Mrs. Bridgeport’s features were pinched with worry when she looked at Callie. “A letter arrived from Gertrude today.”
The fact that the housekeeper in Indianapolis had taken time to write a letter could only mean one thing—a problem. Gertrude made no secret of the fact that she didn’t like to write letters. The last time she’d written had been two or three years ago when the gardener had injured himself while shoveling snow. Since Gertrude had been required to shovel the snow during the gardener’s period of incapacitation, she had written to inquire if he was due any wages. And that couldn’t have truly been considered a letter. The few lines had been scribbled on the back of a grocery list.
“She says the Indianapolis News has reported everything from tornados and floods to fires stretching from Nebraska to Illinois. They say storms and flooding are expected to move through Indiana.” Mrs. Bridgeport thrust the letter toward Callie. “I simply can’t bear to think what will happen if the White River and Fall Creek overflow their banks.”
Callie quickly scanned the scrawled handwriting. “I don’t think we should become overwrought. She doesn’t say that it has even begun to rain in Indianapolis. The weather is fickle, and storms change course all the time.”
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t sound good. Luther has gone to Biscayne to wire the servants and have them secure the house. He’s also wiring one of his business partners so that he can get additional solid news.” She sniffled as she withdrew her handkerchief. “And to make certain he’ll keep watch on the house. Dear me, I can’t bear the thought of floodwaters ruining all our belongings.”
“Is Mr. Bridgeport troubled by the letter, as well?”
Mrs. Bridgeport touched the handkerchief to her eyes. “He didn’t take it so seriously at first when the letter arrived this morning, but he mentioned it to Mr. Wainwright, who said he’d heard reports there was already some flooding in parts of Indiana.”
Callie didn’t want to press the subject and further distress Mrs. Bridgeport, but the home she’d inherited from her grandmother was located further north and east of the Bridgeport home—an area that could be flooded should the storms hit.
“If Mr. Bridgeport is worried enough to take precautions, I wonder if I should try to have Grandmother’s house secured.”
“I’m sorry, dear, I should have mentioned that Luther is going to have the servants go and see to your grandmother’s home, as well. I was sure you’d want to do whatever you could to protect it. After all, it’s all you have left.”
Callie withheld a smile. If she lost her grandmother’s home, she wouldn’t consider herself a pitiable vagabond. She hadn’t lived in the house for years, and if she decided to go to Africa or Chicago, she planned to sell it. Good investment or not, she didn’t want to deal with the problems of home ownership when she no longer lived in Indianapolis. Money from the sale would cover expenses required to establish her in whatever new life she decided upon. If the home flooded, any insurance money she received would be far less than a sale would provide. But unlike Mrs. Bridgeport, Callie didn’t consider her grandmother’s home the only thing she had left. Should she lose the house, she still had her parents. They may be living in Africa, but she knew they loved her. In addition, her faith remained intact, though admittedly somewhat shaky since the breakup with Matthew.
But family and faith weren’t what the Bridgeports counted when they listed their assets—or anyone else’s, for that matter. They were both wonderful people, but Callie had watched possessions become far too important in their lives. The same thing had happened to her parents years ago—before they decided to give up everything and go to the mission field. She doubted that would ever happen to the Bridgeports, but who could say? No one had ever imagined that her parents would sell their belongings and go off to spread the gospel, either.
Two days later Callie was going over lessons with the children when Maude came upstairs. “The missus wants you downstairs. She says I can stay with the children. There’s men down there that want to ask some questions.”
“Questions about what? Do you know who they are?” Callie pushed up from her chair and walked toward the doorway.
“Something to do with the stealing that’s been going on. I think they might be some kind of special police that’s been hired.” Maude wrinkled her nose. “They spoke to me for a minute, but the missus told ’em I’m always here at the house and my time can be accounted for.”
“Goodness! Do they think one of us had something to do with all of this?”
