by Mae Berry
“I put the kettle on and stoked up the fire, lassie. Might be needin’ a cup ‘a tea.”
“More likely coffee. Lots of coffee. Very strong, very black, coffee.” Sam stood and glared at Daniel.
Daniel gave a weak smile. “Finn doesn’t like coffee.”
“I know. Don’t care. He’s drunk.” Sam crossed her arms.
“Aye, but I’ve seen worse.” Daniel grinned. Sam glared. He cleared his throat. She yanked the water out of his hands sloshing a good part onto the parlor floor. She grabbed the towels then dropped to her knees at Finn’s side. Sam placed the bowl and towels within easy reach and swiped at his split lip. He grimaced and moaned. She let out a growl.
“All right, Daniel. Talk. Who beat him up?”
“It not be my tale to tell,” Daniel shifted. “if’n ye know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t and I’m about finished with you both. Explain what happened and why you brought him here or I’ll toss the two of you out on your backsides!” Sam glowered at Daniel who dropped once more into the chair. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair which at this point resembled a well used mop.
“Finn came into Climax tonight.”
“Climax?”
“Aye, Climax. Pendergast’s place?” Sam nodded.
“The boys say he came in upset. Verra upset.”
“The boys?”
“Aye, I didn’t get there until later.”
“He would na say what was botherin’ him. But he, well, ye see lassie. Finn has a bit o’ a problem.”
“He drinks too much?” Sam cocked one eyebrow.
“Waat? No. No! Finn rarely drinks. Never drunk though. I’ve never seen em like this. He swore off gettin’ drunk after his da—”
Sam shifted her knees. “Well, he drank tonight.”
“To be sure. But that’s na waat got him in trouble tonight.”
“What then?” Sam wrung out a cloth and narrowed her eyes. He was taking entirely too long.
“Like I said, he be verra upset. He only fights when he be needing to work off somethin’ and never seen him mix fighting and drinking.”
“Wait,” Sam raised her hand palm out. “Fights? A barroom brawl? He picks a barroom fight when he’s upset?” Her voice rose.
Daniel winced. “Nay! The bar may upon occasion have lads waat come to an understanding, as it were, to—”
“Knock each other’s brains out?” Sam glared.
“Now, now I not be sayin’ that.”
“So, what you are NOT saying is that Finn takes part in these… these organized fights at Pendergast’s bar?”
“It be an Irish stand-off. There be rules and such. The lads—”
“You know it’s illegal, don’t you?”
“Ah, aye a wee bit. That be why we’re at your door.”
“Oh?” Sam shot him an icy glare. Finn groaned again and she resumed her ministrations.
“Look lassie,” Daniel ran his hand over his face and sat on the edge of his chair, “He be needin’ a place to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Coppers raided the bar. If they found Finn there, his boss would fire him fer sure. He’s already suspicious of Finn’s activities.”
“It seems he has good cause to be. I still don’t understand how this involves bringing him here. Why didn’t you take him home?”
“One o’ the other marshal has it in for him. He’s been watchin’ things. I think he suspects and is tryin’ to catch Finn at it. He… he checked Finn’s flat afore the raid. Left a fella keeping an eye out.”
“He’s being watched?” Sam let out a slow breath.
“Aye, but if he were here with ye this evening, they won’t question him about it.”
“What?” Sam stood and faced Daniel. “You’re asking me to say he’s been here? With me? All night?” Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you take him home to your flat? Surely you being with him should be alibi enough—”
Daniel shook his head. “I dinna get to the bar ‘til after the raid were in progress. Too many folks seen me out an about without Finn. Besides, the word of a lady be far more reliable than tha’ of an Irishman.”
Sam stared at Finn shaking her head. “What about his injuries? How do we explain them?” Daniel’s shoulders sagged. She saw the relief on his face. She had no choice. She had to help or Finn would suffer. He could lose his job and she knew how much it meant to him.
“Well, lassie, your job is dangerous. Finn could have a run in with someone durin’ the course of your investigation.”
