Solve by Christmas

by Amber Schamel

  No. He couldn’t blame them completely. He’d been standing beside her the whole time. He should have stopped them. Anything to protect this innocent woman. He brushed the hair out of her face and placed a finger on her neck.

  Thank God. A pulse, faint as it may be.

  “Bet.” Denny dropped to his knees beside Jasper. “Is she dead?”

  Jasper pulled one hand away from her head. Sticky red coated his fingers. “Not yet, but we need to get her to a hospital—now.”

  The alarm bells clanged in the distance. Never did he think their signal of alarm would be welcome.

  A whistle blew. Boots scuffled from behind. Then the constable bent down next to him.

  Jasper glared. “Took you long enough. Where were you before this happened?”

  Ignoring Jasper’s comment, the constable fixed his gaze on Miss Leslie. “Is she the only one injured?”

  Jasper opened his mouth to say yes, but the breath hitched in his chest. Mr. Rudin? He gripped Denny’s shoulder. “Where’s Mr. Rudin?”

  The boy’s frown deepened. “Last I saw him, inside.”

  His heart tore like the temple veil. He had to find Mr. Rudin. If the mob hadn’t reached him, his own hand might. But how could he leave Miss Leslie unconscious and bleeding?

  The clanging grew louder. Surely, the ambulance wouldn’t be far behind.

  He tightened his grip on Denny. “Stay with Miss Leslie. Don’t leave her until she is safely in the ambulance. Understand?”

  Denny nodded. “Promise.”

  With one last glance at the unconscious lady, Jasper stood and scanned the yard. Everything seemed a blur, but no figures besides Miss Leslie’s lay on the ground. Mr. Rudin had to be inside.

  “Mr. Rudin?” Jasper’s call echoed down the empty hall. His long strides carried him to his employer’s office, but the door hung ajar, the space empty. An eerie silence possessed the place.

  He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room. Something was off. He approached the desk and the newspaper spread out on the surface. His jaw clenched.

  Rudin Factory Hiding Contaminations.

  Below the lying headline, they’d printed a Rudin Factory ledger. It listed dates and records of sugar tests finding contaminants of hair, dead rodents, and machine oil. Jasper’s fingernails dug into his palms. McCracken would pay for this. But who was at the heart? He was beginning to think he knew. And he didn’t like the answer.

  He tucked the paper into his vest and whirled around. They had to uncover this quickly. December was their best month for sugar sales. They couldn’t afford half production and lost contracts because of malicious interference.

  A clanking from somewhere down the hall stiffened Jasper’s shoulders. He followed the sound to Charlie bent over in the maintenance closet. “You’re still here.”

  The janitor jumped, bumping his head on a shelf laden with soap and miscellaneous bolts and nuts. “Oh, detective, you startled me.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “A factory as large as this one is creepy when silent.”

  “I would have expected you’d be gone, too.”

  “Nah, I’m not of any consequence to the Wobblies.” He ran a hand through his gray mop of hair. “Besides, I can’t afford to take any time off. Christmas is coming, you know. I have kiddies to buy for.”

  “True. Which begs the question as to why the workers were so upset about the night shift.”

  Charlie shrugged and reached for a mop. “Do you think they’ll show up for the shift tonight?”

  “I should think so. Things will be calm enough by then.” Jasper crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Did you hear which man squeaked?”

  “Wish I did. The man deserves to be arrested for making such a fuss. And poor Mr. Rudin. The last couple of weeks are taking a toll on him, I think.”

  He had no idea. “Well, keep your ears open. If you hear anything, let me know.”

  “Will do.” Charlie tossed a few tools into a box and then traipsed down the hall.

  “Oh, Charlie, did you happen to see to where Mr. Rudin was swept away to?”

  “Can’t say for sure. Mitch ushered him out the back door after you and Miss Leslie went outside. I heard Stosch say something about not taking him home. That’s all I saw.”

  “Thanks.” Jasper spun on his heel and marched toward the street. Stosch carted Mr. Rudin off to who-knows-where? He was getting a bad feeling about this whole business. He had to find the missing pieces before it was too late.

