Well, that statement was far more humorous than the last. Some of the officials were even dabbing tears from their eyes at his point. “I’m sorry, Miss…”
“Olivia. Olivia Randall.” I wasn’t about to allow these buffoons the opportunity to use my preferred name.
“Miss Randall, Frankie O’Carney is as guilty as the day is long.”
I stepped up, stretching my small frame until I was nearly nose-to-nose with the sheriff. “Innocent ‘til proven guilty. Isn’t that how it goes? Or is the court system run differently here in Iowa than the rest of the U. S. of A?”
It was the sheriff’s turn to snarl. And snarl he did. “O’Carney is set to appear before the judge in the morning. Bail, if there is any, will be set then.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll see you gents in the morning.” I turned around and strode away.
My bravado deflated outside the door. The thought that Frankie had to spend the night in this dismal place broke my heart. I shuffled quietly back to the hotel.
As I stepped inside Hotel Montrose, I collided with another large body. I nearly lost my balance. I frowned as I looked up. The train conductor with whom I’d had my first disagreement with earlier that morning hovered over me.
“Well, look who we have here,” he sneered. “Good news, miss. The part we needed was in Des Moines. The engine is fixed. We leave in the morning. I expect to see your shining face in your seat at eight o’clock.”
I muttered my thanks as tears burned my eyes. Could I really give up my dreams, everything I had worked so hard to achieve, for a hellion with a girlfriend?
I already knew the answer to that question. A sob escaped my throat. How would I learn to live with my decision?
Chapter Two
The train whistle blew loud and long promptly at eight thirty, signaling it was leaving for Chicago. I heaved a sigh. Then, I turned and ascended the steps to the courthouse.
The large, cold, ornate building was nearly deserted. I asked anyone I came upon where Frankie’s hearing was. After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, I found the courtroom. I slipped inside to find proceedings had already begun. I sat quietly in the back. The sheriff was there beside the prosecuting attorney.
Frankie sat beside who I shortly discovered was the most incompetent public defender I had ever laid eyes on. He first announced Frankie’s guilt. After Frankie very loudly protested his innocence, the lawyer weakly took his side. Very weakly.
Exasperated, the judge rapped his gavel on the desk. “Take Mr. O’Carney into custody. No bail.”
“What?” I shrieked as I flew to my feet.
“Who in blue blazes are you, miss?” the officiant demanded.
I strode to the barrier that divided the men from me. “Livvy Randall, your honor.”
“Well, Ms. Randall, what gives you the right to disturb my courtroom?”
“Why aren’t you setting bail?”
“Mr. O’Carney is accused of murder. Due to that fact, bail is revoked. Not a law student, I see?”
“No. Reporter. I can prove Frankie is innocent.”
“Ms. Randall, I don’t like reporters, especially in my courtroom. And unless you’re Mr. O’Carney’s lawyer, I suggest you sit and be quiet, or I will charge you with contempt. Do you understand me, young lady?”
I pointed to the sluggard sitting next to Frankie. “I can do better than him without a law degree. Please, sir, may I present my evidence?”
The judge huffed, the wrinkles on his face ridging deeper. “Fine. But I doubt it will change my ruling.”
“Thank you.” I pushed the little wooden gate to step through then faced the sheriff.
“Sheriff, when you came upon the scene, with which hand was Mr. O’Carney holding the gun?”
He glared at me. “How am I supposed to remember?” Still, he thought for a moment. “His right, I believe.”
I smiled as I crossed to the public defender and scooped up a pencil and paper from his stack. I set them in front of Frankie. I kept my eyes trained on the sheriff. If I looked at Frankie, my heart would race and my knees would go weak. He would undo me. Right now, I needed to keep my senses together. “Please write your name,” I directed him.
“Why?” Frankie protested.
I steeled myself and looked at him. It didn’t help. My pulse kicked up a notch. “Please write your name,” I requested again.