“Normally, you’d be incarcerated for striking a marshal,” she snapped.
“Ye’ll work it out.” Daniel offered her a brilliant but lazy smile.
Sam sighed. She stroked the hair off Finn’s forehead. His face broke into a heart-stopping smile as he grabbed her hand and rolled over. He made a contented sound as he wrapped both arms around her arm and settled back to sleep.
Chapter 22
April 28, 1891
Stanley, Missouri
Sam gazed out the train window. The scenery passed without notice. She was tired of train travel. Three towns in two weeks was grueling. Not to mention Finn’s presence. Every time she thought she’d figured him out, the man did or said something contradictory to his character. Well, at least what she assumed was his character. It annoyed her. People were easy to understand. In her experience, they were upstanding examples of citizenry or they weren’t. Finn was… well… she wasn’t sure if she was angry with him. He’d been amazingly solicitous since the night Daniel had dumped him semi-conscious on her sofa. He had apologized profusely. The two of them had worked out a plausible explanation for his injuries and presence in her home. The only bright spot in the whole sordid affair was the look on Hattie’s face the next morning when she’d found him asleep in her parlor. She had been uncharacteristically silent the whole morning. Sam grinned.
Finn sent her a curious smile and raised an eyebrow. She shook her head. The train slowed as it neared the small station at Stanley. Sam’s pulse sped as it screeched to a halt. She took in the peeling paint on the one room station house and the plank platform. The memories flooded in like a rain-swollen river, slowly creeping but relentlessly rising. Images of splattered blood and bludgeoned corpses. Of children bloated with decay and blood crusted night clothes.
“Ready?” Finn said gently. He was standing in the aisle with his hand extended. His expression was placid, but Sam could see sympathy in his eyes. He understood how coming back affected her. She stood without his help, avoiding his gaze as she walked to the door. She straightened, she didn’t need his sympathy. Sam cast a glower over her shoulder and Finn cocked an eyebrow, a half smile on his face. Sam gritted her teeth. An accommodating Finn was annoying. She looked around, nothing had changed, not even the station master. He was simply scruffier.
Finn stopped next to her and squinted at the sun. “If we hurry, we can make the last train back.”
“Fine by me.”
He snorted at her. It was an annoying noise. “Is there a police office? Sheriff?” Finn craned his neck as he scanned the two block long main street.
“No, just a Justice of the Peace.”
“Does he have an office?”
“No. When I was here, he worked out of his home. What happened to ‘I always send a telegram?’” Sam flinched. Her words came out harsher than she intended.
Finn ignored her grumping. “Must’ve slipped me mind.” He slid a lazy smile in her direction, his eyes warm on her. He cocked his elbow at her, in invitation.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, then turned to the curious station master.
“Excuse me sir, does Mr. Mills still reside in Stanley and is he still the Justice of the Peace for the town?”
The man looked her over from shoes to hat, an insolent smirk on his face. Sam shifted. It would be an insult if he weren’t older than Methuselah. Finn took a step closer to her and glared at the man. Apparently, insolence a
t any age wasn’t something Finn tolerated.
Finn tapped his badge. “Could you answer the lady’s question?” His voice was soft with just a trace of his brogue but Sam heard the warning. The man spit a stream of tobacco juice in the general direction of her skirts. Finn growled. The man smirked then cocked his head.
“Yep, and yep,” he drawled and ambled off in the opposite direction.
Finn’s face resembled a roiling summer thunderstorm. “Was that a ‘yep’ for my question or yours?”
Sam sighed, “I’m not sure. But I think at least one of those ‘yeps’ referred to the fact that Mr. Mills is still in town. Justice of the Peace still doesn’t matter. If we are investigating here, I think we best start with him.”
Finn nodded, eyes still on the retreating station master. “In that case, lassie, lead the way.” He held out his elbow again.
Sam hesitated then straightened her spine as she ignored his elbow and started across the dusty dirt road.
