by Ana Morgan
He snarled and raised his hand as if to slap her.
She stuck out her chin and silently dared him to strike. Other men had done far worse when she was young. “Stick to the plan, and you’ll live like a king in New Orleans.”
Peabody lowered his arm. “Give me the drop-off note. I’ll have it delivered tomorrow night.”
“Don’t change it. We’re too close to the finish line.” Candy pulled the envelope from a dressing table drawer. After they divided the ransom, she’d rescue Stormy and rush her to the hospital.
Stormy could accuse Peabody at the top of her lungs. He’d be long gone.
Mrs. Candace Masters would be heralded as a hero.
Chapter 32
Blade paced the foyer of Jared’s luxurious townhouse, his patience stretched near to the breaking point. Out of respect, he’d agreed to let his brother go upstairs and rouse Candy from her bed. When she came downstairs, he would confront her and give her a choice—show him where Peabody was holding his fiancée, or he’d haul her to police headquarters.
Skilled interrogators would get her to confess how she’d delivered Stormy into Peabody’s ruthless hands. Then, she’d spend the rest of her life in a filthy cell.
“I've checked everywhere.” Jared appeared at the top of the grand mahogany staircase. He’d changed into all black clothes. “She’s not here.”
Blade pounded his thighs with fury as he stormed outside. Candy had lied to him again.
Jared caught up with him. “Where do you think she is?”
Willing his anger into steel, Blade rattled off what he knew for certain. “Peabody has Stormy. Candy is in league with Peabody. Peabody hauled bags into a rooming house by the old Lewiston factory.”
His brother’s fingers twitched as if he summed numbers in his head. “The contents of those bags could hold a clue,” he said soberly. “Think we can make the hausfrau talk?”
Blade withdrew the marshal’s star from his pocket. “If I flash this, and you back me up.”
“You got it.” His brother pulled a flat, black felt hat from under the seat of his carriage and tugged it low on his forehead. “I’m mad as hell and mean as a rattlesnake.”
They parked in the shade of the abandoned button factory and approached the rooming house with quick, policeman-like steps.
Blade led the way into a small, square entry hall and knocked on the door marked Office. He heard the turn of a lock. The door opened a few inches.
Hair caught up in a kerchief, the robed hausfrau peered out and cursed under her breath. A small, spotted dog yipped and hopped around her feet, its toenails clicking on the bare wood floor.
Blade wedged the toe of his boot into the opening and flashed his badge. “Police.”
“What you want?”
“We’re looking for a girl who’s being held against her will.”
“No one like that comes here. Everyone here is happy. Thank you to go now.”
He forced the door open. “We want a list of boarders and when they moved in.”
She scrunched up her face and sighed. “Ja. Okay. I make no trouble. Wait there.”
Upstairs, doors opened and shut. A toilet flushed.
Whispers, and then footfalls descended the steep staircase. A man’s legs appeared, followed by a torso in a familiar gray uniform shirt.
Sleepy-eyed, the security guard from the bank passed without a sideways glance and walked out the front door.
Blade’s curiosity grew as the young man sauntered toward the street. Did he live here? Or was he visiting someone?
The hausfrau returned with a brown ledger and handed it to Jared.
His brother turned the pages as he read the names of renters aloud. “Adair, Braun, Ditmore, Kurtis, Neimann.”
Blade held his breath. It was likely Peabody used a fake name. No matter what, he’d ask about the bags Peabody had carried in.
“Stripples, Tentler—”
Blade stiffened. When he first met Candy, she’d used the last name Stripples. He tapped the ledger. “Which room is Stripples?”
“Five, but she doesn’t like to be disturbed when she entertains.” The hausfrau followed him out into the hallway. “I’ll sue if you make damage.”
Leaving his brother to deal with the apprehensive woman, Blade took the stairs three at a time. Instinct told him Candy had just consummated her flirtation with the young bank guard. He was about to get answers about Stormy.
He found the room marked five and knocked.
“You wore me out.” Candy’s voice seeped through the gap at the bottom of the door. “Go home.”
Blade rapped again. His heart raced as he prepared for a showdown.
The knob turned. The door creaked open on tired hinges.
Candy stood before him, her shapely body wrapped in a rumpled bed sheet. Her scented blond curls hung in drowsy bunches around her shoulders. Surprise flashed in her eyes.
“I see you still prefer your men young,” he said.
“Not one has been as good as you.” Her smile returned. “You’ve missed me.”
“Get dressed, Candy,” he ordered. “We need to talk.”
Willful as ever, she walked back to the bed, let the sheet drop, and patted the mattress. “Let’s get reacquainted first.”
His stomach lurched. Jared was downstairs, no doubt thanking the hausfrau for her cooperation and promising not to break down doors. If he saw his wife like this—
Jared pushed past him. With obvious disgust, his brother surveyed the disheveled bedcovers, the clothes tossed helter-skelter on the floor, the handcuff dangling from one narrow bedpost.
“Jared?” Candy snatched up the sheet and covered her breasts. “This is not what it looks like.”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” his brother snapped.
