Taking her by the arm, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Culler, who regarded the two of them while massaging his cheek. Suddenly Mr. Culler smiled, tipped his hat to Nathaniel, and turned to walk off. “I don’t trust that man,” Nathaniel said.
Annie followed his gaze, watching Mr. Culler disappear into the crowd. “Not a very pleasant fellow,” she said while rubbing the palm of her hand.
Though he didn’t consider himself much of a mathematician, Nathaniel could add two and two as well as the next guy. By all accounts, it looked as though Miss Aster had slapped the man. He looked to her for an explanation but, receiving none, guided her back to the portico of the auction house.
Standing unnoticed to the side and watching the entire exchange was the young woman whose bosom Mr. Culler had accidentally pawed. “Good for you, Miss Annie,” she said under her breath. With Miss Aster seemingly out of danger, she turned to skip down the steps to the street and past a kid—their hands touching briefly as they continued in separate directions.
At a bend, Cap’n stopped to examine the thousand dollars picked from Mr. Culler’s coat pocket by Belinda, Tater’s older sister and another seasoned veteran of the con game. Between Miss Annie and herself, she thought wryly, there had been a substantial drop in Mr. Culler’s net worth lately. And she didn’t intend to let up. She was going to plague the man until he was dead and buried.
She made a mental note to hold on to a hundred bucks for Belinda. The rest would go into the gang’s fund. She looked back at the auction house, her lips pursing when she saw Annie and Mr. Goodkin walking away from a noticeably flushed Mr. Culler.
“Are you all right? You look terribly pale,” said Nathaniel, looking back to make certain they weren’t followed.
Waving off his concern, Annie paused to catch her breath. “Your timing is impeccable,” she said.
Nathaniel turned, preparing to ask her meaning, and stopped dead in his tracks. “Did he strike you?”
“No. Why?”
In answer, he fished a kerchief from his pocket and held it to her nose. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
She tilted her head back, glancing sideways at him.
“I know of that man,” he said, watching her closely. “He’s dangerous, Miss Aster.”
“Is that the voice of experience?”
“After a fashion,” he replied. “And I must admit to a certain bias. His former employer, a client of mine—Mr. Raven—died under circumstances entirely too convenient for Mr. Culler.”
Annie recalled the name with a shudder. She also recalled the pinkie finger it belonged to. Struggling to keep the conversation light, she said, “That’s not encouraging at all, but I’m certain it has nothing to do with me.” She folded the kerchief and handed it back to Nathaniel, nodding congenially to a couple offering a congratulatory word.
“The conversation Mr. Marden overheard between Messrs. Culler and Danyer does, I’m afraid. I fear they mean you harm.”
“Mr. Marden?” Annie frowned. “Oh, Edmond! But, Mr. Goodkin, be sensible. What can they do when I have three capable men at my side?”
“They’re also plotting against a Mrs. Grundy. Does that name mean anything to you?”
Nathaniel couldn’t have been more effective in getting Annie’s undivided attention had he stuck his cane between her feet. She stumbled and looked at him in horror. “We must hurry,” she said as she spied Christian standing next to Cap’n and another gentleman she assumed to be Edmond.
Annie hurried to their side, giving Cap’n a quick hug, then turned to Edmond. “Mr. Marden,” she said, “will you forgive me if I postpone the small talk? There is something that I’d like to discuss with you and Christian.”
Before Annie had a chance to say anything more, Cap’n took Mr. Goodkin by the hand, leading him down the stairs. She looked back and winked.
When they were out of earshot, Annie turned to Christian. “I understand that Edmond overheard Mr. Culler say something about Elsbeth?”She pressed her lips together when they confirmed her fears. “Christian, I hate to ask this of you, but—”
“You want me to warn her.”
“Whatever restrains me has to do with bloodline,”she explained.
“But you’re coming home with us, aren’t you?”