✽✽✽
Despite his best efforts to engage her, Sam remained silent during the short walk to the Justice of the Peace. Finn kept an eye on her rigid posture and rapid stride which sent her skirt flapping and accentuated her shapely backside. He hung back to admire the view until she sent him a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder. He hoped he would be forgiven soon. The woman’s glare put him in mind of mid-January. With three feet of snow. During a blizzard. He cleared his throat and caught up to her.
“Here.” Sam paused in front of a neat, one-story house. The elaborate wrought-iron fence encircling the yard was at odds with the plain home. The haphazard profusion of vivid flowers contradicted its no nonsense appearance. She opened the gate before he could get there and continued her march from the walk, to the steps, and on to the front door. Had she caught him admiring her? Most women would be flattered to have attention from him. While he wasn’t a rake or a ladies’ man, he’d squired around a fine looking lass or two. Nothing serious, but women appreciated the attention he paid them. Yet this little saucebox seemed determined to set him on edge.
“Coming?” Sam sweetly asked. Too sweetly. Yes, he was still paying for his indiscretion the other night. He needed to have a word with Daniel about involving her. She glared at him and waved for him to move then knocked on the solid oak door. As Finn joined her, the front door inched open revealing a small girl dressed in a red gingham dress and once white pinafore. The mud streaks on her grimy clothes matched the dirt on her forehead and under her fingernails. She stared at the two with a thoughtful expression, neither moving nor speaking. Finn crouched to the child’s level and favored her with a dazzling smile.
“Is your ma home, sweetheart?”
The girl shifted her gaze to him and continued staring. Several more seconds passed and Finn’s smile faltered. He was used to his charms working on women. Even miniature ones. He glanced helplessly at Sam who shrugged and stepped forward.
“Is there an adult at home we may speak with?” The girl’s eyes flicked between them as she concentrated first on Finn then Sam. She shifted and looked away.
“Are ya strangers? I’m not ‘lowed to talk to strangers. If you are then I’m not speaking. If you’re not then I ‘pose I can talk.” The girl shuffled her feet.
“Ah, lassie, I see.” Finn tapped his marshal’s star. “See this? This means I’m a law man. My job is to protect lassies. I’m a good guy.” Finn’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “You can talk to good guys, right?” The young miss cocked her head scrutinizing Finn. She gave a slow nod.
“Pose that be so, mister.” She stuck out one of her grubby hands and Finn solemnly shook it. “I’m Sarah Jane Mills McAllister.”
“Most pleased to make your acquaintance,” Finn said, “I’m Marshal Finnley, and this is Miss Lawton.”
“Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley.” Sam muttered under her breath.
“We are looking for Mr. Mills,” Finn continued, “is he home?”
Sarah Jane’s face scrunched into a frown as she stared at the floor and tapped a dirt crusted fingernail against her lip. Finn shot Sam another glance.
Sarah Jane jumped and clapped her hands, a grin showing off a missing tooth. “Oh, you mean gran’pa! You needing him for police work? He is a Justman a peace, you know. He’s a good guy.” She puffed out her small chest and stared at Finn who nodded his head.
“Yes, ma’am. We good guys help each other.”
Sara Jane giggled. “I’m not a ma’am. That’s my ma.” She giggled again as the door swung open further and a panting older woman glared at the child.
“Sarah Jane McAllister, what are you about? How did you get so filthy? Land sakes girl, you will be the death of me! Just wait until your mother gets back. She will give you a strong talking to.” Sarah Jane ignored the tirade and the shaking finger.
“Gran’ma, they’re good guys looking for gran’pa. At least he is. Not sure about her.” She shot a skeptical glance at Sam. “You a good… girl?” Finn fought a losing battle with the laugh that escaped and tried to cover it with a cough. Sam sent him a sour look.
“Oh, dear! I am so sorry.” The woman waved them inside with a fluttering of her hands. “Please take a seat in the parlor. I’ll go find my husband.” She gestured to an ostentatious room on the right stuffed full of chairs, tables and bric-à-brac. Sam concentrated on navigating to the horsehair sofa without her skirts upsetting something. Honestly, gaining and displaying every ornament imaginable was ridiculous. The thought of the wasted time dusting those possessions hurt her head.
