by Jo Robertson
"Tell me what happened between you and Nell," Gage prompted gently.
#
Meghan dismissed her students later than usual on this, the last school day of the old year. She lingered behind in the classroom, washing down the chalk board and straightening the reading books. Then she sat down at her battered teacher's desk and stared across the room to the back where the stove's hot belly gleamed round and black.
Dipping into her skirt pocket, she retrieved Nell's dance card. Wrapped in a lace-edged handkerchief for protection, the card was a pretty sky blue, with raised black lettering, dusty pink roses, and green curling vines. It came from Colonel and Mrs. Roger Atherton's soiree spring before last.
She carefully unfolded the card and laid it flat on her desk. She remembered the event well because she'd recently returned from school, her teaching credential in hand, eager to start her very first teaching assignment.
Nell had expressed no desire to go to college, preferring to enjoy the bevy of young men who paid court to her. She'd been dying to go to the soiree, and though Meg had wanted to stay at home with her father, preparing her lessons, she reluctantly gave in to Nell's pretty begging.
Nell had been so young then. Was she involved in romantic secrets even then while Meg hardly knew what was going on in her best friend's mind? The thought grieved her. How well had she really known her friend?
Meghan examined the words Nell had penciled in her girlish hand. True to her nature, she'd used first names and initials rather than full names for all but one of them.
Several of these letters Meghan could assign to local men who regularly attended such functions – Afton H. was Afton Hansen. Gary Atterberry and Charles Acton also were on the list.
Except for Charles, they'd all returned from their first or second or third years at prestigious colleges up north. Charles attended a less expensive school as his father was a mere fisherman, trolling the waters of the river and shrimping in season.
The fourth name on the list Meg didn't recognize, and it was the only name fully written out, as if the person were a stranger – Ned Osborne.
Charles again in the fifth slot. Nell liked him primarily because he wasn't part of Tuscarora's upper-crust society. At the time Meg had admired Nell's lack of social barriers, but now she wondered sadly if her friend hadn't simply wanted to flirt with what seemed a reckless adventure.
Next on the list was Michael H. which Meg now realized was the drunken Mr. Hayes. Meg hadn't even remembered seeing the medical student from Chapel Hill for whom Nell saved a dance.
The seventh and last name on the dance card was the mysterious Ned Osborne again. Who was this man Nell had reserved two dances for, but hadn't mentioned to her best friend? And why couldn't Meg remember Nell dancing with a man unknown to her?
She thought for a moment, tapping her forefinger against her lips. They'd gone together to the dance, her father driving them in his carriage, for he hadn't yet purchased the roundabout.
The Carvers hadn't attended that particular occasion, but Meghan didn't recall why. Had the parents been otherwise occupied? Perhaps.
When Nell had jumped into the carriage, she'd been flushed and distracted, but when Meg had asked her about her parents, she'd brushed off the question, or at least Meg had no memory of the reply. Perhaps her mother could recall what had brought that blush to her daughter's cheeks.
During the evening, she and Nell had been separated almost immediately and hardly spoke to each other afterward. Meg remembered hovering on the sidelines, conversing with Mrs. Jolly.
That evening had been one of the woman's rare nights out. She seldom went anywhere except for church activities, and Meg recalled being surprised that the Reverend had relaxed enough to attend a function that included dancing, of all activities.
Meghan rose and walked to the coat rack at the back of the classroom, trying to visualize the dances she'd seen Nell engaged in – nearly every single one. But although she could picture Afton, Gary, and Charles, Michael Hayes' figure was fuzzy in her mind and she could not put a face at all to the mysterious Ned Osborne.
The lack of memory tugged at the edges of her mind, tantalizing her. She turned the dance card over and over in her fingers. The greater mystery was why Nell had taken the trouble to stitch the card inside a seat cushion in her bedroom.
Why bother hiding such an innocuous item? What about it was Nell afraid of? Or what secret might it reveal? And who might her friend be afraid would find it?
