by Diana Palmer
“He may be prissy, but he’s my friend,” she returned. “He’s been a better friend to me than you ever were!”
“Indeed?”
He sounded arrogant again, and jealous. That was a laugh. She sighed, studying him. “There’s no need to pretend that you have any feeling for me,” she told him. “I came back out of loyalty, nothing more. I could hardly desert you in your time of need. I had no idea, no idea whatsoever, that you would be accused of embezzling money from your own bank. What an absurd idea! I had to come home and help defend you. It is my duty as your wife.”
He felt the words as if they’d been a blow aimed at his heart. Now he had her real reason for coming back, and it stung. He’d hoped that she might have come back because she still loved him. “I see,” he said dully.
She must have convinced him. Good. She couldn’t bear him to know how deeply she loved him, when he was still pining for Diane. “Your parents very kindly gave me a place to stay—and made me welcome while I decided what I was going to do. You needn’t worry about me. I can make my own way in the world now.”
“With help from your friend Kenny?” he asked icily.
She searched his hard face. “Actually, yes…in a way,” she said. She lifted her chin. “My friend Kenny introduced me to a man from New York who has an interest in the evening gowns I design. I will have an income of my own. So my welfare really is no longer your concern,” she said amiably. “You can worry about Diane instead.”
He stared at her without comprehension. As if any mystery man from New York would buy dress designs from an unknown Georgia woman! And what evening gowns? He’d never seen her work on anything like that at her sewing machine, although he did know that she could sew. Most women could, even if ready-wear clothing made it largely unnecessary for women of Claire’s class. But he didn’t believe her elaborate lie. She was obviously making it up to save her pride and convince him to let her go. “Diane is married,” he reminded her.
“Probably not for much longer, if her husband is indeed the culprit who stole the money. Can you really see Diane following Mr. Calverson to the ends of the earth, guilty or not? She isn’t the sort to live on the run, regardless of the amount of money he’s embezzled. Her family name means too much to her.”
He was amazed that she knew that. He’d only just learned it the hard way.
“Eli accused me of embezzling the money—and Dawes of being my accomplice.”
“Mr. Dawes will certainly clear you—”
“Mr. Dawes has conveniently vanished.” He interrupted her gruffly. “He was out on bond and apparently left town. No one has any idea where he is, although Calverson has promised to produce him in time to testify against me.”
“You said the Pinkertons have been called in?”
“Indeed they have, at my insistence,” he said. “And one of their men who served in the war with me just happened to be in town for their convention. He’s the best investigator I know. He took Dawes to the police and was working to find evidence against Calverson when I was arrested. Last night he came to see me in jail.”
“He isn’t from Atlanta?”
“No, he’s from Chicago. He’ll work with the local detectives. His name is Matt Davis.” He smiled. “You’ll like him. He’s quite unusual.”
“Unusual how?”
“Wait and see.”
Mrs. Dobbs opened the front door when the carriage pulled up at the house and came out to meet them.
“I’m so glad that you’re both back,” she said warmly. “I know you’re innocent, Mr. Hawthorn, and I’ve told everyone so. Are you acquainted with a man named Davis?” she added worriedly. “Because he’s inside waiting for you.” She leaned forward. “He looks like that picture on the Indian-head nickel! I think he’s an Indian!”
“He is. He’s Sioux.”
“Sioux?” Claire exclaimed.
“Yes. Come and meet him.”
“He won’t…? That is, he—he doesn’t…?”
“Mrs. Dobbs, universal brotherhood…? Forgive and forget…” John prompted, teasing her. “We’re all friends now.”
She flushed. “Of course!” She gathered up her skirts. “I hope he knows we are.”
A tall, very dark man in an expensive suit waited for them in the hall.
“Good to see you out again, John,” he said.
John shook the extended hand. “Good to be out, Matt.”
He glanced at Claire with studied indifference, and she noticed that he had very long, straight black hair, tied in a neat ponytail. “The missing Mrs. Hawthorn, I presume.”
“Yes. How do you do, Mr. Davis?”
“Very well, thank you.” He studied her for a minute longer and decided that he need never tell John that he’d discovered her whereabouts. She was back. That was all that mattered. He turned to John. “I heard from the police that your father had arranged for you to be freed on bail. I came by to tell you that I’ve been checking our files, looking at Calverson’s background for anything that might help point a finger toward him. So far I’ve turned up only one thing that might give us an advantage, and I got that from a reporter who wrote the only story questioning Calverson’s accusations. It seems that Calverson was once under suspicion at a bank in Maryland for embezzling. The case was dropped for lack of evidence, although a young clerk was blamed for the theft and spent some time in jail before he was cleared of the charges. That was just before Calverson opened the Peachtree City Bank in Atlanta.”
John whistled. “Apparently he learned through the experience to have someone standing by to be blamed while he got off.”
“Some would say that he was falsely accused,” Matt replied. “But it sounds like a method of operation to me. And a very successful one. He could get away with it here unless we can catch him with the money somehow.”
“Do you have anyone watching his house?” Claire asked abruptly.
