Murder on Location

by Cathy Pegau

  Charlotte clutched at his arm, guilt and concern adding to her aches. “You didn’t tell her I was bad off or anything, did you?”

  He covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers. “I told her you were young and strong and the wounds weren’t critical. You did lose a lot of blood, though. But your injuries themselves aren’t all that scared us.”

  She knew what he meant, and figured it would be the main topic of James’s lecture. “I know. Truly, I don’t intend to put myself in harm’s way, but trying to figure out the identity of a killer comes with a certain risk.”

  “It does, but it’s not your job to do so.” A triple knock sounded on the door, interrupting Michael. He rose to open it, still talking to her. “What you have to remember is that you have people here who care about you, who wish you to be with them for as long as possible.”

  Like him and Becca. Charlotte had agreed to take care of the girl, was thrilled to be part of her life. But there was more to their relationship than guardian and ward, more than simple friendship.

  Michael opened the door and Becca hurried in. Behind her, hesitating in the doorway, James caught Charlotte’s eye. He was as pale and weary looking as Michael.

  More than just Michael and Becca want you around.

  “You’re okay,” Becca said, bending over Charlotte and giving her a gentle hug. Charlotte’s shoulder throbbed sharply even with the minimal contact and she started. Becca straightened, her face full of concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Charlotte smiled at her and took her hand. “It’s fine. I’m so glad to see you. Are you all right?”

  “Me?” Becca asked with a laugh. “I’m not the one who got shot.”

  Thank God. If Becca had been on location with the company, and Meade hadn’t been stopped from sabotaging the film, who knows what might have happened to whom when the gun went off “accidentally.” Any of the actors or crew could have been hurt, including Becca.

  “I’ll be out of here soon,” Charlotte said, looking at Michael. Her brother quirked an eyebrow at her in a skeptical manner. She didn’t amend her statement. “In the meantime, let Esther’s family know I deeply appreciate their generosity in letting you stay on with them.”

  “I will.” Becca smiled, but within moments her chin was quivering and tears welled. She squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

  “Oh, honey.” Charlotte wrapped her good arm around the girl’s slender shoulders and drew her close. Becca pressed her face to Charlotte’s neck. She felt Becca’s hot tears, but heard no sound. What had she put her through? “I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered, emotion tightening her throat. “I didn’t think . . . I shouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry.”

  She laid her cheek on Becca’s head and closed her eyes, fighting back her own tears. Michael had warned her that Becca was upset, but seeing the poor child like this, after all she’d been through with her family, hit Charlotte in the chest like a ton of bricks. While Charlotte had no intention of trying to replace Becca’s mother, she realized just how close the two of them had become in the last few months.

  Becca shifted and Charlotte moved her arm to allow her to straighten. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding Charlotte’s hand while wiping away tears with the other. “I was so worried.”

  “I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry I put you through that. Never again. I promise.”

  Becca nodded, then frowned. “What if there’s a really important story and you have to help someone?”

  Charlotte cupped the girl’s cheek in her palm. “Nothing is more important than you.”

  She had promised to take care of Becca, but she hadn’t expected to feel so protective of her, even against her own actions.

  “You like doing that, don’t you? Figuring out who did bad things?” Becca’s brow wrinkled with confusion. Charlotte had often told her stories of how she’d helped expose a crooked politician or a cheating business owner. She’d led an exciting life. Perhaps too exciting.

  She couldn’t lie now. “I do, but I shouldn’t do dangerous things for a story.”

  “I second that,” James said. He and Michael had stood quietly by the door. Charlotte had almost forgotten they were in the room. She caught the deputy’s eye. There was no glint of amusement or any sense he was trying to lighten the mood.

  Michael glanced between the two of them, then cleared his throat. “Come on, Becca, I’ll walk you to school.”

  “Do I have to?”

  Charlotte smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “All I’m going to do is rest and give Michael a hard time. Go to school and come back at the end of the day, all right?”

  “Visiting hours will be just ending,” Michael said. “I’ll make a note so you can stay.”

  Becca gave Charlotte a gentle hug and pecked her on the cheek.

  Charlotte returned the kiss. “Have a good day, honey.”

  She sighed dramatically. “I’ll be distracted all day with worry, but okay.”

  Becca slid off the bed to allow Michael to come over and give Charlotte a hug and kiss. “Be back in a bit, Sis. We’ll talk then.”

  He and Becca said good-bye to James, who still hadn’t smiled since arriving. Once the two of them were out of the room, James tossed his hat on the empty bed and sat in the chair beside her bed. He laid his hands flat on his thighs and stared down at the floor.

  Several moments passed in silence.

  “Hello, Charlotte, how are you feeling?” Charlotte said, deepening her voice in a poor imitation of his.

  Slowly, James lifted his head. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes. It appeared as if he’d been drinking too much, but Charlotte knew the man better than that.

  She reached across her body with her right hand, offering it to him. He laced his fingers with hers. “I am going to be all right, you know.”

  “This time,” he said, his voice rough. “I should have been there.”