Her thoughts went to Susan, Nell's younger sister. Three years Meg's junior, the girl had never been fast friends with Meg, and Nell had often ignored her sister, shutting her out of private conversations and silly girlish games.
A moment of embarrassment came over Meg. They'd truly been unkind to Susan, who'd meant only to enjoy the company of her older sister and her friend.
Would Susan know anything about the dance card? Being too young to attend, she'd stayed home that night, but Nell might've shared something with her. Less likely that Nell confided in Margaret and Jane, ages thirteen and eleven, and she hadn't confided in Meghan.
In fact, Meg now recalled, Nell had been unusually quiet and remote on the way home. That sick feeling of having somehow failed her friend ran through her again.
#
So pale and clammy-looking was Mr. Carver that Gage feared he'd have a heart attack. But finally the older man spoke, his voice low and rasping as if hampered by a serious illness of the throat or chest.
"I – I didn't lay a hand on her," Carver faltered at last. "I swear to God I – I just looked."
His eyes dug into Gage's stare with agonizing grief. "That's all, nothing more. On my mother's grave I never touched the girl."
Carver removed his handkerchief and swiped at the sheen of sweat that dotted his face. His color was high and his hands trembled like an old man with palsy.
Gage froze with shock. Jesus, was the man confessing? If so, to what? Incest? Murder? Or both? Tread carefully, he warned himself. Carver was a respectable community member. Don't jump to conclusions.
"What do you mean exactly?" he asked cautiously.
Carver dropped his head into his hands, shaking it as if to deny the voice that'd given utterance to the ugly perversion of a man looking intimately upon his own daughter.
"What do you mean when you say you looked at Nell?" Gage persisted. "How did this happen? When?"
Carver lifted his head, his eyes darting toward the parlor doors which stood slightly ajar. He jumped up and pushed them shut. Did that mean Mrs. Carver had no idea about whatever had happened between her daughter and her husband?
Jesus Christ!
Carver turned back to Gage, his eyes wide and frantic with fear or grief or guilt. He leaned heavily against the doors. "Once, it only happened once."
"When?" Gage repeated.
"Several summers ago."
"Explain to me exactly what happened."
Carver swiped again at the moisture on his forehead and ran his fingers over his mouth. "I – I'd just gotten the new bath for the water closet and – and Nell loved the bath tub. She'd drawn the water herself because Bessie had gone home by then and Mabel and the girls were at a music recital."
Now that he'd begun, Carver seemed unable to stop the spew of obscene words that erupted from his mouth. "She'd been upstairs a long time. I – I wondered if something had happened to her. If the tub was slippery or – or she'd fallen."
He looked to Gage as if for confirmation that he'd merely been engaging in fatherly concern for a much-loved daughter. Gage forced his expression to remain impassive, to show no judgment.
"The bathroom door was ajar," Carver continued, "and I just wanted to peek in – to – to be sure she was all right."
Gage clenched his jaw. "And what happened?"
"She stood up then and reached for a towel." Carver closed his eyes as if remembering every detail. "God, she was so lovely, so young and fresh."
He opened his eyes and gl
ared at Gage, sensing the Marshal's censure. "You don't understand, man. You aren't married, don't have children. You can't know what – what impulses overcome a man of my age whose wife is no longer interested – "
He broke off and threw himself into the chair. He stared at his hands dangling between his legs as if his whole world had come crashing down on him. Perhaps it had.
"You can't possibly know," he repeated in hushed tones.
After a moment Carver seemed to recover and leaned forward, his face gone red and hard as he raised his fist to shake it at Gage. "I'm not an evil man." His voice pitched a notch higher in volume. "She was my daughter. I loved her."
His voice trailed off. "I'm not a bad man."
Chapter 12
Gage had slept restlessly, thinking that the further he continued in the case, the more suspects leapt to the forefront. The investigation was like the gnarly roots of an old oak that had to be hacked down one by one without damaging the tree itself.