Davis’s eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”
“He can’t be planning to stay in town if he’s guilty, can he?” she continued. “He probably knows the case against you won’t stand up. Either he has the money with him or he’s stashed it somewhere. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he tried to sneak away in the middle of the night. Now that he’s got John on the line, he’s very likely to consider it safe to get away. After all, everyone knows that he’s been at his house. He’s entertained the press there twice.”
“He has relatives in Charleston who would hide him, help him get onto a ship and get clean away,” John added. “Claire’s got a point. I think he’ll run. His house should be watched.”
Matt grimaced. “I’d love to have a man watch it, but in a small community like this, all the neighbors know who belongs and who doesn’t. A stranger would stick out like a sore thumb. He’d be spotted immediately, no matter how careful he was. And while I can have a man watch the depot, I can’t keep him there indefinitely.”
“Leave that to me,” Claire said, with a slow smile. “I think I know a way to keep Mr. Calverson’s home under close scrutiny, and he’ll never know.”
“What do you mean to do?” John asked her.
“Wait and see,” she told him.
14
CLAIRE CALLED ON EVERY SOCIETY MATRON SHE knew and enlisted their aid. Fortunately it was one of the days set aside by Evelyn and her circle for being “at home” for visiting. Claire went first to Evelyn Paine’s home.
Evelyn, fortunately alone, was tickled just at the thought of being a spy. “It’s so exciting, Claire!” she exclaimed. “Imagine me, helping the Pinkertons!”
“Yes, but you mustn’t let on to a soul!” Claire insisted.
“As if I would.” Evelyn scoffed. “Do you know where he is, and where he’s got the money?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Claire replied miserably. “But if it’s a lot of money, and John said it’s thousands of dollars, wouldn’t it be bulky and hard to hide?”
“He might have it in a trunk,” Evelyn su
ggested.
“That would be very easy to search.”
“Surely,” she said. “But what if his wife’s clothes were in it?”
Claire was taken aback. John had said that Diane pretended to know nothing of Calverson’s plans, but was that true? Or was Diane only helping the man hide his ill-gotten gains? She might not go into hiding with him, but she might be willing to help him get away for a percentage of his profits. Had John considered that?
“What if they were?” Claire thought aloud. “And while everyone’s watching Mr. Calverson to see if he runs, it’s Diane who has the money!”
“Claire, what a devious thought.” Evelyn chuckled. “And a very good proposition, too. Now how do we get into Diane’s trunks?”
“We may need a little help there,” Claire said thoughtfully, and cringed as she realized who the very best person for the job would be. After all, who would Diane trust more than John?
The thing she didn’t know was whether or not John would be willing to do something so underhanded to the love of his life. It made her sad to realize that if Diane indeed did have the money hidden away in those trunks, it would destroy John’s opinion of her. But the alternative was to do nothing and let the Calversons get away with grand theft—while letting John go to prison. It was a thought that gave Claire goose bumps. Somehow, she had to make John see reason.
But it was harder than ever to talk to him when they were back at the apartment together. She dressed for dinner, and then worried about what to say. And there were things she couldn’t bring herself to tell him just yet She touched the belt at her waist, which she’d had to let out two notches. It was only a suspicion, but it seemed a logical one, that she was going to have John’s child. How would he react to that? Were his feelings for Diane so strong that it wouldn’t matter, or would guilt cause him to give up Diane because of the impending child? She had no idea. She wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to the worrisome question.
He came out of his own room, immaculate and solemn. His gaze slid over Claire, noting how radiant she looked even though she wasn’t smiling. He’d missed her more than he’d dreamed he could.
“Thank you,” he said tersely.
“For what?”
“For making it possible for me to speak to my parents, among other things. I had thought never to see my father again in this life.”
“Habit sometimes keeps us on paths we deplore,” she said philosophically. “Your parents are wonderful people. They made me feel right at home. So did Emily and Jason.”
He moved forward and took her hands gently into his big, warm ones. “I was worried to death about you,” he confessed. “I lay awake nights, wondering if you were safe.” He chuckled softly. “And you were with my people all the time. I had no idea that you even knew where my parents lived.”
“You had told me they were in Savannah,” she reminded him. “But they are acquaintances of Evelyn Paine’s, and she introduced us.”
“I see.” He shook his head. “You are a surprising woman.”
She searched his face, seeing new lines there. “I’m sorry to have left at such a bad time for you. I never dreamed that you would be accused of any shortfall at the bank,” she said gently. “You are the most honest man I have ever known.”
He smiled. “And you are the most honest woman I have ever known,” he said, returning the compliment.
“As for the charges, we shall certainly prove them false.”
“As I heard you telling the mob outside.” He shook his head, his eyes full of delight. “I was so proud of you. And not only then. I was proud of you for driving Chester through the flames to save me. Oh, Claire. The risk you took! I would never have permitted it if I had seen you in time.”
His concern made her heart race. He was acting very different since her return, as if he liked her more than ever. But she was afraid to hope. She hadn’t forgotten his coldness to her at their wedding, or his indifference for the first few weeks they were together. Perhaps most of all, she hadn’t forgotten that kiss she’d witnessed in the kitchen of this very house.