“Nice place.” Finn looked around then smirked at her as she stared at him mouth open. He laughed, his eyes twinkling. He was teasing her. How on earth had he known what she was thinking? She stared at him a moment longer but all she saw was sincere warmth. It made her insides flip. It made her want to smile back. She lifted the corners of her lips. Finn shot back a big grin, his dimple displayed in full glory. Sam shook her head and grinned back. A short, rotund man bustled into the room. He struggled into his suit coat and smoothed his lapels.
“So sorry to have kept you waiting. How may I help you?” When he saw Sam he startled. Surprise, then a delighted grin crossed his face. “Miss Lawton! How are you? So nice to see you again.” His genuine pleasure took Sam aback. He rushed forward to pump her hand. “Never expected to see you again. How are things at the agency? Did you ever catch up with Gittin? Though I hoped I’d have heard if you had.”
“Uh… Mr. Mills, nice to see you.” Sam blinked. “I’m not with the agency… wait… you asked if I had caught Gittin?”
“Yes, yes. Please sit.” Mr. Mills motioned toward the sofa. “Now, let me call for refreshments. Roberta? Roberta! Where is that woman?” His face brightened as Mrs. Mills appeared with a full tea tray. “Excellent! You anticipated me, my dear.” He stared fondly at his wife. As the bustling couple moved tables and set out refreshments, Sam shook her head and looked at Finn. He was watching the flurry with a bemused smile. Sam took a deep breath and waited for Mr. Mills to finish.
“Mr. Mills,” she began.
“Cookie my dear?” Mrs. Mills held out a plate.
“No… I mean yes, thank you.” She took a cookie. “Mr. Mills, when you saw me, you said something concerning catching up with Gittin?”
“Yes, Miss Lawton. I figured after this much time, you might have apprehended him, even if I hadn’t heard.”
“Mr. Mills,” Sam drew in a deep breath and noticed Finn watching her. Apparently, he hadn’t realized the significance. “Mr. Mills, why would you ask if I had apprehended Gittin? When I left Stanley after the murders the official conclusion was that Gittin drowned himself in the river and was to be buried next to Mrs. Gittin. Why would you think otherwise?”
“But…” Mr. Mills frowned. He stared at her, his eyes widened as he set down his tea cup with a thud. “Didn’t you get my report?”
“Report?” Sam tilted her head to the side.
“Um…” Mr. Mills cleared his throat.
“The one I sent to the Pinkerton Agency? I addressed it to you. I…” He stopped as Sam shook her head. “Oh dear. Oh my.” He drew out a large handkerchief and dabbed at the sheen on the top of his bald head.
“Mr. Mills,” Sam closed her eyes. Her stomach clenched. “What did the report say?”
“We identified the body found in the river. It was four or five weeks after you left.”
“Who?” Sam whispered.
“Ezra Marks. He was a farm laborer. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” Sam’s heart punched her chest as heat rushed through her. Her clenched fist crumbled her cookie to a fine powder. She had been right. All along, she had been right. She would have been vindicated if Sloan hadn’t stopped her from investigating. More importantly, Gittin might have been caught before he struck again. Because she was sure beyond a reasonable doubt, he was out there. She had deluded herself with the possibility that Richards was not Gittin. But at her core, she had known he was and he had taken that little boy.
“Did you know Ezra Marks? Was he another victim of Gittin?” Finn asked, placing a hand on her arm. She swallowed and shook her head.
“I thought, perhaps he was the one Gittin mentioned in his note,” said Mr. Mills. “What was it? The ‘devil’ he needed to kill? I wrote it in my report. Could that be who we found?”
“No,” said Sam. “We know who the ‘devil’ was, a prison guard from Jefferson City.” Mr. Mills let out a low whistle.
“So, did he kill him?”
“It appears that way.” Sam’s lips formed a tight line as she shook her head.
“Mr. Mills,” said Finn, “do you have the note? I want to—”