Midnight Harvest

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Which brings me to another matter: Ponce and, by extension, I have been declared enemies of the state, and convicted in absentia of treason. Our bank accounts have been seized, and the money confiscated by Spain. Luckily, this does not compromise me, thanks to your cleverness in moving my funds out of the country shortly before I left Ponce, on the other hand, is not so fortunate as I, and he has lost more than half his fortune. What this will mean to him in his present dealings, I cannot guess, nor do I want to. But I know that unless I am legally compelled to do so, I will not part with one shilling to relieve him of any impecuniousness he may experience. I am not a vindictive woman, but he left me to fend for myself when he went to the Argentine, and now I will see that the same is done to him.

  I know you will understand my decision in this regard, and whether you agree or not, you will not hold it against me that I will not extend myself on my husband’s behalf. It is hard enough to be left as alone as a widow but with none of the possibilities a widow can have. To support the man who deserts me is intolerable, and I will do all in my power to insure this does not happen. Fortunately, Mr. Sunbury has promised one of his colleagues will be my advocate if it comes to that; he is confident that the greatest part of my money can be preserved with a modicum of forethought. I am grateful to be in his hands.

  Shortly before he was so badly injured, Mr. Sunbury purchased for me a pair of lurchers, litter-mates, males, very well-trained and sweet-tempered. I am thrilled to have these dogs as companions, not simply because they assuage my loneliness, but because they are so protective and willing to serve as watchdogs as well as pets. The guards tell me that they are excellent creatures, inclining to patrol and to give the alarm at any questionable sound or presence. They are affectionate with me, and, once familiar with my friends, gentle as lambs with them, although they can be fierce with strangers. Considering all that has happened, I can only thank Mr. Sunbury for his concern. Contemplating what has happened to him, I find great comfort in having these dogs to keep me safe.

  I hope you do not encounter this man who is searching for you. He is a most sinister and ruthless person, one who will do anything to achieve his ends. If you have any question about your safety, then let me urge you to go where you will be safe. Do not hesitate to take any measures you deem necessary in order to preserve yourself from him, for it is Mr. Sunbury’s conviction that this man means to kill you, and, given how seriously Mr. Sunbury was injured, I have no doubt that he is more than capable of completing his mission.

  This comes to you with my deep distress. Do not answer me directly, for it may be that I am under surveillance, and that any communication from you may lead this assassin or his accomplices to you. After all you have done to save me, it would be inexcusable of me to do anything that might bring you into danger. I will hope that you can receive mail from me through Mr. King, and to that end, I will write to you again by the end of the year, unless I have reason to believe that such correspondence is hazardous.

  I hope in many ways that this finds you well and safe, and that you never have to encounter the man who tortured Mr. Sunbury.

  With all my devotion,

  Isis

  chapter eight

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” said Dorothy McAllister as she came into the restaurant, an elegant, Viennese-style establishment with velvet-upholstered furniture, flocked wallpaper, and crystal chandeliers. It was not far from the offices of Horner Bishop Beatie Wentworth & Culpepper, walking distance from the Commodities Exchange; smiling apologetically, Miss McAllister left her raincoat and hat at the hatcheck booth and joined her companion for the evening at a table in an alcove booth far from the front door.” There were three letters I had to type over. I promised Mr. Bishop I’d finish them before I left.”

  “You didn’t make any mistakes, surely? I can’t believe you’d be careless,” Cenere said solicitously as he rose to greet her. He favored her with a smooth smile and a courteous squeeze of her hand, but nothing more forward—that was for later, when he had her where he wanted her. “What did he require of you, your Mr. Bishop?”

  “Oh, nothing to speak of. Nothing unusual: Mr. Bishop wanted to add explanations to the letters, and that meant typing them over.” She was flushed and a bit breathless, but only a little because of the furious weather that slammed sleet along Chicago’s streets and snarled traffic from one end of the city to another.

  “Isn’t that the way with lawyers, always lost in details,” he said, shaking his head as he waited for her to slide into the booth before he sat down again, the very model of European good manners. He studied her face. “You’re looking very fine tonight, Dorothy.”

  “Am I?” She put her hand to her throat, to her string of fairly good pearls that was her one bequest from her mother.

  “You are,” said Cenere in a manner that suggested warmth.

  “It must be the company—I can’t think of any other reason,” she said archly, daring to look directly at him.

  “You’re being kind to me,” he said with a slight smile, which revealed small, shiny teeth.

  “Hardly,” she said in a burst of candor. “Kindness has been in short supply these last few years.”

  He studied her face. “Has it been a difficult time for you? The Depression must make attending to the law especially taxing.”

  “No more so than Prohibition did, particularly here in Chicago,” said Dorothy McAllister. “I went to work for Mr. Bishop back in those lawless days, in ’27, to be precise. This time is sad, those times were dangerous.”

  “Danger can be more exciting,” said Cenere, knowing how much the financial collapse of Germany following the Great War had spread trouble all through Europe.

