by Linz, Cathie
“He is a policeman,” Mikey said. “You don’t want to go talking to him. You’re not from around here, are you.” It wasn’t a question.
“We’re from France,” Kane said.
“You eat frog legs?” Mikey demanded, seemingly intrigued by the idea.
“I prefer a cheeseburger,” Kane replied.
“A what?”
“Never mind,” Susannah interjected. “You two stay out of trouble while I turn these wallets over to the policeman.” Without waiting for Kane’s agreement, she made a beeline for the uniformed official. “I found these beneath that bench over there, officer,” she said, pointing to a bench at the opposite side of the park from where Mikey and Kane were waiting. She tried batting her eyelashes at the officer, but her hat fell down on her forehead. When she almost poked him in the eye with her closed parasol while handing over the wallets, the policeman seemed eager to get rid of her before she did him bodily harm. So much for her Mata Hari ways, Susannah thought to herself with a grin.
* * *
Susannah wasn’t sure what she was expecting Oliver Ogilvie to look like, but the reality surprised her. He was middle-aged, stocky, and fully bearded. He had bushy hair and thick eyebrows, but the accent and sharp gaze of Sherlock Holmes. She half expected him to say, “My dear Watson...”
Instead he said, “Well, then, Mikey, what have you brought me here?”
“Customers,” Mikey said. “They’re staying at Mrs. B.’s and they’re looking for information about Whitaker.”
Oliver Ogilvie raised his reddish eyebrows. “Well, now that sounds most interesting. Would it be Hayward Whit- aker to whom you were referring?”
“That’s the gent,” Mikey replied.
“I can talk on my own behalf, kid,” Kane growled irritably. Confronting Oliver, Kane said, “Did you know this little rug-rat is a pickpocket? I caught him trying to steal my wallet an hour ago.”
“I didn’t try, I done it. Right successful,” Mikey boasted.
Oliver shook his head in displeasure. “I thought we’d agreed that you weren’t going to be involving yourself in that kind of activity any longer, Michael.”
The youngster squirmed.
“I can’t have anyone working for me who is not trustworthy,” Oliver firmly declared. “Perhaps this would be a good time for you to sweep out the storage room while you deliberate on your actions.”
Mikey scuffed his feet a bit, a wave of red riding his pale cheeks before he shuffled off to the storage room.
“Is he your kid?” Kane asked Oliver after Mikey had left.
“You certainly are blunt, sir,” Oliver observed. “The answer is no, he is not my son. No relation at all. But I feel sorry for the poor boy. His mother died when he was but a baby. She was working as a maid in Mrs. Broadstreet’s household at the time. Good Christian woman that Mrs. Broadstreet is, she took him in and has done her best, but the boy often runs wild. I fear she’ll be tempted to hand him over to an orphanage if he doesn’t reform soon. I first met him much the same way you did, a year or so ago. He’d stolen my billfold. I sat him down and had a good talk with him, put him to work around here, tried to give him some guidance.”
“Doesn’t seem to have done much good,” Kane noted.
“This is the first time that he’s strayed.”
“That you know about.”
“Oh, I’d know. But I doubt that you came here to talk to me about Mikey’s problems. He mentioned something about the Whitakers?”
“That’s right. But before we tell you anything more, I’d like some information about you. Your references, how long you’ve been doing this kind of work, that sort of thing.”
Oliver nodded, his bushy hair bobbing. “Most certainly I can understand your caution. I have a file of references that you are welcome to look over.” Getting up, he went over to a wooden file cabinet, where he removed a few papers that he handed over. Since Kane had a hard time reading the old-fashioned script, he handed them on to Susannah.
“If you’re so good, why aren’t you working for the Pinkerton agency?” Susannah inquired after reading several of the letters. They were all complimentary. But there weren’t many and they could have been forged, for all she knew.
“Allan Pinkerton is a good man. But I prefer to work on my own. If you’d prefer working with an agency man, I can refer you to one.”