She pulled her hands away slowly. “Has Diane been to see you in jail? I don’t suppose she could, with her husband accusing you in all the newspapers.”
He seemed saddened by her mention of the other woman. He made an odd movement with his shoulders. “Diane would hardly want to be seen with me at such a time,” he said, and knew that it was the truth. Had Diane been free, she still would not have come near him. Certainly she wouldn’t have defended him so bravely as Claire had against a potential lynch mob. “We have to look forward, you know,” he continued gently. “Diane is the past, Claire. You are the future.”
She wanted—oh, so badly—to believe him. But past events had made her wary. Her gray eyes lifted to his. “This is not the time to speak of the future, John,” she said solemnly. “So much depends on proving Mr. Calverson guilty.”
He let go of her hands. “Indeed.”
“His wife will surely know of his plans,” she said, without looking at him. “How sad that we don’t have her confidence.”
He studied her for a moment—and it occurred to him that she was asking for his help, without actually putting it into words. She didn’t trust him. Perhaps he could change her mind, show her that Diane no longer mattered. He moved away, considering possibilities.
TWO DAYS PASSED, DURING which John spent his time at the bank calming investors and reassuring coworkers; he and Claire passed their evenings at the hotel with his parents. The bank’s customers seemed reassured by his continued presence there. Each morning, Eli Calverson sent his wife to open the bank’s doors for him, making it obvious that he still didn’t trust his vice president with the key. He was seen at his home, but he didn’t approach the bank. Diane was flirtatious toward John—and she made suggestive remarks that he simply ignored, puzzling her.
The Pinkerton man, Matt Davis, had compared the entries in the bank’s ledgers with both Calverson’s signature and a sample of John’s handwriting. He and the other Pinkerton man assigned to the case had no difficulty pointing out that Calverson had made the entries, and proving it to the police. Thank God, he told John, for scientific method and its application to law enforcement.
“And thank God you were in town when I needed you.” John chuckled. “Chicago would be much too far away for you to work on a case like this.” John stuck his hands in his pockets and paced his office. “Well, we can prove that Calverson forged the entries, but the money is still missing. Unless we can produce it, and tie it to Eli, and find Dawes to testify…well, I’m in a bad situation.”
“Your wife’s friends are busy watching the Calverson home. I’ve got men on the train depot. The only other way out of town is in a carriage or buggy, and I’ve got people watching at stables for those, too—in case he tries to get to another town to board a train bound for Charleston.”
“He’ll have to try it eventually,” John said. “Accusing me is obviously a stopgap measure until he can get away. But what if he lets Diane take the money away for him? What if she goes out of town with trunks supposedly full of clothing?”
“There are ways to find out what’s in the trunks,” Matt murmured dryly.
“I suppose so. But it might be easier if I went to see her myself.”
“Would she be likely to let you in the door, if she’s involved in this?”
“We’ve no way of knowing until we try,” John reminded him. “She doesn’t know that I suspect her.”
“All right. But be careful,” Matt cautioned. “Desperate men do desperate things.”
“You’d know.” John chuckled.
Matt didn’t smile. His eyes were full of the past few years. His father had died at Little Bighorn. His mother had died at the Wounded Knee massacre, along with his young sisters. Matt himself had been badly wounded. The kindness of a white reservation doctor and his daughter’s skilled nursing had spared Matt from life as a cripple. The doctor, afterward, had helped him
to Chicago, to find work at the Pinkerton detective agency through a boyhood friend. The past few years had been fruitful ones for the tall detective.
He lived in Chicago, and his appearance continued to raise eyebrows and comments about his ancestry, but no one dared tease him about it. He had a temper as formidable as his mind was keen. John was proud to call him friend. Matt, like John, had been a loner. His only other friend had been an attorney from New York, a mysterious man named Dunn with blue eyes that intimidated even hardened veterans. Those had been good days, John thought. But he had the hope of an even better life with Claire, if only he could tie the broken threads of his life together.
JOHN CALLED ON DIANE that very afternoon. She seemed taken aback to see him. First she was welcoming, and then all at once, she seemed afraid.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said urgently, glancing around behind her. “John, this is not a good time for a social call.”
Despite her maneuvers, John glimpsed two trunks through the front door. Both were tagged and waiting at the foot of the staircase, with a valise. He pretended not to notice.
“I thought you wanted to see me,” he said softly.
She bit her lower lip. “I did. I do.” She looked up with a worried frown. “John, it’s all so upsetting. I don’t know what to do. There’s so little that I can do now.” She put a hand on his chest. “Forgive me,” she said huskily, glancing over her shoulder. “I must go.”
“Shall I call again this evening?” he asked in a hushed tone, his eyes full of calculation that she was too upset to see.
Her whole face contorted. She seemed unusually pale. “No! I mean, no, John. Perhaps tomorrow evening. Yes. That would be very nice indeed. I’ll have my sister come to play chaperon.” She lowered her voice and attempted to look coquettish. “Will that do, my dear?”
“That certainly will do,” he said, with forced tenderness. He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry for all the trouble you’ve had,” he said, lying. “Until later, Diane.”
