He’d rather risk alienating her than be led astray by falsehoods.
She pressed both hands against her pale cheeks. “I don’t know. I asked my mother. Of course I asked. She’d only ever say, ‘He doesn’t matter to me, why should he matter to you?’”
An instant dislike for a woman he’d never met took root. What kind of answer was that for a child? The vague reply smacked of the self-indulgent excuse of a spoiled heiress accustomed to having her way.
A cold rage settled low in his belly for both the detective and Anna’s mother, stripping away at his vow to remain impartial. Caleb faced the detective.
Reinhart drummed his fingers on the table. “When the Pinkertons sent me out here, they said I’d starve for lack of work. I knew they were wrong. People come out West for a reason. Most times that reason ain’t too savory, if you get my meaning. Makes for plenty of work for a man like me. Had to get me an assistant to help out.”
Caleb remained silent. He wasn’t revealing any information Anna wasn’t sharing first. “Last spring a solicitor talked with Victoria Bishop, but she never said anything to her only daughter. Perhaps it was a mistake.”
Anna resumed her chair and smoothed her skirts over her knees, wrestling back her control. The revelation had been a shock. He’d known there was a scandal connected with Anna’s mother. The paper clippings Jo had saved took great delight in splashing Victoria Bishop’s unmarried status across the headlines.
He’d assumed Anna knew more about her parentage. She hadn’t appeared beneath a cabbage leaf, after all.
Either way the declaration by the detective had been deliberately provoking. Had Reinhart been studying her reaction? Caleb had been too focused on Anna, and he hadn’t been watching the detective.
Caleb rested his hand on the armrest of her chair, and she covered his fingers with her own. Her touch was cautious, whisper light, and he kept his attention rigidly forward. He sensed her conflict with these lapses, these moments when she needed the bolstering support of another person.
She sat up straighter, her back stiff, her face so impassive her profile might have been carved from marble. “If this man was my father, why didn’t he come for me himself?”
“Because he was sick. Dying.”
Anna hid her distress well. Only the tightening of her fingers on his hand and the two spots of color appearing high on her cheeks revealed her true state. “Where is my father now? Do you have a name?”
“His name was Drexel Ryan.”
Anna leaned forward. “Where is he? Give me that much at least.”
The detective looked away, and Caleb sagged back into his seat. The detective had spoken the name in the past tense, a telling slip. A dying man had sent his solicitor searching for Anna last April, five months ago. Anna clearly hadn’t made the connection, and his heart ached for her.
Her eyes flashing, Anna gripped the arms of her chair. “I am in no mood for games. Where is my father?”
“In Omaha,” Reinhart grumbled. “Buried in the Forest Lawn Cemetery.”
“That can’t be.” Anna reared back. “It’s not true. None of this is true.”
Caleb reached for her and she flinched away. Her rejection cut him to the quick. She adjusted in her seat and winced, unconsciously touching her side.
With no place to vent his rage, he turned his anger on the detective. Furious, he faced Reinhart. “You might have softened the blow.”
“She didn’t even know the man. What does she care if he’s alive or dead? He’s nothing to her.”
“That’s not for you to say.”
“Enough,” Anna spoke. “This is all a game for you, isn’t it? Have you humiliated me quite enough? Are you satisfied I’m not worthy of the vote or your time?”
“You don’t pay me to play nursemaid. You pay me for information. I gave it to you.”
This time when Caleb covered her trembling fingers with his own, she didn’t pull away. “Let’s hear him out.”
At that moment, he loathed the detective. He loathed him for his clumsy handling of the situation and his obvious disdain. They were trapped. The realization kicked his anger from a slow simmer into a full boil. Reinhart had information they needed.
Right then he had the overwhelming desire to punch something. The detective wasn’t a bad choice, but he was off-limits until they had all the information. Which left Caleb ensnared. He was entirely inadequate. Surely there was something more he should say, something more he should do. In less than a week she’d had two attempts on her life. She’d discovered her father had been looking for her, and now he was dead. Buried in a cemetery in Nebraska.
Anna reached out and with her right hand fingered the edges of the lace curtains, keeping her left hand motionless beneath his. The shades had been drawn for safety, and privacy, blanketing the parlor in perpetual gloom.
When was the last time she’d stepped outside? Seen the sun? A week at least. The confinement must have been maddening.
She drew in a breath, keeping her face averted. “Last spring my mother received a large envelope. I normally take care of all her correspondence. She wouldn’t let me touch the envelope. I believe she took it to the bank. I know she keeps a safe deposit box. Do you think the envelope had something to do with the man looking for me?”
“Mebbe. If your father was dying, he may have left you something. People get sentimental that way.” Reinhart shrugged. “I’ll ask around. See if I can find the lawyer. He’s probably from Omaha. Can’t be that hard to find. Only your mother can answer that question.”
Her expression hardened. “I see.”
Caleb’s heart ached for her. “You told us about Anna’s father. Did you discover anything about the shooter?”
At least they finally knew what had sparked the detective’s interest in the beginning, though they were no closer to finding the shooter.
