by Jo Robertson
But surely proud.
Then the train rounded a curve and the little tableau on the railway platform disappeared from his sight. Even with his mother's sadness and his father's inherent censure, a thrill of excitement ran through Tucker.
West Point Academy! Tucker Gage would finally make his mark on the world.
He wended his way to the main car, stowed his bag, and found an empty seat by the window where he leaned back and watched the passing landscape until he nodded off. Hunger awoke him some time later and he remembered the lunch their maid Sarah had packed for him.
He retrieved his bag and pulled out the brown-wrapped package. Folding open the edges, he saw a sandwich – ham, his favorite, made on the thick slices of bread from Sarah's oven – and strawberries, still in season.
When he picked up the sandwich, a small folded piece of paper dropped onto his trouser leg. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over in his hand. A final message from his mother? He rather thought so, for she'd heartily opposed his going off to West Point as his father and grandfather had done before him.
He carefully opened the note.
#
"Gage!" Bailey exclaimed. "Pay attention. It's another clue. How fortunate we are that Nell was so clever!"
She slapped his thigh, leaving a warm spot where her fingers touched him. He shook his head and felt a brief moment of vertigo.
Bailey dragged a small table beside her father, and Gage crouched near her on the carpet. She smoothed the paper out. The symbols and crude line drawings jumbled together on the page, filling every space.
What the hell? Gage thought as his mind left the moment.
#
Tucker opened the folded edges of the paper. Colored pencil drawings – a human eye, large and dark, with long thick black lashes, followed by a valentine, a huge red heart, laced with white ruffles, and finally, a – a sheep?
The figures were remarkably well drawn, shaded and colored meticulously as if a budding artist had taken great care to create them. But somehow Tucker had the impression they were a child's drawings.
Eye. Heart. Sheep.
Clearly not his mother's drawings, and he had no time for such silliness. He smiled briefly, but his eighteen-year-old mind turned to thoughts of himself in a cadet's uniform, performing drills, studying hard at the Academy.
A shot of pure excitement ran through him and he put the puzzle of the note aside.
By next week, he'd be settled into West Point, fulfilling every dream his father and grandfather had for their progeny.
For himself, all he'd wanted his entire life was to maintain a life of service and honor. To protect the weak and innocent. To maintain a strict code of conduct.
He believed West Point would prepare him for that mission, and he was eager to learn. The War had nearly destroyed the South. Gage wanted to be part of reconstructing the country.
He settled back with an air of satisfaction while the note fell unheeded to the dusty floor of the train.
#
For a long time after Gage left the Bailey home, Meghan fiddled with the message, trying to decipher Nell's new code. She was shocked that Gage had let her keep it. Wasn't the note some kind of evidence? Surely, he'd want to lock it up in that old safe at the Station House.
But he hadn't. Probably he thought it meant nothing, she grumbled silently. Well, she'd prove him wrong. But after another hour, she finally gave up and put out the night lamp, letting the patterns and figures and line drawings dance through her dreams.
The next morning Meghan abandoned work on the mysterious note for the extra math instruction she had promised her students. Although the children weren't due back from their Christmas respite, she agreed to tutor a group of them – ten in all – in math during the recess.
But clearly overindulged with presents and sweets during the holiday, her students squirmed and squiggled their way through the first hour of study. Too restless for learning, Meghan thought, and gave up on math instruction.
Since President Roosevelt espoused healthy outdoor exercise, Meghan decided it was time for a walk. "Bundle up well," she told the students, "for we're going on a nature hike and will likely get chilled."
The children paired up and held hands, all except for the older boys in the back of the line who refused such girlishness. They marched off down the street, past the Police Station House and toward the river. Meghan knew any number of places where they could stop, watch the boats on the river, and eat their lunches wrapped in oiled parchment paper.
Young Emily Nolan, who was only eight and therefore one of Meghan's youngest students, hovered near the teacher for the entire trip. The girl was comely, with thick blonde curls, pale skin, and rosy cheeks, but had become increasingly more introspective and decidedly less chatty since school had begun in September. She rarely strayed far from Meghan's side.
