“How did you know?” he asked, his brow still worried.
“Well, I know your voice pretty well, and let’s just say I had a sneaking suspicion that you might not trust Roarke’s abilities to . . .”
“Keep his nose, actually, your nose, out of danger,” he supplied.
“Exactly.” He’d changed into a dark blue oxford shirt, open at the collar, arms rolled up a couple of times, that made his shoulders and arms look very nice. His eyes were black.
“What did you find out?” he asked. I filled him in on Daphne. He picked up on something I had not wanted to admit yet, to myself nor anyone else. He took a step closer, touched my cheek with his palm, and let his thumb come around my chin lightly, like a wisp of air. “When you remember her from your nightmares . . . do you really think that when you saw her face hovering over you when you were a child, she . . .”
“Yes. I do. I think she intended to kill me when she came to the hospital after the accident, but something prevented her. I don’t know if she was in on the whole thing, but her raw look of insane hatred . . .” I shivered.
He reached out and put his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I laid my head on his chest, the top of my head just touching his jawline.
We slowly, slowly swayed back and forth to the piano music. I had no idea what that song was; I’d never heard it before, and have never heard it since. It would be decades later that an artist would come out with a song called “Come Away with Me” that came close. Very close.
“I have a question,” I said.
“Mm hmm,” he said, not moving his head, his cheek now resting on the top of my head. I didn’t risk moving an inch, either. I had never been held like this before, never felt such a perfect fit. It was like our bodies were made for each other. And there was another feeling—what was it? I couldn’t figure it out.
I murmured contentedly, “Is Finn your full name?” I could feel his chest vibrate with a little laugh.
“That’s funny you should ask. Is Lane your full name?”
“Oh, no, don’t change the subject. Is it Finnegan?”
“No.”
“Phineas?”
“No.”
I was already running out of ideas. “Ffffinster?”
He laughed. I loved the sound of his laugh, and I could just imagine the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. I loved those crinkles.
“Finster? Really?”
“Sorry, it’s all I got.”
“Hmmm . . . Well, I don’t usually divulge my secrets, but in your case I’ll make an exception.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just Finn. Finn Brodie.” When he said his full name, I could hear the Irish loud and clear.
I was smiling to myself. The music kept going, as I was willing it to never stop. We kept swaying, closely locked together.
“So? Your name, love. Is it Elaine?”
“No.”
“Delaney?”
“Isn’t that a street?” I asked.
“I think that’s Delancey. In Greenwich Village. Is it Delaney?”
“No.”
“That’s all I got. Oh, wait . . . I know what it is.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Finn . . .” I said very, very softly. “I’m worried about the plan. If we can really pull it off.”
He took a deep breath and said, “I know. I’m not that fond of it, either. But it will work, Lane. I know it will.” I pulled my head away just enough to look up at him, still tightly entwined, our noses almost touching, a hair’s breadth apart.
“Finn . . .” I whispered. “Are you sure? I can do it, but . . .” He bent his head down, his lips melting into mine. I held his hand tight, not wanting to let go. I felt his arm tighten around my waist. We danced there for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 28
“Sir, you wanted to see me?” he asked, decidedly concerned about this unusual call for a meeting. He was repelled by the man, but he did need more information, so he hoped it was worth it. Plus, you never, ever ignored a call from this man. The room was dark red, with bookcases all around and ferns in tall, brass plant stands scattered about. The room contained a layer of stale cigar smoke that made it look like a London fog had rolled in.
“Yes, come in, come in,” he said as he pointed to the much lower seat on the other side of the desk in front of him. He folded his hands on top of his grand desk and smiled without warmth as the younger man came in and sat down. “Is the plan in place?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Does she suspect anything?”
“No, nothing.”
“I’ve had my eye on you, you know.”
“Good.”
“I’ve heard how you have a thing for her.”
“It’s all part of the plan.”
“You do understand that she knows too much already. And you know what that means,” he said, with an evil lift to his eyebrow. He had a cocky look in his all-knowing eyes. His expensive suit reeked of cigars, alcohol, and cheap perfume from his acquaintances whom he liked to keep. His short, orange hair had a nappy texture, and it made the top of his dangerous head look like a rusty steel wool pad.
“Yes, I know what it means. We’ll have to kill her.”
“That’s right. Can I count on you, Brodie?”
“Yes, Mr. Connell.”
CHAPTER 29
I am convinced that there will be a time when, let us say, I will make something good every day.
—ML
The next day, I was upstairs getting ready for work when I heard the usual: the door slamming open, the joyous barks of Ripley, and the screechy greeting of Fiorello. In stark comparison to the emotional roller coaster of the day before, it felt good to hear the normal parts of my everyday life. And the aromas. I could smell freshly baked biscuits, and I licked my lips at the thought of butter and honey on them. After last night’s roast beef and mounds of mashed potatoes, I thought I’d eaten enough to last me the week. However, one always had room for Mr. Kirkland’s biscuits.
The bellowing downstairs had stopped completely, so I figured Fio had discovered them as well. I finished buttoning up my deep purple dress with elbow-length sleeves. I slipped on my black high heels and headed downstairs.