“I think Elsbeth is still in the city. If she is, with the help of my little confederate, I’ll get a note of warning to her.” When that didn’t convince him, she added, “I’m also making arrangements for the door’s delivery.”
Christian stared at the pavement. “Annie, I’ll go to Elsbeth’s,” he said, clearly unhappy. “But Edmond and I will wait here for you to take care of this business with the door, then I want you coming back with us.” Before she could argue, he added, “If El is in the city, Cap’n can warn her just as easily as you.”
Caught off guard by Christian’s logic, Annie almost relented. “There’s a sandlot next to Womack’s Hardware at Third and Broadway,” she said. “Cap’n knows about it. Wait there. If I’m not there in three hours, please go home and warn Elsbeth.” Knowing he wouldn’t be happy with the compromise, she grabbed his hand. “Please. I promise I won’t be far behind.”
“Three hours,” he said, then hesitated, his face blanching. “There is one more thing I think you should know. There’s a potential p-problem with Mr. Goodkin.”
“He does seem a little smitten.”
Christian touched her arm. “I gave him a twenty.”
The seeming non sequitur made her pause. “I’m not sure I—”
The next words fell from his mouth like a brick. “It was newly minted.”
At first there was nothing, no response, then the gap between Annie’s brows dimpled, and she stepped back reflexively, looking down the stairs where Cap’n and Nathaniel were in earnest discussion. “Oh dear,” she said.
Nathaniel looked up, his smile fading when he noticed her expression. He squeezed Cap’n’s elbow, pointed to Annie, and the two of them returned.
After a brief exchange, Cap’n took off for the sandlot with Christian and Edmond, leaving Nathaniel alone with Annie. “The Broadway is not far,” he said, offering his arm.
Paradoxically aware that Miss Aster was disinclined to speak for some reason, yet unaware that Danyer had detached himself from the side of a building on the opposite side to follow them, Nathaniel led her down the street.
They made it several blocks before either spoke. Finally, Nathaniel broke the silence as they neared the hotel. “You must understand that Messrs. Culler and Danyer have a savage reputation. If they want Abbott’s door, and it is clear that they do, they will stop at nothing to get it.”
“I’m counting on exactly that,” Annie said.
The comment so astonished Nathaniel that he lost his balance and had to use his cane to keep from falling. Annie said it so witheringly that he wondered if he’d heard her right. After all, it sounded like a challenge, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine why anyone would want to provoke those two men.
For her part, Annie was equally surprised by the comment. It wasn’t until the words were uttered that she realized that had been her intention all along. But to what end, her subconscious hadn’t revealed.
Ducking into an alley across the street, Danyer watched them pause in front of the Broadway.He pointed in Nathaniel’s direction, then lowered the brim of his Stetson over his eyes and disappeared into the shadows. A second man emerged from the alley, pulled a beret from his pocket, fit it over his head, and crossed the street.
Inside, Annie walked directly to the reception counter while Nathaniel headed upstairs.“Pardon me,”she said.“I was wondering if you have a guest in residence by the name of Elsbeth Grundy?”
The expression on the duty clerk’s face was difficult to read, but the topic seemed to be objectionable. He responded woodenly, “She checked out, ma’am.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite,” he said. “She left without sett
ling her bill.”
For the sake of his wounded pride, Annie tried to look scandalized, but she couldn’t vouch for the effectiveness of her performance. She reached into her bag to pull out the note she’d written at the auction house, as well as the receipt of sale for the door. Grabbing an envelope from the counter, she slid both inside, gave directions for it to be delivered to an Arthur Langley at the Antiquarian, and headed to her room. Nathaniel was waiting in the hallway. She handed him the key, since Christian had left strict instructions that he was not to allow Annie in her room until it was inspected.
Rolling up his sleeves—a gesture Annie found mildly amusing— Nathaniel quickly unlocked the door and disappeared inside. Almost immediately, she heard a loud bang followed by a moan. She leaped through the door to find him leaning against a wall, laughing mirthlessly as he rubbed his head. On the ground by his feet was a large wooden clock, its glass casing knocked off center.