"That looks delicious, Emily," Meghan said after they'd paused to eat their lunches. The girl opened her paper and pulled out a sandwich. "What kind have you?"
"Turkey," Emily said around a swallow.
Soon Meghan noted the older children had finished their lunches and were chasing one another around the wooded area.
She munched on her own butter and jam sandwich and eyed the girl thoughtfully. "It's all right if you don't talk a lot, Emily. Speaking one's thoughts aloud is highly overvalued. Keeping counsel often is much more prudent."
She smiled broadly and wondered, by the blank look on the girl's face, if she had any idea what her teacher was talking about. But there was definitely something amiss with young Emily.
She'd begun the school year as lively as a blue jay, but now she seldom spoke unless addressed first. Perhaps it was time to visit Mrs. Nolan and speak about her daughter's increasing withdrawal. Likely there was a perfectly good explanation for it.
It wasn't until they'd returned to the schoolhouse for another math session and Meghan had dismissed the children that she had the opportunity to study Nell's note again.
The ring. The note. By themselves the items weren't important, but considered together, they showed Nell had secrets, and secrets in a woman who'd died recently could be very significant indeed.
Nell had not spoken to Meghan of a ring with her initials engraved inside. Although the stone was very tiny, the ring indicated someone had a fondness for Nell, probably someone special. Surely a man.
James Wade? Perhaps, although Nell had often snickered about the man's slavish devotion to her.
Michael Hayes, although poor, according to Gage, was a gentleman. Meghan didn't think he'd give such an item to a girl. He'd have sought her parents' permission. But Mr. Carver would not have permitted such a gift, and Mr. Hayes was likely to be very aware of that fact.
Instinct told Meghan that her friend had been involved with a man, that she'd kept that information from her good friend. Clearly Nell was ashamed or embarrassed by the association.
An inappropriate alliance? A married man? Surely not.
But how could she be sure? Meghan was coming to realize she did not know her friend as well as she had supposed.
If Nell were in a relationship with a married man, who? She must take this theory to Gage and see what his opinion was.
No time like the present, she thought, as she locked the schoolroom door behind her. But first she intended to visit Susan Carver who might have some idea who gave Nell the ruby ring.
#
Meghan Bailey had lived in Tuscarora all her life. Sometimes she thought she remembered the exact moment she laid eyes on the darkly handsome Tucker Gage. It seemed he'd been part of her life forever.
She'd trailed along after him for years, so completely enthralled he hadn't brushed her off that she hadn't realized he was as lonely as she was. Then he'd gone off to West Point and a different Tucker returned.
Serious, not so quick with the grin that showed teeth whiter than the caps of waves on the ocean. The easy-going gait and bright-eyed twinkle had vanished, and in their
place was something the twelve-year-old Meg didn't understand at all, except whatever it was made her feel as if she'd lost something infinitely precious.
The only thing that hadn't changed was his pet name for her. He'd called her Bailey as long as she could remember.
"Why do you call me by my last name?" she once asked him.
"What? You don't like your name?"
In truth, his use of her last name made her feel very grown up, but she didn't tell him that.
"I like it well enough," she muttered.
He tweaked her nose and laughed. "And, it's your real last name, isn't it?" he teased, reminding her she was always pretending to be a character in a book.
"Sure, but – "
He suddenly looked serious again. "Look, I'm always bailing you out of some kind of trouble, aren't I? You'll always be Bailey to me."
It was true. As long as she could remember, she'd gotten into the most god-awful scrapes. But it wasn't true that he'd always rescued her. Just the one time. The time she'd been so far over her head she'd just known she wasn't coming back.
He'd left her with those ominous prophetic words. "Be careful, little Bailey. I won't always be around to bail you out."
He was dead serious when he said it.
