by Carol Arens
The nurse came to attention with a start. “He isn’t here.”
Lilleth glanced about the room, looking casually at this piece of art and that velvet chair, hoping that the nurse would not notice the relief that had to show on her face.
The room was a disgrace. Alden had to have spent a sinful amount of money on it, while those left in his care froze and starved.
She didn’t want to think about the things that Trace might have uncovered about this place.
“That, Nurse, is quite impossible,” she stated. “Mr. Hanispree and I have an appointment.”
“You may call me Nurse Goodhew.” She picked at a strand of her dark hair and glanced toward a side hallway.
“Very well, Nurse Goodhew, I’ll wait by the fire for Mr. Hanispree. I do hope he won’t delay me overlong.”
“I don’t believe you have an appointment. Mr. Hanispree rarely visits. What are you up to?”
With any luck the miserable creature would know soon enough.
“I beg your pardon?” Lilleth set her face in what she hoped was an incredulous look. “I have a signed contract. He is supposed to be here to pay me after I perform.”
“Perform what?”
“Songs for the inmates, naturally.” Lilleth opened her coat. She had put on a red satin gown—low cut, with glass jewels adorning it. It was the only professional gown she had brought with her when she’d come to Riverwalk. And only because a woman never knew when she might need to sing herself out of a situation. “Be sensible, Nurse Goodhew. Why would I come wearing this if I were not intending to perform?”
“Show me the contract.”
Lilleth opened her reticule and withdrew the paper that she had forged last night. She showed it briefly to the nurse, then folded it neatly and put it back in the bag.
“Mr. Alden has agreed to pay me twenty dollars. In exchange I am to sing for each and every patient, one at a time.”
“I don’t believe you.” Nurse Goodhew stood up. “Mr. Hanispree wouldn’t hold with such nonsense. He certainly wouldn’t pay for it.”
“In any event, he isn’t here to pay me my due.” Lilleth sighed, shook her head. “I will perform an act of charity.”
“Be on your way, miss, before I have you removed.”
“I, Nurse Goodhew, will not be budged.”
“Dr. Merlot!” she called. “I need some assistance.”
A man strode into the lobby, looking well turned out, with a stethoscope about his neck. His eyes glittered brightly at the nurse, until he noticed Lilleth standing there in her red gown.
His glittering gaze settled on her, then sharpened in appreciation. Lilleth was well acquainted with the expression. Very clearly, his attention did not sit well with Nurse Goodhew.
“Dr. Merlot, this woman is a cheat and a charlatan. She wants twenty dollars to sing to the patients.”
“I was offered twenty dollars by Mr. Hanispree himself. But since he has reneged, I have offered to perform as an act of charity.”
“Thank you, miss, but no.”
The doctor gripped her upper arm and propelled her to the front door. She felt a shove at her back and was suddenly on the outside, with the door locked behind her.
She had held out slim hope that singing would gain her entrance. Anyone who worked for Alden knew that he would not allow the inmates such a treat, that he would not want anyone to see their paltry living conditions.
Lilleth cursed and didn’t care. She marched around the back of the building and stared up at the window Trace had hoisted her into. It seemed fifty feet up rather than nine...and it was closed. There was no way in.
She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. She swallowed her tears and her pride and took the wide road to Riverwalk and Clark Clarkly’s Private Lending Library.
* * *
Trace sat at his desk with his pen in his fingers, his mind blank.
His lone customer sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, reading and warming the chill from her young bones. Little Sarah never hesitated to venture out in search of a book, no matter how cold she got in doing so.
“What do you think, Mr. Clarkly?” She glanced up at him with freckles dotting her cute nose. The shadow of a frown crinkled her brow. His heart squeezed. “This one about the beautiful horse sounds good, but this other one about the drummer boy in the Civil War seems important. I can’t decide.”
“Don’t decide. Take them both.” The window rattled with a sudden gust of wind. “You’d better hurry home, miss. It looks like the weather might turn.”
Sarah stood up. She slid her arms into her coat, tugged on her hat, then scooped up the books and hugged them close to her heart.
“I’ll bring them back real soon, Mr. Clarkly.”
“Those are yours to keep.”
Since he’d committed the cardinal sin of exposing his identity to an outsider, he didn’t think Clark would be in business much longer. It couldn’t hurt to give the books away at this point.
Even in the event that Lilleth did not expose him, his family was bound to find out. Keeping even a minor secret from a clan of sleuths was impossible. Each and every one of them knew each and every thing about the others.
Trace picked up his pen and stared at it. He could buy some time by doing one of two things. Number one, he could make up yet another story about why he hadn’t reported his progress on the investigation. Or two, he could tell the truth...he had met a woman and revealed who he was. That might keep the family in an uproar for a day or two while they considered what to do about it.
He set the pen down and put the cork back in the ink bottle. A decision of this magnitude took more thought than he could give it with Sarah beaming at him.
