by Cathy Pegau
“Well, you certainly don’t like her much.”
She spun to face him. “How would you know?”
“I’ve seen you together,” he said, “and when you talk about her, a wrinkle develops between your eyes. It’s there now.”
Charlotte touched a finger to the spot over her nose. He was right. “But I wouldn’t suspect her if I didn’t have reason.”
“Like you have reason to suspect Mayor and Mrs. Kavanagh and Brigit O’Brien?”
“Their motivation is solid. You know that as well as I do.”
James stood and stepped in front of her. “It is solid, and with some more questioning it may even be provable. But other than the mayor’s leaving the council meeting early, there is nothing to put him anywhere near Darcy that night.”
“No, a different man gave Charlie that note,” Charlotte said. “A man who looked like Michael.” She glanced down at the desk, and her gaze locked on the button. “Sam Bartlett’s coat was missing a button the other night. And he’s built a lot like Michael.”
James’s eyes widened. “You don’t honestly believe—”
“Sam Bartlett looks enough like Michael that Charlie must have thought about Michael when he was describing the person.” She watched James’s expression change from shocked to thoughtful. Taking advantage, she pressed on with her theory. “What if Ruth was upset over Michael’s relationship, and Sam used the note to lure Darcy out of Brigit’s. Then Ruth killed her.”
James shook his head. “She’s a slip of a thing. Not strong enough to do that sort of damage.”
“Maybe Sam did it. Or the two of them did it together.”
“Sam Bartlett won’t even look a person in the eye. You think he had the wherewithal to kill a woman?”
She’d sat across from Sam for over an hour, and the boy had hardly made a sound. He ran from her greeting on the street. The only thing that came close to Sam Bartlett’s being any sort of threat was when he’d been behind her that night as she approached his family’s home.
He was shy and skittish, but that didn’t eliminate him as a suspect or an accessory.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I sent an anonymous note to Ruth telling her I knew what she’d done and was going to tell you if she didn’t give me money to keep quiet.”
James’s expression darkened. “I should arrest you right this second.”
She raised a hand as if that could stop him. “Hear me out. I told her to meet me at Nirvana Park tonight to discuss terms of payment. You go early and hide, then I’ll get her to confess.”
“That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard. And too dangerous. No.”
Charlotte crossed her arms. Admittedly, it was pretty damn stupid, but what choice did they have? “Do you have a better way to get her to confess? We have nothing, James. I won’t sleep until Darcy’s killer is in jail, and I think you feel the same.”
He rubbed his temples, his face a mask of irritation. “You’re gonna be the death of me. Or yourself. What time is the meeting?”
The somewhat remote Nirvana Park northeast of the town proper was the perfect location for private, late-night meetings to discuss blackmail and murder. With only the small beam of a flashlight to guide her over the rough dirt road paralleling the lake, and the darkness pressing in around her, Charlotte was beginning to agree with James: This was the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas.
Two things kept her moving forward. She was determined to see Darcy’s killer receive justice, and she wanted to prove herself to James. The former was more important than the latter, of course, but a little self-satisfaction would be nice.
She just hoped she was right.
The lights of the railroad yard to the right peeked through the spruce trees and willow brush. The buildings were too distant to offer adequate illumination anyway, and the smattering of homes along the road petered out not far from where she’d turned off Main Street. Cloud cover had kept the full moon hidden for most of the night. Charlotte soon reached the wider part of the road that indicated the entrance to Nirvana Park, her light playing over the carved wooden sign above the path leading deeper into the woods.
Were there bears in the park? Maybe so, but Charlotte was likely in more danger if Ruth waited for her.
When Charlotte had visited earlier in the day to familiarize herself with the layout, the glass and metal trinkets suspended from tree limbs by ropes and wires and the poles carved with fanciful figures had given the park a whimsical air. It was a popular location to relax and enjoy the peaceful surroundings along the lake, she’d been told. But by night, the chimes sounded dissonant, and shadows made the faces in the wood seem ominous and leering.
