Hannah Grace

by MacLaren Sharlene

  Gabe couldn't help the laugh that rolled out of him. "Yes, sir."

  "Now then, what was it you came to tell me, young man?"

  Hannah dismissed Abbie from her post at twelve-thirty. "I thought you'd never get here," Abbie whined. "Katrina's expecting me for lunch. Look at the time. I'm going to have to ride like the wind. I hope that of nag I reserved from the livery is up to the task,"

  "I'm sorry, sister dear, but I was helping Grandmother with the wash, which included your soiled sheets and towels, not to mention your dainty little unmentionables,"

  "Well, goodie for you. I've done yours plenty of times. I'll have you know that I've slaved at this store all morning long, when it wasn't even my day to work, so you should be greeting me with a thankful tone, not a snappish one. And what about your headache? You couldn't have worked too hard at the wash with your head pounding as it was this morning."

  The look on Abbie's face, clever and calculating, had Hannah fighting for self-control. After all, what would folks say if she clawed her baby sister's eyes out? "It improved as the morning went on, thank you," she said, pushing past her sister and proceeding to the cash register to count the morning's receipts.

  "I'm sure it did, particularly once you knew Jesse had arrived safe and sound without your having to face the sheriff."

  "Oh, please. Where is he, by the way?"

  "I'm sure he's dreaming about kissing you when he should be out looking for criminals,"

  Hannah pursed her lips and mentally counted to ten. "I meant Jesse. Where is he?"

  "Where do you think? Out back with that dirty little mongrel with the same name,"

  "Dusty, you mean."

  "Precisely."

  Hannah focused her eyes on her task, even as Abbie drilled holes straight through her. Suddenly a giggle spilled out from across the room.

  "What is so funny?"

  "Oh, Hannah banana, you are the berries. Look at those rosy cheeks of yours. Admit it. You like the sheriff."

  "Stop it,"

  Abbie giggled the harder. "Don't worry, darling sis, your secret's safe with me."

  `And Maggie, I daresay. I'm sure you told her all about the kissing incident,"

  "Well, of course. We couldn't leave her out, now, could we?"

  Hannah prayed her cheeks might return to their normal shade.

  "What about me?" Maggie called from the top of the stairs.

  "Nothing," both girls replied in unison.

  "Be off with you!" Hannah ordered through clenched teeth, putting on her sternest face.

  Abbie tossed back her head of charcoal hair and smiled, throwing open the door, then holding it so old Mrs. Gurley could pass. "Tootles, sweet sister," she called over the woman's flowery hat.

  Upstairs, Maggie started singing the popular song by Harry MacDonough, "I Can't Tell Why I Love You, but I Do," Naturally, she sang every other note off-key.

  Mrs. Gurley pointed her gaze toward the stairs and said, "Someone really ought to tell that girl she can't sing."

  Hannah nodded in agreement.

  Later, Hannah was helping Fanny Von Oettingen find the perfect pair of salt and pepper shakers with matching cream and sugar bowl for a couple whose wedding she planned to attend in Mill Point, a little town just across the river, when a young man she'd never seen before sauntered through the door. Fanny appeared more interested in studying the selection of ceramic ware than in the stranger's entrance. However, some sort of warning bell sounded in Hannah's head, though she couldn't say why-his tawdry appearance, perhaps, or the fact that Gabe had warned her to be on alert. He caught Hannah's eye the minute he entered and gave her a cold-eyed, humorless slant of a smile. A shiver climbed her spine.

  "I think I like this set with the yellow flowers, dear," Fanny remarked, holding the creamer out at arm's length and turning it at an angle. "It's much daintier, don't you think?"

  "Yes, that's my favorite," She only half glanced at the pretty little pitcher, while following the new customer out of the corner of her eye. "Shall I wrap it for you, Mrs. Von Oettingen?"

  "Oh, would you? That will save me time. I so love shopping here. You girls always make a body feel welcome, and you offer such nice prices." She leaned forward and cupped her mouth with her palm. "I much prefer the Whatnot over Dirkse's."