“That’s the thing about this job. Things ain’t always the way you think. You gotta be ready. You can’t force the pieces to fit. A puzzle doesn’t work that way.”
Reinhart reached for his cigar and pinched it between his teeth, then took a long draw. He kicked back in his chair and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
What had the detective said before...if you give people a puzzle, they’ll fill in the blanks by themselves? Reinhart could fill in his own puzzle.
“Strange thing, families,” the detective said. “They can be the making of a man, or they can be his destruction. Loyalty is just a step away from delusion.”
“That’s an odd thing to say.”
“Just something I’ve been thinking about lately. See, all of my cases are about finding someone. Most of my cases are about finding someone who doesn’t want to be found. That’s the thing, see, everybody is hiding from something. From the past, from the future, from themselves. Everybody is hiding something.”
The detective leaned forward and replaced his cigar in the tray, then tipped back in his chair and threaded his hands behind his head. “You’re leaving Kansas City. That’s good. When Miss Bishop disappears, he’ll move. That’s when I’ll catch him.”
“Then I guess you’ve got some work ahead of you.”
Though it galled him, Caleb needed the detective. He couldn’t stay in Kansas City any longer, and he couldn’t leave without ensuring someone was looking for the shooter. The police had already lost interest, and his dependence on the man rankled. Needing someone’s help and liking it were two different things. Reinhart already knew more about Anna than Caleb did.
“I’ll find him. Mark my words.” Reinhart tapped the ashes from the end of his cigar onto the mountainous pile, spilling some on the marble surface.
Anna stood and touched her temple, her gaze distracted. “Catch him. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Caleb stood and reached for h
er, then let his hand fall. She’d revealed something very personal. He doubted she wanted more of her past aired out before the detective. Pride held her back straight. If she felt humiliation or sorrow, she didn’t show it either. A week together and he was no closer to reading her than that first, eventful day.
Sometimes he thought he knew her, then she surprised him. He was always guessing around. The feeling left him edgy and off balance. Lamps flickered along the corridor, throwing her shadow into relief. Her steps never faltered, her back never stooped. She was a proud woman. Proud and independent.
Having grown up around a large and boisterous family, he was finally catching a glimpse into Anna’s world. How lonely her life must have been. Nothing in the memories she’d shared hinted at lightness or frivolity.
She was skittish of affection, reaching out and pulling back at the same time, confused by her own needs. There was nothing weak about seeking comfort. He doubted Anna shared his thoughts. Especially considering her past had been exposed before the detective. Perhaps his blunt attitude had been for the best. He’d inadvertently given her the upper hand. She had taken the news with grace and dignity, denying Reinhart a reaction.
As she reached her door, the guard stationed beside it stood and let her into her room.
Behind him, Reinhart grunted. “You be careful with that Miss Bishop. She ain’t for the likes of us.”
Caleb set his jaw. “Take the job or don’t.”
Anna hadn’t given the man a reaction; neither would Caleb.
“Women like that. Getting ideas in their heads.” Reinhart puffed the tip of his cigar into a cherry-red flame. “Next thing you know they’ll be slugging whiskey and swearing. No good can come of that. It’s men that should be in charge.”
“Your ignorance has me doubting your ability.” Caleb fisted his hands and rested his knuckles on the back of the tufted chair. “You want me to take my money and leave? Or do you want to keep your opinions to yourself?”
Reinhart’s remarks came from a place of fear. The man’s argument didn’t fit the fight the suffragists had undertaken. How did the desire to vote and control one’s destiny translate into trousers and swearing? What did any of that matter, anyway? How did one suffragist threaten Reinhart?
The detective chuckled, but the fine shine of sweat visible beneath his thinning hair belied his good humor. With a sudden burst of insight Caleb realized he wanted the case. Mr. Reinhart enjoyed a puzzle. He also liked money.
Reinhart mopped his brow with a dingy handkerchief. “Fair enough. But never say I didn’t warn you.”
His assistance, along with whatever meager inquiries the police made, were the best options Caleb had without remaining in Kansas City, and he’d already been gone from home too long. Reinhart might be a confirmed woman-hater, but according to the inquiries Caleb had made, he was one of Pinkerton’s best detectives. He’d gotten his teeth sunk into a puzzle, and he wouldn’t quit until it was solved. Of that Caleb was certain.
“You know where to find me,” he said. “Send word if you have news.”
Reinhart was right about one thing. Anna wasn’t for the likes of him. With each day that passed she grew stronger, and as she regained her strength, she pulled further away from him. There’d be no more storytelling, of that he was certain.
Which left him wrenched in two separate directions. He’d prayed for her life, for her continued health. His prayers had been answered.
He’d lectured Anna on trusting in God’s plan, and no part of their separate lives meshed. There was no common ground to build on. They were opposite people moving in opposite directions.
No outcome he envisioned ended with them together. Turned out swallowing his own advice was a bitter pill. Worse yet, he doubted the medicine would help. With each day that passed, he feared he was growing too far gone.