He looked at Annie, bemused, as a welt appeared on his forehead and pointed to the shelf by the bed. The wood panel was hanging loosely. “I tripped,” he said.
“That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.” Ducking into the bathroom, Annie grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in cold water. Wringing it out, she folded the cloth into thirds and pointed to the bed.
Nathaniel obeyed but started to fidget as Annie placed the compress on his forehead. “Ants in your pants, Mr. Goodkin?”
He stopped squirming long enough to frown. “Miss Aster, I’m not certain it is proper that I be alone with you in your room.” He started to sit up, toppling the compress.
Exasperated, she pushed him back on the bed and tucked a pillow under his head. “I’m confident my virtue will weather the storm, Mr. Goodkin, but if you think I’m going to let you trot off with a possible concussion, then you don’t know me at all.”She tenderly repositioned the compress. Then, motioning for him to move over, she sat on the bed beside him, folding her hands in her lap.
His charms were winning her over, and her gaze, uncertain where to settle, rested awkwardly on his arm. It seemed so solid— opaque—compared to the translucence of her own. She had a sudden desire to trace the length of a ropy vein as it meandered through the swirling patterns of hair on his forearm.
Seeing where her gaze lingered, Nathaniel turned on his side, putting his weight on his elbow. He tried to catch her eyes, but she wasn’t having any of it.
It wasn’t that she was unaware of what was transpiring. Annie wasn’t naive, but neither was she prepared. So, she sat there, at something of an impasse.
There was a certain kind of beauty in the awkward moment that followed, and Annie would later recall every detail—her refusal to meet his gaze, his hand stretching out to lightly touch her leg, her sudden fixation with his lower lip.
And in that moment, what passed for good sense in Annie’s mind told her to get up, to walk around, to do anything but return Nathaniel’s gaze so that the lump and thump of her emotions could cool. Good sense lost. Meeting his eyes, she sighed and said, “You’ve become a very pleasant complication.”
And he didn’t disappoint, startling her with a whisper-soft touch to the cheek. As her eyes fluttered shut, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers—feather light—his breath causing the hairs loosened from her chignon to ripple.
On later recollection,Annie could not decide whether the world had tipped on its axis or Nathaniel had gently laid her against a pillow, but she did remember his mouth covering hers, sending a heat throughout her body that burned away the remainder of her restraint and left her falling, falling, falling…
So it was a bit of a jolt for her when he got up without saying a word and walked drunkenly to the bathroom sink, placing the washcloth across the spigot.
“Nathaniel?”
“I’ve never done that before,” he said, leaning against the basin, breathing heavily. He turned his head to the side to meet her gaze, looking bewildered as he added, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I honestly don’t. One minute I want to cradle you like a baby in my arms, and the next I want to wrestle you down, pin your arms overhead, and crush your lips with mine.” He pushed away from the sink to stand in the doorway, looking at the floor. “It’s a condition I’ve lived with since the moment we met,” he confessed.
A pillow bounced off his chest, landing on the cold tile at his feet.
“Did I somehow leave you with the impression that I didn’t love every moment of what just happened?” Annie asked. She stiffened, sounding almost insulted when she added, “Or for that matter, that I’d let you do something I didn’t wish for?”
“It isn’t proper,” he said, leaning over to pick up the pillow.
“Well, thank God for impropriety!”
As he stepped to the bed to lean the pillow against the bolster, Annie gathered her dress and patted the space next to her. Waiting for him to get comfortable, she said, “Now that that’s settled, would you do me a favor and take it from the top?”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Johnny Parker
May 30, 1895
“It was only a kiss,” Annie reminded him a second time. Nathaniel turned in the doorway. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because”— she clenched her fists— “I’m going to be so angry if you discover your misplaced masculine scruples after the fact and pretend nothing just happened.”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“I’m serious, Nathaniel! You’d better not.”
