“Hello, sir. I have an important message for Mr. Bruester.”
“Could I deliver the message?” the officer asked. “Mr. Bruester’s in a meeting with Mr. Spelding.”
Johnny shook his head. “No, sir, I was instructed to deliver the message straightaway, or wait until he could see me. Those were my orders, sir.”
“Very well. If you’d be so kind as to wait here, I’ll be right back.” Within moments he returned, ushering the currier to the office.
Johnny had never met the owners of the bank and fumbled with his satchel as he looked from one to the other. “I-I have a message for George Bruester.”
George held out his hand. “I’m George Bruester.”
Johnny handed him a note. “I’m to await your answer, sir.”
George quickly read the missive.
“It seems Mr. Simon has information about the stolen cheque I told you about and desires an immediate audience.” He looked at his partner. “It looks as if he means right now.”
Ezra frowned as he glanced at his watch. “I really have some pressing matters to attend. Let’s finish our meeting at another time.”
“Very well, then,” George said as he closed his folder. “We can go over these figures tomorrow.” Rising, he reached for his hat. “After you, young man.”
Chapter Ninety-One
Sheriff Hadley had spent the greater part of his morning traversing between boardinghouses and hotels, seeking the man Reagan claimed blackmailed him. It wasn’t until the sheriff inquired at the Rochester Hotel that he found someone familiar with the name Derrick Banning. “I believe the gentleman has been our guest for two to three weeks,” the clerk said, flipping through the registry. He then turned the ledger around. Jim’s neck prickled, for the signature bore a striking resemblance to the strokes that penned ‘M. Carnes’ on Reagan’s cheque.
“I’ll need to appropriate this ledger,” Jim said. “But, until I send for it, could you please keep it secured?”
“Our vault should be safe enough,” the clerk said, closing the book.
Jim leaned on the counter as he viewed the stairway. “Would Mr. Banning be in his room right now?”
“I’m not sure. He usually leaves during the day.”
“If you’d be kind enough to direct me to his door, I’ll see for myself.”
Jim went to the top floor and knocked at the door registered to Derrick Banning. A man with suspenders riding over his bare, compact chest threw open the door. “May I help you?” he asked.
“I hope so,” Jim said. “I’m Sheriff Hadley, and I’m investigating the murder of Molly Carnes.” He watched for signs of recognition, but if the man knew the girl, he hid it well. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask, Mr. Banning. May I come in?”
“But, of course,” Derrick said, stepping back. “I hope you’ll excuse my appearance. I was just about to finish my toilet.”
Spotting the coat rack, the sheriff hung his hat. “Looks like a mighty fine place,” he commented. “I suppose luxury like this costs a pretty penny, eh?”
Derrick studied the sheriff while closing the door. He believed the lawman displayed too mild a manner to hold damning information. “I find the charge to be appropriate for the accommodations.”
Jim noted a silk shirt draped across a chair. “Just out of curiosity, how can you afford it?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sheriff.”
“Well, you don’t appear to be employed, and I was wondering if, within the past few weeks, you might’ve come into a large sum of money?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Derrick said, indicating a washstand. If you’d like, you can continue your questions while I ready myself.”
“Go right ahead,” Jim said. “Don’t let me interrupt.” He watched Derrick fill a shaving mug and stir the brush. “You were about to tell me how you can afford this suite,” the sheriff cued.
Derrick took a long time lathering his face. “Oh yes, I was about to explain that, wasn’t I?” He picked up a razor and tested the blade’s edge. “I happen to do very well at the gaming tables, and as it often happens, I’m having an extremely successful run of luck.”
“Oh?” The sheriff crossed his arMs. “Whatever happened to the business deal you were trying to do with George Bruester?”
