“But the door wouldn’t budge. I saw them try. The major pushed on it hard, and it didn’t move at all. That was more than the weather.”
“I think the person who last shut the door pulled it in place with a piece of paper between the door and the jamb to make it hold fast. The paper would not likely be noticed, and if it were thick enough, the door would be as good as locked to most people. That newspaper article wasn’t a clue, and it wasn’t used for starting a fire. It was just a piece of paper. “
Hart fumbled in his jacket and found the clipping on the Fifth Street Market and Dr. Trubel’s likeness. “The piece of paper we found in the room was used make the door stay shut, even to a good push.”
“Someone must have kicked it aside during the rush to get in the room. The killer didn’t have a chance to retrieve it before we found it and took it away.”
Hart’s eyes closed to near slits. “The door to the room pushed in. That means that if someone put the paper in between the jamb and the door, they had to do it from the inside, not the outside. So that still points to Caroline, not an intruder.”
Grant shook his head and pounded on the door again. He thought he felt the door budge slightly. It still seemed to want to stick in the corner. “I think that the oily smudge on the paper was caused by a piece of wax. The wax kept the paper in place on the door when she closed it. The door would be shut up tight from there.”
“You think that the door was pulled closed, so Caroline couldn’t have killed herself.”
Grant held the knob and ran his hand around the outside edge of the door. “Exactly. Someone else killed her and tried to make it look like suicide.”
“What would be the motive? I can think of at least three. The papers we found that she’d had, Trubel’s interest in showing people that she was above average in intelligence, and perhaps her unmarried status.” Hart flushed a little as he spoke the last sentence.
“I believe it might have been all three that caused her death.” Grant said. He thought he heard a muffled sound from inside the door. Perhaps Colonel Dent was inside, awaiting rescued.
“She could have been a dangerous woman to certain people with her intelligence and those papers. The knitting needle was suggestive that perhaps she’d been untrue to Jericho Granby.”
Madame Blanche spoke. “I believe that you’re right, sir. The woman’s voice has spoken with me. She had been untrue to her lover.”
“So the knitting needle wasn’t used to keep anyone out?”
Grant was glad for the half-light. He felt his face flush as he spoke again. The presence of Madame Blanche made a frank conversation that much more difficult. “No, I believe it was used in the past to keep out certain unwanted guests from the woman’s room. Only someone in the house could have been visiting her. Any other visitor to the house would be met at the front door and announced. I can’t see any lady of the house allowing the servants to see visitors.”
Madame Blanche nodded. “Major Mitchell.”
Grant nodded again. “Exactly. If she had a knitting needle in her door, it had to be to keep someone out who had the run of the house. No stranger could do that.”
Grant bent down and pushed his shoulder against the door. The wood protested, but gave way. He stood up as a thunderous roar rang out and the doorframe near his feet exploded into slivers.
Chapter 20
Grant took in the empty room and turned to face the gunman all in one motion. He’d been under fire before and didn’t have much fear of the situation. Hart and Madame Blanche, however, stood like statuary and nearly as pale.
“Good, I have your attention.” Major Mitchell stood about twenty yards from them, holding a Colt in his right hand. The army-issued six-shooter with the long barrel stared at them.
Grant gauged him to be too far for an attack, and yet close enough for him to be deadly. The man had spent the last four years at war; presumably, he knew how to use a revolver.
“Where’s the colonel?” Hart had recovered enough to start his usual line of inquiries.
Grant noticed that he was standing perfectly still as he asked his questions. Madame Blanche had taken refuge, as it were, behind Hart.
“Carriage ride around the city. I suggested a tour of Cincinnati by night. He was quite keen on the idea. By my estimations, he should be gone another hour or so. If all goes according to my plan, he’ll arrive safely back to the hotel just in time to hear of his son-in-law’s demise.”
“You’ll never get away with this.” Hart’s flair for the dramatic had taken over. Gads, he sounded like a penny dreadful.
Grant didn’t know if he was putting on a show for the fair maiden or if the reporter was more upset about the fact that someone else would be getting a boost from this story. The man’s ambition knew few bounds.
As for Grant, he knew that men with money and power got away with far worse every day. Men who profited from battle. Men who paid others to take their spot in the draft. Of course, Mitchell would have to make it look like an accident, but he had shown adeptness at that so far. Three more deaths wouldn’t be that difficult.
He’d thought about Julia and knew that he had to try his best to thwart this plan. She was on the verge of getting so much that she’d wanted, and he’d never deprive her of that if he could. She’d put up with the bad years, and it was that thought as well as the sense of duty he felt to the Union that would lead him to accept a nomination to be president. That meant extricating himself from this situation first.
Grant was still carrying his own revolver and had his side arm under his jacket. He was a good marksman, but he wasn’t a fast draw. Certainly nothing like those Kansas rebels who could have easily disarmed Mitchell before he could get off a shot. Besides, there were the two others to think about tonight.
As if he’d read Grant’s mind, Mitchell said, “Don’t think of using your side arm, General. Your two friends would be dead before you could get off a shot.”