Maude shrugged. “Who can say? They probably figure they’ve got to do something to earn the money they’re being paid, so they’re going cottage to cottage asking their questions.”
“You’re probably right.” She hurried down the hallway and descended the steps. Mrs. Bridgeport and two strangers sat in the front parlor.
“Do come in, Callie. These gentlemen want to speak with you. They are investigators who are attempting to apprehend whoever is responsible for the thefts taking place on the island.”
A rotund bald man and his lanky partner sat on the couch. Neither one of them stood or even smiled when Mrs. Bridgeport introduced Callie. They waved for her to sit down.
“I’m Fitch and this is Jensen.” The rotund man pointed to himself and then at Mr. Jensen.
“Pleased to meet you.” Callie sat down beside Mrs. Bridgeport. “How can I help?”
“We’ve been speaking to owners of the cottages and some of the folks who live in the clubhouse, as well. There’s something strange that’s come to our attention, and we thought we needed to visit with everyone who lives in this house.”
Mrs. Bridgeport straightened her shoulders and glared at Mr. Fitch. “What do you mean, something strange?”
Mr. Jensen leaned forward, his spindly torso extending toward them like a snake preparing to strike. “In talking with the owners of the other cottages, we’ve discovered that most of them have been entered and robbed, yet nothing has happened here at your house.” He craned his neck toward them. “Am I correct?”
“Yes, I mean, I really don’t know. I do know we haven’t been robbed, but I didn’t realize thefts had occurred at most of the other cottages.” Mrs. Bridgeport frowned. “Exactly what are you intimating, Mr. Fritz?”
“Fitch. And I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs. Bridgeport. I’m just stating a fact. But it does seem odd that your house would be overlooked.” He glanced around the room. “From the looks of things, this house would interest a thief, don’t you think?”
“I have no idea how a thief thinks, but I do not like your attitude, sir.”
Mrs. Bridgeport’s haughty tone didn’t seem to bother Mr. Fitch in the least. He merely shrugged and looked at Callie.
“What about you, Miss Deboyer? Any idea why a thief wouldn’t enter this house?”
“Probably because Mrs. Bridgeport’s jewels are kept in a safe and because the family has live-in servants. There is someone in the house all of the time.”
Mrs. Bridgeport nodded. “I am extremely careful to place my jewels in the safe—unless I’m wearing them, of course. I know many of the families who own cottages have never installed safes because we’ve had little reason to worry about thieves. Have you discovered that it is only the homes without safes that have been robbed?”
The detective shook his head. “We don’t give out information regarding our investigation, Mrs. Bridgeport. Word travels too quickly and can spoil our leads. I’m sure you understand.”
Mrs. Bridgeport squared her shoulders and raised her head higher. “I am not a gossip, Detective. I was merely curious if you’d considered the possibility.”
“We have, and thank you. Now, you say you have servants in the house at all times. Is that right?”
“Yes, what Callie has told you is correct. Many of the other owners don’t employ live-in servants. They either use servants hired by Mr. Crocker—he’s the superintendent of Bridal Veil—”
“I know who he is,” Mr. Fitc
h said.
“Or they hire part-time staff that live in Biscayne and travel back and forth.” Mrs. Bridgeport turned searing eyes upon Mr. Fitch. “I might add that I do not appreciate being interrupted when I am answering your questions. We are under no obligation to speak to either of you, and if you intend to be rude, I will ask you to come back when my husband is present.”
Mr. Fitch leaned back, and Mr. Jensen scooted to the edge of the couch. “Please excuse him, Mrs. Bridgeport. We’re used to dealing with hardened criminals and sometimes forget our manners.”
“Your apology is accepted. Now, what else do you wish to know?”
Mr. Jensen stretched his lanky legs in front of him. “We’ve spoken to the other servants alone.” He glanced at Mrs. Bridgeport. “Would you mind if we spoke to Miss Deboyer? Privately?”
