Murder on the Last Frontier

by Cathy Pegau

  Charlotte tried to watch Brigit’s expression without seeming too obvious. “Nome?” Brigit nodded. “Fairbanks?” A hesitation before affirmation. Was it Brigit in the picture?

  As they drew closer to the bank, the door opened, and Tess Kavanagh stepped onto the walk. She smiled at Charlotte, but when she saw Brigit the smile fell. It wasn’t the startled response of nearly colliding; there was too much distance between them for that fear. But they were all close enough for Charlotte to see Mrs. Kavanagh’s eyes meet Brigit’s. Recognition flared in each of their expressions, as did something else. Not anger, precisely. Surprise? Wariness?

  Mrs. Kavanagh quickly shifted her gaze to Charlotte. “Miss Brody, how are you today?”

  “I’m well, thank you. And yourself?” Was she going to completely ignore Brigit? Charlotte glanced between the two women, wondering if it was their status that made this such an uncomfortable meeting.

  “Quite well, thank you. But I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she said apologetically. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Mrs. Kavanagh swept past, her hurried boot steps thumping on the walk. Charlotte and Brigit watched her depart. Brigit’s face registered nothing, not anger or disappointment. While Charlotte hadn’t expected the two women to greet each other with friendship, the absolute coldness of Mrs. Kavanagh’s reaction seemed extreme.

  “Do you know her at all?” Charlotte asked.

  Brigit shook her head. She faced Charlotte, a small, tense smile curving her lips. “I’m afraid I have to get inside. Let me know if there’s anything else we can do.”

  Charlotte wanted to ask if Brigit had known about Darcy’s delicate condition, or about the money and papers sewn into the coat, but she couldn’t. Not yet. It was information and evidence that needed to be kept mum for now. “I will. Thank you.”

  They headed in opposite directions, but Brigit stopped her before Charlotte got more than two steps away.

  “I’m two girls down now that Marie is gone.” She gave Charlotte an appraising look, but there was amusement in her dark eyes. “Could use a pretty blonde like you.”

  Charlotte grinned. She liked this woman and her wicked sense of humor. “Thanks, but Toliver already beat you to it. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll let you know,” she said with a wink.

  Hunching her shoulders against the rain, Charlotte hurried to James’s office with Brigit’s laughter echoing behind her.

  Charlotte walked into the marshal’s office just as James was leading a disheveled man toward the side door marked JAIL. Marshal Blaine sat at the deputy’s desk, writing in a large ledger. A second man sat on the hard wooden chair in front of the desk, elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.

  “Have you got the fifty dollars or not, Rawlins?” Blaine asked.

  “Nah,” Rawlins drawled. “Who has that kinda money all at once?”

  “Not the likes of you,” Blaine said, not unkindly. “So maybe you better consider that next time you and Carter decide to fire up your still and try to sell hooch, eh?”

  Rawlins nodded, and the marshal went back to writing in the book. When he was finished, he stood and smiled at Charlotte.

  “Miss Brody. A pleasure to see you again. What can I do for you?” He came around the desk and grabbed the other man’s arm, assisting him to his feet. Rawlins stood, wavering slightly.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt police business, Marshal.” Though the information she had, scant that it was, qualified. “Is the deputy available?”

  Blaine narrowed his gaze, holding Rawlins still as he regarded her. “He’ll be back in a minute. Why don’t you have a seat here while I deal with this?”

  Charlotte moved forward as Blaine escorted his charge through the same side door James had gone through earlier. She sat, removed her hat, and couldn’t help glancing at the ledger. Though it was upside down, she easily read Blaine’s neat block writing that filled the last line. Rawlins, John had been arrested for violating the Alaska dry law and was charged fifty dollars in fines and fees. It appeared his friend was in trouble for the same crime.

  “Miss Brody.” James’s voice behind her set Charlotte’s heart racing. He’d caught her snooping.

  “Deputy. I was wondering if you had a minute.”

