The Red Canary

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  The creak of the steps gave her five seconds to hop into bed.

  “How you feeling?” He filled the doorway, his presence numbing her senses. “Are you okay? Your face is red.” The ten feet that separated them disappeared as Mick strode to her bedside. His large palm covered her forehead, his touch steady but gentle. Physical contact with the man made her stomach do strange things. “You running a fever?”

  Oh, please, don’t take my pulse. She’d be found out for sure. “Oh … um.” His enormous hand shielded most of her eyes, leaving only slits of vision. “I’m heated.” She pointed to the window. “I closed the window last night, thinkin’ it was going to rain.”

  “I’ll open it.” He dropped his hand and lifted the pane, then stuck the metal screen in. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” With his brows pinched, he stared at her beneath long, thick lashes, making her fidgety. “You sure you don’t have a fever? Your face is very—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Just got warm.” Because you were faster than a crazed race horse.

  “I’ll check on you later.” A scowl fixed on his face.

  Was he mad at her? Did he know she was faking? He couldn’t possibly suspect her of having been in his room. Had he learned something about the case at Lacey’s? “Mick, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” His fist tightened at his side. “I’ll bring you a sandwich when I come back in.” He walked out, his footfalls thundering down the stairs.

  What about the captain? The case? Carson? She threw the pillow on the floor. Ugh. She should’ve never devised this fakery scheme. She was pinned to her bed, being held captive by her own ploy.

  Mick knew something. She needed answers.

  CHAPTER 13

  The weeds invading the firepit bore the brunt of his wrath. Mick stabbed the soil with the blunt shovel and twisted, loosening the cantankerous roots. His shirt clung to his damp skin, choking his movements. With Vera being isolated in her room, he yanked off the bothersome shirt and threw it.

  Smack. He struck the earth again. The captain’s words sifted through him. What had he gotten himself into? He tossed the dirt behind him.

  A woman shrieked. He turned to find Vera, brushing soil off her blouse. He ground his teeth. “What are you doing out here?”

  “A fine apology.” She picked a clump of grime from the crevice of her collar, then lifted her gaze, stopping when it hit his bare chest. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut.

  Speechless? Ah, the redheaded jabber jaw had no words. He pressed his fist against his lips, hiding a smile. A moment of silence. Was this what it felt like? He should go without a shirt more often. “What about your ankle?”

  The evenness of her stance revealed her secret. What an actress! She’d played him for the fool that he was. But why deceive him? Why fake an injury? He tightened his grip on the shovel’s weathered handle, the splintery wood jabbing at his calluses. Was she deceiving him on the case?

  “You chatted with the captain, and I want to know about it.”

  “No.” Definitely not now. His trust in her was as fragile as the pile of leftover ash from lasts night’s fire. Any wind would carry it away.

  “I wanna hear about the case.”

  A growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re stubborn.”

  “Yeah. And I’m going to hound you until ya tell me.” With arms crossed, she tapped her elbows, fast at first, then slowing. “What do ya say to a competition?” A spark shone in her eyes.

  In a million days, he’d never be able to predict what would come out of her mouth. A half smirk adorned her face, baiting him. “What kind of competition?” A confusing mixture of curiosity and amusement surged through him. She couldn’t know his boyhood reputation for never turning down a challenge, but the playful glint in her eyes lured him more than any double-dog dare ever thrown at him.

  “Do you still have the canned bean container?”

  “I think so.” He palmed the back of his neck. Where was this leading?

  “Targets.” She stooped and picked up a rock from the dirt he’d just dug up. “Put the can on that fence post. First to knock it down, wins.” A smile played on her lips, but it was the light dancing in her eyes that sparked every one of his nerves to life.

  “Vera, I don’t think you want to hear it—”

  “Scared?” She arched a perfect brow.

  He laughed. “Not at all.” Lightness replaced the anger that had stirred in his chest. Yes, she’d tricked him with the ankle, but to be fair, he wasn’t innocent in the courtroom of honesty either. Saying he’d never courted a woman? That would set the polygraph to dancing.