Blade stalked through the room and rummaged through the drawers of Candy’s dressing table. On the left side—Candy was left-handed—he found two sheets of blue paper that resembled the ransom note. He tucked one into his pocket.
“You’re wrong, Jared.” Candy stood and pulled a lacy pink day dress from her wardrobe. “I needed a place to think things through.”
“What things?”
“Petition for divorce.”
“On what grounds?”
“Cruelty.” She stepped into the dress and slipped her arms into the long sleeves. “Having to manage a household with two demanding children and maintain a grueling Society schedule to enhance your image as a successful businessman. You should pay me to be your promoter.”
“I don’t need you to endorse me.”
“Enough!” Blade said. “Candy, we know you’re involved in Stormy’s disappearance. Where is she?”
She crossed her hands on her chest and blinked like she was trying not to burst into tears. “How can you ask me that when I’m helping you look for her?”
He recognized the pose. She was lying. “I know you paid Peabody.”
“I hired him to find this room.” Sniffling, she stepped in front of the vanity mirror and fussed with the bodice of her dress. “That has nothing to do with your fiancée. I want her back as much as you do.”
“You tricked her into going to Fifi’s.” His voice grew rough as his patience wore thin. A vein throbbed in his forehead. “You left her alone so Peabody could take her.”
“Is that what you think?” She twisted to look at her husband. “Do you agree?”
His mouth set in a stern line, Jared nodded.
Candy turned back toward the mirror and pinned up her hair. After one, quick smile at her reflection, she pulled on her shoes and picked a sheer shawl off the floor. “Take me to police headquarters right now. I was a witness, not to the abduction, mind you, but I was there.”
She walked toward the door. “Maybe I know something that will help bring Stormy home, and I just don’t realize it.”
Blade hesitated. Was he wrong about Candy? Were his feelings about their past relationship clouding his judgment? Accusing her falsely could slow the search for Stormy.
“I’m waiting,” Candy said.
He shoved his fists into his pockets and forced himself to move. Maybe a seasoned detective could extract the truth.
Or, deduce where the hell Peabody was hiding Stormy.
Chapter 33
As day turned to night, Stormy’s cramps grew stronger and lasted longer. She longed for a breath of fresh, cool air. She was sick of being chained like a chicken-killing dog, and tired of hoping that every time Peabody came upstairs, she’d be set free.
This morning he’d made her sign her name on a slip of blue paper. He’d said it would prove she was alive.
Bah! He didn’t care about her life. She was just a pawn in his quest for riches.
Clutching her belly, she hobbled from the chamber bucket back to her cot. She lay down and pulled the moth-eaten quilt over her shivering limbs.
She’d never fevered during her womanly times, as Brownie called them, or felt like her body was trying to expel her womb.
Too soon, a new contraction began. The relentless hum in her ears morphed into fearsome, jabbering voices. She stuffed the corner of the quilt into her mouth to keep from screaming.
Someone shook her shoulder. Probably Peabody, pestering her to swallow more terrible tea. When the wave of pain finally subsided, she forced open her eyes. Waited for the room to stop spinning.
Impossibly, Jonathan Vance bent over her, his thin lips set in a grim line. He didn’t look happy to see her.
He turned, sprang at Peabody, and slammed the investigator against the attic door. “What did you do to her? I promised her father I’d bring her back in good condition.”
The investigator blanched. “The apothecary said she’d suffer only minor discomfort while the remedy worked.”
“For what ailment?”
“Motherhood.”
“Is that why she’s wearing next to nothing? Did you pimp her out as a whore?”
“No! That’s how she was dressed when I found her.” Peabody pushed free and tugged down his shirt. “She’s young. She’ll recover. This way you’ll be sure she’s not carrying Blade Master’s child.”
Vance glanced with disgust at the newspaper-topped bucket in the corner. “Our deal is off. I expected her to be ready to travel back to Prosperity. Obviously, she’s not.”
“But, I’ve taken a huge risk,” Peabody sputtered. “I’ve incurred expenses.”
“You miscalculated.”
Stormy trembled under the thin, stained quilt. Vance had come to take her home. Oh, that was where she wanted to be. She opened her dry, cracked lips and mustered a cry.
The sound she made was more croak than call, but he approached again and touched her chin. She reached for his hand, and squeezed her ice-cold fingers around his warm ones, seeking comfort. Her belly cramped again, and she fought to stay alert.
Stone-faced, Vance pried open her feeble grip. He slipped off Blade’s emerald and ruby engagement ring and walked up to Peabody. “In the morning, I’ll bring clothes for traveling. She’d best be alive when I get here.”
~ ~ ~
To calm his nerves as he paced in front of Candace Masters’ rooming house door, Edward Peabody lit a slender rum cigar.
Things were not going well. The apothecary, whom he’d known for years, swore his herbal concoction worked quick and inflicted only mild pains. Candace Masters was acting like a spoiled heiress. Vance had arrived a day early and refused to pay him a dime.