  God, help me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jasper mounted the stairs onto the Rudin Mansion veranda two at a time. He slammed the lion head knocker five times. As soon as the doorknob turned, he pushed his way in. “Is Mr. Rudin at home?”

  “No, sir. Only the misses.”

  “Where?” He strode down the hall, his slush-squishy soles slapping against the tile floor.

  “Jasper? What’s the matter?” Mrs. Rudin appeared at the top of the curved staircase.

  “There’s been trouble at the factory.” He hesitated. “May we sit? I have some urgent questions.”

  Mrs. Rudin’s face paled as she glided down the stairs. “Is Gustov all right?”

  “I hoped he would be here.”

  She pursed her lips and passed ahead of him toward the drawing room. After he entered, she closed the door. “What’s this all about, Jasper?”

  He clasped her frail hand in his and led her to the sofa. “Please sit down.”

  She obeyed, perching just on the edge of the flowery contraption, but Jasper couldn’t bring himself to sit still. Instead, he paced in front of the marble hearth. The Christmas tree’s piney scent engulfed him. It seemed everywhere he turned reminded him his time was running out.

  “There was a protest at the factory today. The Wobblies. It grew violent for a few moments before they dispersed. One of our lady workers was injured. She’s been taken to the hospital.”

  Mrs. Rudin twisted her hands in her lap, her right fingers pinching on her wedding band. “And Gustov?”

  “Mitch and Stosch ushered him away. I don’t know where he is.”

  “I see.” Her light eyes seemed far away, and her lip trembled. “Then why do you have urgent questions?”

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Rudin, you know I wouldn’t ask such questions unless there was a real necessity, but I need to be frank.”

  She nodded and stroked her gray curls.

  “Have you and Mr. Rudin been having difficulty?”

  She lowered her eyes, like a child who knew they’d be found out. “We have seen better days, Jasper. I hate to say it, but we’ve become so distant over the years. He goes to the factory, and I wallow in what-ifs and regrets.”

  “Some of his comments indicate arguments.”

  “It seems everything turns into one before long. I hate that factory of his. Every day I hate it more. And he loves it more than he loves me.”

  “Mrs. Rudin, you must know that can’t be true.”

  She gave him a thin smile. “It isn’t my food making him rounder every week. He survives on his sugar. It’s been three months since we’ve dined together.”

  Three months? Jasper cleared his throat. “Mrs. Rudin, he still cares for you. He wants—”

  “Cares? Yes. But care isn’t enough to make a marriage happy. I can’t expect you to understand such things, as a bachelor, but there is more to it than you know.”

  Oh, he’d bet there was.

  Bet?

  Was she all right? Had she awoken from the trauma?

  Jasper shook his head to clear the thoughts. “He believes he cannot reclaim what he once had with you, though he wants to.”

  Mrs. Rudin crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “He’s given up. That in itself is proof he doesn’t care much at all.”

  “And you? Have you given up on him?”

  Her eyes flashed as his question swatted her pride. “I am not the guilty party. You would understand that if you knew the entire story. It was G
ustov who—oh, never mind. You men are all the same. But you just ask him. He’ll tell you he’s the one at fault.”

  Brilliant. Any time a woman got in a huff, they shut down. How did they manage to make everything impossible?

  “I need to locate Mr. Rudin and speak to him immediately. Do you have any idea where Stosch and Mitch may have taken him?”

  Shifting away from him, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How should I know? He never tells me anything.”

  Jasper stifled a growl and stomped toward the door. When he reached the front door, it swooshed open and nearly clobbered him. He jolted a step back.

  “Jasper boy, what are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Rudin?”

  The elderly man chuckled as he set down his hat and coat. “Is it so surprising to find me at my own house?”

  Apparently. If what his wife said was true.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Mr. Rudin raised one snowy brow. “I should be asking you. I was locked inside the factory for the duration.”

  “I’m dandy. It was Miss Leslie.”

  His eyes darkened. “My library. We can talk there.” His gait was heavy as he trudged ahead.

