The captain stood. “Excuse me, darlin’.”
He and the sergeant lingered in the hallway, remaining in Vera’s view. The men conversed back and forth, the captain using his hands as he spoke and the sergeant nodding. Vera scooted back her chair, giving her a better glimpse of the sergeant. He curled his fingers into fists behind his back and then slowly unclenched. What were they talking about? A scowl appeared on the sergeant’s clean-shaven face, and the captain shrugged. This was worse than watching a silent film. At least with those you had title cards. Finally, the sergeant retreated down the hall, and the captain retreated the other way. Once again, Vera was alone.
In a handful of breaths, the captain rejoined the interrogation room, his hands loaded with a tray of food.
“Miss Pembroke, do you have any family you could stay with?” He set the food on the table, the Dr. Pepper nearly tipping, and he claimed the chair beside her.
“No.”
“How about a friend? Anyone you could trust?”
“No.”
“Anybody at all?”
As if this wasn’t depressing enough. Not a big deal, right? A little jab here. A little jab there. Like poking toothpicks into her heart. “Nope. I sing solo.” Not all by choice, but he didn’t need to know that. She needed to appear tough and confident, a colossal—but necessary—venture.
Pops crossed his arms, a frown rippling his forehead. “Miss Pembroke, do you think you could do me a favor?”
She hated favors. “Depends.”
“I want you to eat.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Why?”
“You look too pale for my liking. Eat and then you’ll be on your way.”
When was the last time she’d eaten? Yesterday morning? She couldn’t remember. One thing about not having a working stove in her apartment was the reliance on Woolworth’s roast beef for a dime. “That’s it? Okay, Pops, you’re on.” Vera sugared her words with her best smile and straightened in her chair.
He chuckled at her nickname for him, and she was relieved. Her mouth had often gotten the best of her, but this time her slip-up seemed to warm his countenance.
“Eat up.” He slid the tray toward her, stood, and patted her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Sure.”
He disappeared and she now had the task of making this food vanish.
She grabbed the knife and plastered the mayo over the bread. Egg sandwiches weren’t her favorite, the texture of the yellow fluff strange to her palate. No matter. She’d eat chicken gizzards if that were the ticket out of there. Potato chips. Perfect. She grabbed a few and shoved them into the sandwich to give it a crunch. Much better.
After a few minutes, Pops walked into the room with the sergeant in tow. “All set?” The captain reached for her empty plate.
“Yeah.” Vera snatched a napkin and wiped the corners of her mouth. A swig of soda washed it all down.
“You’re going with Ace.” He jerked a thumb toward the giant subordinate. “Goodbye, Miss Pembroke.”
A frown escaped. She’d have to endure ten more minutes with Sergeant Mean Eye. “Bye, Captain. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”
“Remember, Ace,” the captain said, “you have your orders.”
“Yes, sir.” He all but saluted and led Vera out the room and down an unfamiliar hall.
She stilled, her brow wrinkling. “This isn’t how I came in.”
“No, we’re taking my car.” A muscle ticked in his cheek. His annoyance evident.
The feeling was mutual.
They descended a flight of steps with a steel door at its base. The sergeant unlocked the deadbolt and gestured for Vera to pass through first. She tightened her grip on her bag and stepped out, her elbow skimming his arm in the process.
“Which jalopy is yours?” Her heels clipped against the Belgian block lot, and a steady breeze lifted her collar against her neck.
He pointed straight ahead. “The one parked closest to us.”
“Keen ride.” It wasn’t as if his pale-yellow convertible was beyond anything she’d seen. Goodness, Carson’s car had to be at least double the cost of Sergeant Stiff’s Lincoln. But the Rolls Royce, with its sharp contoured body and dark interior, held the same persona as its owner—intimidating, cold. Which was why she internally dubbed it The Steel Phantom. The sergeant’s, however, had the feel of an afternoon drive on a sunny day. “Can we put the top down?”
“No.”