A drop of blood glistened on Derrick’s finger as he eyed the sheriff. “My, my, you seem to know quite a bit about me.” Turning to the mirror, he spoke smoothly. “As one might expect, the war has put a temporary halt on my plans,” he said, scraping a cheek. “I’m cautious by nature, and don’t like taking unnecessary risks.” Lifting his chin, Derrick began moving the blade in careful descent. “However, since I believe the venture will be successful once the war is over, I’ve decided to stick around.”
Though his words had a ring of truth, Jim felt Derrick had prepared himself for the possibility of being questioned. “I understand you still have an interest in Amanda Burnsfield.”
Swishing the blade in water, Derrick chuckled. “I’ve made no secret about my desire for Amanda. In fact, already this week I’ve had the pleasure of her company.” Giving it his full attention, Derrick worked the razor around his thin mustache. “And, once the matter of her husband is decided, I intend to correct Amanda’s choice of mate.”
“How would you respond if someone suggested you pilfered information to blackmail Reagan out of the way?”
Derrick splashed his face before toweling dry. “What?” he snorted. “Am I now being accused of coercing my way into his marriage?” He placed the linen around his neck. “I can’t believe Reagan would stoop so low to accuse me of that. From what I understand, he’s losing Amanda all by himself.”
“What do you say to the accusation?” Jim persisted.
Derrick lowered his chin like a cornered turtle. “I’d say it’d be the desperate act of a desperate man. Unless of course, you have some proof.”
Sheriff Hadley realized he couldn’t shake the man’s aplomb. “No, not that I’ve discovered.”
“I see.” Derrick tugged the towel back and forth. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Molly Carnes was murdered two weeks ago,” the sheriff said, saving his thorniest questions for last. “What were your whereabouts the night before Molly was found?”
“Most likely, I was gambling at the saloon or in a nearby town.” Derrick crossed the floor and put on his shirt. After tucking in his shirttail, he reset his suspenders. “Unfortunately, one day seems pretty much like another for someone like myself, so I can’t be more accurate than that.”
“If you frequented the saloon, then surely you knew Molly.”
“No more than any man who’d pay for a few hours pleasure,” he said, opening the wardrobe. “On any account, I don’t recall the wench.” Donning a vest and jacket, he inspected himself in the mirror. “I, of course, would have no reason to kill a helpless strumpet, but from what I hear, Reagan Burnsfield did.” Pleased with his reflection, Derrick grasped his lapels. “I do hope you’re finished because I have an appointment to keep with Amanda.”
“For a man who doesn’t know much about this crime, you seem pretty certain of the outcome,” Jim said.
“I’ve every confidence you’ve found the real perpetrator,” Derrick said, forcing a smile. “Although I do realize it’s your duty to examine all possibilities.”
“So, you’d have no problem if I were to question George Bruester about your employer, and confirm your associations in New York?”
“There’s no need to disturb Mr. Bruester,” Derrick said. “I’m happy to give you all the information you need. Do you wish to write it down?”
Though there was no outward appearance, Jim felt something had changed in Derrick’s demeanor. “Sure,” he said as he pulled out a pad and pencil. “Here, I’ll let you write it down as I’m liable to spell it wrong.”
Derrick quickly scribbled a name of a different bank, calculating how m
uch time he’d have before the lawman would receive word he wasn’t employed there. “Don’t be surprised,” he said, “if at first they don’t remember me. After all, I’ve been gone for nearly a year.”
The sheriff glanced at the handwriting. The bold strokes were clearly similar to the signature on the cheque. Once he verified the bank’s name with George, he’d send as many telegraphs as necessary to get the answers he needed from New York.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Banning, you’ve been most cooperative.”
“Anything to help bring a killer to justice,” Derrick said. With luck, the sheriff would be put off long enough for him to alter his plans. After escorting the sheriff to the door, Derrick leaned against the wooden panels. “Well, well,” he said, tapping his wounded finger against a lip. “Amanda may be of use to me, yet.”
Chapter Ninety-Two
When George was ushered into the office of Barnabus Simon, the investigator, he was more than a little surprised to see Thomas sitting beside the only other empty chair. Barnabus rose from behind his desk, extending his hand. “So pleased you could come on such short notice. I hope you don’t mind my asking Mr. Burnsfield to join us because this affects you both.”
