Innocent 'til Proven Guilty

by Tricia Andersen

  My heart warmed as I watched them from a distance. I loved them both so much. Part of me felt guilty. I didn’t even love my ma and pa as much as I loved those two. Thoughts of a career in Chicago were quickly fading from my mind.

  “I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

  The low, gravelly voice sent chills up my spine. I turned to face who was behind me. A man just about my height with slicked-backed, gray hair sneered at me. His black suit was impeccable. My breath hitched in my throat. I had seen his image multiple times during my research.

  How did Art Spencer know I wanted to talk to him? Instinctively, my lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Sam. That rat.

  I rolled my shoulders back confidently and took a step closer to him. “Yes, sir. I did. Livvy Randall. News reporter.” I extended my hand. “I have some questions about your business dealings with H.M. Goodrich.”

  Art Spencer didn’t take my hand. His evil grin grew wider. “You do, do you?”

  I frowned. “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “Are you sure I’m the only one you want to question?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  He pointed behind me with a chuckle. I slowly twisted around to see what he was gesturing at. A long, black luxury sedan sat at the corner, blocking me from the park. My heart started to race as a large, burly man slipped out from behind the wheel. He reverently opened the back door.

  Out stepped another man who was nearly as large as the driver. His head was bald, his chin neatly trimmed, and his suit just as immaculate as Art’s. His ice gray eyes pierced through me. I didn’t have to ask who he was, either. My legs turned to jelly. It was Dirty Fingers DiPaccio. He looked at his driver and cocked his head toward me. “Grab the girl.”

  My feet backpedaled away from the approaching hulk, but I collided with Art. His hands gripped my shoulders tightly until the driver reached us. The driver lifted me up and tossed me like a rag doll over his shoulder. As much as I kicked and screamed, I couldn’t get free. He tossed me in the backseat of the car beside Dirty Fingers DiPaccio, slammed the door shut, and then got into the front seat with Art Spencer.

  I jumped at the sound of something banging on the trunk of the car. I turned just in time to see the horrified look on Frankie’s face through the back window as the car sped off.

  Chapter Six

  The sheer terror I felt sitting next to a Chicago mobster with a hit list longer than my arm kept me from noticing where I was being taken. I didn’t even realize just how far away we were from downtown until we passed the Hall’s mansion. I heaved a hopeless sigh. There was no way possible Frankie would find me out here. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw Dirty Fingers DiPaccio grinning. He was getting some sick pleasure out of my fear.

  The driver parked in the drive of a large, majestic house. He stepped out and opened the rear door. I flinched as he grabbed my upper arm to direct me out of the sedan. He still held me tight as Dirty Fingers and Art Spencer slid out also then led us inside. We weaved through the house until we reached the study. The driver let me go then shut the door, trapping me inside with himself, Art, and the mob boss.

  “Hello, Olivia,” Dirty Fingers purred. “I understand you wish to speak with us.”

  “How could you possibly know that?” I objected.

  “An acquaintance of ours filled us in on your wishes.”

  I couldn’t keep the snarl from my face. “Sam. That snitch.” The men in the room chuckled. With a huff I continued, “Yes, I wished to speak to both you and Art about your involvement with H.M. Goodrich.”

  “Henry Goodrich was a double crossing, two-bit snake,” Art snapped angrily.

  Dirty Fingers raised his hand to silence Art. “Now, Art, Olivia isn’t really asking what we thought of Goodrich. She wants to know if we murdered him. She’s looking to clear the name of that boyfriend of hers.”

  My breath caught in my throat. How much did Sam tell him? Who exactly was that smooth-talking editor working for? “That’s right. That’s exactly what I want to know.” I was surprised my voice didn’t come out a squeak.

  Dirty Fingers chuckled again. “First of all, my dear, had I killed him, there would be nothing you could do about it. I have enough officials in my pocket that I can write my own get-out-of-jail-free card. However, I didn’t kill him and neither did Art. We were both in Saint Louis during his unfortunate demise.”

