Love Almost Lost

by Irene B. Brand

  “How do I return to the house?”

  “There’s a combination lock on the other side too, but I’ll stay right beside the door and listen for you, in case you can’t open it.”

  “Sounds simple.”

  Fannie was not easily persuaded, and she was in a huff when Ellen drove her into Daltonville.

  “You’re not making my life any easier, Fannie, by acting this way.”

  “You know I can be trusted to help.”

  “And I also know that my life is being threatened if I tell certain things, so enjoy a visit with your sister. I’ll come after you in the morning.”

  When she returned from town, Ellen sat on the portico with Thompson, hoping to allay any suspicions he might have. Although he talked normally, she thought he watched her warily. When her watch showed almost ten o’clock, she feigned a yawn and said, “I’m going to call it a day.”

  “I’m not sleepy yet. I’ll lock up when I come in.”

  That comment didn’t suit her at all, because at ten-thirty Lane was supposed to arrive at the side door where she intended to admit him in the house. With Thompson up and about, what would happen to their plans? If they were caught, however, the most likely conclusion would be that she was sneaking Lane up to her bedroom. If Warren thought they’d gotten married, he would no doubt have relayed that message to Thompson; thus the deputy wouldn’t think their tryst unusual.

  Believing the best way to hoodwink Thompson was to accept his offer naturally, Ellen said, “That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Twelve

  Ellen didn’t go upstairs but wandered into the darkened living room and sat by the window. A few minutes before ten thirty, she heard Thompson enter the house, lock the door, walk through the hall, and mount the stairs to the servants’ quarters. Sighing in relief, she quietly went to the outside door of the drawing room and waited for Lane’s light tap. It came right on schedule, and when she opened the door, he slipped in quietly.

  “We’ll have to go upstairs without a light, so stay close beside me.”

  “Remember, this is my old home. Those nights when I used to be out with you, I learned to slip up the stairs as silently as Deerslayer’s ghost. Lead the way.”

  They gained the front bedroom without being detected, and Ellen leaned her back against the door and breathed deeply. She realized she’d been holding her breath as they’d climbed the stairway. She locked the door behind them.

  Lane turned on the broad-beamed flashlight he carried, and Ellen struck a match to light the lamp on the table. She motioned Lane to follow her to the closet door. When he was in place, she worked the combination, and the revolving door swung open.

  She kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “Be careful,” as Lane disappeared from view. After the closet was back in place, Ellen listened carefully. As if from a distance, she heard two slight knocks, and she returned the signal. The revolving door was not quite soundproof, and it was relief to know that if Lane couldn’t open the door from his side, she would be able to help him.

  Ellen settled down in a rocker near the closet so she could detect any sound if there should be one. While she waited, she compared Lane, the man, to the boy she’d loved. The adult Lane had gained her respect. He was sure of himself, and he lived a worthwhile existence. Did she love him still?

  During all the years she’d been away from Daltonville, she had never forgotten Lane, but could one cherish love for such a long time? Their reunion was bittersweet when she thought of what could have been, yet their relationship these past few weeks had evolved into a friendship. As children they had started out as friends, but when they plunged into a secret love affair, their friendship had suffered.

  Ellen was convinced that she loved Lane with that unerring fervor she’d experienced as a youth, and now that she had earned his friendship again, she considered they had a good basis for marriage. But how could she consider marriage when she had this trouble hanging over her head? She knew she was playing with fire by being involved in a plot to capture Blacky Hollister. Probably she should have enlisted Warren’s aid, but it seemed as if instinct had warned her that she and Lane should act alone.

  Ellen refrained from looking at the clock that ticked the minutes on the bedside stand, but she heard the grandfather clock on the stair landing strike eleven o’clock, eleven-thirty, and twelve o’clock. Growing more tense as the minutes passed, Ellen was on the verge of going into the tunnel when she heard two taps on the wall, and the door mechanism began to work.