“How much do they charge?” Kane asked.
Oliver listed an amount that was more than they could afford.
“And how much do you charge?” Kane asked.
“That depends on the case. I like a challenging mystery. And I am aware of the unusual circumstances surrounding Mrs. Whitaker’s unfortunate death last month.”
“What unusual circumstances?” Susannah wanted to know.
“The fact that it’s widely rumored that she committed suicide, although the family had the death listed on the death certificate as an accident.” At their questioning look, Oliver added, “I have a friend in the coroner’s office.”
“Is she supposed to have left a suicide note or anything like that?” Susannah asked.
Oliver shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. But what is your interest in this case?”
“Call us friends of the family,” Kane replied.
“Of Elsbeth’s,” Susannah clarified. “We found the news of her death most...disturbing. Something just isn’t right about it.”
“And so you’d like my help in investigating the matter further?” Oliver supplied.
“Yes,” Susannah said.
“No,” Kane said simultaneously.
Oliver nodded understandingly. “Perhaps I should give you two a few moments to discuss things amongst yourselves. I’ll just go check and see how Mikey is doing with his sweeping. If you’ll excuse me for a moment?”
“What do you mean, telling him he’s hired?” Kane demanded, once Oliver had left them alone.
“What do you mean saying no?”
“I don’t know enough about the guy to go blowing my money on him.”
“It’s not your money, it’s our money. And, if I may remind you, we don’t have an endless amount of time at our disposal to solve this mystery. I now only have fifteen days’ worth of medication with me. And before you dare say another insulting word, I’ll have you know that I’m taking that medication for a heart condition.”
“You seem awfully young to have a heart condition.”
She was angered by what she perceived to be suspicion in his voice. “I have a faulty mitral valve,” she said curtly. “A lot of people have it. A few need medication to control an irregular heartbeat. I’m one of those few.”
“Oh. Look, I’m sorry about that crack the other night,” Kane quietly said. “I didn’t know you were ill.”
His apology surprised her and mitigated her earlier anger. “I’m not ill, per se. The thing is, I can’t go off the medication. So we’ve got to get this mystery solved as quickly as possible. Besides, neither one of us wants to be stuck together in this situation of having to pretend to be husband and wife any longer than necessary, right?”
“Right. I’m just not convinced that hiring this detective is going to help us solve the mystery any sooner.”
“I have a good feeling about him,” Susannah said.
Kane groaned. “Not with the feelings again, please. I think we should sleep on it and make our decision in the morning. One more day won’t hurt.”
So when Oliver returned, with Mikey at his side, Kane told him, “We’ll get back to you.”
“By tomorrow,” Susannah added.
“Are you going to go to the authorities about Mikey?” Oliver asked.
“I should,” Kane replied. Seeing the defiant look in the kid’s eyes, Kane took him aside and had a brief private conversation with him. After all, Kane remembered having to keep his own brother on the straight and narrow when they’d been kids. He knew how to play his cards just right, not using threats but using subtle intimidation. It had worked on Chuck
and it would work on Mikey, too. “You want to be a detective like Oliver over there?” The kid nodded. “Well, you keep stealing wallets and you’re gonna end up in jail yourself, not putting other people there,” Kane said.
“I was just trying to help Mrs. B.,” Mikey maintained with a sniff, rubbing his runny nose with his bare arm.
“You mean Mrs. Broadstreet?”
Mikey nodded. “She’s a good lady. She could use the extra money.”
“She’s getting money from us for our room and board.”
“She can always use more.”
Kane sighed. He knew what it was like to be short of money when you were young. “Look, let the adults worry about Mrs. Broadstreet. She wouldn’t approve of you stealing wallets to help her out.”
“If you don’t tell her ‘bout this, I won’t tell her ‘bout that magical card in your wallet,” Mikey said.
Kane frowned. Damn. The kid was fast. A born con artist. “That card can tell if you mess up,” Kane growled.