He shrugged as he scrawled his signature. My smile grew wider. “If you observe—Mr. O’Carney is holding the pencil in his left hand. He’s a southpaw.”
“That hardly proves anything!” the prosecutor declared.
“Yes, it does,” the judge grumbled. “Reasonable doubt. Bail is set at five thousand dollars.”
It took me the rest of the morning to arrange for the money. The quality time I spent with the bondsman was time I hoped never to have to spend again. When lunch rolled around, Frankie was a free man for the time being. And all I had left to my name was a few pennies.
I sighed sadly as I stared into my near empty clutch. I would have to start saving from scratch to continue my dream in Chicago. For now, I needed to pack my things and check out of Hotel Montrose. I had no idea where I would go.
I shuffled slowly up the stairs to my room and unlocked the door. Tears flooded my eyes as I lifted my suitcases onto the bed and opened them. I had done the right thing. I knew that. I couldn’t let an innocent man pay for a crime he didn’t commit.
It didn’t take away the fact that I was scared out of my wits. I was broke in a strange city. I had no safe place to sleep. And even if I got word to Pa, it would be a couple days before he reached me. Who knows what would happen to me by then? I wiped away a runaway tear from my cheek with the back of my hand and tossed my flannel nightgown into my bag.
“Where you goin’?”
My heart thundered at the slight Irish brogue. It couldn’t be. I slowly straightened myself and turned to the door. Frankie O’Carney leaned against the doorframe watching me, his strong arms crossed over his chest.
I struggled to find my voice. There was no use. It came out a weak squeak, “I’m checking out.”
“I thought you were going to help me,” he accused.
“I am,” I defended. “I can’t afford to stay here. I need to find another place to stay.”
He grinned. “No, you don’t. I talked to Ed. Your room will come out of my pay.”
“That won’t leave you much to live on.”
“I’ll get by. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
Frankie took a step toward me. “I’m Frankie.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “I know.”
“But I have no idea who you are. Other than the angel who saved me.”
The heat from my blush was nearly unbearable. My hand trembled as I shook his. The sensation of his fingers clasped around mine sent jolts of lightning through me. “I’m Livvy.”
“Well, Livvy. How about we get some lunch? Where you tell me how you’re going to catch this killer, so I can help.”
I shook my head. “I can’t afford it.”
“It’s my treat.”
“Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Girlfriend?”
“The girl you were having lunch with the other day.”
He grinned at me. It made my knees melt. “That was Poppy. My sister.” He wrapped his arm around me and nudged me toward the door. “Should we go?”
* * * *
Lunch with Frankie O’Carney was incredible. We dined in the Iowa Room and feasted on baked chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. The man sure liked his mashed potatoes. As I stared at him dreamily while he chattered away about his night in jail, I wondered if he’d like the mashed potatoes that I would make for him. Not that I had ever made mashed potatoes. Maybe Mama would come from Nebraska and teach me how…
I shook myself violently from my daydream. Where did that come from? Never once i
n my life did I fantasize about cooking for a man, much less doing anything else with him. What in blue blazes made me start now?
“Livvy, are you all right?”
I lifted my eyes to meet Frankie’s concerned gaze. I felt the warmth of the blush on my cheeks. The young Irishman was putting his spell on me. I rolled my shoulders back and set my chin firmly in its place. I couldn’t let this man undo me. But my thundering heart announced that he already had. “I’m just fine. Thank you.”
“The way you shivered. I just hope you aren’t getting ill.”
“Never felt better. But thank you for your concern.”
Frankie shrugged and continued eating. I let my breath go slowly. I could feel my imagination pounding away in my head, begging to be set loose. I closed my eyes and willed the images into submission, not sure how long I could keep them at bay.
Once lunch was finished, I said my goodbyes to Frankie. I really didn’t want to. Something in his beautiful, blue eyes told me he wasn’t ready for our day together to end, either. However, I didn’t see my time in Cedar Rapids coming to a close any time soon. I had a murderer to find. To do that, I needed to have an income to support myself. It was time to get a job.