  When Lane stepped back into the bedroom, Ellen threw her arms around him, then stepped back in astonishment. His clothes were soaked.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “I found the other entrance into the room, but I had to take a swim to do it.”

  She took a blanket from a dresser drawer and wrapped it over his shoulders. “Sit down,” she said.

  “The room was vacant, so I had a good chance to look around. There isn’t any hooch stored there, but someone has another batch brewing. I followed the tunnel until it opened into the creek.”

  “Why hasn’t that room been flooded then?”

  “There’s a heavy metal door that holds back most of the water. I don’t think your husband overlooked any bet, if he’s the one who reclaimed the place. The tunnel is stabilized with concrete blocks to keep it from washing away. The boathouse is built over the tunnel, and you have to wade in water to reach the door into the boathouse. It’s a simple sliding door with a bar catch that opens only from the inside. I suppose there are times when there isn’t any water to wade, but we’ve had a wet year.”

  “But how have they been able to reenter the tunnel if there isn’t any latch from the boathouse?”

  “There’s a tiny wedge in the door—hard to see from the boathouse but big enough that they can push the door aside. After the fire, when they finally gained entrance to the tunnel, they’ve apparently kept the door wedged open.”

  “The big problem is to lure Hollister down there and trap him, but that’s only one part of our trouble. We still have a lot of unsolved mysteries.”

  “If I catch the bootleggers, Warren should be able to handle the rest of it, but we’ll take one thing at a time.”

  ❧

  The day of the party, Karen bounced into the house in midmorning. “Well, really, Peaches, were you intending to have a party without me?”

  Ellen wasn’t overly pleased at her arrival. As shrewd as she was, Karen would soon realize that there was a subplot to the party. Besides, that would mean two more people for lunch, for Karen had brought her current sheik to burden the overworked Annie, who was providing food for the jazz band, the decorators, and the family.

  “Don’t bother to set places at the table, Annie,” Ellen told her. “Put the food on the sideboard and people can eat when they take a notion.”

  Fortunately, the weather cooperated, and not even a hint of showers darkened the sky when the caterers finished setting up the tents on the lawn. Although Ellen didn’t normally spend much thought on what she wore, she’d pondered for days what to wear to the party. Should she dress conservatively, or in a garment that would give the locals something to criticize? She finally settled on a satin and chiffon dress with beads; the satin skirt cut straight to the knees with flared chiffon dips to one side and a long trailing bow on her right hip. Around her neck she hung the pearls that had been Timothy’s last birthday gift to her. Surveying herself in the mirror, she decided she could easily fit in as “Miss Society” in any speakeasy. When her appearance earned a disgruntled sniff from Fannie, Ellen knew her appearance would be shocking to Daltonville residents.

  But when she was halfway down the stairs, Ellen halted and returned to her room. Wasting minutes she couldn’t spare, Ellen sat in a chair and stared out the window. Wasn’t it time for her to stop resenting the people of Daltonville? She’d held the grudge since she was twelve years old, and fifteen years was a long time to nurse an injury. It was weig
hing her down.

  And could she really blame the Daltons for not wanting Lane to date her? He was their only son, and she had nothing—no background, no money, nothing to enhance her image in their eyes. Perhaps tonight could be a new beginning in her relationship with the people of her hometown. Was she big enough to make the first overture of reconciliation? Unless she forgave her former neighbors, she would never know the complete forgiveness of God. Wasn’t it time to forget the past? Admitting for the first time that she hadn’t been altogether blameless, she decided if she made the first move, her neighbors might accept her.

  With a quick movement, she slipped out of the chiffon dress and changed into a low-waisted, floor-length evening dress in beaded and plain georgette. Although it was one of her most expensive dresses, garments similar to its style could be purchased at any department store. She went downstairs, not only with a change of clothes, but also a changed attitude.

  In the back of Ellen’s mind had lurked the possibility that no one would come to the party. However, her neighbors came en masse. Seeing Carol Pauley and Charlotte among the early arrivals, Ellen grabbed Carol’s arm.