“Mess up? I haven’t messed since I was a baby,” Mikey said indignantly.
“I meant I’ll know if you’ve done anything wrong, so don’t try anything. Deal?”
Mikey nodded. Spitting on his hand, he held it out to Kane. “Deal.”
Grimacing, Kane shook the urchin’s hand.
* * *
“You were very good with Mikey back there,” Susannah noted as they walked back toward their boardinghouse. Mikey had stayed behind to help Oliver.
“The kid is a rug-rat,” Kane muttered.
“You were still good with him.”
Kane shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with her words of praise. “That detective and the kid could be in on some kind of scheme together. Or Whitaker might have planted the kid outside his office to steal my wallet as a way of finding out who we are.”
Somehow, Susannah couldn’t see Mikey working for Hayward Whitaker. Besides, there wasn’t time for that kind of plan to have been set up ahead of time. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“Not many people, no. And certainly not those I’ve just met.”
His words made her stomach drop like a stone for some reason. She already knew he wasn’t likely to trust her—not when his beloved kid brother swore he was having an affair with her.
“Being cautious has made me a successful businessman,” Kane was saying.
“Successful, but lonely.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your attitude.”
“What’s wrong with my attitude?”
“You have five years or so for me to go into detail?” she mockingly inquired.
“Time is something I appear to have too much of,” he drawled.
“I can tell you what I have too much of. This stupid bustle,” she muttered. “I can’t wait to get back to the boardinghouse and take this thing off,” she added under her breath.
Kane heard her, and her words created a mental image that left him hot and bothered. He could still remember her shadowy striptease behind the dressing screen last night...the thrust of her full breasts as she reached over her head to put on her nightgown, the inward dip of her waist, the outward curve of her hips.
“They’d probably have me arrested for indecent exposure if I were to take off my jacket,” she said.
Kane nodded, knowing damn well his own thoughts were indecent and inappropriate. Fate must have a strange sense of humor to have trapped him in time with the one woman who would create the most havoc in his well-ordered life.
Sighing at his silence, Susannah reached into her purse and grabbed the fan she’d gotten in her own century. Too bad she hadn’t brought a battery-operated hand fan along, she was thinking. But that would have been sure to arouse suspicions and Hayward Whitaker was suspicious enough as it was. And nervous. Almost guilty, in fact. Because his wife had committed suicide on his account?
Again Susannah felt that overwhelming sense of denial whenever she thought of Elsbeth committing suicide. It was a feeling that kept getting stronger, almost as if it were being directed by Elsbeth herself.
“Can’t you just come out and give me a few clues yourself?” Susannah muttered.
“Clues about what?” Kane asked.
“Nothing. I was just talking to myself.” Actually she’d been talking to Elsbeth, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Kane. After all, he didn’t believe in ghosts.
But Susannah did. She hadn’t before, but she did after seeing Elsbeth in that blue light. They’d been brought back in time too late to save Elsbeth from death. The only other logical reason would be to clear her name. She remembered thinking as much last night; and then, as now, she felt a sense of conviction. Almost as if Elsbeth were telling her, Yes, yes, yes! Clearing Elsbeth’s name because she hadn’t committed suicide, after all?
Bingo was the silent response.
Susannah felt an overwhelming need to sit down.
“You don’t look too well,” Kane noted, leading her to a bench at the same park where they’d talked to Mikey earlier. He chose an area where a tree provided some welcome shade from the strong sunshine. “What’s wrong?”
Since the bustle stuck out so far behind, Susannah had to cautiously sit sideways, almost as if she were riding sidesaddle. She needed to tell him her thoughts about Elsbeth’s death. “Bear with me a minute here,” Susannah told Kane. “What if Elsbeth didn’t fall down those stairs, after all? What if her death wasn’t a suicide?”
“You mean it could have been an accident, just as they put on the death certificate?”