  “Danger breeds recklessness; this hardship breeds desperation,” she said. “Both make their own demands on the law and the courts.”

  “Mr. Bishop is lucky to have you, if you’d like my opinion in the matter,” said Cenere, aware that he would be foolish to underestimate her, at least while she was getting used to being in his company. “From what I could see, you’re the very heart of his office.”

  “You’re biased,” she said with a suggestion of wary flirtatiousness.

  “Biased doesn’t mean wrong,” said Cenere gallantly. “May I order a drink for you? They have good bourbon here, and real Scotch whiskey. Or would you prefer a mixed drink? Something elegant. What about a Sidecar, just to take the edge off?” He signaled a waiter.

  “I don’t usually drink spirits, but this is a special occasion.” She beamed at him. “A Sidecar would be very nice.”

  “Good,” said Cenere. “A Sidecar for the lady and some of your excellent Kentucky bourbon for me—no ice.” He motioned the waiter away. “I’m glad you changed your mind and agreed to come out with me. I know the invitation was on short notice, and you’ve had to shift your schedule to accommodate me; it’s very nice of you.” Leaning across the table enough to speak very softly, he added, “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity all day.”

  Dorothy McAllister was a bit flustered. “I don’t know what to say. You take me aback—not unpleasantly.” This was more difficult than she had thought it would be. She had not been out alone with a man in more than six years—that had been with a visiting attorney from Minneapolis and had turned out to be a disastrous evening—and the experience now was a heady combination of exhilaration and jumpy nerves. She fiddled with the cuff of her suit-sleeve, wishing she knew how to behave in this situation. “I’m very glad you asked me to have dinner with you.”

  “I wanted to speak with you alone, away from the office. What kind of a gentleman asks a lady out without offering her something more than his company?” He reached for his cigarette case and removed one of the cigarettes, offering it to her; when she accepted, he handed it to her and selected a second for himself. As he lit them, he smiled into her eyes. “I know this is going to be a very special evening.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, and did her best not to cough on the first
inhale of smoke.

  He sat back. “You know, I had resigned myself to this journey as a duty, nothing more, something that had to be done but not enjoyed. I was prepared to accomplish the tasks I have been sent to perform, to be pragmatic about my assignment. But I knew when I met you the day before yesterday, that I had been wrong to assume that there would be no aspect of this country that could engage me.”

  She put her hand to her throat. “You are too kind, Mr. Cenere.” She pronounced the name properly—CHEHnehray—not SenEER as the receptionist at Horner Bishop Beatie Wentworth & Culpepper had.

  “I would like to be more than that,” he said boldly, looking directly through the wraiths of smoke into her eyes.

  “Mr. Cenere,” she said in mild rebuke to hide her sudden rush of panic. “You may find such extravagances succeed with European women, but it is not what I am accustomed to.” She could not bring herself to admit how much she liked his extravagant attention; she sat a bit straighter.

  “Of course not,” he said at once, accepting her reprimand without anything more than a shift in his gaze. “I didn’t intend any disrespect. I’m not wholly familiar with American manners, and if I have erred, it is because that after the Great War, things in Europe have changed a great deal, and are changing still.”

  This was much safer ground to be on, and she used it to shift the subject away from her. “I have heard that the fighting in Spain is getting worse,” she ventured, tapping her cigarette ash into the crystal ashtray next to the table candle.

  “It’s very bad,” he confirmed. “And the worst isn’t over yet. In fact, I suspect the worst hasn’t yet begun.” He looked up as the waiter arrived with their drinks; he rested his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray.

  “It must be dreadful. I can’t imagine what the last decade has been like. Europe seems to go from one crisis to another, as if the Great War settled nothing.” Her voice dropped. “My fiancé was killed in the Great War, like so many others. I read his letters from the Front, and they sounded so disheartening. I think it must have been terrible to fight in that war.” She blinked as if to stop unshed tears; then she put out her cigarette and reached out for the glass that had been set down in front of her.

  “War has always been terrible, and it becomes more so with every passing decade as the weapons become more lethal,” he said. “But enough of such hideous things.” He looked directly into her eyes and lifted his drink. “To unexpected meetings.”

  She touched the rim of his glass with hers. “To unexpected meetings,” she seconded, and drank, feeling the cold heat of the Sidecar percolate through her.

  He took a small sip of bourbon and set his glass down. “Still, I’m sorry to hear about your fiancé. It’s very sad, how many valiant young men were lost in that war.”

  “I wasn’t the only girl to lose a sweetheart,” she allowed, drinking more of her Sidecar.

  “No. Many women became widows much too early,” said Cenere. “Enough of these gloomy thoughts. The War is long over and it cannot be changed or undone. I don’t want to dwell on what is past, but to contemplate that which is to come.”

  Miss McAllister touched the corner of her eye, afraid she might be weeping, feeling embarrassed by the possibility. “I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t spoken of George Eastman for … it must be three years now. I beg your pardon.”

  “I’m pleased to have your confidence, Dorothy,” said Cenere. “I hope I can help assuage your grief.” He picked up his glass, and had another minuscule sip. “I know such wounds take many years to heal.”