She suppressed a shudder and pressed onward.
In her note, Charlotte had instructed Ruth to meet at the bridge that crossed the creek running through the center of the park. James was hiding here somewhere. He had left over an hour before to find a place and wait, warning Charlotte that he wouldn’t make himself known until Ruth gave her confession. It was reassuring to know he was around, but Charlotte still felt very much alone.
Her boot hit the edge of the first plank. The thud sounded very loud in the deep darkness, louder than the slow-flowing water in the narrow creek. Charlotte scanned the ten-foot span of the bridge. Her beam of light fell upon a pair of heavy black shoes and the hem of a dress. Before she could bring the flashlight up, Ruth’s beam caught her in the face. Charlotte squinted, trying to keep an eye on Ruth in the glare. How long had she been waiting there? Did she know James was nearby?
“I should have known it was you,” Ruth said. “You’ve been a menace ever since you arrived.”
Charlotte’s eyes adjusted, and she focused on the woman across the bridge. “I’m not nearly the menace that other folks in this town are.”
“We don’t abide sinners here,” she said. “That includes whores and blackmailers.”
Charlotte gave her a knowing grin. “But at least I’m not a murderer.”
“What makes you think I am?”
Clever. Ruth was trying to get Charlotte to tip her own hand first. Charlotte would give her brother’s fiancée a hint. “You said something this morning that made me realize you knew more about Darcy than you should have.”
In the glow of the flashlight, Ruth frowned. “What?”
“You said she and her bastard would rot in hell. How did you know Darcy was pregnant?” Charlotte watched Ruth’s eyes narrow and her free hand clench. At least she didn’t have a weapon. Not one she could access immediately, anyway. “No one but Michael, James Eddington, and I knew about that. And her killer, considering the condition of her body.”
Ruth’s features contorted into a mask of hatred, the indirect light making her appear demonic. “She was a filthy whore who deserved to die.”
“She was a young woman, a human being,” Charlotte said, anger rising at this woman who had decided to play judge, jury, and executioner. “She and Michael had intimate relations and you hated that, hated her, despite your supposed acceptance of his ‘carnal needs.’ It became too much to bear, didn’t it, Ruth? What she was doing with him?”
“I wanted to talk to her. Tell her to leave Michael alone. I had Sam bring a note, like Michael said he did when he wanted her to meet him up at his room.” Ruth shook her head, disgust on her face. “I told Sam the other night he had to go back and collect all of Michael’s letters to her, but he didn’t get the chance.”
It must have been Sam and Ruth in the alley beside the Windsor the night of the mayor’s party talking about the papers, not Tess and Frank referring to the articles Darcy had kept.
No one had mentioned finding notes from Michael in Darcy’s room. Had she burned them, or hidden them somewhere, as she’d hidden the newspaper articles and money? Michael had mentioned getting word to Darcy about dates and times to meet. Surely he would have been smart enough to not explicitly request her in his private room or sign his
name.
Ruth slammed her hand down on the bridge railing. “Only a wife should see to her husband’s needs. None other. I told her to leave him alone, that tempting him during their health exams only added to her sins. But she laughed at me. Said Michael admitted he had more fun with her than he could ever have with me. And claimed that she and their baby would be his family.”
Even in the low light, Charlotte saw Ruth shaking with rage. She’d been angry at Darcy, at Michael. Admitting she had spoken to the girl wasn’t the same as confessing to murder.
“She was going to take Michael away from you,” Charlotte said, “so you killed her.”
Come on, come on. Say it.
“No.” Ruth’s fist clenched again. “I told the bitch she could have him. Then she opened her filthy mouth again.”
“What did she say?”
“That maybe Sam was the father.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Or Michael. She wasn’t sure. She ensnared my brother and my fiancé with her wicked ways. But she’d leave Michael alone and not tell everyone she was having his baby if we paid her.”