Still dressed in the suit I had worn to the courthouse, I made my way along Third Avenue. I was a reporter. It only made sense that I start looking for work doing what I loved. And as luck would have it, the local paper was just a couple blocks up the street from Hotel Montrose.
I stepped inside the door of The Gazette and asked for the editor. As I waited, I met everyone who stared at me like a two-headed monster with an icy glare. That included the thin, hurried, bald man who came out to greet me.
“I was told you wanted to speak to me,” he barked.
“My name is Livvy Randall. I want a job as your reporter.”
He took a moment to scrutinize me. “Why would I want to hire a young woman like you?”
“Because I have a journalism degree from the University of Nebraska. I graduated with honors.”
“I have a spot for you on the Society page.”
“News beat.”
“Society. Or nothing.”
I sighed. I needed the money. “Fine.”
I shuffled down the street back to my hotel. I had a job, and I’d soon have a paycheck. But at what cost? I hadn’t gone through four years of college to write about who had just married who. I hadn’t slaved away in the newspaper office, cutting and pasting news stories and advertising, nearly binding my fingers together with rubber cement, just so I could report on the latest fashion worn to the theater that week.
No. I was a news reporter. I reported the important facts, things people needed to know. I certainly couldn’t lower my standards and report the fluff found on the Society page.
I sighed. I needed the money. I couldn’t have Frankie spend nearly all his pay taking care of me. A sweet smile spread across my lips at the thought. I sighed again, this time in lovesickness for the delicious Irishman. Now that I knew Poppy was his sister and not his girlfriend, I found it harder not to let my mind wander. What would it be like to hold his hand? Be in his arms? Kiss him?
I was so consumed in my fantasies about Frankie that I never saw the person who shoved into me. The sheer force of the assault propelled me into the street. Stumbling, I struggled to find my footing. I huffed. How could someone be so rude? It was certainly a large enough sidewalk!
I looked up, my heart thundering, as I heard the frantic clanging of a bell. A street trolley bore down on me fast, unable to stop. My feet froze in their place on either side of the track. My eyes were wide as the driver waved wildly at me to get off. I couldn’t move. There was no time.
Out of nowhere, something strong and solid slammed into me. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. But it wasn’t the cold metal of the trolley. It was warm. It was soft. And it wound around me and held me tight.
“Livvy, are you all right?” Frankie demanded as he held me close. I could feel his heart pound through his work shirt.
I buried my face into his chest as I clung to him. Slowly, I became aware of my throbbing knee, and the cold trickle of blood that drizzled from a scrape there. “I’m fine, Frankie. You just saved my life.”
Frankie scooped me into his arms and carried me back to the sidewalk. He set me gently down on the grass. “What were you doing in the street, lass?”
“Someone bumped into me.”
Frankie scanned the distance from the sidewalk to where I had just stood. “Livvy, someone would have had to have pushed you forcefully. It was no small nudge.”
“You mean someone meant to do that? They wanted to kill me?”
“It looks like it.”
“But who would want me dead?”
I spent the rest of the afternoon alone and confused in my room nursing my skinned knee. I couldn’t understand why someone would want me dead. I was brand new to this little city. Hardly anyone knew me. So, who in the world wanted to put me in the grave?
I looked up, frowning, at the sound of rustling outside my door. It had happened all day, usually accompanied by grumbling. I recognized the voice without having to look. Frankie had spent hours pacing outside. Whether he wanted to check up on me, or was keeping guard, I didn’t know. I just knew I wasn’t about to get up and let him in.
My chest heaved as I breathed a sigh. Frankie had been found with the gun in his hand. He was being tried for murder. He was one of the few people in Cedar Rapids who knew me. And he had been right there when I was pushed in front of the trolley. Was I a fool for helping him? Did he kill H.M. Goodrich? Did he just try to kill me?