On the way down the steps, I saw a little picture Aunt Evelyn had painted of a cottage. It always reminded me of my home in Rochester, and I remembered a fuzzy dream of that place from the night before. Maybe a trip back there would be in order soon.
Everyone was seated at the table, clearly enjoying the biscuits. I must have had a desperate look on my face as I scanned the table, because Mr. Kirkland chuckled and handed me a whole new basket full of steaming biscuits.
“God bless you, Mr. Kirkland,” I said. Fiorello smiled at me while chewing.
“While you’re all eating, I have a lot to fill you in on.” So I did. Apparently they had become used to my little adventures, because everyone just listened attentively to my story about Blackwell’s Island. No gasps, no wide eyes.
Aunt Evelyn spoke up first and said insouciantly, “I assume it was Finn who made the distraction and called the policemen over? I can’t say I blame him for following you both. You do tend to get into quite a bit of trouble.”
“Hmph,” I muttered.
Fiorello summed up the situation. “So, now we know that Roxy and her mother have some kind of motive in all this, but we need more evidence for their involvement with Daley and Donagan. I think it best that we keep an eye on her at work, Lane.”
Aunt Evelyn visibly shuddered. Then she turned to Mr. Kirkland. “Do you remember Daphne and Louise from your visits to Rochester?”
He shook his head, confounded. “No, you’d think they would have stood out. But when I was there, I mostly spent time with Matthew in the barn making furniture, cutting wood.... Or, when I was making more frequent visits, when you were just a baby, Lane, we’d have family dinners together, just the four of us. We
figured that with our past it would be best, even in that small town, to have me keep a pretty low profile. And as time went on, I only came out to visit once a year or so. It was the only time I felt off duty. So, I wasn’t always looking over my shoulder.” He said that last part with piercing, deep regret.
“Kirk,” said Evelyn, with a hand on his shoulder, “there is nothing you could have done to save Matthew and Charlotte. You did all you could.”
“No. I’ll never believe that. I wish I could,” he said. And he slowly, almost painfully, got up from the table and left the room.
I looked at Aunt Evelyn. She said, “It’s all right, darling. I’ll talk with him. You two go off to work.”
I looked to Fio, and he nodded. I picked up my notebook and bag and gave Ripley a good rub and kiss on the nose before we headed out the door.
“Lane,” said Fio. “You’re doing a good job handling all this. If I can help at all, or Marie—she’s offered many times to have you out to the Bronx house just to relax. Please, please, let us help if we can. All right?” I smiled and nodded a big affirmative nod.
“Then, let’s go. We have work to do!”
And we were off! He was happily shouting out orders and tasks for the day. As always, my hand scribbled furiously, and I looked forward to my day ahead. We walked down the steps to the 77th Street subway and stood on the platform. It was a particularly crowded rush hour, all sorts of people on their way to work, and we were jam-packed.
The train pulled into the station, and suddenly I had that prickly feeling like someone was watching me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I looked around as best I could. The doors of the train opened, and a flood of people came off, and a flood of people wanting to get on started to push forward.
I felt a rough hand pull my arm back, and I came up against Daley Joseph. His foul breath spilled over my face as he whispered in a sick, singsong voice, “I’m watching you. And I have a surprise waiting for you.” He abruptly let go of my arm, and at just the right moment, he shoved me into the crowd getting on the train.
“Fio! Fio! There he is!” Fio turned quickly around and just barely caught a glimpse of Daley as the door shut and the train jerked hard as it started to move. Daley smirked and touched his hat in greeting to Fio.
“Daley Joseph,” Fio said, with reverent gravity. “What did he want?” he asked, his face curious and taut.
“He caught my arm and said that he was”—I gulped—“watching us and that he had a surprise waiting.”
“That can’t be good,” he said, his face pale.
“No. No, it can’t.”
We made our wary way to the office, both of us deciding maybe we should have a police escort to and from work after all. I turned to him as we raced up the steps of city hall. “Seeing him in person is eye-opening, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. And in light of all this, let’s keep an eye on you know who today. I want to make sure we are aware of any of her movements and if she’s up to something that might give us another lead, okay?”
“You got it, boss,” I said.
But when we got up to our offices, Roxy was nowhere in sight. Instead, we were faced with a very worried Lizzie and Ralph.
“Mr. LaGuardia . . . Lane. It’s Roxy. She hasn’t shown up for work today, and I know she’s not sick or anything. I just saw her last night. We always let each other know if we won’t be in the office. And nothing! She’s just not here,” said Lizzie.
I looked at Ralph, wondering if he had anything to contribute, but he was evidently just moral support for Lizzie. He kept bringing her things to calm her down, and one time tried to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, but she kept shrugging him off.
Fio said, “All right, Lizzie. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s just late. If she’s not in by eleven, why don’t you and Lane go to her apartment and see if she’s sick or if anything is wrong. Okay?”
Lizzie took a shaky breath and tried to smile. “All right, Mr. LaGuardia, sounds good. I’m sure you’re right, she’s probably just late. Maybe she had a doctor’s appointment or something and forgot to tell me. Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”
“You do that, Lizzie.”