  “But you have men who could have done it,” I accused.

  “What would I gain from his death?”

  “His company. You can manipulate Vivian Goodrich for it. You probably have.”

  Dirty Fingers shook his head. “There’s the real snake. Within hours of Goodrich’s death, that dame had her lawyers wrapped tight around the company and its assets. I hate lawyers. You shoot one, and two more appear. I’ve given up killing them.”

  I looked at him, puzzled. Vivian sure didn’t seem to mourn her husband. She actually seemed to gain from it. Had she planned it?

  Dirty Fingers looked at his driver then nodded to me. “I have enjoyed our visit, Olivia. I like you. You have spunk. I could never hurt a beauty like you. But nose in my business again, and I’ll hurt someone like that boyfriend of yours.”

  I swallowed hard as I nodded wordlessly to him. Before I knew it, the driver had my arm and was dragging me down the hall away from the study.

  The return trip to downtown Cedar Rapids in the dark sedan was just as unnerving as the one I took with Dirty Fingers DiPaccio. I had heard stories of mobsters having secret meetings then having their men murder those they met with. Was that what Dirty Finger’s driver had planned for me? Was he going to take me deep into the Iowa farmland and kill me? My knuckles were white as I gripped the edge of the seat.

  To my relief, the car came to a stop right in front of Hotel Montrose. The driver slid out and opened my door. He even offered his hand to help me climb out of the monstrous back seat. Before I was steady on my feet, the driver hopped back into the sedan and disappeared.

  “Olivia!”

  I didn’t have a chance to acknowledge the voice before I was crushed against a brick wall of man. I was smothered in Frankie’s embrace. His lips were on mine before I could utter a word. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders. I finally felt safe.

  His ice blue eyes stared into mine as we parted. “What happened? I saw those men take you and couldn’t stop them in time. I ran after the car, but—”

  I pressed my fingers to his lips to silence him. “It was Art Spencer. And Dirty Fingers DiPaccio.”

  “The Chicago mobster? He kidnapped you?” Frankie pulled me to him for another kiss. I could feel his fingers tremble against my cheeks. I wrapped my hands around his.

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  “What did he want?”

  “To find out what I wanted to know about him.”

  “And that would be?”

  “If he killed H.M. Goodrich. Art and H.M. had a falling out when the business became successful. H.M. threw him out. Art associated himself with Dirty Fingers. Getting control of the business would give Dirty Fingers control of Cedar Rapids.”

  “That makes sense. But I doubt he confessed.”

  “He told me he and Art were in Saint Louis and that he didn’t order the hit, either. What he told me after that was very interesting.”

  “That is?”

  “The minute H.M. Goodrich died, Vivian had her lawyers tie up the company so that it couldn’t be touched.”

  “What’s so interesting about that?”

  I gazed into his eyes. “If I lost you, I would be inconsolable. I certainly wouldn’t be able to take possession of your assets.”

  “I have no assets, love.”

  I smirked at him. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “I do. Maybe Vivian knew that Dirty Fingers would try to grab hold of the company.”

  I frowned. How could I trust what the mobster had said? After my eventful afternoon, it was difficult to think.<
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  Frankie softly kissed my forehead. “I thought I lost you. And to know you were in the hands of Dirty Fingers DiPaccio… He kills nearly everyone in his way.”

  I closed my eyes as Dirty Finger’s words echoed in my mind. The thought that he would hurt Frankie if I ever questioned him again terrified me. I hugged Frankie closer. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “How about we get something to eat? I’m not about to let you out of my sight.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and led me into the hotel.

  Frankie certainly kept to his word. He shepherded me into the Iowa Room for supper, ordering us each pork chops, mashed potatoes, and sweet corn. As I sank my teeth into the tender meat, I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. It took no time at all for me to devour my entire plate.

  Once supper was finished, he took my hand and, together, we slowly walked to the bank of the Cedar River. Somewhere along our journey, Monty joined us, carefully weaving his way around our feet to show both of us his devotion. I smiled as I watched Frankie scratch between the dog’s ears affectionately. I wasn’t sure when Frankie and Monty had become so close, but there was no doubt in my mind that the man and the mutt loved each other.