If Darcy had been blackmailing the mayor and his wife, as well as her boss, why not extort even more money from the Bartletts? But it looked like Darcy might have gone a little too far. Maybe she hadn’t expected the reverend’s daughter to be so vengeful.
“She could claim Sam was the father even if she left Michael out of it. I had to protect my family from her. And now you’re threatening me with the same thing?” Ruth leapt forward, flashlight raised over her head.
Charlotte stumbled back as the metal and light swept in front of her face. Her own beam jerked up into the trees, adding to the chaotic dance of light and shadow. She caught herself before she fell. Ruth brought her arm around in a backswing. Charlotte ducked, catching the blow on her right shoulder rather than in the face.
The pain would have been worse if she hadn’t been wearing two heavy shirts and Michael’s old winter coat, but it threw her off balance. Her retaliating swing missed Ruth’s face and glanced off her arm.
Ruth grunted, slipped in the wet duff, and dropped her flashlight. Charlotte recovered her footing. She shoved Ruth and bolted in the opposite direction. Her own heavy breathing blotted out other sounds. Had James heard them? Where was he?
“James!”
Charlotte stopped to catch her breath and listen for him. To her right, she heard grunts and muffled shouts. The crack of a branch. Was James in trouble? She started toward the noise.
A blow to her lower back sent her sprawling. Still clutching the flashlight, she kept her face and head from hitting the ground, letting her arms and free hand take the brunt of the fall. The sting of scrapes and bruises would come later. Ruth’s weight on her back pinned her down.
“You rotten bitch,” Ruth yelled, yanking Charlotte’s head back by a handful of hair. “You’re just like her. You whore.”
Sensing a blow coming, Charlotte turned her head away. Ruth didn’t release her hold. Charlotte’s scalp burned as hair was pulled from her head. The punch landed on her ear. Stars exploded in her ringing head, but Charlotte ignored them. With strength borne of desperation to escape, she pushed up onto her hands and knees and threw the smaller woman off her back.
Ruth didn’t land far away. She started to rise. Charlotte braced her upper body and delivered a solid kick to the other woman’s face. Ruth tumbled sideways, then lay still.
Charlotte scrambled to her feet. She could hear a second scuffle not far away and ran in that direction. The jumping flashlight beam created pockets of darkness, hiding roots and rocks that caught her feet. The knob of a root pressed into the wound on the bottom of her foot, shooting pain up her leg and making her stumble. She couldn’t stop now. James might need her help.
She reached a small clearing where her light found Sam Bartlett straddling James’s chest. James held the boy’s wrists with both his hands, his face contorted in pain as he kept a pocketknife blade from plunging into his face. Sam’s expression was murderous.
Charlotte darted forward and grabbed a short carved post that must have been knocked over during their fight. She cracked the heavy wood across Sam’s head. He howled and fell to the side. James rolled away. He sprang to his feet, panting. Before Sam could recover, James snatched the knife from him and tossed it aside. He flipped the boy onto his stomach, securing his hands with a pair of metal cuffs from his coat pocket.
“Are you all right?” Charlotte knelt beside James and cupped his face in her hands. One eye was swollen and partially closed. His nose was bleeding, possibly broken for a second or even third time.
James’s crooked grin made her smile despite the last few minutes of pain and panic. “I’ll live. The little bastard caught me by surprise, and sure can fight.”
She gently brushed his bloody lip with the pad of her thumb. “So can his sister.”
James’s head jerked up, and he scanned the area. “Where is she?”
“Near the bridge. I think she’s unconscious, but I’m not sure.”
James helped Charlotte to her feet. “If she isn’t, she won’t get far. I heard what she said just before Junior here jumped me.”
Charlotte shook her head, a sudden sadness and pity wending through her. “Poor Ruth.”
He gave her a startled look. “Poor Ruth? She killed a girl and tried to kill you. I don’t think I’d be so charitable or forgiving under the circumstances.”
