Josh sagged against a bureau. Was he mistaken or did he glimpse an expression of relief?
"Does that mean you're finished searching?"
Frederic shrugged. "Not really. I need to review what we've discovered so far but first I'm thinking about taking a vacation."
"Vacation?"
"Yes. I think I need some time off. I haven't been sleeping well. After I return then we can start searching again."
Frederic waited for Josh to give him the reasons that a vacation was a bad idea, but instead he said, "That's probably for the best. I mean you work entirely too hard. It's not like that much will change in the brief time you're away."
Josh's odd behavior worried him. Frederic plastered a fake smile on his face and agreed. "I'm sure you're right. All the intelligence we've gathered on the fish house employees couldn't possibly change that much in the next couple of weeks. Besides, you can follow them while I'm away."
"Sure, sure, I can do that." Josh didn't face him and Frederic's concern mounted.
A sound came from behind the screen. Josh twirled on his heel. "What was that?"
Frederic rushed to explain. "Probably just a mouse. I need to get a new cat."
"Oh, yes, a mouse. I think I should let you rest. You look rough."
Frederic escorted him to the door and waited until Josh descended the stairs. He closed the door and bolted the lock. When he turned around Cora was there.
"Who was that?"
He couldn't move past her because if he moved at all he would be on top of her. The thought didn't distress him in the least. "Would you step back please?"
She obeyed and he found his way to the sofa.
"Who was that?"
"Does it matter?" he asked.
"Yes. He sounded scared."
"You got that just by listening to him?" Frederic swallowed. Her astuteness scared him.
"I also peeked. But yes. His voice trembled."
He bent forward and placed his elbows on his thighs. "We need to leave and take you to Bayou Sara as soon as possible."
"Why? I don't understand."
Frederic was having difficulty talking to her while she was dressed in his bed clothing. He could just imagine how the fabric must feel rubbing against her skin and he had to admit he was a little jealous.
"Would you quit staring and tell me why we need to leave so soon?"
"Was I staring?" He cleared his throat and tried not to smile.
"Yes, you were."
"Hmm, must be because you're wearing my only clean nightshirt."
"Do you want me to take it off?" she asked, planting her hand on her hip and thrusting it to one side.
Frederic's heart skipped a beat. Words of agreement rushed to his lips, but instead he said, "Perhaps I should go out and find you something more appropriate to wear. You can't exactly travel in that."
"Hmm, true. But don't you have an extra shirt and a pair of trousers I could borrow?"
"You want to travel home dressed like a man?" He watched for signs of shame.
She gnawed on her lip. "I guess not." She took a seat across from him and folded her legs underneath her.
He could suggest she leave in his clothing and they purchase more along the way, but the mere thought made him ardent. He tugged his collar away from his neck. Distracting himself with matters at hand, he said, "Am I correct in assuming everything you owned just went up in smoke?"
She nodded and tears streaked along her cheeks. Any moment now she would burst into a full blown cry and he would be forced to comfort her. He'd be lying if he said that didn't hold a certain amount of appeal. But she proved him wrong. Instead she swiped the tears away.
"Do you have any money?" he asked.
The tears fell in a mad swoop, coursing along her cheeks in rivulets.
"I take that as a no."
"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "Everything I own was in the apartment."
"What about a job? Do you have any way to make money?" Of course he knew the answer, yet he held his breath as she replied.
She sighed. "Yes."
"And?" He waited.
"And, what?"
"Well don't you want to work to make money for your clothes?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Not particularly. I think I'll let you buy them. Besides, I'm sure Amelia sent money so you could escort me home. We'll use some of that."
"Of course. Amelia sent money." He bit his lip and grimaced. He did have some funds, but it would never be enough.
****
Cora watched Frederic curiously. Angered by his statement that she work for her clothing, she'd come up with Amelia sending money by accident. The tone of his voice and his expression suggested that wasn't the case.
Something wasn't right here. She’d lived in New York City for some time now and never had any trouble. Then suddenly he’d come along and everything had fallen apart.
What was she to do? He had told his visitor he was taking a vacation. Why had he been so secretive with someone who was clearly a friend?
Cora gnawed her lip. Frederic's gaze lingered on her and she blushed. Perhaps wearing his nightshirt wasn't such a good idea. But if he was going to take advantage of her, wouldn't he have already done so?
Taking a risk, she said, "Why don't you purchase one gown, just so I can go out in public, and then I'll find a way to purchase another? That way we don't spend all of our money in one place."
He nodded in agreement, stood, and pulled on his hat. She wrapped her goose-bumped arms around her chest. "Please don't be long. I – I don't know where I am and I'm a little afraid."
"I won't be long," he said, smoothing a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
Butterflies danced in her stomach as his knuckle stroked her cheek. Had it been by accident? Or…? She swallowed and licked her lips. What would it be like to have Frederic kiss her? She closed her eyes and waited with bated breath. The door closed and she fluttered her tear laden lashes.