To live the high life in New Orleans, he’d have to act fast.
If his hired messenger delivered the time-and-place instructions to the Masters’ mansion before dawn, he could collect his money and hightail it for the docks. His bags were already aboard the steamer, Nellie Parsons.
He didn’t care who arrived at the attic first, Vance or Blade Masters. Either man could carry Miss Hawkins down the three flights of stairs. She’d lost weight, so the job would be easier than hauling her up unconscious.
Candace wouldn’t reveal where he’d gone. Any information would implicate her. But, as insurance, he’d penned a confession that detailed how she’d come to him with the kidnapping plan. He noted that she’d doctored the apothecary’s tea. She was the mastermind, and Blade Master’s beggar man was a witness.
He’d leave the tell-all in the attic. By the time Candace was tried and convicted, the coppers wouldn’t bother looking for him. She’d be enough.
Cheered by his revised plan, Peabody pinched off his cigar and returned to the attic. After checking that his hostage still breathed, he gathered his things, set the key to her chain on the table by the chair, and closed the door behind him.
Twelve hours from now, he’d be sipping champagne on the first-class deck of the Nellie Parsons, steaming south.
Chapter 34
The ransom note was delivered just before dawn.
Forest Park Pavilion.
Girl for cash.
Eight a.m.
Come alone.
Following most of the instructions, Blade stood in front of the band pavilion in Forest Park. The briefcase at his feet held five thousand dollars, his entire savings.
Hiding off to one side, Jared clutched a similar case with another five grand from the bank’s vault. With no time to wait for the police, they’d packed the cases themselves.
Blade scanned the walkways leading to the pavilion for a man and a redhead. He couldn’t wait to hold Stormy in his arms.
Few weekenders strolled the city park at this early hour, so the kidnapper had no crowds to shield him. If he snatched the money and ran, they’d give chase, two against one, until they caught him.
“See anything?” Jared called. He was impatient, too. Candy had protested her innocence loudly under interrogation last night, but Jared had convinced the sergeant-at-arms to hold her in a cell until the case was solved. He’d even roused a sleepy photographer to snap a photograph of his unfaithful wife behind bars.
“No.” Blade still couldn’t shake the conviction that Candy was behind this terrible affair. Every answer she gave a few hours ago revolved around money. How she deserved more, and the kidnapper deserved less.
He’d read somewhere that kin fleeced kin more often than acquaintances or strangers. The rudimentary handwriting on the ransom notes could have been scrawled by a half-drunk roustabout in exchange for an hour with a willing whore. Like Candy.
He pulled out the gold pocket watch he’d borrowed from his father. On the ranch, he told time by the sun and his stomach. A few minutes here or there weren’t important. But, right now, every second mattered.
Stormy had been kidnapped five days ago. He prayed Peabody had given her decent food and a clean place to sleep. And, swore the investigator would pay if she’d been mistreated.
He checked the timepiece again. Ten minutes to go. The second hand ticked slowly.
He patted his pockets. The choke cord was wound so the handholds protruded. His switchblade was a quick reach away.
“Look!” Jared hissed.
Blade looked up and recognized Edward Peabody.
The investigator walked toward the pavilion, jauntily swinging his walking stick as if he intended to spend the day at a gentlemen’s club. He stopped at the entrance to the pavilion and motioned for Blade to come over. Stormy was not with him.
Peabody’s smile reminded him of every con artist and thief he’d ever met—disarming and smug.
Jared had convinced him to let Peabody make the first move, but his fingers itched to shove
the smile down Peabody’s throat. “Where is she?” he growled.
“Where’s my money?”
Blade gestured toward the briefcase, which he’d left on the stage. “Up there.”
“How much is in it?”
“Five.”
Peabody’s eyes flashed disappointment. “And, the rest?”
“My brother has more,” Blade said evenly, though he wanted to tear the man limb from limb. “But, you didn’t bring anything in trade.”
Peabody reached inside his tan coat and withdrew a small, folded paper. “Her signature, written a few hours ago.”
Blade snatched it from his hand, popped the wax dot seal, and read,
I want to go home.
Stormy.
It was her handwriting. Small, flowing letters.
“Hand over the money,” Peabody ordered.
“Not until I see her.”
“Sorry, old man. We’re doing things my way.” Without warning, Peabody rammed the brass knob of his walking stick into the underside of Blade's chin.
He fell back. Stars danced in front of his eyes.
Jared yelled, “Blade!” but he was too far off to help.
The investigator towered over him, eyeing him with ruthless intent. He gripped his walking stick with both hands and raised the heavy brass knob high above his head. “I won’t let you cheat me.”
Desperate, Blade tucked his arms and rolled.
The second swift blow struck the middle of his back. A painful, paralyzing tingle rippled through his limbs. He had no strength to deflect the next blow. It would probably crack his skull.
He heard a loud bang and jerked onto his side.
The exultant glare faded from Peabody’s eyes. His knees buckled. A red stain sprouted on his shirt, and he collapsed, dead.