  “Be a dear, and stand beside me while I receive the guests. There will be many I don’t know.”

  Reverend and Mrs. Truett came early, and he said, “We’re looking forward to seeing you in church, Ellen. Don’t forget us.”

  She clutched his hand. “I could never forget you, but I’ve been at war inside and the good is about to win. Pray for me.”

  By eight-thirty Ellen must have shaken two hundred hands, but there was still no sign of Blacky Hollister. The gangster had told her she might not recognize him, so probably he was in disguise.

  Following Ellen’s example, the guests were friendly, and most of them seemed genuinely pleased to see her. With Carol still beside her, she mingled among her guests. Ellen had been gone so long that many of the younger residents of the county had grown up since she left. She saw John Warren standing diffidently to one side, but she missed a few people. Mrs. Henderson was there, but her husband wasn’t, nor was the sheriff, which led her to wonder if Lane would encounter several people in the tunnel before the night was over.

  With shining eyes, Carol said, “Ellen, this is such a great thing for you to do. And you’ve been so gracious to everyone—no hint in your manner but what these people have always been kind to you. I’m proud of you.”

  “I’ve done a lot of maturing in the last few hours, Carol, realizing at last that there were two sides to the situation. I’m trying to bury the past tonight.”

  “I’m going to miss you when you go back to Cleveland at the end of the summer.”

  “I’m having serious thoughts about that as well. If we can get rid of Deerslayer’s curse,” she joked, “I might make this my permanent home.”

  With Karen’s encouragement, the party was becoming lively. In her short skirt, rolled stockings, and heavy makeup, she stood out like a sore thumb in the room of conservatively dressed youth, but she soon had a following. From the platform, she and her sheik demonstrated the Black Bottom dance and the Charleston. Soon many young people in the audience emulated them.

  Intent on Karen’s performance, Ellen jumped when Thompson suddenly appeared at her side. “Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”

  “I wish I knew,” Ellen said truthfully, for she hadn’t seen Lane enter the house on his way to the secret room. She looked at her watch. “I imagine he’ll be here soon.”

  “May I have a word with you in the living room, Mrs. Hern?”

  “I guess so. My guests don’t seem to need me at the moment. Karen is playing hostess.”

  They crossed the hall to the living room, and Thompson closed the door behind them. “You’re a stunner!” he said admiringly. “I’ve never seen you in your finery before.”

  “If you wanted to compliment me on my appearance, you could have done that in the ballroom.”

  “Any other guest you’re expecting besides Dalton who didn’t show tonight?”

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she wondered if Warren had learned what she and Lane were doing. “I issued an open invitation, so I didn’t know whom to expect.”

  Ellen watched, surprised, as Thompson removed his coat and unbuttoned the cuff above his right hand. He pushed up his sleeve, revealing a tattooed cobra on his forearm.

  “A cobra spits in your eye.”

  Ellen’s hand flew to her mouth, and she stifled a scream. Thompson, a member of Hollister’s gang!

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Aren’t you a marshal?”

  “Just a temporary one. Tonight, I’m the contact you’re supposed to show to the underground room. That is, if you’ve found it.”

  “Are you the one who delivered all of those notes from Hollister?”

  “That’s right,” he said with a wicked smile. “Pretty clever, wasn’t I? Okay, where’s the entrance?”

  “Hollister said he would be here tonight.”

  “He’s here, but you won’t see him for awhile.”

  “How can you be a marshal and a gangster too?”

  “I’ll explain that later. I can’t understand why you didn’t run to Warren about your dealings with Hollister.”

  Desiring to protect Lane, she tried to be calm. “Because my life was threatened if I told.”

  “I lost a bet with the chief. I thought you were more daring than that, and I figured you’d conspire with Warren to lay a trap for us. Which wouldn’t have hurt us because Warren would have told me.”