  “Uh-huh.” She lightly tossed the rock in her palm. “You’re afraid to be beaten by a puny woman.”

  Puny wouldn’t be his choice of words. Attractive. Leggy. And several more adjectives that his mother would box his ears for. “I’d hate to see a woman lose.”

  “Okay, Micky boy, choose your weapon.” She pointed at a small heap of stones on the ground. “So if I win, you tell me what happened with the captain. Deal?”

  “What do I get when I win?” At his question, the smile slid from her face, and regret pulsed through him. She’d misinterpreted his meaning. He would never take advantage of her. Never. Wouldn’t dream of using this sorry contest as a way to push his advances. But she didn’t know that. “Listen. Let’s forget about this. I’ll tell you.”

  “Good.” She lobbed the stone. “I was hopin’ you’d say that. I flunked phys-ed.”

  Another pretense? “Looks like I’m the chump today.”

  “Don’t take it too hard, Micky.” She showcased an expression of mock sympathy.

  Her intrigue baffled his senses. One minute she’d be crushed by life’s pressure, and the next she tossed the world in her palm like that little stone. She lowered onto the log stump stool he’d set by the firepit and stared at him until he took a seat on the grass.

  “It’s about Kelly.” What did she see in that man? Sure, he had money, but a guy like that didn’t settle down. “Vera, I know it’s tough. Finding out the man you love was—”

  “Who said I loved him?” Her forehead creased with small waves like the ripples from the stream. “I never did.”

  Okay, now what? “I guess I misunderstood.”

  “I was keen on him, but nothing serious.” She ran her fingers back and forth over the side of the stool, dried flakes of bark floating to the grass. “We never had the whole love thing. Besides, he never wrote me a song.”

  “A song?”

  “Sure.” The corners of her mouth hitched up. “I’ll know it’s love when I hear the perfect song. Words are better when set to music.”

  Heaven help him. This woman lived on another planet, one that spun on an axis of fantasy. She had no grasp of reality. Selecting your soul mate based on a song? He grabbed his shirt off the grass and pulled it over his head, the extra moment of silence necessary so he didn’t say something rude. But really, was there any logic in this woman?

  “Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?” Two auburn eyebrows pinched to a V. “I’m no loony. You ain’t a musician, so you can’t relate.”

  So now her unreasonableness was his fault?

  “I can sing about love being lost or survivin’ a lover’s jilt. ’Cause I feel songs like those. Feel it.” Her hand fisted over her heart, rumpling her blouse. “So far, I haven’t found one that moved me. They’re all filled with the sappy unending-love stuff.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible?”

  “I ain’t sure.” She stared at her crossed ankles, her left foot swinging to a silent rhythm. “If a gent comes along and shows me a love song I can feel, then I’ll consider it.”

  Love wasn’t based on feelings. Feelings came and went. Real love was a choice. Mick’s gut churned. Look at him, contemplating the perfect relationship advice when he hadn’t followed through with any of it himself. Would Phyllis have changed her ways if he’d exposed her betrayal to her fa
ce? He’d never know.

  Vera leaned forward on the stool, setting both her bent elbows on her knees, cradling her chin in her palms. “Now about the captain. What’s the story?”

  He took a deep breath. “Vera, it’s like this. Kelly’s attorney—”

  “His partner in crime.”

  “He’s been digging up information about you.”

  “Me?” A shadow flickered across her face, and her hand pressed against her chest. “I’m not on trial.”

  “He’s trying to do his best to discredit you.” The soft wind pushed red wisps of hair onto her cheek, and Mick restrained from smoothing them away, folding his hands in his lap.

  “How?”

  “By making you look like a vengeful ex-girlfriend.”

  “W-what?” Her features froze, lips taut and eyes round. “I-I don’t … I mean … what do I have to be vengeful of?”

  “He claims that Kelly tried to end it with you, and you turned spiteful.” Mick shifted. Vera’s expressions went from hurt to anger and back to hurt again. If she didn’t love him, then why the pinched mouth and darting gazes beneath a shroud of lashes? “That you conjured up this story so Kelly would go to prison.”