Rinky-dink. “What’s the point of having a breezer if you’re gonna keep her locked up?”
He grunted as he opened the door.
She lifted her foot to climb in but was stopped by a large hand on her right shoulder.
“Wait.” The sergeant leaned inside and pulled out a towel from under the seat. He spread it across the plush bench.
“Sarge, if you think I’m going to soil up your precious Lincoln, then why not take the cop car? No, better yet, strap me to the roof.” She patted the canvas top of his car, and his jaw tensed.
“Get in, Miss Pembroke.”
Vera stuck her tongue out at him. Childish, maybe, but so deserved. Home couldn’t come soon enough.
The sergeant shut her door, weeded out a leaf embedded in the radiator’s grill, and with a determined expression, he strode to the driver’s side. Normal-sized people would’ve had plenty of room in the car’s cabin, but when he settled behind the wheel, his stature instantly shrunk the space in half, making her wish she’d volunteered for the backseat. She pinched her arms to her sides, trying to ignore his hulking presence less than a foot away and the pleasant woodsy scent coating the air.
“Pardon me.” He reached across, his hand dangerously close to her knees, and adjusted something under the dash. The fuel line, maybe? He straightened and fussed with the levers on either side of the steering wheel before pushing the starter.
Ah, the hum of an engine. The sweet sound that told her that she was leaving this establishment. So long, suspicious flatfoots, daunting interrogation rooms, and sweaty palms. The glimmer of diamonds on her bracelet promised a new life. Yeah, she was on her way. She glanced out and clutched the fabric of her skirt. No, no, no. Wrong way! “Sergeant, you need to take a right.” She tapped the window.
“Please don’t do that. The glass is sensitive.”
What? “We’re going the wrong way.”
Nothing. Not even a glance. Okay, he needed to get his hearing checked or maybe acquire a new brain. She snapped her fingers in his ears. “Sergeant, are you listening? Turn around!” Her voice squeaked. “You were supposed to take a right back there!”
“I know where I’m going, Miss Pembroke.”
Vera dug her fingernails into the armrest. Yeah, she knew where they were going too.
The county jail.
CHAPTER 7
Vera’s breath stopped in her throat, suffocating her composure. “You’re goin’ to throw me in the jug!”
“No, I’m not.” He braked for a traffic sign. “Please keep your feet on the floor mat.”
“Oh yeah, you are. You’re picking on me for not coming forward.”
He shot a look as transparent as a mud puddle. “You’re not going to jail.”
“If you aren’t takin’ me there, then where are we going?” Every block they passed inflicted slow torture, like pulling out her hair one strand at a time.
“Just following orders, Miss Pembroke. Following orders.” His brows lowered, and his steely stare never left the road.
What kind of orders? And from who? Dread snaked through her. Expensive clothes last night, nice car today. He was a sell-out. And she was a key witness. “If you even try to get rid of me by—”
“Turns out, you had a friend.”
No doubt, a friend who told him taking her life would be worth the compensation. “What are you talkin’ about?” She inched toward the door and eyed the handle. Everything within her balked at the thought of jumping from a moving vehicle, but she’d risk bruises
and scrapes to keep air in her chest.
“Jerry Gredinger.”
She stilled. “Don’t know him.”
He gave a quick sidelong glance. “His name has been broadcasted all over the radio news hour. He’s a cabdriver.”
“Oh.” She slid her eyes closed with a wince. “I forgot.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you talked to a cabdriver on your way back to the club?” He’d gotten on her for tapping the window frame, and he was strangling the steering wheel. “You put yourself in more danger.”
So maybe the sergeant wasn’t a bribe-taking weasel, but he definitely was a grating badger. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I forgot.”
He grunted, a scathing noise she’d begun to loathe.
“The chump tried to pick me up.”
He scowled. “Did you take the ride?”
“No.” She blew out a noisy breath and slouched against the seatback. “There were strings attached.” So because of a slimy cabby’s nosiness, she was getting kidnapped by the Allegheny Police Department? Her mind swirled, keeping her from snatching a logical thought.