“Truly?” The little girl’s grin warmed the room more efficiently than the snapping fire. She stroked the leather spine of Black Beauty. “I’ll take the best care of them forever.”
The front door opened. Icy wind whooshed inside, along with an even icier looking Lilleth Preston.
Sarah dashed around the desk and hugged his neck. “Someday I want to be a librarian, just like you.”
Lilleth folded her arms across her bosom. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Good day, missus,” Sarah said in greeting, and then hurried out the front door.
Trace stood up, hoping against the odds that Lilleth would rush into his arms. He had held on to a pin-size flicker of hope through the dragging hours of the night that she might have forgiven his deceit. That she had remembered the tender feelings they had once held dear between them.
He removed his glasses and set them beside the ink bottle, staring for a moment at the dark liquid under the label.
When he looked up, Lilleth’s expression was neutral. She didn’t appear angry, but she didn’t appear warm. She seemed a stranger. They might have had no more history between them than a librarian and his customer.
“Mr. Ballentine.” To his surprise, she addressed him without a shred of rancor in her voice. “I’ve come to ask something of you.”
“Ask me anything, Lils.” At least she was not shutting him completely out of her life.
“Two things, then.” She tapped her toe one time, then took a breath. “First, do not call me Lils. Second, I would like to hire you to free my sister from Hanispree.”
“Hire me?” He locked his knees to keep from plopping down in his chair. “I would never take your money.”
“You’ll understand if I cannot accept a favor.” Color rose in her cheeks, but her voice remained in stoic control. “After all, favors are performed between one friend and another. Even though you and I knew each other long ago, we are nothing more than acquaintances now.”
He strode to the window and flipped over the sign from Open to Closed. He crossed the room to Lilleth in t
hree long strides. He gripped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. Private thoughts remained secret behind her indifferent gaze.
After a moment she glanced away. He took her chin in his fingers, turning it up so that she had to look at him...to listen to him.
“I’ll give you that,” he admitted. “What was between us as children was a very long time ago. You probably forgot me.”
She nodded her head and broke his heart.
“But this is now,” he said. “What is between us has nothing to do with years ago. Casual acquaintances don’t feel what we do when we kiss.”
“I kissed Clark, not you.”
Fair enough. He understood how she might feel that way.
He slid his free hand up her spine to the curve of her neck, then bent his lips to hers. To his relief she didn’t bite him. To his joy she softened her mouth and leaned forward, close enough that the front of her coat grazed his shirt. He wanted to unbutton the heavy wool garment, to reach inside the bodice of her dress and show her that what they had had never gone away.
“Clark never kissed you,” he murmured across her mouth. “It was always me.”
“Who are you?” She pushed out of his embrace and strode to the fireplace, facing the flames. “Very clearly, you are not the friend that I remembered over the years.”
“I’ve always been him. That night you disappeared, I didn’t want to recover from my wound. But my mother cried, my father threatened. They were not about to let me slip quietly out of my misery. They pestered me until I had no choice but to get well. You’ve got to know—I never forgot you, Lilleth.”
She seemed unmoved by his story. Still, she hadn’t marched out the front door, so he continued to explain.
“Once I grew strong enough, my family moved to Chicago. My parents started a weekly newspaper that focused on exposing corruption. When we were of age, all us kids became involved. The paper prospered and became well-known. On occasion, we had to go undercover, and that meant taking on fictional identities. There was also an issue of safety since we made plenty of enemies along the way.”
She glanced over her shoulder, then back to the flames. It took only that one peek to encourage him. Her countenance had softened toward him, if only a little.
“And what secret assignment are you on now? Are there villains running the hotel? Gouging guests and giving their rooms away? Or maybe the baker is using inferior products in his tasty creations? Tell me, Trace, what is so very important that you would deceive me?”
“The villains we are after are very real. Very dangerous.”
“I suppose it must have something to do with unscrupulous landlords who lease splintering cabins to unsuspecting renters.”
“Lilleth, it has to do with Hanispree. I’ve come to shut it down. To have the inmates moved to respectable facilities.”
That made her spin about. She pointed her finger at him in accusation. “You will not move my sister to another institution, Mr. Ballentine!”
“No, I won’t. I’ll get her out of there.”
And there it went, his career with the family gone. He should have known from the beginning that he could not turn his back on Lils. Even if she never forgave him, he didn’t regret this decision.
She lowered her arm, but lifted her chin. “Very well, then. Come by the cabin this evening and we’ll devise a plan.”
What he needed was a plan for the rest of his life. He had just turned his future over to a woman who walked casually past him, bidding him goodbye with nothing more than a curt nod, while she dropped a hundred dollars on his desk.
“Take the money back or the deal is off.”
She turned and plucked it up.
“I’ll see you this evening, then.”
* * *
Maintaining an attitude of indifference toward Trace was nearly impossible. In spite of everything, the very last thing Lilleth felt for him was indifference.
In a matter of minutes he would walk around the bend to the cabin. She still hadn’t decided whether she wanted to dump fireplace ashes all over him or kiss him.