Before he had a chance to write up his notes the next day, Bailey arrived at the Station House. The clatter of her heels on the stairs was unmistakable. She gamboled up them like some kind of tomboy, her heels clicking noisily on the stairs. As she swept by the empty jail cells, she paused and peered in.
Through the wide glass window that separated his office from the front area of the Station House, Gage watched her frown and hurry past Sergeant Henderson, then rap sharply on his closed office door.
"Miss Bailey, wait." Henderson's deep voice boomed through the walls. "You can't see the Marshal without an appointment."
Bailey rolled her eyes and blew a strand of black coal off her forehead. "Oscar Henderson, how long have you known me?"
Henderson suppressed a smile. "Too long by far. You'd think I'd be tired of your wild shenanigans by now."
A smile of satisfaction crossed Bailey's face. "Then you should know that I'm helping Tucker Gage on his latest case and I'm quite sure he's expecting me."
Without another word she twisted the door knob. Gage shook his head at the nonplussed look on Henderson's face. The man wasn't alone in having no idea how to handle Meghan Bailey. Gage wasn't sure many people did.
He stood and prepared for the onslaught.
She merely examined him thoughtfully.
"What now, Bailey?" He gestured her impatiently towards the chair opposite his desk. "Did you find any more clues up in Nell's bedroom?" His tone was mocking, but he wouldn't underestimate her sharp mind.
"Like I told you yesterday, I did find something, as a matter of fact," she said, sinking into the chair.
"I seriously debated whether or not to share my findings with you, but ... " She pulled a piece of paper from her purse, "I decided withholding information would be childish and irresponsible. So here."
"What's that?" Gage reached for the paper she'd tossed on his desk. He quickly recognized what it was, however, and thought maybe this time Bailey really had lost her senses.
"A dance card. You've come to me with an old dance card, presumably one of Nell's." He paused and read the names on the card aloud. "With five, no that's six, names on the card. Congratulations, Bailey, I believe you've cracked the case."
"Don't be silly, Gage. I'll explain where I found the card in a moment. Which is much more interesting than what's written on it, at least I think so." She frowned prettily and bit her bottom lip in a familiar gesture he recognized from her childhood.
Suddenly Gage had a flash of memory.
#
Eight-year-old Meghan Bailey bawled like a new-born calf, her face pale and her nose and lips dripping snot, her dark strands of hair tangled around her shoulders and across her forehead.
"Hey, Bailey-girl," the almost-eighteen-year-old Gage said softly, picking her up off the wet lawn. "What are you doing out in this storm?"
The girl jumped in his arms as another flash of lightning preceded a clap of thunder as loud as a cannon shot. He laughed and held her tight, striding with long legs to the front porch that stretched across the ground floor of the Bailey house.
"Where's your father?" he asked.
Her teeth chattering, her clothes sopping wet, she clutched him as if she were drowning and he her lifeline. He rattled the front door knob, but found it locked and the house dark and unfriendly.
"Don't worry, Bailey-girl. I'm here to rescue you. I'll bail you out of trouble again." He laughed and gathered her small body against his chest, sank into a corner of the porch where they were somewhat sheltered from the storm.
"Shhhh, don't cry." He draped his coat around her and rocked her as he listened to the howl of the wind and the roar of the rain and waited for Dr. Bailey to return from his surgery.
#
Gage stared at Bailey. He'd forgotten that moment. Forgotten how he'd called her nothing but Bailey from that moment on. Not Meghan or Meggie, like her father, but Bailey. He'd made a huge joke of it so she wouldn't be embarrassed for crying like a baby in the storm.
Bailey because he'd bailed her out of trouble.
"Gage, are you paying attention?"
When had she ceased calling him Tucker, he wondered?
"Before I tell you about Nell's dance card," she continued, once she'd got his attention, "I want you to tell me about Michael Gage."
She gestured with her head towards the front of the Station as if Hayes still occupied his cell.
Gage stood up and closed the office door.
"Did you recognize him last night?" Gage asked after he'd sat down again. "Have you seen him before?"