  “I didn’t say anything to Mr. Warren. Sorry to make you lose your bet.” Ellen experienced a sense of relief to know they didn’t suspect that a trap was waiting for them. She hoped Lane had gotten his men in position.

  “Did you find the room?” Thompson said.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Seems there’s a lot of things you didn’t tell Warren. How did you find it?”

  “Ah, that’s my secret, Mr. Thompson.”

  “The cobra has ways of finding out secrets.”

  “My deal with Hollister was to show him the room. He would take the liquor and stop bothering me.”

  “That may have been your deal with Hollister, but you haven’t reckoned with me. I have other terms you’ll have to meet.”

  Ellen experienced a tremor of fear, which she hoped didn’t show on her face. How had this man fooled Warren? Or was he still working with the marshals to find out what she knew? But she shuddered inwardly when she thought of that cobra on his arm. He was Hollister’s man, all right, and it seared her mind to realize how she’d trusted him this summer.

  Was there any way she could escape from Thompson and alert Warren now? Sounds of the jazz band and the noisy enjoyment of the guests in the ballroom penetrated her consciousness. How could they be having such a good time with peril ready to break around them? She was sure she could get away from Thompson, but if Hollister was mingling in the crowd and he saw her go to Warren, what would he do? Should she endanger the lives of neighbors she’d invited to her house? She knew she couldn’t, and certainly she wouldn’t do anything to put Lane in any more danger than he was in right now.

  “You seem to be playing a deep game, but I’m not prepared to listen to it. If Hollister wants to talk with me, he’d better show up. I’m going back to my guests now.”

  She tried to walk around him, and he caught her arm. “No, you don’t. You’re to take me to the entrance of the tunnel. Hollister will join us there.”

  “Upstairs,” she said shortly, and at that moment, a gunshot rang through the house. As if he had been waiting for that signal, Thompson opened the door and pulled her toward the stairs. She saw Warren racing across the hall toward the ballroom.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded as Thompson prodded her up the stairway.

  “I doubt you’ll be bothered with your stepson anymore.”

  Ellen gasped, horrified at his implication, but she thought this was a good chance to gai
n some information since Thompson seemed to be in a talkative mood.

  “What’s he been up to, anyway? And have you been here watching him this summer?”

  “I’ve been watching all of you and trying to learn Arrowwood’s secrets. Your precious stepson owed Hollister some gambling debts, and he wouldn’t pay. He signed his death warrant when he threatened to tell Warren everything he knew.”

  “I suppose I’m responsible for his death because I wouldn’t pay his gambling debts,” Ellen said with feeling. After all, he was Timothy’s son.

  “Don’t waste a thought on Hern. The world is better off without a rat like him.”

  Hearing rapid steps behind them, Ellen turned to face a man she recognized as Hollister, although he wore a wig and a false beard. But there wasn’t any way to disguise those hooded, cobra eyes snapping with excitement.

  “All right, Mrs. Hern. Lead the way.”

  She opened the bedroom door. “There’s a revolving door inside the closet. You stand inside it, and when it turns halfway, step off on a ledge. There’s a set of stairs that leads to the underground room.”

  “How do we get the hooch out?” Hollister said. “Do we have to bring it up these steps?”

  “No, there’s another exit. Follow the tunnel down to the creek and there’s a sliding door that opens into the boathouse.”

  She stood beside the thermostat and waited for them to take up positions in the closet. Thompson took her arm. “You’re going with us.”

  “No. I’ve a houseful of guests, remember?” She turned to Hollister. “I agreed to show you the tunnel, not to give you a guided tour.”

  “You’re our good luck charm, Mrs. Hern,” Hollister said. “As soon as we have the hooch, we’ll release you.”

  “That’s where we differ, Chief. When I leave here, she goes with me,” Thompson said.

  “You’re out of your mind,” Ellen said, fear penetrating her heart. “You’re nothing but a common criminal.”

  “You’ve been married to one gangster—why be so lily pure now?”