Hart looked pale at the thought. At least Mitchell was torn between the two targets. He couldn’t keep one revolver on both parties. Having two sets of people to watch would prove distracting.
Mitchell took a step closer and waved the gun in Grant’s direction. “Move over towards your friends. I wouldn’t want you to get lonely by yourself.”
Grant took a few steps but left some room between them. He wanted any advantage he could get in this unfair fight.
“You’re all so quiet. I thought for sure that you’d have a plentitude of questions to ask, Mr. Hart.”
Hart shook his head. “We’ve already figured it all out. The authorities will hear about it presently.”
“I doubt that, but why not indulge me with your story? It’s the only time that you’ll see this particular by-line, so you might as well.” The major smiled and moved the barrel back and forth between the two men.
“It’s rather tawdry, and I’m not sure that it’s suitable for a woman,” Hart said with just a tremor in his voice. Grant could tell that he would be no help in battle with this foe. He’d seen that look too many times during the war.
The major smirked. “I’m sure that she’s heard worse. She’s a fraud. Her compatriots were more than willing to tell me all of her parlor tricks for a few dollars. If we had more time, I’d show you a few.”
Grant eyed the man, wondering what he was getting from ridiculing the woman. He didn’t complain though, using the moments to come up with a plan.
Hart’s face reddened, and Grant was sure that it wasn’t from the heat or the possibility of impending death. “So you killed Caroline because she might have been with child, your child.”
The major took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Not at all. Which of us has the prurient mind now? I killed her because she could read. That idiot, Trudell, taught her to read and she began to notice my foundry’s paperwork and understand what it meant.”
“So she told Jericho, who then told his father. And Izzy brought papers from here to back up what she
saw.”
“Yes, it’s not quite as tawdry as your mind. Pure fiscal, not physical.” He chuckled at his own joke and then looked down at the revolver again. “So they all had to go. Any one of them who could read those papers had to be eliminated, as you will be tonight.”
“You can’t get away with this. Perhaps a reporter or a spiritualist, but not the General of the Union Army. They’ll search for him.”
“They can search all they like, but they won’t find you. At 800 degrees, very little is left of a person. We’re going to walk up to the charging hole now, and there you’ll disappear forever.” The major waved the gun. “Let’s go. I want the two men to walk in front of me, and I’ll escort the lady.”
They walked from the office to the staircase, leading upwards. Hart gave Grant an imploring glance, but Grant wasn’t sure what the man wanted him to do. He did know that he was not going down without a fight. He hadn’t survived Cold Harbor and the Wilderness to die in a foundry. He wanted more time with Julia, more time with his family. His brain wildly ran through possibilities, making him take each footstep methodically and slowly. He felt the Major’s gun in his back, urging him to go faster to his death.
They began the descent, walking slowly over the creaking stairs. As they came to within three steps from the top, Grant kicked his foot to the side, tripping Hart as he began to take the next step. The man went down, tumbling back down several steps. Grant began to turn, but before he could move his head around enough to see what was happening, a blast rang out.
Grant waited for the pain to begin, but nothing happened. There was no blood on his uniform, and from what he could tell, Hart had not been injured either.
He looked at Madame Blanche, who held a tiny derringer in her hand. “He might call me a charlatan, but I was prescient enough to foresee the need for protection, wasn’t I?”
Chapter 21
Julia poured tea into Madame Blanche’s cup in the hotel’s lobby. It was her concession to the woman’s role in saving her husband. Julia had made it a short appointment, knowing that the porters and bellmen were loading their carriage for the trip to Covington. Colonel Dent had already left, heading back to St. Louis and then White Haven by steamer. It would not do to have Julia’s father stay with his own father. Such was the way of disaster.
“It was so nice to make your acquaintance during this trip,” Julia demurred, while stealing glances at Grant. He’d coached her on what to say, and she’d agreed that his well-being was worth a few kind words in passing.
“The pleasure is all mine. I’m so glad that your father was all right. We had quite a scare.” She smiled first at Julia and then at Hart, who was standing behind her. He’d scraped a few limbs during his fall down the stairs, but nothing was broken, and he’d still managed somehow to get a headline in today’s paper. Grant marveled at his resilience when his own interests were being served. The Major had wounded badly, and Grant wasn’t sure if the man would make it or not. He faced the gallows if he did, more for his attempt on Grant than for the deaths of the freedmen in town.
Hart held out his hand and Grant shook it, wishing that it was truly good-bye, but Covington was merely a ferry ride from Cincinnati. “Let me know if anything comes up in Covington. I’d be happy to help you investigate again.”
Julia saved him from answering, standing, throwing her napkin on the table, and announcing that it was time to go. She slid her hand through his arm and smiled at him. “I’ll be glad to get away from the city for a bit. I’ve had enough excitement for now.”
Grant hoped she was right, but with his own father just south of the Ohio River, he knew that was unlikely.
Read the Rest of the U.S. Grant Mystery Series
The Ambush of My Name
A Good Soldier
Some Hidden Thunder (this book)
Under Investigation (U.S. Grant short stories)
You can also visit the author at: http://www.jeffreymarks.com or on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jeffrey-Marks/271929135155
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Some Hidden Thunder Page 14