  “I resigned myself to his loss fifteen years ago,” she said.

  “Still, a difficult burden for any woman to shoulder.” He made his smile a commiserating one. “You have made something of your life, and that is to your credit.”

  “Please don’t say anything more on this, Mr. Cenere. I’m a bit nervous as it is,” Miss McAllister said as she took another drink; she began to feel a bit steadier. She managed a smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t,” said Cenere, seeming utterly genuine. “I know you haven’t had an easy life.”

  “Oh, I’m not complaining. I have nothing to complain about—I have a good job at a time when many women cannot find work at all, and those who do are paid poorly for laboring long hours at menial tasks. Mr. Bishop is a wonderful boss, he pays a reasonable wage, and he gives Christmas bonuses as well. He’s kept me on through thick and thin, and he’s never once made me worry about where my next meal’s coming from.” She lowered her eyes. “My sister has had to take her family to Cleveland; they lost their house.”

  “Why Cleveland?” Cenere asked, wanting to keep her talking; he was looking for things he could employ to manipulate her into providing him the information he sought. “What happened to your sister’s family?”

  “They moved. Because her husband has finally got a job there. Nothing as good as what he had before, but at least it’s work. He used to work for the railroad, but they fired him six years ago, and now he’s finally working for a delivery service. The family suffered before he got work, but they managed to stay together somehow.” She shook her head. “Oh, dear. You don’t want to hear all about this. I didn’t mean—”

  “Say anything you want,” Cenere encouraged her.

  “Well, I don’t want to bore you…” she faltered, and had the last of her Sidecar; she was a bit surprised to find the glass empty.

  Cenere signaled the waiter to bring another. “You aren’t boring me,” he assured her.

  Miss McAllister shook her head. “I really shouldn’t have a second drink. I’m not used to it and this is a work night—”

  “It is our celebration,” Cenere corrected her. “And I cannot stay long in your city; I am obliged to continue my search. I must make the most of this marvelous opportunity, no matter how brief it may be.” He laid his hand on hers. “Don’t begrudge me the pleasure of your company, and our shared celebration.”

  This was more than Miss McAllister knew how to deal with: a good-looking Continental man was treating her as a fellow-sophisticate and lavishing the kind of attention on her that she had not experienced since George Eastman left for the Front. Her emotions were in turmoil, and so near the surface that she was unsure if she could continue to hold them in check, as she knew she must do, for lovely as this evening was, she was keenly aware it was only one evening, with no hope of more to come. She pulled her hand from under his and muttered a few disjointed words, finally managing to gather her thoughts enough to say, “I wish I knew what was on your mind.”

  He recaptured her hand. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, his manner laden with innuendo.

  “That’s a bit beyond the line.” She glanced about as if she expected to find she was being watched by someone she knew, someone whose presence would be harmful to her. Finally she put her free hand flat on the tablecloth and dared to look at him. “You won’t let me get tipsy, will you?”

  He shook his head. “Of course not,” he promised her as the waiter took her first glass and set down the second. “What gentleman would do that?”

  “Perhaps we had better order our dinner shortly, so that I won’t be tempted to forget my own intentions,” she said, and sat back, trying to make herself comfortable.

  “As you wish,” he said as he let go of her hand and motioned for the waiter. “Menus.”

  “Of course, sir,” said the waiter, a trifle too accommodatingly, as if he realized he was being deliberately slighted.

  Miss McAllister had had one little sip of her second Sidecar and her good sense seemed to be reasserting itself, for her confidence was returning and she felt more keenly aware of her surroundings than she had been when she first arrived. “Do you make a long stay here?” That was too personal; she modified the question. “You have much to do while you’re in America?” She liked the coolly professional sound of her voice.

  “I have two, possibly three things I must attend to befo
re I return home,” he said, apparently unperturbed by her abrupt change in manner.

  “Will they take long?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

  “That, Dorothy, depends to a great degree upon you,” said Cenere at his most purposeful; he leaned forward and looked deeply into her eyes.

  “Oh!” She could not bring herself to think of an answer to this.

  He took advantage of her lapse. “You can help me, if you want to. It would make my task so much easier, but I have no wish to impose upon you, or cause you to do anything you would not like.”

  This was as intriguing as it was scary, and Miss McAllister wanted to spread her wings while she could. “What manner of thing might that be, Mr. Cenere?” she asked, and bolstered herself with a taste of the fresh Sidecar.

  “This is a … bit awkward,” he said, doing his best to appear perplexed. “I don’t know how much I ought to reveal to you.”

  “I’m very good at keeping confidences—I have to be, in my line of work. I’m required to, you know.” She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “I pledge to keep your secret, whatever it may be.”

  He pretended to mull this over, all the while planning how he would manage the rest of the evening; so far he was very delighted by how willing the woman was to trust him. “The thing is, I don’t want to put you into a difficult situation.”

  “How do you mean a difficult situation?” Miss McAllister asked, walking right into the trap he had laid for her.