I shook my head slowly. I didn’t know who or what to believe anymore.
The sun was blazing a brilliant, pumpkin orange through the hotel window when there was a knock at my door. Before I could rise off the bed, a voice floated through to me.
“Livvy. It’s well past supper. You have to be starving. Let’s go eat.”
I stared at the door for several moments without saying a word. Could I trust him? Or was he a murderer? Finally, I limped to the door and wrenched it open.
I was left staring up at Frankie’s perfect face. It was deeply etched with worry. “Are you all right, lass? You’ve been in here all day.”
I shrugged as I looked away from him. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
“You need to stop. You think too much.”
My head snapped back as I glared at him. “Excuse me? What do you mean by that?”
“Livvy, have you ever once done something without thinking it through and analyzing it first? Just let your heart, your passion, take control and not your head?”
I huffed. “No.”
“I can tell.”
“Well, thinking things through first keeps me out of trouble. You would do well to follow suit. You fly by the seat of your pants, and what did that do? Land you in jail.”
Frankie stiffened at my words. “At least I can say I have no regrets.”
“I can, too.”
“Really? Tell me about your first kiss.”
I bit my lower lip as I remained silent. What first kiss? Frankie was right. Lots of guys had asked me on a date. However, by the time I had made the decision to go out with them, the opportunity had passed.
I opened my mouth to give Frankie a piece of my mind. But my words came to a halt as his lips descended on mine in a soft, warm kiss.
* * * *
I woke up as the morning sun crept across my hotel room. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was too anxious. The Gazette was a far cry from the Chicago Tribune. Still, it was my first day at a real job, writing stories for a real newspaper. Even if it was for the Society page, I was still excited to start my career.
I washed, dressed in my best business suit, and brushed and curled my long, auburn hair long before the other occupants of my floor were up and moving. To kill time, I read the newest romance novel I had purchased for my trip from Omaha to Chicago, fidgeting the entire time.
I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. I jumped to my feet and grabbed my clutch with a giggle. It was time to go to work.
I didn’t get two steps outside the Hotel Montrose before I was startled by a silky, deep voice. It was the voice that belonged to the lips that kissed me last night. “Where are you going, Livvy?”
I spun on my toe. Frankie was leaning against the stone wall of the Montrose, watching me with his ice blue eyes. I rolled my shoulders back in a feeble attempt at bravado. By the cocky grin that spread across his lips, I knew I failed. “I’m walking to work. If I don’t get going, I’m going to be late.”
Frankie stared at me for another few seconds before he shoved off the building with his foot and strode across the sidewalk to me. His large hand encompassed my tiny one. “After what happened with the trolley car, you aren’t walking alone.”
I strolled along beside my self-appointed escort up Third Avenue to The Gazette. I glanced up at Frankie. His tall frame nearly blocked me from the morning sun. His strong, angular face was brushed with stubble. His black hair was rumpled just enough to make me swoon. The feeling of his strong fingers wrapped around mine sent little tremors of excitement through me.
Frankie deposited me at the front door of the newspaper office with a peck on the cheek. I watched as he wandered back down the sidewalk toward the Montrose. Then, I slowly turned as I heard a soft feminine chuckle from the opposite side of me. Sally, the Society page editor and my new boss, smiled at me.
“Livvy, I presume,” she greeted.
“Yes. Sally, correct?” I returned.
“Yes, darlin’.” She shook my hand daintily. “I see you’ve met the town tramp.”
I looked back to where Frankie had just stood then spun back to Sally. “Frankie isn’t a tramp,” I growled defensively.
“Oh, sugar. He pulled the wool over your eyes.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Hun, that boy has a girl for every day of the month. You’re nothin’ special to him.”
My heart shattered. Sally turned for the door. I blinked back sudden tears as I followed.
Innocent 'til Proven Guilty Page 2