  Charlotte squeezed his hand. “You had to go back and had no way of knowing what would happen. In a way, it may have been better that you weren’t there. I think Meade might have been more reluctant to try something if you’d been around. Then he might not have been caught.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  She shrugged, wincing when the movement made her left shoulder pulse with pain. “There’s no guarantee I wouldn’t have done the same thing had you been there. Not likely, but you know me.”

  He rose suddenly, releasing her hand and stalking the room like a caged jungle cat. “I do know you. What I don’t know is how the hell I’m supposed to protect you, mostly from yourself.”

  A heated rush of what she could only describe as resentment burned in her gut. “I’m a grown woman, James. You don’t have to protect me from myself, thank you.”

  He stopped midstride and faced her, blue eyes blazing. “As deputy marshal, it’s my job to keep you from getting involved in dangerous situations. And as the man who—”

  He cut himself off, jaws clamped tight.

  “As the man who what?” she asked. He looked down at the floor again, breathing hard, his hands fisted at his sides. “As the man who slept with me? Do you think that gives you say over how I behave, some sort of special right?”

  He took a deep breath and slowly released it, preparing to reply.

  Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.

  “I can’t do this, Charlotte.”

  She had hoped he wouldn’t forbid her from following dangerous stories. Well, he hadn’t done that, but she had no idea what he meant.

  “Can’t do what? Allow me to do my job?”

  Charlotte’s entire being ached. She had thought James was different. She knew her involvement in cases and stories pushed him to his wit’s end, that he’d prefer she not put herself in harm’s way. She’d prefer it as well. They’d spoken of consequences plenty of times. She knew what she was doing, usually, and accepted the outcome.

  James walked back to the chair and sat
down heavily, head bowed. Without looking, he reached for her hand. She took it. The ache inside eased some but didn’t completely disappear.

  He lifted his head, the redness in his eyes more pronounced. “I can’t pretend that being intimate with you hasn’t changed things between us, because it has.”

  “I liked what we had before,” she said. “Adding physical acts doesn’t have to change anything. I’m not asking that of you, and I don’t think you should ask it of me.”

  “I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been with other women.”

  Charlotte opened her eyes wide in mock horror. “Scandalous.”

  A small smile curved his lips, then, staring into her eyes, he spoke again with a sincerity Charlotte had rarely heard from a lover. “There have been women I’ve slept with and said good-bye to the next day without a second thought. There have been women I had longer relationships with and was disappointed when it ended, but got over it.” He swallowed hard, still holding her gaze. “But I can count on two fingers the number of women whom I’ve cared for deeply. So deeply, that when I became angry or terrified by situations involving them it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

  James had an ex-wife. He’d admitted beating a man when he’d suspected she was stepping out on him. The rage he’d felt then had scared him and precipitated their divorce.

  “Stella,” Charlotte said.

  “And you,” he replied, his voice cracking.

  Her heart and stomach seemed to momentarily switch places. A lump formed in her throat. What was he saying?

  “When I saw you yesterday, being wheeled down the corridor to the exam room, a bloody bandage on your shoulder, and your face so pale—” James shook his head. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  The lump in her throat grew, cutting off her air. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  “I’ll apologize for my ham-handed ways that make you think I’m trying to force you to do something you don’t want to, to be something you aren’t.” He half-rose and leaned over to kiss her. Just a light press of his mouth on hers. “But I won’t ever apologize for wanting to protect you, or for the feelings I have.”

  He released her hand and turned to pick up his hat.

  “James?” His name came out in a rough whisper. He set his hat on his head and faced her. “You don’t ever need to apologize for that. Or for being ham-handed.”

  He smiled. “Appreciate that, ’cuz I reckon it’ll happen again. Get some rest. I have to talk to those film people some more.”

  He started to walk toward the door, stopped, about-faced, and strode back to her bedside. Sweeping his hat off his head, he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Harder this time, but still more chaste than usual. Everything tingled. When he moved to break the kiss, Charlotte pressed her palm to the side of his warm neck, holding him in place for an extra second or two.

  She tried to raise her left arm to draw him closer. A twinge of pain grabbed her shoulder. “Ouch.”

  James straightened, and she lowered both hands. His brow wrinkled with concern. “You all right?”

  Charlotte managed a shaky smile. “I will be.”

  He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be by later. Good morning, Miss Brody.”

  “Good morning, Deputy.”

  He tugged the brim of his hat, then left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

  She settled back against the pillow, and her smile faded. The pain in her shoulder had subsided to a dull ache. But that wasn’t what had her worried.

  Charlotte had a pretty clear idea how James felt. Her own feelings were equally obvious.

  And they scared the hell out of her.

  * * *

  Later that morning, after a fitful attempt to sleep, Charlotte gave up trying. She asked the nurse, who had come in to check on her, where Caleb Burrows’s room was located.

  The nurse, an older woman wearing a white dress, white apron, and a starched white cap over her tightly pinned bun of hair, pressed her lips together. “Now why would you want to go see the likes of him? A proper young woman like yourself shouldn’t be concerned with his sort. You need your rest.”

  The likes of him? His sort? What did she mean by that?