  We sat next to the river, our arms wrapped tight around each other as we watched the water rush by. Neither of us talked. Holding each other was all we wanted. Monty settled beside Frankie, his muzzle resting on the Irishman’s leg. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly safe.

  As the moon rose high in the night sky, Frankie helped me to my feet. “Time for bed,” he announced.

  I smiled. “Why don’t I kiss you good night here? That way you don’t have to spend extra time to get home.”

  He laughed. “Livvy, lass, I told you I’m not letting you out of my sight. Where you sleep tonight, I’ll be sleeping, too.”

  My stomach clenched in a knot as I felt my face flush hot and my heart race all at the same time. Frankie and I sleeping in the same place? I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted him beside me through the night. But the scandal that would follow…

  “You can’t stay in my room,” I objected. “It’s not proper. People would talk.”

  “I don’t care what people would say. You’re more important than gossip.”

  “Frankie, it can’t happen.”

  He frowned at me for a moment. I could tell he was frustrated with my stubborn nature. Then, he smiled. “You come home with me. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll bunk on the sofa. No one will talk because everyone knows my ma…and being a good, hardworking Catholic woman, she wouldn’t allow that sort of thing in her house. Deal?”

  “How did such a good, honest woman get such a hellion?” I teased.

  Frankie chuckled despite himself. “Is it a deal?”

  “It’s a deal. Let me go back to the Montrose and get something to sleep in. All right?”

  “Of course.” Frankie took my hand in his again so that we could return to the hotel.

  It didn’t take very long for me to grab my night dress, a robe, and clothes for the next day. Frankie and Monty sat patiently on my bed as I found a satchel to stow my belongings. They both glanced out the open door as the other occupants passed by, returning their stares with puzzled looks. As I closed my bag, Frankie stood and took it from me. Then, he wrapped his hand around mine. “Let’s go home.” He smiled.

  Frankie’s mother, his aunt, and Poppy were a little stunned by my appearance in their living room with my satchel in Frankie’s hand. When Frankie explained what had happened—that I had been abducted and interrogated by Dirty Fingers DiPaccio—no other words needed to be said.

  Frankie, Polly, and I were ordered to the kitchen table for some lemonade and a piece of pie while the two older women prepared Frankie’s bed and the couch for the night. After a couple of hours laughing and talking, we were all shooed off to bed. With all that had happened, I drifted off to sleep before my head hit the pillow.

  I found myself in a dark hallway, lit only by the moonlight coming through the broken window at the end of the corridor.

  Confused, I glanced around to figure out where I was. It immediately struck me that I was standing in the Hotel Montrose, except it wasn’t the place I knew and loved. The plaster was flaking off the hall in large chunks and littering the torn, matted carpet that once had been so beautiful and lush. The sconces that had once lit the room were now broken and hanging lifelessly on the wall.

  My heart hammered in my chest. I had never been so scared.

  I started to run, not knowing where I was going. The hallway went on forever, occasionally taking a twist or turn. The grand staircase had disappeared. The doors to all the rooms were locked. I couldn’t escape. I was trapped.

  I turned slowly to find a shadowy figure behind me. My feet backpedaled in retreat, but whoever it was moved faster than I did. Suddenly, the end of the hall found me. I came to a crashing stop. My eyes flew wide open as the man stepped into the moonlight.

  “Surprise,” Frankie crooned as he raised the gun in his hand—the same one that had killed H.M. Goodrich—and pointed it to my head. His beautiful features were cold as he glared at me. With a chuckle, he pulled the trigger.

  I awoke, shooting straight up in Frankie’s bed. The shrill sound I had heard? That had been my own scream. My heart thundered in my chest as I gasped for air. Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

  Before I knew it, Frankie and the rest of the occupants of the house were in the doorway. He sat on the bed, gently brushing the stray strands of auburn hair from my face and tucking them behind my ear. “Livvy, are you all right?”

