by Owen, K.
“You have news?” she asked.
“Madame Durand has been captured at last. She led us a merry chase through the boroughs of New York, but we worked with the local men and were finally able to close in on her. She’s now in our custody.”
“What about Pierce?”
Capshaw hesitated, unsure how to tell her about that final stand-off with Pierce and Madame Durand. He had witnessed it all: the barricaded house, the threats, the entreaties, the breaking down of the door, the raving look of a desperate man, and the shot that had ended it.
“He died during capture,” he merely said.
Concordia took a moment to absorb this. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Regret? Relief?
“I see,” she finally said.
“I wanted to let you know before you read it in the papers,” Capshaw said. “Mr. Rosen has an exclusive article about the entire chase and capture that will be published tomorrow.”
“You gave him exclusive access?” Concordia said incredulously. She would have thought the police wouldn’t want a nosy reporter anywhere near the scene.
Capshaw nodded. “He was actually quite helpful to us. As I think you know, he’s been researching a story about spirit mediums. He followed Madame Durand for months – even before she relocated to Hartford. He saved us invaluable time finding her associates in New York.”
How ironic that the man Concordia had once thought might be Red would be instrumental in the capture of the real one. She felt a little silly for suspecting him in the first place.
“What will happen now to Madame Durand? And her husband?” she asked.
“We’ve already turned over Jacques Durand to the French authorities. They had several outstanding warrants on him, and they were eager to get him back. A cold-blooded killer, they called him. As for Madame…she’s blaming her actions on the evil influence of her father and making quite a show of it. She probably won’t hang, but she’ll be giving séances to her jail-mates for the rest of her life.”
At least she’ll have an audience, Concordia thought. That’s probably what she wants the most.
“How is your mother? I imagine this has been difficult for her, too,” Capshaw said.
“She’s much better,” Concordia said. After Capshaw had left to resume the chase that night, Concordia and her mother had talked until dawn. They had not spoken of Madame Durand. Instead, they had talked of Papa, and Mary; of Mother’s grief and loneliness, and the loss of the father that Concordia had long imagined as all-too-perfect. It had been a frank discussion, with no recriminations. It had cleared the air between them, allowed them to reminisce, and even to laugh a little. She smiled, remembering.
“How is that young man, Eli?” Capshaw asked. “He’s a sharp one, that boy. I’d like to recruit him to the force now. I’m not sure we would have found you without him.”
“Actually, he was impressed by his experiences with you, too,” Concordia said. “He says he wants to be a policeman now. And, after finding out that policemen need to read and write, he is much more motivated to attend to his studies. Sophia says he’s making remarkable progress.”
Capshaw nodded.
“I hear that Amelia is also doing well,” Concordia added.
“Yes – at last, she is able to recount at least part of her story,” Capshaw said. “There aren’t any surprises in it – close to what we thought, in fact. She said that she was sneaking some of Mrs. Lewis’s shortbread from the pantry when she heard a noise coming from her father’s study. She remembers opening the door, and then everything went black. She awoke beside her father’s body sometime later. She was covered in blood. She doesn’t remember anything after that, but we can surmise the rest based on Miss Adams’ account. The doctor thinks the shock, compounded by the blow to the head, was responsible for her reaction. He feels confident she should fully recover. Needless to say, it’s a great relief to Miss Adams.”
“Speaking of Sophia,” Concordia said, “I understand that you two have been spending a great deal of time together lately.” She grinned.
Capshaw blushed to the roots of his red hair.
Ah, so there was a budding romance between Sophia and the lieutenant. Concordia couldn’t think of a nicer man for her friend. Although born and bred to a higher social status than the policeman, Sophia cared not a jot for convention. Her life in the settlement house was a testament to that. Concordia knew the differences in their backgrounds wouldn’t be an impediment should they come to love each other. Time would tell whether it blossomed into that.
“Miss Adams was wondering the same about you and Mr. Bradley. I noticed he seemed quite attentive the night of your rescue,” Capshaw said dryly.
Concordia laughed and threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Although David planned to return to Boston for the spring semester, she would be seeing more of him at Christmas. Lydia Adams had invited Concordia and her mother to celebrate the holiday with her and Sophia and Amelia at the Adams’ country house in the Berkshires, and invited David and Eli (and the Cat, of course) to come along, too. Concordia strongly suspected some matchmaking was going on between her mother and Mrs. Adams, but the anticipation of the visit brought a glow to her cheeks nonetheless.
“Oh, I have something for you,” Capshaw said, digging into his pocket. He pulled out two familiar black oval stones. Concordia had not seen them both together before.
“Madame still had them in her possession. I offered Mrs. Adams the one that belonged to her husband, but she doesn’t want anything to do with it. She asked that I give them both to you.”
“Thank you,” Concordia said, holding them in her lap.
She stared at them for a while, silent. She didn’t want them either.
Capshaw stood. “I need to be going.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Miss Wells, I appreciate...all of your help. Have a Merry Christmas,” he added.
“And to you as well, Lieutenant,” Concordia answered with a smile.
He tipped the brim of his cap, and left.
She checked her watch. Goodness! Time for the staff party at DeLacey House. It was the final celebration at the college before the winter recess.
She had an idea.
Quickly, she ran into the parlor and scrounged among the litter of tissue paper and ribbons. She hesitated, holding the amulets up to the light for one last look. Yes, this was the right thing to do. They had never been hers. She wrapped them securely in bright green paper topped with a gold bow. She affixed a small tag: To Miss Phillips…From Santa.
That should do it. She perched the package atop the other wrapped gifts, and shrugged on her coat. Balancing the stack in her arms, she stepped out into the light dusting of snow.
THE END
Acknowledgments
Although fiction-writing is considered a solitary activity, no such project comes into being at the hands of only one person. I had tremendous support in this enterprise, both personally and professionally, and I’d like to thank them here.
To Janice Hamrick, Jenny Hansen, Natalie Hartford, and Marcia Richards, the best beta readers a gal could ask for: thank you for your thoughtful feedback. Your suggestions helped immensely.
To fellow Misterio Press authors Kassandra Lamb and JoAnn Haberer, who provided invaluable editing in the novel’s final stages, and Kirsten Weiss, for her meticulous formatting. For the latest mysteries by these and other authors at Misterio Press, please visit MisterioPress.com.
Speaking of formatting, I’d like to thank Debora Lewis for her formatting of the print version. You truly make these words a thing of beauty.
To artist Melinda VanLone: you took my hazy ideas and produced a cover that I absolutely love. Thank you!
To Kristen Lamb, Piper Bayard, and the generous community of fellow writers known as WANAs, who contribute endless advice and support. We are truly not alone.
To my parents-in-law, Steve and Lyn, and the extended Owen clan of terrific sisters- and brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews. You
continue to read my books and cheer on my milestones, and I am so grateful.
To my parents, Ag and Steve, who listen, sympathize and encourage during all the bumps along the way, just as they have done with all of my endeavors.
To my sons, Patrick, Liam, and Corey, who support my writing efforts, and can always make me laugh.
But most of all, I want to thank my husband Paul for his unfailing encouragement and love. This would not be possible without you.
K.B. Owen
November 2013
Afterword
It’s a great time to be a historical author, with the wealth of digitized historical material available on the world wide web. For anyone interested in the background research that went into the writing of this book, I’ve shared some wonderful primary and secondary sources on my website, kbowenmysteries.com. I’d love to see you there.
I hope you enjoyed the novel. Should you feel so inclined, please consider leaving a review on Amazon or your favorite book venue. Word of mouth is of invaluable help to fiction authors. Thank you!