  Dirkse's wasn't truly a competitor, as the store predominantly featured dry goods, but folks liked to think they had a choice when shopping. "Well, thank you, ma'am,"

  They walked to the register together, the cold-eyed stranger wandering up and down aisles, handling merchandise along the way, raising his head every so often to glance at Hannah. She felt his frigid stares like she would a spider crawling over her skin. Mrs. Von Oettingen didn't seem wary of his presence, so Hannah told herself to stop being so paranoid. Still, the notion of being alone with him in the store didn't set well. Just ten minutes ago, Maggie had closed the library and taken Jesse for a walk down to the channel to watch the barges bring in supplies to be transported further by train. "Won't be many more days of beautiful sunshine," she'd explained. "We'd better take advantage of it, right?" Of course, Jesse wanted Dusty to tag along, so they tied a rope around the pooch's neck, buttoned their jackets to the neck, and donned their hats before setting off. As usual, November air coming off Lake Michigan had a strong nip to it.

  It took a full ten minutes for Hannah to wrap the wedding gift, taking care to swathe the individual pieces in thin paper before setting them in a larger box, then wrapping the bigger box in foil paper and tying it with a strand of silk ribbon. The whole time, the stranger did nothing but scope out the entire store. While ringing up Fanny's sale, Hannah asked him if he needed anything in particular, but he shook his head and kept wandering about.

  "He seems an odd sort," the woman murmured across the counter, finally noting his presence. She drew in her double chin and tilted her head to the side. Then, batting her hand in front of her nose, she hissed under her breath, "Doesn't appear he's had a bath in a month of Sundays, either,"

  Hannah had to agree. The stench permeated the room, even though he stood a full thirty feet away.

  With the transaction complete, Fanny thanked her and headed for the door, no doubt grateful for the chance to escape. Hannah sucked in a breath for courage and approached the young man, who, upon closer inspection, didn't look any older than she.

  "Where's yer winter coats?" he asked.

  "I'm sorry, we don't have any in yet. We do expect a shipment in the next week or so. You might check back." Now, why had she invited him to do that?

  He gave another of his icy looks and shot her a twisted grin, revealing decayed top teeth. Inclining his head, he asked, "Can I count on you to help me?"

  More warning bells. She stepped back, for not only did his body odor nearly knock her over, but his breath smelled worse than dead fish.

  "Hmm?" he inquired, pushing forward the more she moved away. A frayed wool coat, baggy, worn trousers, and a shabby cap, not to mention his odor and grimy, whiskered face, revealed his shoddy lifestyle. Where did he come from? More important, when was he leaving? She started to turn, but he snagged her by the arm, gripping so tightly that a pulsing knot formed in her stomach.

  "Unhand me this instant!" she yelled, surprised by the firmness of her voice, sensing the importance of remaining calm. Dear Lord, give me courage, and please lend Your protection in this hour. It was one of the few times she recalled praying with such urgency.

  He snorted, unleashing another wave of rancid-smelling breath. "But we're just getting to know each other."

  She struggled to wrench free of his grip. "I don't know you at all. Who are you?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" he sneered.

  Just then, the door opened and her father sauntered in. A sigh of thankfulness tumbled from her chest. Immediately, the stranger dropped her arm and stepped away, turning his attention to a nearby display of sewing notions. He picked up a spool of thread and a package of needles then tossed them back in the
ir bin.

  Jacob stood at the door looking at the stranger. "Everything all right here?" he asked, his eyes now moving over his daughter.

  "Everything's fine, Papa," she said, pressing for composure and quickly moving to the counter, glad to break away from the man's clammy touch. She looked at her jonquil-colored sleeve and found he'd left a soiled mark there. Oh, how she wanted to rush home and have Grandmother throw her dress in the wash.

  "I'll be back later to check on those winter coats," the scruffy fellow said, passing her and walking to the door.

  "I think perhaps it's best ifyou don't show your face around here again, young man," her father said, standing tall, blocking the man's efforts to pass.

  "Oh, yeah? Ain't this a public place?"

  "It is, but as the owner of this establishment, I have the right to decline my services to anyone I choose." Her father's smile matched that of the stranger's, minus any feigned friendliness. "I hope I make myself quite clear."