Preparing for his arrival, she had brushed her hair into a lovely coif, frowned at her reflection in the mirror, then ripped out the pins and fluffed the curls into a royal mess. Whichever way she wore her hair, it wasn’t right. Too fancy made it look as though she was trying to cover the pain of his betrayal. Too messy made it look as though she was wallowing in it.
In the end she stuffed the unruly mass into a single braid. This was as poor a choice as the others had been, since stubborn ringlets popped out with every twist and tug.
With the children asleep, Lilleth stepped onto the front porch, a shawl drawn about her shoulders and a lantern gripped in her fingers. The beam cast its light as far as the top step of the porch. The path that trailed into the woods was invisible. She, on the other hand, was completely visible.
The prudent thing to do would be to go inside. Trace might not be the only one walking the trail on this moonless night. While there had been no sign of Alden’s spy, that didn’t mean he was not lurking, waiting to do the children harm.
Going back inside would be the wise thing to do, but at this very moment she needed the bite of the cold wind to rush about her. She breathed in deep, trying to settle on the side of anger or of forgiveness. As things stood now, she was dizzy from the constant tip of emotions.
Curse Trace for tossing her into this turmoil.
“Don’t give up, Bethany,” she whispered into the night. “I’m coming.”
“You shouldn’t be standing in the open like that, Lils.” Trace’s voice shot out of the darkness.
An instant later his boots creaked on the stairs and he stepped into the lantern’s circle of light.
Kiss or kill?
“I’m no longer Lils, and I was perfectly safe on my own front porch.” She strode into the cabin ahead of him.
“Better to be careful, though. Perryman might have left town, but if he did you can bet he went straight to his boss.” Trace placed a burlap bag in her hands. “Apple pie. It was warm a few moments ago.”
She removed the pie from the bag and set it on the fireplace hearth to heat.
Clearly, she could not kiss or kill until they had discussed how they would free Bethany. The pie would help keep her mind on business and off her long-lost friend.
She watched him place his coat on a peg near the door. He was tall, his shoulders broad, and his hips...that was something to consider another time.
He turned to smile at her and all of a sudden she saw years fall away. Without the librarian to confuse her, she recognized Trace. She tried to fight it, but memories and old feelings bubbled to the surface.
That one man could cause such upheaval to a woman’s heart was beyond distressing. For an instant, she understood her mother.
She would never be like her mother, though. Understanding and making the same mistakes were far from the same thing.
With the pie and her guest finally warmed through, she brought a pair of plates and forks from the kitchen area. She set them on the dining table along with a knife that glittered in the softly glowing lamplight. She sat down, then motioned for Trace to sit across from her.
She watched the pulse in his throat tap against his skin.
“I reckon you’d like to use that knife on me,” he said.
To her mortification, she would rather feel that throbbing bit of flesh under her lips. When she was young she had dreamed of a lifetime of sweet, tender kisses from Trace. Just now, the kisses she tried so hard not to imagine were not sweet or tender, but wild and wanton.
“If you have a plan to free my sister, I’ll wait.”
She sliced a piece of apple pie for each of them.
After they ate Trace got up and walked to the wall peg where his co
at hung. He reached in the pocket, then returned with a short saw. He set it on the table.
“This is your plan?” She picked it up and turned it this way and that in the light.
“And what would you do?” He closed his hand around hers on the saw handle. She ought to have yanked free, but his fingers felt warm, strong and slightly calloused. She ought to have known he wasn’t a librarian.
“I’d pick the lock.” She set the saw on the table with his hand still covering hers. “It would be quicker and much quieter. Please don’t touch me.”
Lifting one finger at a time, he released her hand.
“I’ve tried to. That one can’t be picked.” He shook his head. “All I can do is hope to cut it off.”
“Let’s go, then.” She stood up and swatted her fuzzy braid from her shoulder to her back.
“I’m going alone.”
She marched to the peg, plucked down her coat, then shoved her arms inside. “If you remember me as well as you claim to, you know that I will not be left behind.”
“You wouldn’t be my Lils if I could make you stay home safe and warm.”
It would be good to wipe the hopeful smile off his face with a well-deserved slap, but the truth was, she wanted to see that smile. More than see it, she wanted to kiss it.
“I am not your Lils.”
She walked into the cold, windy night before he could read in her expression that just maybe she was.
Chapter Thirteen
Lilleth stood in the open doorway of what she had believed was Bethany’s cell. Trace stood behind her, holding the lantern high.
The room was empty. Not a bed or a blanket indicated that anyone had ever been incarcerated here.
“Not even dust to leave footprints,” Trace observed.
“I know Bethany was here.” Lilleth squeezed her eyes shut.
She would not weep. Fainthearted women came to sorry ends. Her sister would not come to a sorry end. Lilleth would not allow it.
She stepped inside the room, while Trace hoisted the lantern behind her. He carried it to each dim corner while she knelt on the floor looking for...anything.