  “I didn’t. That was what happened.” She pushed a finger to her lip and breathed hard. “A little excessive, don’t ya think? If he did end it with me, as he said, then why would I … I mean, blamin’ someone for murder because of gettin’ the brush? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Mick placed his hand on her arm. She stiffened at his touch. At least she didn’t swat him away. “This is about the gift shop. Did you rob it?”

  “What?” She pulled her arm into her chest, wrapping her other hand around it.

  “The captain told me about Redding.” Her eyes widened at the last word, but he continued. “You got caught stealing. Maybe we should talk about that before anything else.”

  Her cheeks reddened further with each of her stifled breaths. “I …. that is …. no one was supposed to know about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t press charges. They said it wouldn’t go on my record. Those chumps, how’d they find out? How did …” Her tone fizzled out like yesterday’s fire.

  “Don’t know. His men are good at what they do.”

  “It’s not fair.” Her lower lip pouted, stirring something in his core he wished would remain solidified.

  “They don’t play fair.” He shoved propriety aside and pushed the curl behind her ear. It was soft, like touching strings of silk. “Their job is to make Carson Kelly look like a model citizen and Vera Pembroke like a thieving gold-digger.” He couldn’t sugarcoat it. She’d find out sooner or later. But a punch in the gut would have been more comfortable than viewing the hurt in her eyes.

  Without a word, she crept off the stool and walked away.

  He went after her. “Let’s talk. We can figure this out together.”

  “Listen, buddy.” She faced him and shoved a finger so close to his face, he could kiss it. “I have to visit the outdoor powder room. Is that okay with you, or do I need approval first?”

  And that was how she managed hurt, huh? By consuming it in anger. Fine. Mick raised his hands and took a step back. For now.

  The motor sound was as faint as a fly’s buzzing, but it launched Mick to his feet from the couch. He dashed to the window, heart racing with each step.

  The late afternoon sun bounced off a black Chrysler invading their territory, driving down the private lane.

  “Vera, keep inside!” He yelled up the stairs and bounded out the back door. He withdrew his gun, the overpowering sun slicing his vision in half. He crept along the side of the house, making sure he left not even a shadow.

  The motor’s hum grew louder, and Mick pulled in a breath. Who was driving? Carson? One of his henchmen? He crouched low, the sound grinding in his ear like a jackhammer. He couldn’t fail this. She needed him. Whether she’d admit it or not. Her life hinged upon his ability to protect her. Every muscle tensed.

  Would Vera obey him? Keep indoors?

  A sickening sensation soured his gut. If she strode out the front door, she could be shot on the spot.

  Silence deafened the air.

  A car door slammed shut. Mick flattened to his stomach and crawled to the narrow area behind the holly bush. With his pulse pounding in his ears, he inched to the right, gun extended, eyes narrowed.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” a feeble voice called.

  What on earth? It sounded like an old man, but Mick wasn’t a rookie cop. Never drop your guard. Never jump to conclusions until guesses were proven facts.

  He stretched his neck to get a quick glimpse. His eyes slid closed as he lowered his gun. A guy older than the captain, supporting himself with a cane, hobbled closer to the house.

  Mick put away the weapon and stood, keeping a hand on the holster just in case. “Can I help you?”

  The man almost fell backward. Probably not expecting a full-grown man to pop up from behind a bush.

  A slow smile spread on the gentleman’s face. “I’m Pastor Peterson. I was wondering if this is Frances Chambers’ residence.”

  Ah, Mrs. Chambers’ pastor. She’d told him the board had voted on a replacement. The last minister had left for a bigger town with a higher salary.

  Despite his grass-stained, dirt-ridden trousers, Mick walked over. “Nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.

  The older man had a surprisingly strong grip.

  “You passed it.” Mick pointed the direction from which the man had come. “Just turn around and keep your eyes peeled for a lane on your right. It will practically bring you to her doorstep.”

  The pastor nodded. “Thank you, young man.” He gave a weathered smile and returned to his car.

  Mick rolled his shoulders.

  Vera was safe.