  He stood beside her, but glanced toward the hall to the jail. Seeing if Blaine was near? “Is this about last night?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded as the marshal strutted back into the front office. He eyed the two of them with curiosity bordering on suspicion. “You need me, Eddington?”

  “No, sir.”

  Blaine took his hat and coat off the rack near the door. “Good. I’m going to the café.” He gave them a significant look as he shrugged into his coat. “Anything important will be passed on to me.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, sir,” James said with a solemn nod. The marshal left the office, and James turned back to Charlotte. “Did you talk to Brigit?”

  “I did, but she refused to name anyone.” He scowled. “But,” Charlotte said, laying a hand on his arm, “Charlie said someone had him pass a note to Darcy that night.”

  “Who? Why didn’t he say anything when I was there?” James’s anger and frustration blazed in his eyes and darkened his cheeks beneath the shade of whiskers. He was intimidating, even when the look wasn’t aimed at her.

  Charlotte squeezed his arm. “Maybe because you scare the hell out of him?”

  His frown deepened. “Kids love me.” She couldn’t help but laugh, and James smiled. “So what did you manage to get out of him, oh charmer of children?”

  “Actually, Brigit was the one who got him to talk.” Charlotte lowered her hand. “He’d been outside when he wasn’t supposed to be, which is why he didn’t say anything before. The man gave him the note and a couple of store tokens. I guess Charlie is used to being discreet and didn’t think much of it.”

  “Who was it?”

  “He couldn’t tell,” she said. Charlotte told James everything Charlie told her and Brigit. “It was dark, and the man kept his hat pulled down. Charlie only had a vague description of his height and build.”

  Charlie’s comparing the man to Michael flashed through her mind again. How many others fit that description? Probably quite a few.

  “Could’ve been anyone,” James said, clearly disappointed, “and no way to know for certain if this man was responsible.”

  Charlotte rose and fiddled with the brim of her hat, working out what little they knew. “The timing is too close. That man had something to do with Darcy’s death, I’m sure.”

  James stepped past her to open the door. “Your conviction is fine, but it won’t get me my killer. We need facts and evidence, Charlotte.”

  We. She grinned up at him. He smiled back, and Charlotte’s heart fluttered. Without a second thought, she rose up on her toes to peck him on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me stay on the case with you,” she said. “And for backing me up last night with Michael.”

  James raised his hand to where the brim of his hat would have been in a gesture that was becoming quite familiar to Charlotte. “Any time, ma’am. Go settle things with your brother. I have those damn prisoners to process. Then I’ll walk the path behind the buildings and down to the trees where Darcy was found, to see if I missed anything.”

  “I have the feeling your task will be more enjoyable than mine.” Most would find retracing the steps of a murderer and his victim distasteful, but Charlotte didn’t relish the idea of confronting Michael either. Still, it had to be done to mend the rift between them.

  “It’ll be better in the long run,” James said. “Now scoot.”

  Charlotte sighed dramatically, smiling when he laughed, and headed out.

  Chapter 12

  Charlotte hurried across the street, reaching Michael’s office as the skies opened and the rain fell as if blasted through a hose. At least it wasn’t raining sideways this time.

  She entered without knocking and pushed the
door closed. No one waited in the visitor’s chair, nor was Michael at his desk. Shaking most of the rain from her hat, she hung it and her coat on the rack behind the door. The exam room was empty as well. The stringent bite of carbolic acid used as a cleanser made her nose itch. She continued through to the door of his living quarters and knocked.

  “Just a moment,” he called out. Within a few seconds, Michael opened the door. His surprise at seeing her was obvious. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Charlotte clasped her hands at her waist. “I should have knocked on the outer door, but it was raining pretty hard.”

  “No, no, that’s fine,” he said. “I leave it unlocked just for that reason.”

  The tension between them was too much. They were treating each other almost like strangers, and it made her heartsick. Had their bond finally snapped?