Meghan frowned and tugged at the folds of her plain gray dress which hung rather shapelessly on her small frame. "I don't think so," she said in an evasive manner, "but Mrs. Carver said he was one of Nell's beaus. Is that true?"
Gage considered the wisdom of confiding in Bailey and then decided he'd already involved her in the search of Nell's bedroom. "Hayes insists he was in love with Nell and she with him."
A strange look came over Bailey's face.
"What do you know?" he asked sharply.
"Nothing." Meghan lifted her head mutinously and glared at him. "And it's a ridiculous thing for him to say, anyway. If Nell had been serious with one of her young men, she would've confided in me."
Even as she made the declaration, Gage saw doubt flit across her face. She might've thought the two of them were fast friends, but their relationship must've changed. Things always changed, in Gage's experience.
"Are you sure of that, Bailey? You were away at school for several years while Nell remained here."
"Well," she said slowly, "it is true that Nell and I haven't been as close as we once were." She bit her bottom lip. "Our waning friendship was ... sad. I suppose I didn't know her as well as I did when we were children."
Gage saw that the admission was painful to her. "Hayes seems quite taken with her and very broken up about her death," he ventured. "I think his feelings are genuine."
Bailey pounced on the words. "Do you think he might have had something to do with her death?"
"Love is a powerful emotion. If Nell didn't return his affection ..." Gage left the words dangling between them for a moment or two. "And of course, Jim Wade is equally certain that Nell was madly in love with him."
"Pshaw!" Bailey exclaimed. "That pompous little rooster of a man thinks all women are mad for him."
Gage repressed a grin. "Isn't it possible though?"
"I should hope Nell was too discriminating to be taken in by the likes of James Wade."
Gage drummed his fingers on the desk blotter and contemplated the level of Nell's sensibility. "She seemed to be fond of a great many men."
Bailey rose and strode around the office as if her small body needed additional space in which to express her thoughts. Her colorless dress flapped about her legs, occasionally showing a surprisingly trim ankle. Gage watched the seriousness of her pacing with some amusement, but remained silent.
She paused at the window, looking out so that she presented only
her profile to him. "Sometimes Nell showed poor judgment, I admit."
She slanted a look at him from the corner of her eye as if expecting him to disagree. "She was flighty and whimsical – " Here she paused to fight back tears.
Gage rose and went to her, placing his hand on one shoulder, marveling at how it dwarfed her. "But Nell was your friend."
He spoke gently. "This is why you cannot assist me in the investigation, Bailey." One of the many reasons she could not be involved, he thought. "You cannot be unbiased in the matter."
She sniffled and shrugged away from him. "Still the ring is the sort of bauble a man like Wade could afford, don't you think?"
Gage watched the emotions play over her face, her brain figuring and re-configuring the possibilities. She crossed the room to look into the reception area where Henderson worked at the counter. He caught her eye and waved in a friendly manner. She smiled at him and waved back.
When she relaxed and softened that intense expression she usually wore, she looked quite pretty.
"But I could be wrong, of course," she continued, turning back to Gage, her arms crossed over her chest. "Nell so loved to be admired, you know. I am sorry to say such a thing about my friend, but you are right. She did enjoy male attention."
What an unlikely friendship they'd forged, Gage thought. Nell, impulsive and heedless of consequences. Bailey, sensible, but adventurous and almost obnoxious in her adherence to her strict moral code.
Gage envied that. His own morality had taken a hard beating years ago, and the tattered rags left of it were like the flag of a defeated nation flapping in the breeze.
"At any rate," he said, "Hayes believed they were going to be married even though his financial prospects are quite unremarkable."
"Really?"
"He's attending Chapel Hill Medical School at the largess of Dr. Whitehead, one of the instructors. Hayes' family has little money and no prestige. If not for his sponsor, he would likely end up scraping a livelihood out of farming, like his father."
"Mr. Carver would never allow Nell to become attached to a poor man," Bailey said with assurance. "He patently disapproves of any man who isn't wealthy and well established. That's probably why Nell sneaked around as she did."