“Callie isn’t a servant; she’s our children’s tutor and considered a member of this family.” The older woman reached for Callie’s hand. “Do you want me to remain while they talk to you?”
“It’s not necessary.” Callie looked at the investigator. “But there’s nothing I have to say to you that I wouldn’t say in front of Mrs. Bridgeport.”
“I understand, but we think most people are more comfortable without others around when we’re asking questions.” He looked at Mrs. Bridgeport. “So, if you don’t mind, ma’am?”
From the look on the older woman’s face, Callie knew Mrs. Bridgeport did mind, but she departed without further comment.
Mr. Jensen waited until he was certain Mrs. Bridgeport was out of earshot. “Could you tell me a little more about your role in the family? I know she said you’re the tutor and they consider you one of them, but I’m sure it’s not really like you’re one of them in every sense.”
Callie explained her duties and assured the man that the Bridgeports treated her quite well. “I couldn’t have asked for more caring people when my grandmother died.”
“That’s nice. But before you came downstairs, Mrs. Bridgeport mentioned you’d come from a wealthy family. Have you found it hard to work for her? I mean I think it would be tough to grow up in a place like this and then have the tables turned.”
Mr. Fitch agreed. “Yeah, one minute you’re part of a family that’s invited to fancy balls and the next minute you’re on the outside looking in.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Helping someone like Mrs. Bridgeport and teaching her kids can’t be what you expected from life, right?”
Callie stared at the man. Was he implying she might somehow be involved in the robberies? “I don’t know if anyone can anticipate what the future holds, Mr. Jensen, but I am quite content tutoring the Bridgeport children.”
“And what kind of social life do you enjoy, Miss Deboyer? I know some of the servants frequent the horse races during their time off work, and we understand there’s gambling among the servants at their card games. What about you? Do you enjoy gambling?”
Callie tried to suppress the anger rising in her chest. “I do not gamble, I do not attend the horse races, and I had nothing to do with any of these robberies. If I wanted to accumulate wealth, I wouldn’t gamble or steal to attain such a goal. I am offended by your questions.”
“Right.” Mr. Fitch twisted his thin mustache between his finger and thumb. “With your good looks, I’m sure you could convince one of these wealthy fellows to marry you.”
Callie folded her arms across her chest. “I am not interested in marriage or any of the wealthy men on this island.”
“That’s strange, because Mr. Jensen was told you’ve been seen keeping company with one of them.” Mr. Fitch glanced at his partner. “Isn’t that right, Jensen?”
The man bobbed his head. “Yep. That’s what I was told.” He narrowed his eyes. “You want to change that story you just told us?”
Callie hesitated. “The only man I’ve been with is the golf pro. He teaches Thomas and me golf, and he’s accompanied the children and me on outings to the beach and forests. He has a vast knowledge of botany and has been helping me to teach the children about the wildlife as well as—”
“And his name is?”
“Wes, Wesley. As I said, he works at the golf course.”
Mr. Fitch gave his partner a sideways glance and they both stood. “You don’t want to change anything you’ve told us before we leave?”
Callie shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
“And everything you’ve told us is the truth?” Jensen leaned closer.
Uneasiness assailed her. She’d told the truth, so why did these men make her feel as though she’d been lying?
Standing, Callie gave the men a dismissive nod. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I know nothing that will aid you in your search. I’m afraid you’ll have to find the thief on your own.”
Chapter 19
Wes strode down the stairs of the main clubhouse and quickly surveyed the dining room. When he’d returned to the clubhouse last evening, he’d discovered a note from his father beneath the door to his room. The message was brief. “Join me for breakfast at seven o’clock tomorrow morning in the main dining room.” His father hadn’t signed the note, a fact that wasn’t lost on Wes. This was a command, not an invitation.
At least his father had scheduled the breakfast meeting early enough that it wouldn’t interfere with his schedule at the links. However, the fact that his father wanted to meet with him had been enough to set Wes’s thoughts racing. He truly did not want to begin his day with an argument.