She snatched a nearby pillow from the sofa and hurled it at the wall. As it struck and then slid to the floor, her heart thumped louder. Was she insane? This was no time to think about kissing strange men! She had more important concerns. Like the fact that she had come close to dying twice in one day. She lifted the pillow, cradled it to her chest, and paced.
Not much decorated the walls of Frederic's apartment. Old newspapers hung here and there announcing some criminal that had been brought to justice. Artist renderings of faces and city maps dotted other areas. Furniture consisted of a bed, a sofa, and a straight-back chair. It was like the place served only one purpose…rest.
Her belly growled, and she searched the cabinets, coming away empty-handed. Plopping on the edge of the bed, she thought about her next move.
Apparently her job at the fish house was over. Not only was it over but returning to retrieve even her last paycheck could be hazardous to her health. What of Michael? Would he worry when she didn't show up for work? She regretted that she couldn't let him know she was okay.
She sighed. What would the authorities think when they found Jeffers crushed and gunshot ridden body? Fortunately, his killer had taken her bag or she could have been linked to the crime. She frowned in concentration.
Why had Jeffers wanted her bag? He'd accosted her in his office and demanded she reveal her purpose…
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied in a gruff tone.
He placed his palms flat on his desk and leaned toward her. "Don't mess with me. I know what you're doing. The boss doesn't count me trustworthy so they thought if they sent someone young I wouldn't be suspicious."
Her jaw dropped.
"Don't gawk. I'm on to you. Now get out!"
"What?" she asked in a state of shock.
"Get out!"
She left the office and went back to the line. When her shift ended, she walked outside into the starry morning, and cried to Michael. She should just go home in her fish clothes. But the smell irritated her nose and she made
her way to the alley. She changed, stuffed her dirty clothing in the bag, and laid it on the ground. When she looked up she was staring at Jeffers.
He grabbed her bag and she reached for it, but he refused to let go.
The rumblings in her stomach grew to a loud roar, breaking her recollection. What had Jeffers wanted with her dirty clothes? It didn't make sense.
She curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Maybe letting Frederic take her home wasn't such a bad idea.
Chapter Nine
Discretionary money had been stashed in a secret compartment in his office. Frederic hurried along the bustling streets. Police officers twirled their nightsticks and strutted past. Had they found Jeffers body? The area where the man had fallen was unpopulated. And what about Tommy Watkins? Before he carried Cora to her apartment, he had dragged the unconscious man outside the building with the hope someone would find him and take him home.
His office loomed. He climbed the steps and stopped outside the door. No voices were heard and he pushed the door open. Light filtered in and highlighted floating dust particles. Cool air wafted around him from the empty fireplace. Papers littered Josh's desk and Frederic overlooked them as he headed for the bookshelf.
He skimmed the titles until he came to the black leather bound Bible. This, he slipped from the shelf. The front flap opened, and he studied the empty compartment. Slamming the cover, he swore under his breath.
Where was the money? Had Josh mentioned taking it?
No matter, there was one other hiding place Josh didn’t know about. Frederic dropped to his knees and reached beneath his desk. A paper scratched his hand and he tugged it free. The folded pages loosened and a bill and several coins dumped into his lap; he shoved them into his pocket.
The door creaked. Frederic scooted underneath the desk and peeked through a crack in the wood. A ragged Josh stumbled in, soft mutterings and unintelligible ramblings left his lips. Frederic had never hidden from Josh and his heart thumped loudly between his ears. He placed his hand on the floor in anticipation of revealing himself, but stopped. Head leaning against the desk, he closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Why was he hiding? Was it because of the money or something else? He should just reveal himself and express his concerns. It was just Josh.
"Hey, Josh, you're behaving strangely. What's going on? Do you need help?" Or something like that, then Josh could help him escort Cora. But fear of whom he could trust kept him silent and hidden.
To pass the time he thought about the woman holed up in his apartment. What could Cora be up to? Was she rearranging his desk? Was she shifting through his clothing, maybe even trying it on?
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. How long would he have to hide? Time passed slowly, but finally the door opened and closed.
Josh's unusual behavior worried him, but if he knew his partner it probably had something to do with a woman. He was notorious for a tendency to fall for women then leave them. Even Rhonda, who a month earlier had been perfect, was now "abhorrent," according to his partner, because of her views.
Minutes ticked painfully by. Assured Josh wasn't returning, Frederic climbed out from under the desk. He refused to continue to analyze why he hadn't revealed himself to his partner and friend. Instinct told him to withhold the information, at least for now, and that was enough.
On the street he found a purveyor of used gowns. Picking the first one, he asked, "How much?"
"For you, two dollars," said the gapped tooth salesman.
Frederic lifted the gown and light filtered through holes in the thin fabric. He looked around the material and frowned.
"All right, maybe one dollar?"
Frederic shook his head, dropped the gown on a tattered pile, and shuffled toward a dress shop. As he pushed the door open, a bell that had been affixed to the top jangled.
A young woman, perhaps the daughter of the proprietress, dressed in layers of light pink and purple fabric sauntered forward. "May I help you?"