Chapter 15
Bailey tracked him down again, this time at the Narrows where Gage had gone to look at evidence supposedly uncovered by Tracker Thompson's hounds.
"What in hell are you doing here?" Gage grabbed Meg's arm and pulled her aside, more frustrated with the tedious progress of the case than with her. "How many times do I have to remind you that I'm conducting a murder investigation?"
"I know that," she answered indignantly. "But since we're partners, I – I thought – "
"We are not partners, Bailey," he ground out. "And I cannot have a civilian mucking around."
"You sound like you're still in the Army, Tucker Gage." She put her small hands on her hips and glared at him. "I'll have you know I am not one of your soldiers!"
Gage sighed. It was useless to argue with her. "All right, what do you want?"
"James Wade gave Nell the ruby ring," she declared.
He narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"
Bailey lowered her voice. "Susan told me."
"Nell's sister?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Do you know another Susan?"
At that moment Will Pruitt, who'd accompanied Gage to the Narrows, shouted from the strip of land that jutted out into the Pasquotank. "Marshal, over here. We've found something."
"Wait here," Gage commanded before racing to the spot where Thompson's hounds bayed like banshees.
Twisting around the tangled mess that was Thompson's hound dogs, Pruitt pointed at what they'd found. His hand held high in the air – and encased in a rubber glove, thank God – he was trying his best to keep the dogs from the heavy branch he wielded.
Around him the dogs went wild over the item, yapping and struggling against their leashes. Thompson shouted commands and tugged hard to harness their frenzy.
Could that possibly be the murder weapon?
"Mark the spot," Gage shouted to one of his men who stood by. "Get everyone off the area."
He turned to Thompson. "You, too, sir. I'm grateful your hounds have found the log, but now they're ruining the area."
"It's the blood," Thompson said, his voice high with excitement. "The blood sets them off."
"Nonetheless, I must insist that you take them away."
With a disgruntled look Thompson stomped off, dragging his dogs behind him and mumbling something Gage was glad he hadn't heard clearly.
Pruitt lowered his arm with a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Marshal. It was getting heavy."
Gage examined the thick branch as Pruitt held it out. Its end was indeed darkened with blood – a significant amount of blood.
"My God," Bailey exclaimed, nosing her way between the two of them. She blanched when she saw the stain on the wood, but quickly recovered. "Is that blood?"
Gage scowled at her and opened his mouth to bark out a nasty comment, but promptly snapped it shut. Wouldn't do any good anyway, and Will Pruitt was likely to get his hackles up.
Clearly the lad had a crush on Bailey, God help him. If she had any idea that Pruitt was mooning over her, she gave no indication. Knowing Bailey, Gage doubted she was even aware of the fawning looks and red faces Will got whenever she was around.
For a smart woman, Bailey could be remarkably obtuse.
"Don't touch," he warned as she reached out.
"I know better than that."
Gage extracted a knife from his pocket and scraped a small portion of the stain onto his handkerchief. He folded the cloth and carefully placed it in his jacket pocket.
"What will you do with it?" Bailey asked.
"I'm sending it to Charlotte," Gage answered.
"What for?"
"The laboratory in Charlotte," Pruitt answered for Gage, "can analyze the specimen and tell if it's blood."
"Which it most certainly is," Gage added.
"And then they can tell if it's animal blood or – " Pruitt started, but Bailey quickly interrupted.
"Human blood!" she exclaimed. "How amazing. There are tests which can detect this? Why, Will Pruitt, I never knew how clever you are."
Gage refrained from guffawing, but he could not keep from casting his eyes heavenward. Poor Will would sleep restlessly for weeks on such a compliment from Meghan Bailey.
Pruitt turned bright red and coughed, then stumbled, nearly dropping the evidence. He recovered quickly and Bailey seemed not to notice. Poor Will, Gage thought again.
"Take the item to the Station House and be sure to enter it into the log as I've taught you," Gage ordered his deputy. "I'll return shortly."