  I nodded, unable to speak. How could I answer him? I knew what my nightmare meant, and as much as I hated it, I knew it was true.

  I didn’t get a wink of sleep the rest of the night. The nightmare—staring down the barrel of a gun held by the man I loved, watching him pull the trigger—haunted my every thought.

  It was difficult to face Frankie the next morning. I could see the concern in his ice blue eyes. I worked to convince myself that it had been just a dream. Frankie would never hurt me. But something inside me still believed it was him. That he was the one who had tried to take my life so many times. That he was the one who had killed H.M. Goodrich.

  My journalism professor in college had taught me to trust my instincts when it came to reporting a story. I didn’t want to trust my instincts this time.

  After a huge, marvelous breakfast made my Frankie’s mother, I dressed for work. However, before I could sneak out the front door, Frankie blocked my escape.

  “Olivia, what is it?” he pleaded.

  I forced a smile on my face. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just need to get to work.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He cocked his head to the side. “What was your nightmare about?”

  I struggled to think of something, anything. “I dreamt my parents’ house burned to the ground.”

  “Lie. Olivia, you’re a tough, brilliant woman. A house can be rebuilt. Whatever terrified you was permanent.” He paused for a moment. “Did someone try to kill you in your dream?”

  I was stunned speechless at his guess.

  He frowned. “It was me, wasn’t it? I killed you. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me all morning, isn’t it?”

  All I could manage was a weak “yes.”

  Frankie scuffed his boot angrily on the dark wood floorboard. “How could you think I would kill you?”

  My voice was quiet and small, “I don’t know.”

  He looked up at me, his ice blue eyes cold. “I do. You don’t believe I’m innocent. A part of you thinks I killed H.M. Goodrich and that I tried to kill you, doesn’t it?”

  My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t answer him. Frankie shook his head slowly. Then, he stepped aside and pushed the door open. “I think you better leave.”

  Tears filled my eyes. I lowered my head as I rushed past him and down the porch steps. I couldn’t look at the hurt in his eyes. I hurried down the street then stoppe
d. Turning slowly, I glanced back at the house. Both Frankie and Monty stood in the doorway, watching me go. Frankie’s face was as hard as granite. Sobbing, I spun around and ran until I was out of their sight.

  Everyone in the lobby of the Montrose Hotel stared as I rushed through to the staircase. I could hear the sympathetic mutters. Another girl discarded by Frankie O’Carney. I bit back a sob as I jogged up the stairs. If they only knew the truth.

  The door of my room had hardly swung open before I was buried beneath the covers of my bed. The stone, cold look on Frankie’s face when he had asked me to leave played over and over in my mind, quickly displacing my nightmare. He would never forgive me for not believing in him. Could I blame him?

  I whimpered into my pillow. To add insult to injury, Monty had stayed with him. My own dog had chosen him over me. I didn’t have anyone anymore in Cedar Rapids. The thought brought a whole new wave of tears.

  It was well past lunch before I finally got up. I had never sent word to Vic to tell him that I wasn’t coming to work. I was fired for sure. And I couldn’t prove Frankie’s innocence if I myself didn’t believe it. No matter how long I thought about it, only one option was left for me.

  I stood and began packing my things. Once they were together in their appropriate bags, I picked up my clutch then closed and locked the door behind me.

  It seemed like forever before I reached the train station. I kept my eyes to the ground to avoid those watching me as I passed by. For being a rather large town, everyone seemed to know everyone else and everybody knew I was with Frankie. My swollen, tear-filled eyes told them we were over.

  I stepped up to the ticket window and slid my money across the countertop. “A ticket to Chicago. One way, please. As soon as possible.”

  The clerk, an old gent with snowy white hair, sighed pityingly at me. “Tomorrow morning is the next train.”

  “All right.”

  He handed me the ticket then patted me gently on the hand. I shook my head as I pulled free and walked away. Total strangers were feeling sorry for my broken heart. The sooner I could escape this place, the better.