George nodded stiffly before settling into the chair. Ever since the horrifying murder of Molly Carnes, he’d suffered guilt, thinking his daughter had wed a dangerous man. On the other hand, he’d known the Burnsfields most of his life, and fretted equally that he was misjudging his son-in-law before the facts were known. One thing he did know, Thomas had to be suffering even more than he. George laid a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze.
Barnabus opened a portfolio with several pages inside. “I have to tell each of you, how extraordinary this case has been. Never before have two separate investigations intertwined.”
“Two?” George looked at Thomas. “Did you have a cheque stolen too?”
Thomas shook his head. “Until this morning, I had no idea Reagan had hired Mr. Simon. In fact, the only reason I was summoned was because Reagan is unable to come.”
“That’s correct,” the detective said crisply. “When the junior Burnsfield came to us, it was before the tragic occurrence of a few weeks ago.”
“Does this have anything to do with that terrible murder?” asked Thomas.
“We don’t know if it does, Mr. Burnsfield. We’re only certain of what we found. The rest must be determined by the law.” The detective held up his hand. “You both look confused, so let’s start at the beginning. Mr. Bruester came to me several weeks ago to investigate a cheque that had been stolen, forged, and then cashed out of town.” He lifted the document from between the pages and set it on his desk. “When his bookkeeper reported the discrepancy, George believed he’d uncovered a thief. All we had to go on was the name of the person to whom the cheque was made out, and that was Orville Farnsworth.”
“I take it you’ve found something,” George said, leaning forward. “Did you locate him?”
“Yes and no,” Barnabus answered. “But for you to understand this fully, I need to explain it as it unfolded.” He looked at Thomas. “Not long after we began our probe into the stolen cheque, Reagan secured our services to investigate a man he all but admitted was blackmailing him.”
Both men gasped. “Am I to understand that your son didn’t inform you?” the detective asked.
Thomas’s face turned ashen. “No. He never said a word.”
“Reagan wasn’t specific about the nature of the extortion,” Barnabus continued. “Except to say it had something to do with his wife, Amanda.”
Now it was George who turned pale. “Amanda! How could she be involved?”
“Did Reagan say who was blackmailing him?” asked Thomas.
The detective glanced at the papers before him. “Reagan claimed it was Derrick Banning.”
“Derrick Banning!” both men said in unison.
After a stunned silence, George spoke first. “What connection does this have with the man who stole my cheque?”
“I’m getting to that,” Barnabus said. “Periodically during each investigation, my men would report their findings.” He folded his hands, looking from George to Thomas. “And this is where it becomes interesting. We hadn’t found much about Mr. Farnsworth, except to confirm he’d cashed the cheque and deposited the money in a bank across state lines. Soon after, he withdrew the cash. However, our investigation of Derrick Banning took our man to New York, where our subject originally met Mr. Bruester.”
“That he did,” George nodded. “In fact, he was my escort while in the city.”
“We began at the largest banks, intending to question them all, if necessary.” The detective shuffled the papers, removing one before laying it on top. “We did discover where Mr. Banning was employed,” Barnabus said. “But in addition to that, we found they had a warrant against him for embezzlement.”
“What?” George said, rubbing his forehead.
“Apparently Mr. Banning made a hasty departure from New York because he stole a payroll deposit instead of entering it into an account he handled. And that’s not all.” Barnabus looked pointedly at George. “They did some investigating of their own, and unearthed a few of his cronies. At that time, he went by the name Orville Farnsworth.”
“Can this help Reagan?” asked Thomas.
“I’m not sure. All I can say is it shows this man’s a criminal. If he were blackmailing Reagan, it’s possible he may’ve had access to Reagan’s office, which would put him within the realm of being able to place a body there.” He held up a hand at Thomas’s elated look. “Now, it doesn’t prove anything,” Barnabus pointed out. “All it shows is a connection. As soon as my man reported what he found, I put two and two together. Derrick Banning, who was blackmailing Reagan, was also the same man who stole a cheque from Mr. Bruester.”