Pruitt tied the evidence to the back of his bicycle and rode off, leaving Gage quite alone with Bailey on the marshy bank. "Let me walk you home," he offered.
"Oh." A look of supreme disappointment crossed her face. "I thought you sent Will off so that you could tell me something in private. Something new about the case."
"I've made it clear that you are not working on this case with me," Gage admonished. "And, at any rate, I would not keep secrets from my patrolmen."
"Oh," she repeated, her face brightening a little.
"Now what's this about Jim Wade and the ruby ring?"
"I spoke with Susan earlier after I dismissed my students from their study session." She let Gage take her elbow and direct her toward the path.
"Susan is certain that Jim gave Nell the ring several weeks before Thanksgiving. Apparently, they quarreled and Nell intended to return the ring the night she disappeared."
"Then why did she have it hidden in a secret compartment?" he asked logically. "Why wasn't it in Wade's possession when I first questioned him? Or at the very least, why didn't we discover it on Nell's body?"
"That's the mystery of it!" she declared. Her lovely eyes darkened to an evergreen hue and opened even wider. "I think it was all a sham. Almost as if they were pretending to break off their relationship, and then ... oh, I don't know ... perhaps run off together?"
"That's quite a leap of logic," he scoffed.
"What you really should do," she began, pausing and bringing him to an abrupt stop beside her. She wagged her finger at him as if he were one of her students. "You should talk to Jim Wade again. He's lying about his relationship with Nell. I'd bet my boots on it."
Gage looked down at her small feet encased in a neat little pair of brown boots, buttons gleaming up the sides, a tiny flash of flesh showing at the top where the skirt bottom stopped. "Tell me exactly what Susan said."
As they walked along the river's edge, Gage could see the boats some distance away. When they reached the gazebo, Bailey climbed the several steps and sat down on a bench. Gage stood next to her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.
"Susan said that Jim gave Nell the ring as a symbol of their affection for one another," she beg
an. "Evidently Nell thought it was humorous."
Gage lifted one brow.
"Susan claims that Nell was never as fond of James as he seemed to think," she explained.
"Do you think that's true? Would Nell have been honest with her sister about her feelings for the man?"
Bailey shrugged. "I don't know. Truthfully, Susan and Nell were often at each other's throats. I wonder why she would share such a secret with Susan and not with me."
She looked a little stymied, even hurt, then impatient as she patted the bench beside her. "Do sit down, Gage, you're giving me a kink in my neck looking all that way up to your face."
Gage smiled and sat down, his leg brushing against her skirt. Both of them stared out onto the river for a few minutes in silence.
"Do you know," she said at last, "I believe the Pasquotank is one of the most beautiful rivers I've ever seen. There's something very dark and mysterious about it. Exciting, as if it could take one away to – to, oh, I don't know, to all kinds of romantic places."
"Romantic? Really, Bailey, I thought you were such a practical woman."
She slanted him a look from beneath remarkably thick lashes that shadowed her pale cheeks. "Honestly, Gage, sometimes I think you don't know me at all."
Examining her profile as she turned back to the river, he took in the straight line of her nose, the sculpted cheekbones now flushed with the chill off the water, the long line of her neck. Bailey wasn't conventionally pretty, but those clean, straight features stirred a strange longing in him.
"Stop ogling me," she said sharply without looking at him.
"I don't ogle, Bailey," he retorted, somewhat taken aback by her sharp intuition.
She turned to face him, her eyes like emeralds, dark and vaguely mysterious. She leaned forward until her nose nearly touched his chin. "Then what do you call such fierce concentration?"
His gaze dropped to her lips, the bottom lush and rosily tinted in a way he'd never noticed before. Her eyes remained on his, wide and innocent, her breath sweet and warm. "I was thinking that you've grown up on me, Bailey."
After awkward silence, she broke out in a loud and unfeminine snort, followed by raucous laughter that disturbed the seriousness of the moment. She aimed a hard punch at his arm. "What a foolish thing to say, Tucker Gage."