  Hannah had never seen Jacob Kane look more serious, not even when taking his young daughters aside and scolding them for some infraction or another. Usually one stern look put them back on the straight and narrow. Would he have the same effect on this young man?

  Jacob stepped aside to allow the scoffing ruffian to leave. He muttered something indiscernible on his way out, and she wondered if her father had made out the words.

  Jacob shut the door emphatically, making the bell above it gong rather than jingle.

  He leaned against it briefly and shook his head. `Are you all right, Hannah Grace?"

  "Of course, Papa. Don't look so worried. He's gone now." She moved from around the counter and walked to her father, who looked to be breathing heavily.

  "What brought you over here, anyway?"

  "I've been watching the comings and goings of folks all morning. I noted the time that fellow walked through the door. When he didn't leave shortly afterward, I figured something wasn't right."

  He eyed her gravely. "Do you happen to know his identity-or the nature of his business in Sandy Shores? What did he want from you? Did he ask any questions about anyone in particular?"

  "Papa, no. He was just looking for a coat and making a pest of himself. Acting like a bully, in truth. Why? What's wrong?"

  Jacob swallowed hard. "Sheriff Devlin stopped in to see me early this morning. Seems there are some criminals on the loose. He's suspicious that the kid that drowned is somehow connected with this-this group of crooks,"

  "But-what would they be doing in Sandy Shores?"

  "I'm not sure, but we need to stay alert,"

  The deep lines etched in his brow revealed worry. "I'm not saying that the fellow who just left is one of them, but it doesn't hurt to remain particularly cautious. I hope he heeds my words and stays away. I don't want some devious character snooping around my store, much less ogling my daughters." He ran a hand through his normally neat head, mussing the part.

  "Where're Maggie and Jesse, by the way? Upstairs?"

  "No," she replied. "They went for a walk to the docks to watch the workers remove cargo from the barges and load up the freight cars. Things like that fascinate Jesse so. They should be back most any time. Why, what's the problem, Papa? Does Gabe truly think Sandy Shores is in danger?"

  Even under his thick beard, she saw his jaw clench. He studied her with thoughtful eyes. "I'd say so, Hannah. Gabriel Devlin is a perceptive man, and my instinct is to follow his instructions very carefully."

  "What do you mean, `instructions'?"

  He heaved a loud sigh. "He's concerned for Jesse's safety, in particular."

  No sooner had he uttered the words than the bell above the door tolled, and in raced Jesse, Maggie, and the scruffy pooch. "Hannah," Jesse squealed with bulging eyes. "You shoulda seen the big barge in the harbor! It was plain amazin'!"

  abe pored over the most current files, the latest bulletins, and the most detailed summaries of wanted felons, looking for some hint regarding the drowned victim, something more than a silly snake tattoo. He knew he had to base his hunch on more than just that-a hunch. Nothing new came to the forefront regarding the McCurdy gang, only that the South Bend police department was still actively seeking them, following up on leads but always coming up short.

  Then, there was that local reporter who'd barged into his office earlier. "Luis M. could be Luis McCurdy, you ever think of that?" the bushy-haired fellow with the wire-rimmed spectacles had asked while leaning his heavy frame over Gabe's desk. Of course, that was what he was thinking, but he didn't want to voice it just yet, particularly not to some newspaper reporter he barely knew.

  "What makes you say so?" Gabe asked, curious.

  Removing his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted. "A hunch."

  Gabe couldn't help the chuckle that erupted. "That's about all I've got to go on myself, friend."

  Stuyvesant gawked. "You serious?"

  `As a dead duck."

  The two conversed further, Stuyvesant asking Gabe to relay what he knew of the McCurdy gang and Gabe posing further questions of his own. Between them, it wasn't much, but enough that Stuyvesant thought he had a story worth writing.

  Gabe groaned. "Promise me you'll stick to the facts. I don't want this town whipped into a frenzy thinkin' there's a murderous gang lurking about."

  Stuyvesant lifted one sly brow. "But what if there is? The people have a right to know. Don't worry, sheriff; I always state the facts. 'Course, it's easier when folks give 'em to me straight."

  The lead tip on his pencil broke off from all his tapping as he watched Stuyvesant exit his office a few minutes later. He couldn't decide if he liked the guy or not.