Looking at the clock, he said quietly, “The letter?”
“Hmmm?”
“You wanted me to wait while you wrote a letter to your grandmother.”
“Oh!”
As Annie scrambled to the desk, he added, “I’ll be in the library at the end of the hall.”
May 30, 1895
Dear Elsbeth:
Men! Why is it that even the best of them only find their virtue after the conquest? It’s exhausting just thinking about it. All that push and pull. Women are so much more sensible.
I’ve just left the auction house after bidding successfully on the door. It’s safe for the time being. I suspect, however, that I am not. Mr. Culler is something of a sore loser—more on that later.
As for the door, it will remain at my father’s home for now. I intend to have it delivered to the owner of the Antiquarian, one Arthur Langley who happens to be the great-great-grandfather of the man from whom I bought the door, with the receipt and a copy of the article. I’m meticulously duplicating the events that move the door from Kansas City in 1895 to San Francisco of 1995.
I can’t tell you how strange it feels, bidding on an object I already own so that I can leave it in a place where I will find it and unknowingly purchase it yet again.
I have a “partner in crime,” a young lady with certain talents that have proven to be indispensable. She was able to “pinch” a money clip that displays Mr. Culler’s initials and planted it on my father’s body. It should be in the hands of the authorities by the time you read this letter, that is, if you don’t read about it in the paper first.
Christian won’t be pleased, but I’ve decided to wait for tomorrow’s paper to confirm that Mr. Culler has replaced you as the primary suspect in the murder before making my way back home.
Be careful! Once he’s implicated, it’s your testimony that will convict him of the murder. I’m sure he’ll come to the same conclusion.
Your granddaughter,
Annabelle Abbott Aster
Annie wandered down the hall to find Nathaniel dozing in a leather armchair, a copy of the paper in his lap.
She was tempted to let him sleep in peace, but lowered herself to sit on the armrest of his chair and stirred him awake with a kiss. “Give this to Christian for me,” she said.
Glancing at the name on the envelope, Nathaniel rubbed an eye, looking confused. “Elsbeth Grundy. She’s your grandmother?”
Annie nodded.
Nathaniel stood, straig
htening his jacket. “Will you please do me a favor and lock your door?” He turned to leave, but quickly spun around to reach behind her head, pulling her close. He kissed her lingeringly, then put his lips on her forehead and breathed deeply before walking out the door without another word.
He headed out onto the busy street, his head so full of the “push and pull” of masculine contradictions, as Annie would put it, that he hardly watched where he was going and almost flattened a poor fellow. “Pardon me!” he said while bending over to pick up the beret he’d knocked from the stunned man’s head.
Looking quite shaken, the man collected his hat and mumbled, “No harm done.”
As Nathaniel walked off, the man’s look of shock slowly gave way to sober reflection, and he looked down at his stolen booty. He shook his head and wandered to the alley running the length of the Broadway.
Danyer stepped from the shadows to give the man a ten spot in exchange for a letter and wallet he’d pinched off Nathaniel. He dropped them into a valise and walked across the street into a tavern.
“What have we here?” Mr. Culler said, glancing at the valise at the foot of the table. He dug around inside and retrieved the stolen items. Taking a slug from his beer, Mr. Culler quickly pocketed forty dollars from the wallet’s inner sleeve before pulling out a business card. “It appears that Miss Aster’s escort is a Nathaniel Goodkin,” he said, looking at Danyer. “Does that name ring a bell?” Tossing the wallet back in the bag, he held up the envelope. “And what’s this?” He turned it over and stared at the addressee’s name before unsealing it.
After a lengthy pause, Culler said, “Well, well. It seems that Mr. Abbott is having a last laugh at us from the grave.” He handed the letter to his associate and lowered his head to stare at beads of moisture sliding down his sweating beer stein. Taking a quick gulp, he looked into the mirror above the bar. Danyer’s reflection stared back at him, waiting.
The Lemoncholy Life of Annie Aster Page 23