He’d double his resolution from here on out. He wasn’t letting his heart take the upper hand. Even if she did have the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. All those years ago he’d thought Mary Louise the prettiest girl in the county. She was a pale comparison to Anna.
With sudden insight he realized the difference wasn’t in their features, the difference was in their hearts. When Mary Louise smiled all those years ago, she’d done it for a calculated response. A flirt or a giggle. When Anna smiled, her whole heart shone through her eyes.
From here on out, he was tripling his effort. Especially since he couldn’t rest until he checked on her.
This time he’d keep his resolve.
He’d keep his resolve after he took care of one last little problem.
With Anna gone, he decided on a less diplomatic way of dealing with the detective.
Reinhart stood, and Caleb shoved him against the wall, his elbow holding the man’s shoulder, his forearm pressing against the detective’s throat. “I don’t like the way you do business.”
His pupils dilated, Reinhart smacked his lips.
Caleb pressed in slightly, his jaw set. “The next time we meet, I’ll expect you to use your manners.”
“S-sure,” the detective stuttered.
“Then we understand each other?”
His bluster gone, the detective raised his hands in supplication. “Y-yes.”
Caleb released his hold and turned away. He strode down the corridor, tugging his sleeves over his wrists. “Good.”
Chapter Nine
Anna took the seat by the window and waited. He’d come. Of course he’d come. Caleb had seen through her façade. He’d seen her distress. She’d only known him a week, and she knew he’d check on her.
At least he hadn’t looked at her as Miss Spence had looked at her all those years ago, with a curious mixture of pity and disgust. Her parentage wasn’t her fault, why should she be blamed? More often than not, she was. As though she had any choice in the matter.
Much to her disgust, there was a very provincial side to her. A side that envied regular families who did regular things and had children that were only expected to be ordinary. Families that were building a life together instead of a legacy for the ages.
A knock sounded not fifteen minutes later. She didn’t even ask, only stood and opened the door.
He glanced toward the empty chair. “Is Mrs. Franklin here?”
“She’s home, packing her things.”
There was another relationship she’d grown far too dependent upon. Why hadn’t she refused Izetta’s offer? What was she thinking, retiring to the country with someone she’d only known a week? Once again she blamed the false intimacy of the situation. They’d all been through something harrowing. They’d been thrown together under traumatic circumstances, stripping away all the polite maneuverings taken over time in normal friendships. She’d only known the widow a short time, and yet their days together had been a lifetime.
“Would you like me to stay?” Caleb asked. “To call for her? I’ll sit with you. I know the detective’s revelations came as a shock to you.”
“There’s no need.” Anna glanced toward the curtained windows of her room. She’d grown heartily tired of pulled shades and perpetual twilight.
Her days had lost their rhythm, and she desperately craved something normal. A change in the routine. Anything but the endless monotony of sitting around and waiting for another attempt on her life. “It’s not as though I knew the man. I suppose I always assumed he was dead. Life was easier that way.”
What must Caleb think of her? A woman who didn’t even know the name of her own father. She might have passed him on the street a thousand times and never known the difference. The idea was odd, unsettling. She’d pushed it to the back of her mind and piled a thousand excuses on the mere idea of him.
He didn’t matter. She was fine without him. Thousands of girls had lost their fathers during the war. All of the lecture
s her mother had given came rushing back. But she was different from those other girls. They knew the names of their fathers, they had stories, they had love. Without even a name to attach to her father, she’d kept even the idea of him distant.
Finally hearing his name had thrust him back into her life, into her thoughts. He might be dead, but the feelings lingered. All the thoughts she’d shoved aside and buried rose once more to the surface. There’d been too much upheaval in her life recently. Old memories broke through all the walls she’d erected.
Her mind drifted back over the years. “When I was a little girl, I thought of him all the time. Children are not always kind to one another, and everyone knew my parents were never married. They knew I didn’t have a father. Not a father who was in my life, anyway. I imagined he was a ship’s captain. Sometimes I pictured him as a pirate. Not very original, I know, but those professions seemed very romantic, and they explained all the questions a child knows to ask.”
“His absence must have been difficult for you.”
“It’s odd. I never thought he mattered much to me. I’d been told often enough he didn’t. He didn’t matter until that one brief moment when I realized he was looking for me. At that moment he mattered very much.”
“Reinhart is an idiot.” Caleb spoke harshly.
She was grateful for his defense of her, but there was no need.
“I’m glad he was tactless. It’s easier to be angry than sad. I’ve been one or the other for quite some time. I suppose as children there’s always a part of us that believes we’ve done something, that it’s our fault they’re gone. I thought if I’d been a boy, he might have stayed. We might have been a family.”
“You don’t believe that now?” His green eyes shimmered with sympathy.
She didn’t need his pity. “Of course not. I’m all grown-up now.”
She’d shoved her father into a darkened corner of her soul, and someone had kicked open the door. There was no shutting out the pain, and somehow that realization was worse. She’d kicked open the door of an empty room.
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