“The plan was to shield your identity as long as possible. Now, all of Pittsburgh knows you were at the Kelly Club around the time of the murder.”
Over the past hours, the idea of Carson being aware—and after her—danced around the edges of her sanity, but now it was a fact. He knew. She pushed her palm into her stomach, a feeble effort to control the swelling queasiness. Yesterday at this time, she’d been slipping into her gown for her nightly show, a loose hairpin her only concern. How could this—
“Your apartment was ransacked.”
Her gaze swung to his grimacing profile. “What?”
“Your apartment. There was forced entry. It wasn’t even forty-five minutes after the news came out with the cabdriver that the janitor of your complex called with the complaint.” He inclined his head to the backseat. “There’s what’s left of your belongings.”
Don’t look. Don’t look. But her stare pulled in that direction. Her shoulder blades locked together. “Two bags? That’s it?”
“Sofa cushions were ripped. Mattresses slashed.” He spared her a look, a trace of sympathy in his eyes. “The reporting officer said the place was demolished. Someone was on a search.”
“Search for what?” That egg sandwich played trombone, sliding up and down the back of her esophagus.
“Miss Pembroke, you have to think.” He slid a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her.
She pushed his hand away. “I’m not crying.” As if calling her a fibber, a tear squeezed from her eye. How did the sergeant know? Was he more observant than she’d thought? Turning toward her window, she forced back another tear, but it rebelled, trailing like fire down her heated skin. She had no control over her emotions. No control over her life. “Think about what?”
“The conversation between Cavenhalt and the killer.”
No. She didn’t want to think on that subject. And why did he say the killer and not Carson? He didn’t believe her. No one did.
The sergeant rubbed his palm across the back of his neck, keeping the other hand steady on the wheel. “So you heard voices but couldn’t identify what they were saying? Is that right?”
And now she was four notches beyond fatigue. Her throat burned and her muscles ached from being tense all day. Her hand gravitated toward her neck and grasped the golden chain. Oh no. “The dresser,” she whispered. How could she let this happen? Exhaustion gave way to urgency.
“Pardon?”
“The dresser!” Her fingers slid from her collarbone to her flushed cheek. “Was it overturned?”
“Not sure. I didn’t—”
“I need to know!” Hysterics scratched her nerves with a jagged fingernail. “I have to go back. I need to check. I just have to!” She smacked her palm on the dashboard, earning another disapproving glare from the sergeant.
“You can’t go back. We can’t allow anyone to see you.” His tone was annoyingly calm. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“No.” All she understood was he kept her from getting what she needed. What kind of brute was this man? Her heart beat out a wild song in her chest. “You can’t do this. I’m not allowing—”
“They can trail you.”
“Who?”
“The people who destroyed your place. They’re most likely searching for you.” His gaze flicked from the road to the rearview mirror as if checking to see if they were being followed. “What is it you need?”
“None of your business.” She folded her arms and melted against the door. She was not about to let that one out. Not to him. Not to anybody.
“I can’t help you, then.”
A moment ago, her heart had thumped so hard she’d thought it was on the verge of detonation, now it felt as if it’d stopped cold. Could she be any more of a disappointment? I’m so sorry, Grandma.
“What was that, Miss Pembroke?”
Her fingers fluttered to her lips. Had she just said that aloud? “Never mind.” She forced her eyes shut, but all she could see was her grandma’s face. As if she needed guilt piled on top of everything else.
“Whoever tore up your place was definitely looking for something.”
“So they’re after me?” A stinging chill stole through her. Wasn’t Carson in jail? Who could possibly be after her now? Her mind traveled to the man who haunted her evening numbers—Stony Eyes. Had he found out where she lived? Was the ransack related to Carson and his crime or a direct assault from the creepy stalker?
“That’s why I’m to take you out of town.”
“You can’t hold me against my will.”