It really bothered me, though. Roxy was never, ever, late. I was utterly frustrated and filled with anxiety that we let her slip right through our fingers. I wondered darkly if this was our little surprise from Daley.
* * *
The minutes slowly ticked to eleven, and still there was no word from Roxy. So Valerie and I offered to go with Lizzie to see if Roxy was home ill or if she had possibly left a note there. Plus, I wanted to check out her place for more clues. Lizzie tried her darnedest to go by herself, but let’s just say that there are times when Fio is absolutely immovable in his decisions, and there was no way on earth that he would let her go without three of us at least. In addition to Val and me, he sent a jubilant Ralph to be our supposed bodyguard.
Lizzie was exuding contempt, and she rolled her eyes so much I was worried she’d go cross-eyed. But Valerie, Ralph, and I were impervious, as we were excited to be able to go, for our own separate reasons. We got to Roxy’s little place, a top-floor apartment of a large brownstone. We rang the bell, but there was no answering buzz from her apartment, so we buzzed the landlady. She came to the door, and after we explained our reason for being there, she offered to take us up herself to make sure Roxy was all right.
We walked up the three flights of stairs, and the landlady unlocked the door. Roxy’s apartment was neat and orderly in the extreme. The bed was perfectly made, and the dishes were all clean, not a single dish or cup sitting in the sink. Roxy was not there, and wherever she went, it looked like she meant to go. There were clothes missing from her closet, and her luggage was gone, along with toiletries from the bathroom.
Valerie and I exchanged knowing looks. Lizzie and Ralph looked shocked and confused. Lizzie exclaimed, “But, why didn’t she tell me she was going away? And for how long? I mean, we’re best friends!” She sounded outraged and close to tears. I knew she was worried, but the tone of her voice was incredibly grating. I looked at Val and made a face that said I couldn’t take much more of her. Val mouthed the words, I know. Ralph tried putting his arm around Lizzie again, and this time she let him. He looked exceedingly pleased.
Just as we were getting ready to leave and were on our way out the door, I saw a lone hat on the kitchen table. I had seen it when I came in, but now I realized that it looked oddly out of place. Why? I didn’t bring it up, but there was something significant about it.
“All right, well, it looks like she meant to leave. Maybe we’ll get a telegram later that will explain. Maybe she got a call during the night from a sick relative or something,” I said, trying to sound convincing. It worked for Lizzie; she almost smiled. We all went back to the office and tried to work the rest of the day, but it was hard to concentrate. We only had three days left until August tenth.
I finally went home and as I opened the door to our townhouse, I heard Mr. Kirkland humming in the kitchen. I greeted Ripley, put my things down in a heap, and went to have a chat in the heart of the house.
“Hey there, Lane. How’s your day?” greeted Mr. Kirkland with his gruff voice.
“Very . . . interesting,” I said uncertainly as I sat on a stool at the counter.
“Oh. Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“Not so good,” I said, and brought him up to speed on Roxy’s disappearance.
“Hmm,” he grunted, ruminating on the possibilities. “I’m with you, I don’t think she’s on a spur-of-the-moment vacation.”
I nodded and started munching on a bowl of hot popcorn that Mr. Kirkland handed me.
“You know,” I said, “I’ve been thinking. It seems like everything is coming to a head. And I’ve got something to tell you and something to ask you. Which do you want first?”
He looked wary. But then the old spy always did like a challenge. “The ask.”
>
“All right,” I said, licking the salt off my lips and grinning, foretelling that this was going to be a doozy. I took a big breath and told him about the plan that Finn and I worked out. All of it.
“You want to ask who to do what? And then you’ll . . . what?” he asked, his voice louder than usual and a little squeaky in disbelief.
“Yep. You heard me,” I said calmly. “Just think about it. I know it’s risky, but hundreds or even thousands could be in danger. It’s time for risk. My question is, will you go with me when it’s time?” A spark in his eyes told me he was well-pleased that I asked him and that I had my answer. I smiled broadly.
I hopped down from my stool and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. I uncapped both and handed him his. He took a long swig and before he was finished, I quickly said the statement part of my twofold talk with him.
“Now the tell. Mr. Kirkland, I know you can’t forgive yourself for not stopping the hit on my parents. But from what I know of my parents, they would want you to forgive yourself for them. It’s what you would want if the situation was reversed.”
He slowly lowered his bottle of beer to the counter. His gray hair looked debonair in the golden kitchen light. He took in a deep breath, his powerful chest increasing in size. Once again a seafaring image came to mind. He looked at me, searching. Then made a quick, determined nod of his head.
He cleared his throat and said, “Well, if we’re going to go through with this plan of yours, I have a few things I want to show you. And I want to give you something of your father’s that you should have. Come on.” He called for Ripley to come, too, and I followed them outside onto the patio.
* * *
That night I had a significant dream for the first time in a long while. I had been willing my subconscious to help me figure out these damn puzzle pieces; we were running out of time. But every single night I had been disappointed. Not this time.
The Silver Gun Page 24