“I don’t know. I do feel sorry for her. She was willing to let Darcy go and put Michael out of her life until Darcy attempted to blackmail her. Sometimes we just don’t know what will set someone off.”
James draped his arm around Charlotte’s shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. “You have an interesting way of seeing things. Come on. Let’s find this ‘poor soul’ so I can arrest her and get her and her brother shipped the hell out of our town.”
Chapter 17
Charlotte set another cup of coffee in front of Michael. He hadn’t spoken for the hour she’d been there, explaining to him what had happened. He’d listened in complete silence, occasionally sipping his coffee, his face turning pale and eventually almost green.
Now, he sat there, staring down at the table. His clothes were askew, hastily donned when he’d answered her knocking at dawn.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, sitting across from him. “Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that note. Maybe I overstepped boundaries.”
His head jerked up. Red-rimmed eyes held hers. “You did overstep.”
Charlotte’s heart sank. Damn it, she’d ripped open the tenuous healing of their relationship with her involvement. Would they relapse to strained conversations and secrets, ending up even worse off than before? She wouldn’t be able to stand it if that were the case. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to check the steamer office for the southbound schedule. Not that she currently had the funds for a ticket.
Michael’s gaze dropped again. “But you were right about more than you were wrong.”
“Barely.” She’d thought Darcy’s murder had been an impulsive act of passion, but both Ruth and Sam had proven capable of repeating the deed. That had almost been a fatal error, for both her and James.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it in her,” Michael said. “Maybe I just didn’t want to.”
Charlotte had wondered the same thing with Richard. Had there been earlier signs that he wasn’t the type of man she’d thought he was? Had she fooled herself into ignoring the hints because otherwise being with him had been so interesting and fun?
She came around to Michael’s side of the table. Much as he had done with her two days before, during their confessions, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her chin on his head. He pressed his face to her side as she tried to reassure him. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
“If I hadn’t been seeing Darcy, Ruth wouldn’t have been so angry at her.”
Charlotte eased away to look at him. Tears welled in his eyes.
“She was angry at Darcy for Sam as well. And Darcy was fool enough to think she could blackmail the Bartletts. Your seeing her wasn’t the epitome of fidelity, but her death isn’t your fault, Michael.”
He grimaced, perhaps trying to believe it was so. Maybe he never would.
A heavy knock sounded on the door of Michael’s living quarters. Charlotte stepped aside to allow him to answer. James Eddington held his hat, dark hair mussed and his freshly broken nose still looking painfully swollen.
“Doc.” He nodded to Michael, then caught Charlotte’s eye. “Miss Brody.”
Michael returned to his seat. “You don’t have to pretend to be so damn formal with her, Eddington. I think circumstances allow you to call my sister by her given name.”
Charlotte and James exchanged glances.
“Fair enough,” James said, shutting the door. “I know it’s a difficult time for you, Doc. Sorry about all this.”
Michael shrugged and shook his head, dismissing James’s apology. “I feel worse for Reverend and Mrs. Bartlett. Have you spoken to them?”
James nodded. “First thing after we got Ruth and Sam squared away. They’re with Blaine now.”
“What happens next?” Charlotte asked.
“Considering Ruth’s confession and all, I’ll take them both to the federal court in Seattle with a female court officer out of Juneau. They’ll stay at Morningside until their trial’s set. The Bartletts will come along, I reckon. I’ll need your written statement before we sail.”
“Of course. I’ll come down later.” Though at the moment all Charlotte wanted was a hot bath and a long, dreamless sleep.
James glanced at Michael, then back to her. “We have Ruth’s confession that she wrote the note to you, and that Sam threw the firebomb through your window, but you may need to bear witness in person at some point. You up for that?”
Charlotte met her brother’s gaze. His lips were pressed tight. Surely he had expected she’d have to give her account to the federal court. He stared out the window over the sink. She hated seeing Michael like this, hated Ruth and Sam Bartlett for putting him through such a terrible time. And if truth be told, she also hated Darcy for being such a greedy little fool.