“He very well could’ve taken the cheque while in my office,” George volunteered. “All this time, I never suspected.”
“I’ve all the documents you need to prosecute him for theft,” Barnabus said, placing papers inside the portfolio and handing it to George. “I’d recommend you inform the sheriff immediately. If Derrick Banning is indeed Orville Farnsworth, I’d have to say he’s been a very busy man.”
“Thank you very much.” George said, standing. “What you’ve uncovered is truly unbelievable.”
Barnabus smiled good-naturedly. “I hope you’ll still say that when you receive my bill.”
Thomas grinned at the banker. “What do you say we pay a visit to Sheriff Hadley?”
George slapped Thomas’s back. “I can’t get there soon enough.”
Chapter Ninety-Three
Amanda believed staying with Gabriella was the best choice she could’ve made. Though she hadn’t revealed she was expecting, she felt a calmness of spirit within the comfortable house.
While Gabriella spent the day visiting friends, Amanda stayed home, keeping busy with needlework. And, though she didn’t feel up to traveling herself, she encouraged her Aunt to spend afternoon tea with Emily before returning home. Amanda had just carried a tray into the parlor when she heard a knock at the door. She went to the entrance to find Beauregard standing there with a big smile on his face.
“Why Beau,” she said. “What brings you here?”
“Tiens!” Beauregard extended a fistful of pink and red geraniuMs. “For you, demoiselle.”
Pleased at the unexpected visit, Amanda opened the door fully. “Do come in,” she said, finding a nearby vase. Arranging the blossoms, she spoke over her shoulder. “Where ever did you get these? They look just like Aunt Ella’s.”
Beau stepped near, his hands behind his back. “They do?” he voiced warmly. “That’s strange…”
“Beauregard Barrington!” Amanda said, wagging a finger. “You picked these flowers from the front yard, didn’t you?”
“Ah,” he touched his chest. “I’m wounded to the heart. Even demoiselle thinks me larron of le fleur.”
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br /> “Oh Beau,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “It’s good to see you. I thought I’d lost my friends.”
“Non, Ma chéri,” he said, cupping her chin. “Fair weather friends are not worth having.”
“You have indeed been a good friend,” she said. “Would you like a cup of tea? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“And crumpets? Warm and crisp crumpets?”
Amanda drew him toward the parlor. “How would gingersnaps and butter cookies do?”
“That’s sounds magnifique!”
Once settled on the sofa, Beauregard’s concern was evident. “How’ve you been? I’ve been distressed for Reagan these past weeks. It must be doubly so for you.”
Amanda stirred her tea before taking a sip. “It’s been extremely difficult. I feel as if I’ve fallen into a pit and can’t get out.” She laughed at Beau’s stricken expression. “I’m sure I sound quite morose. Please, forgive me.”
“Surely, you don’t believe the accusations?” he asked.
“I don’t want to believe Reagan capable of murder or the…other…” she admitted. “Yet, the girl was-a-was-a-” Amanda couldn’t speak for fear it was she who pushed Reagan to that desperate need.
“A fille de joie,” Beau finished. “Yes, I know demoiselle. However, even if he had fallen into that trap,” he said, “Reagan could never raise a hand against les femmes.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “But, it may have been my fault! I-I was not always-receptive-”
“Shhh!” Beauregard pressed a hanky into her hand. “It is not so, Reagan loved you too much to be a traître.”
“Love?” Amanda shook her head. “I’d venture to say he found advantage only.”
Beauregard looked adamant. “If you don’t believe another word I say, believe that Reagan loves you. I’ve seen it. Accept, ma chéri, the man has eyes only for you.”
“Then why has it only gone from bad to worse?” she asked, daubing her tears.
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