  His heart rate had returned to normal by the time he entered the house. He expected to be ambushed by an inquisitive Vera, but all was quiet. Too quiet. He rushed up the stairs and down the hall to her room. With the door ajar only two inches, he could see in.

  Hands pillowed under her head, Vera had closed her eyes in a peaceful slumber, completely oblivious to the situation that had just rattled his composure. He shouldn’t stare. Shouldn’t be captivated by the strands of hair that had fallen across her porcelain cheek. Or the soft pink of her lips, colored the same as cotton candy. Would they taste just as sweet?

  He scolded himself for the thought. Besides, when she awoke, she’d more than likely still be fuming.

  She’d worn pride as thickly as her makeup, covering her flaws, concealing her shortcomings. Didn’t she know to be flawed was to be beautiful? That no matter how layered, how far beneath the surface was scarred, mercy ran deeper. To be healed by His wounds and to be freed by His surrender, now that was a beauty no cosmetic could duplicate.

  He winced at his own revelation. If her flaws were covered by grace, weren’t his? The prickly fingers of guilt squeezed his heart. His situation was different. More severe. Her spiritual hands may be a bit soiled, but his were smeared with blood.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Kotex.”

  Mick fumbled the scrub brush in his hand. “What?”

  Surely, he’d heard of them, because, my goodness, she needed them. The cramps that woke Vera this morning hadn’t subsided. Now that it was early afternoon, she needed to act fast before the store closed. “Kotex. Ya know, feminine napkins.”

  The straight line of his shoulders stiffened. “What about them?”

  Did she need to spell it out? Yes, she was interrupting his private time with his prized car, but the man could scrub his whitewall tires later. “I need some. I had a couple, but I’m all out now.” Fabulous thing that the sanitary belt got packed into the bag, or she’d be needing one of them too. “And would ya hurry up with it? This kind of thing doesn’t wait for a dame’s approval.” She talked to his broad back.

  “No, I can’t.”
/>   “Too busy?” Nothing like a little sarcasm before lunch. She shifted her weight from heel to heel. Wasn’t he going to look at her?

  Maybe he was angry with her. Sweet victory was in sight. She was getting closer to the target. His Christian faith was like a dartboard. If she’d keep launching, she’d hit a bulls-eye. “You know those tires are whitewalls?”

  “I know.” He scrubbed harder.

  “That’s a dirt road we’ve been cruisin’ on, genius. The tires are gonna soil the moment the treads hit it.”

  “I know that too.” Testy, testy. And still not looking. With both his knees planted in the low grass, he cleaned away as though she didn’t exist. He might consider looking if she picked up that bucket and gave him a bubble bath.

  “Why clean it, then?”

  “Because.”

  “You tryin’ to stay away from me? You said two words at breakfast.” Morning, Vera. “You practically drank your toast. Then out the door to do yardwork for hours. And now you’re scrubbing your precious tires that’ll get dirty again when the wind blows.” She shoved her nose in the air and popped her hip to the right. “That’s all right, Micky boy, stay away, ’cause I am havin’ the time of my life sitting on that musty couch. So far, four birds passed the window, and I killed an ant. Mm-hmm. Things that make the locals jealous.”

  “Anything else?”

  She never knew a man’s voice could cause her blood to boil. “Yeah. The Kotex.”

  He shook his head so slightly. Was that a no?

  She swatted a bug away from her face. “Okay, haul me to the store and I’ll get ’em.”

  Not only did she have to deal with cramps that made her feel as though her insides were juggling hacksaws, now Mick can’t-leave-my-Lincoln Dinelo wouldn’t get her what she needed.

  He turned slightly. His jawline set harder than the steel of his breezer. “Can’t take you either.”

  “Listen, Mick, either have it out with me about whatever it is you’re stewin’ over or get along with ya before the store closes.” She took a few steps to the left to view more of his face. His fixed scowl tempted her to take the scrub brush and scour it off. “If you’re embarrassed, sonny, these setups have a discreet box. It’s right there on the counter. Just slip the nickel in, grab the napkins, and cruise on out. That’s it.” She snapped her fingers. “Set up for cowards like you.”