He hoped this would only be a reprimand for his failure to connect with the family. Since taking over as golf pro, he’d been able to avoid eating in the dining room and had successfully circumvented any matchmaking plans. A fact that no doubt annoyed both of his parents.
As soon as he entered the dining room, he spotted his father. After weaving through the mostly empty tables, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Good morning, Father. You’re looking well.”
His father snorted. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you, I could be dead and buried and you’d be none the wiser.”
Hoping to relieve the tension, Wes chuckled. “I think Mother would have sent word had there been such a tragedy.”
“Speaking of your mother, she’s been worried about you. The least you could do is manage to eat a meal with us once a day.”
Wes removed his linen napkin from the table, shook out the folds, and placed it across his lap. “I can’t leave for the noonday meal, and by the time I get done in the evening, there’s not enough time to clean up and properly dress for the dining room.”
“So where do you eat?”
“There’s a dining room for the employees not far from the links. I usually go there. The food is good, and I can get in and out quickly and don’t have to worry about my attire.” Wes took a sip of his coffee. “Is that why you wanted to meet? To set Mother’s mind at ease about my eating habits?”
“Of course not. I told your mother you wouldn’t starve to death.” His father leaned back in his chair as the waiter placed breakfast in front of them. “I took the liberty of ordering for you since you’re always in such a hurry. I hope it meets with your approval.”
“Bacon, eggs, toast, and fruit—how could anyone complain about such a feast?”
While his father uttered a brief prayer of thanks for the food, Wes bowed his head and silently prayed the remainder of their conversation would go well.
His father slathered a piece of toast with strawberry jam. “Here’s the thing, Wes. I’ve met a fellow who’s very interested in making some new investments. We’ve talked at length. However, he isn’t completely convinced he’ll reap the most benefit from investing in the woolen and cotton mills.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Wes took another a bite of his scrambled eggs.
His father narrowed his eyes. “You can help.”
Wes’s stomach tightened around the scrambled eggs. Instinctively he knew he didn’t want to hear anything more. He longed to jump up from the table and depart
, but that wouldn’t solve anything.
“How is that, Father?”
His father leaned closer and lowered his voice. “This investor has a daughter.”
Wes inhaled slowly and shook his head.
His father jutted his chin and glared at him. “Hear me out, Wesley.”
Wes pushed his plate away, his appetite now ruined by his father’s announcement. “I’ll listen but don’t expect me to agree to whatever you and Mother have contrived for me.”
“She is a lovely young woman. Perhaps not the beauty you would choose, and she may not be particularly bright, but she comes from an excellent family and very much wants to marry and have children.”
Wes stared at his father. “If you were hoping to entice me with your description, you failed. Really, Father. From what you said, I can only guess that this poor young lady is as homely as the day is long and that she doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.” He shook his head. “Even so, I believe you expect me to say cheerfully that I can scarcely wait to meet this ugly duckling who hasn’t a brain in her head.”
With a clang, his father dropped his fork on his plate. “That is a gross exaggeration of what I told you. It would be helpful if you’d show some loyalty.”
Wes arched his brows. “For me, being loyal does not mean that I am willing to marry a woman I do not love in order to further the expansion of Townsend Mills.”
“Love can come after marriage as well as before. Do you think every man who takes a wife is smitten by love before he takes his vows?”
The scoffing tone of his father’s words pained Wesley. “You didn’t love Mother when you married her?”
“I didn’t say any such thing. This conversation isn’t about me and your mother. It is about you making a proper choice.”
Thus far his father had been successful in his efforts to see their children marry and enter the family business. Wes remained the only holdout. Since his mother hadn’t joined them for breakfast, he could only hope she was opposed to his father’s choice. He would like to count his mother an ally, but even if she stood with his father, Wes would not agree to such a sham.
To Honor and Trust Page 18