  “Michael, I—”

  “Charlotte, I’m sorry,” he said, overriding her own apology. “I’ve been a complete ass about . . . everything.”

  She didn’t try to hide her relief. “I’m glad you figured it out, because I wasn’t quite sure how to say it.” They both laughed, and some of the tension ebbed. “But I was a bit of an ass too. And I’m sorry. I think we’ve both been through some difficult times of late.”

  His blue eyes filled with understanding as well as curiosity. “Come inside and have something to eat. I was just heating some chicken soup Mrs. LeVoy gave me.”

  “Something else I need to apologize for,” she said as she followed him into his quarters. “I was supposed to be cooking for you.”

  Michael shrugged. He grabbed another bowl from the stack beneath the sink, then filled it from a pot on the stove. “It’s not a problem.” She sat down, and he set the bowl in front of her along with a spoon and a linen napkin. “I think it’s time we talked about what’s been bothering us.”

  Her hands trembled at the thought, but the idea of the rift between them getting larger scared her more than sharing her secrets.

  He sank onto his chair across from her, shoulders slumped. “Last night at Eddington’s, I was trying to be the big brother after not being there for you the last several years.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Alaska can be a hard environment for a woman, Charlotte, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  She turned her hand so they were palm to palm and grasped his. “I know. In a way, I do appreciate it, but I’m a big girl, Michael. I’ve seen and . . . and done things that give me a little more experience and wisdom than you might expect.”

  He squeezed back, concern on his face. “Some of those things were rather painful, weren’t they?”

  Charlotte’s throat tightened. She could only nod, unable to speak.

  Michael drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out in a shaky exhalation. “I know how that feels. There’s something I’ve needed to tell someone for a long time, and I just couldn’t. I thought coming out here, finding some sort of normalcy away from all the reminders might help, but it hasn’t. Not really.”

  His voice cracked, and when he continued, she saw such sorrow in his eyes she could have wept for him.

  “While I was at the hospital,” he said in a near whisper, “there was a soldier there. Private Isaac Barnes. He’d been wounded by a landmine in Germany and sent stateside after he’d recovered enough to travel.” Michael let out a short bark of a scoffing laugh. “Recovered. The poor bastard had lost all his limbs and suffered a disfiguring head wound that caused seizures and fits of rage. He either slept or was agitated, with moments of brief lucidity between morphine doses.”

  Charlotte squeezed Michael’s hand, not wanting to interrupt the horrific story he needed to get off his chest.

  “His parents came to bring him home. We told them he’d require round-the-clock care—toilet, feeding, hygiene, and bathing—and that it was better for him to stay in a hospital permanently. They were older, you see, and we didn’t think they’d be able to handle his needs. They didn’t have much money to pay for such care. They’d sit at Isaac’s bedside, talk about selling part of their land, their possessions. After they left for supper one evening, Isaac called me over. ‘Don’t let them,’ he said. ‘I’d rather die than see them go through that. Morphine. Something. Please, Doc. Please.’”

  Michael focused on Charlotte, his face drawn. “He was asking me to put him out of his misery, to save his parents from heartache and debt. I started to argue with him, but he had a seizure. I was going to ignore his plea, then he asked me again two days later. After another seizure, one that required a nurse to help hold his thrashing body before it rendered him semicomatose, I made up my mind.”

  “Michael.” Charlotte swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. “Your oath.”

  “Do no harm.” His eyes hardened. “Wasn’t it more harmful to have Isaac and his family live that way for years, maybe decades? The least I could do was treat him better than we’d treat an animal.”

  He was on the defensive, but she hadn’t meant to sound accusatory. She could only imagine the struggle he’d faced.