Susannah paused before shaking her head. “I don’t think so. What if she was pushed down those stairs?”
“By whom?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Susannah declared with conviction. “That’s why she brought us back. To solve the mystery of her death.”
“There’s no mystery. Her husband was fooling around on her, so she threw herself down the stairs. It’s criminal that some women can be so unfeeling as to take up with a married man, but it happens.” Kane gave Susannah a look, reminding her that he thought she’d taken up with his married brother.
“You’re way off base,” she angrily retorted. “About Elsbeth and about me.” Carefully standing, her spine as straight as the nearby oak tree, she stormed off. Well, actually, it was hard to storm when you had to take baby steps in the stupid tight skirt she was wearing. But the anger emanating from her was clear.
Kane could feel it even though he was several feet away. Susannah was a fiery woman, not one to hide her emotions. The more time he spent with her, the less he felt he knew her. And the more he wanted her.
Nothing was going according to plan. He frowned at the memory of how confidentially he’d told his sister-in-law that he had everything under control.... Had that only been less than twenty-four hours ago? Yes. But more than a hundred years in the future.
While Kane was a maverick, accustomed to being on his own and not conforming to the rules, that didn’t mean he was into the concept of time travel. He prided himself on being logical and reality based. He’d never been one to be interested in things paranormal. He’d never been interested in fiery women with dark hair that curled with a life of its own, either.
That was starting to change. And he didn’t like it. He had to keep his wits about him, focus on getting back to his own time period. As Susannah had so mockingly pointed out to him last night, he’d gotten used to relying on technology for the answers.
Kane doubted that even the most advanced supercomputer would be able to make sense of his relationship with Susannah, however.
* * *
Susannah wasn’t able to maintain her half-block advantage over Kane for very long, but it had given her a much-needed break from his company. The problem was that she’d unintentionally lowered her defenses with him, allowed herself to like certain things about him. She’d even opened up and told him about her heart condition, for crying out loud. She rarely told anyone about
that. And he’d responded with an apology—a rare occurrence for him, she was sure.
When Kane took hold of her arm, she glanced over her shoulder to give him a frosty look. Then her glance went past him and took in the words written on the storefront they were standing in front of.
His words went right over her head. Until he angrily said, “Are you listening to me?”
“No,” she readily admitted. “Give me half your money.”
He blinked at her. “Wha-at?”
“You heard me. I’m going to go get a soda.”
“There’s no way a soda can cost that much money.”
“I don’t like being dependent on anyone else for money. Half of that cash is mine!”
“That’s not how they feel about things these days,” Kane countered. “I’ll buy you a soda.”
“No way. I’ll buy it for myself,” she said stubbornly, the look in her brown eyes daring him to contradict her.
“Fine. Here.” He pulled out several coins and bills and handed them to her. It wasn’t half of what he had by any means, but it was enough to keep her quiet. Or so he hoped.
Susannah took the money and stashed it in her purse before regally pivoting on her heel, rather pleased she’d managed the maneuver without tripping. She was also pleased she’d stood her ground, not letting Kane walk all over her.
As she strolled into the store, she couldn’t begin to identify all the intriguing aromas inside, although eucalyptus and turpentine came to mind. So did citrus.
The shelves behind the counter were filled with every kind of glass bottle imaginable, the old-fashioned kind with cork stoppers. On the walls were metal signs—a diamond-shaped one said Celery Cures Constipation while a rectangular one heralded Laxative Bromo Quinine for Colds while another praised Henderson’s Digestive Tablets. A glass case was filled with more curatives, bottles and tins than you could shake a stick at.
When Susannah saw the man in the white coat, she wondered if he’d come to take her away. It was a little much to take in all at once. This looked nothing like her idea of a drugstore. But nothing was going to distract her from getting what she’d come in for. On a hot day, there was nothing she liked better than a huge lemon soda. Of course, she was used to ordering hers at Bo’s Dog Stand on Forty-second Street, but this would do just fine.