  “Gustov?” Mrs. Rudin trembled at the drawing-room door.

  Her husband halted and pivoted partway. “Hello, my dear. Have a good morning?”

  “I–I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

  His jaw relaxed. “Thank you, Olivia. I will be out of your way as soon as the excitement abates.” He gave her one of his lighthearted grins and proceeded down the hall.

  Jasper tugged on his vest and followed, trying not to feel awkward at their exchange.

  Mr. Rudin’s library had always been Jasper’s favorite room in the house. He’d spent hours there as a boy reading or studying his ship models and globes. The room didn’t seem nearly so comfortable today. Accentuated by charcoal-gray walls, cherry wood furniture loomed dark and gloomy, casting shadows across the scarlet rug.

  “How bad is Miss Leslie?” Mr. Rudin clasped his hands behind his back, facing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.

  Jasper’s throat went tight. If only he could answer with a positive! Instead, his gut tightened. “I’m not certain, sir. I was concerned for your safety, so I left her just before the ambulance arrived.”

  Rudin whirled around. “Ambulance? Was it so serious?”

  “A rock connected with her head just before they rushed the door. She was unconscious.”

  “Trampled.” Twisting away, Mr. Rudin braced both hands on the shelves. “This never should have happened. You should have let me go.”

  Jasper ventured a step forward. “They likely would have killed you.”

  “That would have been fine. What better way to die? I’d have gone down in the history books as a martyr for the capitalist cause. Now I’ll be nothing more than a depressed old man who grew too weary of life’s struggle.”

  “You can’t do it. You can’t throw your life away, Uncle Rudi.” Did he sound as desperate as he felt? Maybe if he did, it would cause the man pause.

  “Everything they say about me is true, Jasper. Did you hear? I am a tyrant. I do not know how to relate to my workers. I’m just a Russian man who fled to Denver looking to steal someone else’s dream.”

  “Someone else’s? Whose dream was Rudin Sugar Company? Whose dream was Rudin Wing in the orphanage?”

  Mr. Rudin shook his head, leaning even more on the bookcase. “Those things don’t matter now. Every day I live, I end up doing more harm than good. Just think, if I had turned up dead this morning, the Wobblies never would have started the protest. Miss Leslie wouldn’t be…in whatever shape she’s in.”

  A pang shot through Jasper’s stomach. “It’s as much my fault as yours. I was right there. I should have protected her.”

  After a few heaving breaths, Mr. Rudin slammed his fist against the shelf. The books and trinkets rattled from the impact. More breathing. Then he straightened and walked to his desk. He placed one thick finger on the calendar. “December nineteenth. Just enough time for me to set things in order. I’ll give God his full time. Five more days, but it’s no use, Jasper.”

  Jasper bit down so hard his jaw shook. His face heated. And his fists clamped tight. He stalked toward the door. There, he stopped with a hand on the knob. “You’re a selfish, stubborn, old codger, Uncle Rudi. Shame on you.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. But don’t worry. I’ll not be a problem much longer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How is she, doctor?” Jasper chomped hard on his lip as he stared at the fragile frame beneath a white sheet.

  “I can’t say for certain, detective. It’s difficult to tell what internal injuries she sustained.” The doctor checked his pocket watch. “I do hope she wakes soon. If she doesn’t, the danger increases.”

  Jasper swallowed. Poor Miss Leslie—her face pale and bruised, her lips a light, purplish shade—looked nothing like a troll now. He didn’t like the way they’d folded her dainty hands on her middle as if she were a fair maiden ready to be entombed. He picked up one hand and held it in his. No warmth. But at least, it wasn’t stark cold. He laid it down at her side.

  “If she doesn’t improve?”

  The doctor sighed. “We could try emergency surgery, but it is risky. If she’s lost a lot of blood internally…” He trailed off as if not wanting to say the rest.

  “Has her family been contacted?” Jasper hated how that sounded. She couldn’t die. Who would guard the bridge to Rudin Company?