  Michael shook his head and took another deep breath. “I prepped a syringe with digitalis, kept it in my coat pocket until he had another seizure. I didn’t have to wait long. I had the nurse usher his parents out, then administered the dose. Once his heart rate had dropped, I called his parents in, told them the last seizure had been too much, that his heart hadn’t been able to take it. He died with them crying on either side of him, their heads on each of his shoulders and their hands twisted in his pajama top.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes, her fingers wrapped around Michael’s, tears trailing down her cheeks. How horrible to have your child die in your arms.

  “ ‘He’s at peace,’ his mother kept saying, ‘He’s at peace.’ So it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”

  Charlotte was nodding before she even looked at him. His expression was defiant, but in his eyes there was the need to be told it was all right. “Yes. Yes, it was, Michael.”

  Relief washed over his face, and he bowed his head. “You have no idea what it’s been like, living with this. Knowing I’ve taken a life, even if it was for the best.”

  Charlotte squeezed his hands as tightly as he squeezed hers. His fingers trembled. His jaw muscles stood out under the paleness of his skin. Finally, the trembling stopped, and his muscles relaxed. Michael drew in a long, slow breath and released it with a sigh. Confession was good for the soul, they said.

  “I do know,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.

  Michael’s head came up slowly, the question he hadn’t voiced plain in his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Guilt. I know the guilt you’re suffering.” Charlotte tried to moisten her lips with her parched tongue. She’d never spoken to anyone about her indiscretions. Only Kit and Richard knew, and Richard, the bastard, didn’t matter. “I did something that I thought was for the best.” The lump formed in her throat again. It took two hard swallows to clear it enough to be able to speak. “I still believe so, but maybe it was for a selfish reason.”

  His fingers tightened around her trembling hands.

  She squeezed back, grateful to have him listening without judgment. At least not yet. “I’d been seeing Richard Hamilton. Going to dances and lectures, that sort of thing.”

  “I remember your mentioning him in a few letters,” Michael said when she paused.

  “We were friends, then things changed.”

  Tension vibrated through his hands, and he frowned. “Did he do something untoward?”

  “He didn’t. We did.” Her face and body heated. She couldn’t believe she was telling her brother about her love life. About this much of it. “We had relations. Intimate relations.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding relieved. “I mean, it’s not something you want to think about involving your sister, but women nowadays are taking all sorts of aspects of their lives into their own hands.” He stopped, reading the expression on her face. “Th
ere’s more.”

  Her entire body felt cold, and she shivered. What was he going to say? What was he going to think? When she’d asked if Ruth was pregnant, he’d been shocked, practically insulted that Charlotte would ever think such a thing. Good girls didn’t have sex. They didn’t get pregnant. And they certainly didn’t do what Charlotte had done.

  “Charlotte?”

  “I don’t want you to hate me, Michael.” She gripped his hands so hard she thought she’d break his fingers, but he held on. “I couldn’t stand it if you hated me.”

  “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you.” Tears filled his eyes. “You are my sister, and I love you more than anything in this world. Tell me, if you think it will make you feel better, but it’s okay if you don’t.”

  He was giving her an out, a way to avoid revealing herself at her worst. He’d confided in her, trusted her to hear his confession and relieve his conscience. Michael had set the ball rolling, and now her own guilt pushed against her skull and compressed her chest. She had to tell him or she’d shatter into countless pieces.

  “A year ago, I got pregnant.” She said it fast, the words tumbling out with barely enough pause to take a breath. “When I told Richard, he wanted me to marry him. But he didn’t want me to keep working. Wife and mother only, no more articles or anything like that. I didn’t love him, not enough to marry him. Not enough to lose everything I’d worked for. And to be honest—”

  The next words stuck in her throat. They sounded so wrong, so selfish in her head. But they were the truth, her feelings then and her feelings now.

  “I didn’t want a baby, Michael,” she managed to say. “I didn’t want to be pregnant. I didn’t want Richard. I had plans and ideas that didn’t include any of that. So I—I got the name of a doctor in Buffalo, and Kit drove me up. We told everyone I was going for a long visit at her family’s place to get over breaking it off with Richard.”