  Irritation prickled at the back of Charlotte’s neck. “Mr. Burrows is a friend, and I would like to talk to him, if he’s up to visitors.”

  The nurse didn’t waver in her determination to keep Charlotte still. “You lost a lot of blood, young lady, and I’m sure the doctor would be angry with both of us if you were to get out of bed.”

  “The doctor is used to me doing things against his wishes.” Charlotte flipped the covers back with her good arm and carefully eased her legs over the side of the bed. Not bad, as far as pain went. That was a good sign. The simple cotton gown she wore covered her neck to ankles. A dressing gown hung on the back of the door. “Mr. Burrows’s room? Or do you want me wandering up and down the hall calling his name?”

  The nurse’s lips came together again, so tightly they practically disappeared. “He’s down the other hall, in B ward.”

  Steadying herself with her hand on the bed, Charlotte set her feet on the floor. The cold tile sent a chill through her. Her wounded leg protested but seemed willing to hold her up. It had only been a flesh wound, Michael had said, though it would likely scar.

  To her credit, the nurse walked with Charlotte to the door and helped her with the dressing gown. She held it out while Charlotte threaded her right arm through the sleeve. The left side was draped over her injured shoulder and sling. The nurse tied the gown closed for her.

  Shaking her head, the nurse said, “You have nothing on your feet.”

  Charlotte looked down at her bare toes. “I don’t think anyone will care, do you?” That was met with a frown of disapproval, but Charlotte merely smiled. “Could you get the door, please?”

  The nurse complied, and Charlotte limped into the hall. Another uniformed nurse walked past her, carrying a covered tray, her footfalls tapping softly in the quiet passage. Several other doors along the corridor marked the few private and semiprivate rooms. At the end of the hall to the left was A ward, with ten or twelve beds. Charlotte heard low conversations, though she couldn’t make out words. She gave her nurse a questioning look.

  The woman sighed and pointed to the right. As Charlotte started off, slow but steady, the nurse walked with her.

  “I think I can manage,” Charlotte said.

  “There should be another nurse down there somewhere.” She seemed somewhat relieved not to have to accompany Charlotte, yet still perturbed. “Call out if you need any help.”

  “Thank you.”

  Periodically using the white wall for support, Charlotte made her way down the hall and around the corner. The carbolic acid-bleach aroma was just as strong here, the hall lined with gurneys and a few buckets. A young woman in the same white uniform as the other sat on a chair near an open window smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine. The faint acrid bite of the smoke tinged the air when the wind blew the wrong way. The nurse glanced up as Charlotte limped past. From the open ward at the end of the hall, she heard moans and people talking.

  B ward was larger than A ward, with over a dozen beds. Its windows were curtained, keeping the room dim and, dare she say, depressing.

  Caleb Burrows was lying in the first bed on the right, and he had a visitor. His normally slicked-back hair was mussed, and his complexion on the gray side. Three of the other beds were occupied, the patients all Native men apparently asleep.

  Charlotte considered turning around and coming back later, but she was already there, and the effort to make it down the hall had her sweating and hurting some.

  Jonas Smith turned, surprised to find her there by the look on his face. He gave her a quick once-over. “Miss Brody. How are you?”

  “Not terrible, considering,” she said, smiling. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “I was just on my way out,” Smith said.

  �
�Are you up to seeing me for a minute, Mr. Burrows?” She didn’t want to tax the man. “I can come back later.”

  Burrows raised his hand to beckon her over. “Of course, Miss Brody.”

  Charlotte made her way to a hard-backed chair beside his bed. As she lowered herself down, Jonas Smith retrieved his coat and hat from a coat tree near the doorway.

  “I’ll leave you two to chat,” he said, slipping the coat on. “Nice to see you up and about, Miss Brody.”

  “Thanks to Mr. Burrows,” she said. “And Mr. Markham.”

  Smith offered his right hand. Charlotte took it, and the AEC president covered both with his other hand. “God bless you, Miss Brody. Take care.”

  Warmth filled Charlotte’s chest. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. You too.”

  Smith smiled and released her hand. He nodded to Burrows. “I’ll bring you some of Emma’s fry bread tomorrow, Caleb.”

  “I should have gotten shot sooner if that’s how you treat folks here.”

  The two men laughed quietly and said good-bye.

  When Smith had gone, Burrows turned to her. “Your brother came by earlier to let me know how you were doing. I’m very glad you’re all right.”

  “I definitely have you to thank for that fact,” Charlotte said. “You saved my life.”

  Burrows’s cheeks darkened. “Anyone would have done it.”

  “Maybe.” She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “But you did. I can’t ever repay you for putting yourself in harm’s way for me.”

  A hint of the shrewdness Charlotte had come to recognize lit his dark eyes. “Actually, there is something you can do for me.”

  “Anything.” Taking heed of her journalist’s instinct, she added, “Within reason.”

  Burrows glanced at the others in their beds. His ward-mates seemed to be asleep, but it was difficult to say for sure. “About what I told you and Meade that night,” he said, his voice low.

  It took Charlotte a few moments to recall the content of that conversation. A bribe that was later refused. Political ambition that might be thwarted before it could even begin.