  “I understand she has a sister in the city. Your boy, Denny, went to fetch her.”

  At least his “sidekick” had done one thing right.

  “You’d be proud of the kid. He was very protective of Miss Leslie. Bet, as he calls her. Wouldn’t leave her side until she was situated, and only then to go for her sister.”

  Jasper pulled a card out of his pocket and flipped it to the doctor. “If her condition changes, please let me know. Rudin company will do all they can for her.”

  The doctor raised one blond eyebrow, but then shrugged. “Of course.”

  Swallowing hard this time, Jasper returned his gaze to Bet. How would the orphanage function without her? She shouldn’t have stepped out those doors. It was stupid.

  Liar. It was brave.

  She must have felt some responsibility for the ruckus. Still, her pluckiness could have killed her. Could kill her. A heavy weight sank to the bottom of his stomach and settled like beet pulp at the bottom of a bucket. He hated nothing more than helplessness. He should leave. But what if no one was here when she did wake up? She deserved to have someone. Not to be alone after such a traumatic experience.

  What was he thinking? He couldn’t stay. How odd it would look for the company detective to stand nurse over an employee. And if she did awaken, she should see someone she didn’t hate. She’d probably blame him for the entire ordeal.

  She had a right to. He winced, imagining her eyes fluttering open to see his duck lip and overbite looming over her. With his luck, he’d probably be muttering to himself or thinking deeply. His face always made idiotic expressions when he settled deep in thought.

  Poor woman. Waking up alone would be better.

  The thought propelled him out of the ward and into the street.

  *****

  Jasper rolled over and shoved the clanging alarm clock onto the floor. A sharp thud and silence reigned once more. Some company should make one for folks like him with large, sensitive ears. The ticking, even from the floor, was enough to drive him mad. He shoved a pillow off the bed, but it did little to mute the sound.

  He flung the cover aside but didn’t get up. Saturday or no Saturday, he had a case to work. That was usually enough, but not today. Maybe if he let himself get cold, he’d get up and brew some coffee.

  Why hadn’t the doctor sent a message? Miss Leslie had to be conscious by now. Twenty-two hours had passed since her injury.

  What if the clangin
g of his alarm drowned out the ringing of the doorbell? He jumped up and stumbled into the kitchen. He jerked open the door and stuck his head out, peering down the hall. “Hello?”

  No one in sight, no message pinned on the door. But perhaps the landlord’s office had received a call. That would make more sense than sending a messenger. Smoothing his rumpled shirt, Jasper padded down the hall in sock feet. He nearly lost his balance trotting down the stairs to the first floor. Especially when his stocking feet met the lobby’s marble tiling.

  The clerk hardly looked up as he hunched over the ledgers. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, Hollock from Apartment 259. Have I missed any calls?”

  “No, sir. But I shall send for you directly if one should come in.” The rough voice wasn’t just froggy from the early hour.

  “No need to be terse. I’m expecting an urgent call.”

  The clerk laid down his pen and pushed up the visor strapped around his dark head. “I assure you, Mr. Hollock, we wouldn’t withhold an urgent call from you.”

  “Right. Well, it is urgent. And important.”

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk followed him to the door and slammed it shut.

  Jasper looked down at his black socks. He did look rather foolish. With a grunt, he shuffled back upstairs to the kitchen. He lifted the lid on the coffeemaker and measured out the grounds. Might as well put it on since he was already here. As the coffee percolated, he changed into clean clothes. The whistling of the pot lured him back. A thump outside his door signaled the arrival of the morning newspaper. He snatched it up and sat down with his coffee to see what McCracken had siphoned up today. He’d have that reporter’s head on a platter as soon as he could prove the falsity of the reports.

  Woman Injured In Riot At Rudin Factory.

  Jasper groaned. He couldn’t read this. His gaze drifted to the date at the top, accented by Christmas wreaths. December 20. He only had a few days before Mr. Rudin would make the biggest mistake of his life.

  And he had no idea how to stop him.

  The familiar lead of helplessness plunged his stomach again, but this time, it mixed with an acidic roiling.