"Yes. I'm looking for a gown." Her eyebrow rose and he hastened to add, "It is for m-my sister."
"Of course. We have several designs available for sisters."
"Do you have anything already made?"
"Yes…" she said drawing out the word.
"May I see them?" he asked.
"This is a dressmaker's shop, which means we custom fit gowns to any young woman, so if you will just bring your sister in then–"
"No, I mean, do you have a gown I may purchase right now?"
She tapped her forehead. "Well, it is rather unorthodox and highly irregular, but I do have one gown. Someone ordered it then changed their mind."
"May I see it?"
Ten minutes later he held the wrapped gown under his arm. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, listened for foreign noises, and entered. Cora was curled in a ball on his bed. A lump formed in his throat, and he looked away.
All the cabinets were opened and he slapped his palm to his forehead—food! As if in response a growl emitted from Cora. She rose, her hair cascaded over an exposed shoulder, and he turned away as he said, "I brought you something."
She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Time to dress."
He placed the parcel behind the screen and tried to ignore her presence. Her arms rose above the covering as she stretched, and his breath caught at the sight of the smooth skin of her elongated neck. He needed to control his thoughts. She was the means to his success nothing more.
****
The gown fit snuggly over her hips and bosom as though made for someone slightly smaller. The dark rich maroon color made her skin look pale as she held it against her fair skinned hands. She walked out of hiding. "How do I look?"
He faced her. His gaze began at her feet and slowly proceeded to her eyes. "Stunning," he whispered. Heat flushed her cheeks, and he stuttered, "I-I mean, it looks suitable. We'll purchase more gowns on the way. Right now we need to hurry and catch the next stagecoach to Louisiana. You don't want to be late for the party."
"Of course we wouldn't want to anger the one paying you." She bunched the skirt in her hands and twirled on her bare heel.
His hand squeezed her arm. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing is wrong with me. I'm just assuming you purchased me a pair of shoes."
"Shoes?" he drew his brows together.
"Yes, you know the article of clothing that you place on your feet."
"Yes, I know what shoes are," he said, his tone tinged with anger.
"But you didn't buy me any?"
"No, I didn't. How can you expect me to think of everything?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Apparently, I can't expect you to think of anything. This dress is way too small, and long-sleeved, you didn't bring shoes, and there is not a scrap of food in the entire apartment."
A wiser person would have told her to stop. Amelia would have pulled her aside and reasoned with her. Millie would have forcefully shut her mouth. But neither one of them were present.
"And what about Jeffers? Did the police find his body? Are they searching for the man who killed him? And my apartment building? Do they know how the fire started? I don't think it was an accident."
The suddenness of his movement caused her to gasp. Within an instant his chest touched hers, his arm wrapped around her waist. He brought his head down and crushed his lips to hers. She squirmed and pushed at his chest but he didn't let go. A moan rent the air leaving her unsure of whom it came from. He released her and took a step back.
As they both struggled to catch their breath, she said, "What did you do that for?"
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "It was the only way to shut you up."
A burning started at the back of her throat and she fought to gain control. She wouldn't allow tears to fall and let him see how much he'd hurt her. Instead she went behind the screen and grabbed his nightshirt, ripped it into strips, and swathed her feet. She left the sanctuary of the screen a
nd passed him.
He laid a hand on her arm and stopped her. "Where are you going?"
"You don't need to be concerned with my welfare anymore." She sent him a scornful stare. "I can make my own way. If you will excuse me."
She skirted around him, expecting him to follow. In fact, as she neared the door she slowed her pace. Slyly, she glanced over her shoulder, but he hadn't budged. As the door clicked closed, her heart hammered against her chest. He wasn't coming.
****
Mouthy, wench! Spouting off all his failures like he needed a list!
Frederic slammed the cabinet doors shut, made up his bed, cleaned up the remaining strips of his nightshirt, and settled in the lone chair.
His lips still tingled from the kiss. He cradled his chin in his palm and sighed. What did he care if something happened to her? She didn't want his help. That was obvious. There had to be other leads at the dock. Something he'd missed.
He shoved a hat on his head, left the room, and headed to a nearby pub, where he ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Then he sat back and sipped at the drink watching as more people entered the establishment.
He'd spent the entire day catering to a woman who apparently didn't require or want his help. He looked at the bottom of his cup. When would he stop thinking about Cora? He had more important things to do, like making up for lost time.
The barmaid filled his cup and he settled into his seat. No one of interest appeared and, with a sigh, he paid the bill then returned to the dock. Workers stood outside the closed doors, banging their fists.
"Why ain't they letting us in?"
"Are we having a holiday?"
"Do we get paid for holidays?"
"I don’t think so."
Chance O'Malley stepped before the crowd and lifted his hands. "My fellow Irishmen, it has come to my attention that Mr. Jeffers is no longer with us."
"Did he get fired?"
"The old cuss deserved it. Never had a kind word to share with anyone."
Chance interrupted, "No, he didn't get fired. I meant he is dead."
Cora (Southern Hearts Book 3) Page 5
