plan?” Matthew asked.

  “We are not to invoke Pinkerton’s name. It appears that the police are holding her fraudulently. The only reason they could have for that is if they are involved in Lila Seaton’s disappearance. We should stick to Miss York’s original story that she was friends with the ladies and continue to hide her connection with the Pinkertons. If these corrupt officers know that she’s part of a detective operation and she’s searching for the girl, it could have dire consequences for Lila Seaton. It could be just as bad for Calista.”

  “Then, how do we get her out?”

  “As you’ve pointed out, I have many tools at my disposal. People want to be agreeable to me. It might be that I have some influence with the officers.” Had he ever used his influence on Calista? Mr. Buchanan must have felt Matthew’s glare, but he shrugged it off. “If they don’t cooperate, I have other means available.”

  Matthew should have been grateful for his help, but instead he was wishing he’d never laid eyes on the man. Buchanan made Matthew truly take a look at himself. Even as they walked toward the police station, Matthew compared Buchanan’s custom-made shoes to his worn boots. Buchanan’s elegant hands to his rough and broken fingernails. It would be obvious to everyone that Calista belonged to Buchanan, not Matthew.

  As disheartened as he was, Matthew had to appreciate Buchanan’s confidence as he walked right past the police desk and straight to an office with a nameplate reading Captain Dirk on the door.

  “I demand to see Calista York.”

  Only the portly man’s eyes moved as they lifted to see who dared address him like that.

  Buchanan leaned both hands on Captain Dirk’s desk and repeated, “Where is Calista York?”

  “Steinham, get this jackanapes out of my office.” Captain Dirk rocked as if he could settle even further into his hard wooden chair.

  “Miss York was unlawfully detained, and I demand to speak to her,” Buchanan persisted.

  “I don’t know this Miss York or where she’s off to, but it’s Saturday night, and we have more to worry about.”

  “She was attacked,” Matthew said. “I was with her
. We came in to report the attack, and the next thing I knew, she was being arrested. Officer Rush took her in. Ask him.”

  The bored-looking officer at the door must have been Steinham. “This office is not for the public,” he said. “Let’s go, Mister . . .”

  “Buchanan. Graham Buchanan.”

  Matthew had to admire how Steinham stepped away. A nervous look at his captain said everything.

  “Graham Buchanan, huh?” The captain leaned back in his chair to get a better look at his accoster. “And what’s your interest in this lady?”

  “She’s family.”

  Matthew’s eyes darted to the side. Was that the truth? What kind of people was he befriending when he didn’t know whether to believe them or not?

  Turning to Steinham, the captain asked, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  “Yes, sir. I was there when she was arrested.”

  That answer didn’t sit well with the captain. With a huff, he stood and said with begrudging respect, “Make yourself comfortable while I see what is going on here.” He brushed against the desk on his way past, rustling the pile of papers.

  Matthew didn’t feel like sitting, but Graham eased into a chair and swung his crossed leg nonchalantly. “They’ll straighten this out.”

  “Family?” Matthew said. “Is that true?”

  Graham’s mouth quirked. “Absolutely. I married her cousin Willow Kentworth. I believe you know Willow’s father, Oscar.”

  “You married a Kentworth cousin?” Matthew could hardly believe his ears. How could Graham Buchanan have joined the same family that produced the likes of Amos and Maisie? “How did that happen?”

  Graham lowered his voice. “Our railroad hired the Pinkertons to work a case. Miss York was the operative. Willow got caught in the middle.”

  Matthew felt a knot releasing in his chest. Calista had been hired by Buchanan. Now, instead of jealousy, he felt pride for Calista’s family. Both he and her granny were Missouri ranchers, but it didn’t keep them from aiming high.

  Even though Matthew had more questions, his concern for Calista made him too ill-tempered for chitchat. “What’s taking them so long?” he asked.