  Later, one of his deputies, Gus van der Voort, stopped by with some incident reports, a Peeping Tom on River Street, a drunk who'd fallen asleep on a park bench and needed reviving, a domestic dispute on Jackson Avenue, and a cat that had scampered up a tree three days ago in Bill and Evaleen Elwood's backyard and refused to come down.

  `A cat?" Gabe asked, laying down his paperwork to rub his tired eyes.

  "Yep. Evaleen insists we come over and handle the matter."

  "Tell her to summon the fire brigade. They've got the ladders for that."

  "I did that," Gus said. "But she's determined this is a case for the sheriff's department."

  Gabe hated to ask. He arched his brow and slanted Gus a curious stare.

  "Says her husband Bill ain't got all his rocks in a row up here." Gus pointed at his temple area. "Lately he's been polishing his gun and talking about killing that critter if it keeps him awake one more night. According to old Mrs. Elwood, the feline carries on from dusk to dawn. Trouble is, she says while he polishes the barrel, he lists off all his enemies from as far back as '75, some who still live in Sandy Shores. She says he's saying things like, `Long as I've got my gun out, I may as well put it to good use."'

  Gabe shook his head, let out a long breath, and dragged his hand down over his face, "I suspect you'd better go pay a call on the fire chief yourself, then go to the Elwoods' place and kindly ask Bill to hand over his gun."

  "What if he don't give it to me?" Gus looked mildly concerned. "He is a mean of cuss."

  Gabe grinned. "If I was you, I'd figure out a way to take it off his hands. You never know, you could be on his hit list,"

  Gus considered that with grimness, his brow furrowing into several crinkled lines. "There was that time in '93," he said, turning and heading for the door. "And '88, and now that I think about it..." He walked out just as Kitty peeked inside, silver hair askew.

  "Somebody's here to see you. Name's Vanderslute."

  His mind had gone in so many directions today, he had to concentrate to rein it back in, then focus his attention on Kitty. "Vanderslute? Who is he?"

  Her round shoulders shot up, held, then slumped. "Never seen'im before. He says you'll know'im right off."

  "I will?" He looked to Kitty as if she held the key.

  Kitty's patience looked lik
e it was wearing as thin as the skin of an onion. "You want to see him or not? He rode the train from Holland, if that tells you anything."

  Gabe snapped his fingers. "I met a fellow in a restaurant there. I think he went by the name of Vanderslute. Wonder if it's the same guy. I'd seen Jesse scrounging around in a waste barrel before I went inside, and then again from my table by the window. This guy sat across from me, and I asked him if he knew anything about the boy."

  Kitty's shoulders squared and her face softened. "Did he?"

  Gabe shook his head. "'Fraid not,"

  "Well, maybe he'll have some answers for you today. You want me to send him down?"

  Gabe pushed back and stood to his feet. "Absolutely. You've got me curious now."

  As soon as Vanderslute walked through the door, wearing a string bow tie over a white, ruffled shirt, a woolen coat, and baggy tweed trousers, Gabe recalled the first name of the man with the pencil-thin mustache.

  "George, right?" Gabe walked around his desk and extended his hand. Vanderslute took it, his handshake firm and hearty.

  "Excellent memory, my friend,"

  "What brings you here?" Gabe asked, gesturing at the chair across from his desk.

  Instead of sitting, though, George tossed his bowler hat on the chair and started wandering around Gabe's office. "I ran across an interesting tidbit a couple of days ago. Thought I'd take the train over and tell you about it,"

  "Well, I'm anxious to hear what that might be."

  George took his good of time removing his spectacles from his shirt pocket, tugging the wires around his ears, and leaning in to look at an old James Whistler print, facing away from Gabe. "I've always liked this one," he murmured, studying the details of Man Smoking a Pipe. "Whistler had a knack, didn't he? Look at that moth-eaten hat and the old guy's dark, weathered skin," He was in his own world as he viewed the masterpiece, tilting his head in several directions, "I've always wondered about that left eye, haven't you? Looks like a glass eye, if you ask me," He took a closer look, hands clasped behind his back. "You think they had glass eyes back then?"