“No, I can’t. If you choose, I could turn this car back around and take you home.” His gaze sharpened on her before darting back to the road. “Although I wouldn’t recommend it. If it was Kelly, then it’s possible he has a lot of friends willing to do his dirty work.”
She shuddered. Carson had a lot of connections. He’d been a gambling man—more like tycoon—and that’d exposed him to a boatload of shady characters. But would he harm her? Yes, he’d struck her when she’d questioned him about the time he’d snuck the cigarette girl into his office. But murder her? Her toes curled in her pumps.
“You need to be constantly on your guard. Not everyone is who they seem.”
Something hinted in his raspy voice. What was he trying to say? Was he talking about himself?
“Why do you think the captain fetched your water? Gave you his dinner?”
“Because he’s a swell guy.”
“Because he couldn’t risk you getting drugged. Or poisoned.” He rubbed his brow and a knuckle hit his hat, knocking it crooked. “The badge means nothing anymore. Cash is king.”
A heaviness settled over her.
“The captain asked if you had any family or friends. What did you tell him?”
“No.” She shoveled all the confidence she could in that small word, but it still sounded pathetic.
“Then this is your safest bet.”
“Where are you takin’ me? The moon?”
His chin dipped. “Kerrville.”
“Never heard of it.”
If he adjusted his rearview mirror one more time, she was going to rip it off and hurl it at his square head. “That’s the idea.”
The onslaught of all this was hard to stomach. She’d dreamed of the day she would get to escape her surroundings but never imagined it’d be in this sorry fashion. The city limits sign came into view, then faded away.
Bye, Pittsburgh.
The tires crunched over the gravel terrain, and Mick slowed to a stop. Darkness overwhelmed the sky, trapping the moon behind ebony clouds.
Miss Pembroke stirred from slumber. A piece of him wanted her to remain asleep. Not only for the peaceful quiet he’d enjoyed the past hour, but for her sake. After the emotional exhaustion she’d experienced today, she needed rest.
“Where are we?” She yawned and extende
d her limbs, stretching. The poorly lit sign flickered, capturing her gaze. “Pigeon Loft Motel?” Her arms locked in midair. “No dice.” She seized her handbag, posing to swing. “My safest bet, huh? A run-down, sleazy motel. Let me tell—”
He pushed his back against the door, using his hands to block her swipe. “It’s not what you think. I need to make a phone call.”
“Too bad, Sarge, this dame goes for hipsters, not overgrown boy scouts.”
Another swing. This time his fingers caught hold of the strap. He pulled the bag from her clutch.
“Give that back!” She lunged toward him, and he grabbed her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides.
She stiffened under his touch, sucking in a quick breath. Had he hurt her? The thought of leaving a bruise on her tender skin twisted his stomach. He loosened his grip.
She tipped her chin, placing only inches between their faces, her heavy breathing pulsing against his neck. “Let me go.”
The darkness prevented him from reading her expressive eyes. “Are you going to attack me again?” If someone would happen upon them, they’d appear like a couple, cozying up, positioning for some good kissing. The situation poked him as strangely humorous.
“Are you laughing?” The disdain in her voice pinched his mouth shut. “Does the captain know of your intentions? How about your wife?”
He released her, and she skittered back to her side of the bench. “I’m not married. And don’t worry. There’s no fear of getting pawed.”
She snorted. “I’ve been around dogs long enough to know what kind of meat they like.”
“No, kiddo, you’ve been around wolves.” He reached under the seat and grabbed the flashlight. When he flicked it on, the car’s cabin lit enough to show the scowl cemented on her face.
“Better to be around a wolf than a liar.”
Her bristly response nicked his defenses. “Liar? How so?”
“You told me your name was Mick.” She folded her arms with a defiant tilt of the chin. “I heard the captain call you Ace.”
“That’s my nickname.”
“A poker player?”
He nodded, and her eyes shifted from scrutiny to surprise, a palpable contrast, capturing his stare longer than he’d like.
The Red Canary Page 6