by Mae Berry
“You are home,” she said tersely. Her gaze swept Sam and lingered on the smile Sam had been too startled to wipe from her face. Hattie stood aside and motioned for her to enter the parlor. Sam sat while Hattie scrutinized her. The light and temperature in the room dropped as clouds covered the sun.
Sam cleared her throat. “My trip was most productive. We—”
“Apparently, judging from the look on your face.” Hattie crossed her arms, her eyes never blinking. “You do realize, how scandalous your behavior has been?” Hattie threw up her arms. “How could you Samantha? Traipsing about with a strange man? A man Samantha! And spending the night? In my home?”
Sam shuttered her expression but not before a jerk of surprise pulsed through her.
Hattie noticed. Hattie always noticed. She frowned and paced the length of the room then turned to Sam. “How? How could my daughter…” She ran her palm down her face. “I trained you to rely on yourself, not some man. I trained you to be self-sufficient so you would never, never find yourself in the position of…”
The irony of Hattie lecturing her about scandalous behavior struck Sam. A blush flamed over her entire body. “What exactly are you accusing me of mother?”
Hattie flinched then threw up her hands again. “Do you realize the damage you’ve done? Once word gets around you are finished as a detective.”
Sam fought the urge to cower. She stiffened her spine and met Hattie’s eye.
“And I expect the opposite. I will have helped the marshal’s office apprehend a dangerous criminal. I think—”
Hattie’s laugh cut off her response. It was a sarcastic, mean laugh. “Really, Samantha your naivete is astounding. If any felon is brought to justice, there will be no mention of your part, I assure you. How would it appear for the marshal’s office to accept help from a…” Hattie waved her hand at Sam. “No, no, they will take the credit and leave your reputation in tatters.” Hattie’s eyes glittered with anger and something else Sam couldn’t read. It almost looked like despair. “No, Samantha, you have ruined yourself.”
“Ruined?” Sam felt her throat close.
“In more ways than one, I’d wager. Tell me, Samantha, were you at least careful?” Hattie’s mouth firmed into a grim line as she crossed her arms.
Sam tried to swallow the lump of cotton that suddenly wedged in her throat. “Wha… what do you mean?”
Anger pulsed from Hattie in waves as she leaned into Sam. “Were you careful with your indiscretion to insure there are no lasting effects? No ongoing responsibilities you’ll need to care for?”
Sam gasped and her body trembled “I do not think—”
“Precisely. You did not think!” Hattie exploded, color rising in her face. Sam had never seen her so angry. “I assure you,” she hissed, “that assistant deputy marshal will have no interest in committing to any arrangement other than the one he has already enjoyed.”
Sam burst from her seat and strode toward the door. She paused on the threshold and took a deep breath then turned to Hattie. “Frankly, mother, that is none of your concern.”
Chapter 25
The color bled from her sitting room as the sun slipped toward the horizon. Sam paced, picking up and discarding objects. Hattie’s insinuations hurt, most likely her intention. Sam shook her head and clenched her jaw. Why did her mother hate her? She understood selfishness, Hattie was a pristine example, but why go out of her way to prick and goad her only child? Her only family? Sam had trained her deductive skills until she was confident in her abilities to read most situations and most people. The stark facts were Hattie took every opportunity to belittle and demean her. Why? Justification, rationalization, absolution; those “tion” words she evoked as excuses for Hattie. It was a desperate refusal to recognize the truth. Hattie didn’t tolerate her, Hattie loathed her. No more. Sam squared her shoulders, she was finished.
A boom echoed up the staircase. Sam jumped. She raced down the stairs to the repeated pounding and yanked open the front door.
Spotwood stood doubled over, palms on knees, face red and drenched in sweat. Air whistled in and out of this mouth as he struggled to form words. Had something happened? To Finn? Panic froze Sam.
“Ernest, what is it? What’s wrong?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the entry and deposited him on the hall tree bench then ran for water and leaned over him while he drank.
“Tha… thank you,” Spotwood smirked. “I believe, Miss Lawton, that is the first time you’ve ever called me by my Christian name.” He wheezed then cleared his throat.
Sam frowned. “You scared the life out of me, Mr. Spotwood. What’s happened?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem.” He eyed her.
“I beg pardon?” She tilted her head.
“I didn’t say it was a problem to use my Christian name.” He smiled at her and preened. It made him look like a bantam rooster eying a potential hen. Sam tamped her impatience.
“What caused you to come pounding on my door at six o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Oh, yes, that.” Spotwood straightened his vest. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure you were home.”
“And pounding assured you of that?” Sam raised her eyebrows.
“No… not important.” He waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “We have a break in the case and we need to exploit it at once. Tonight!” He raised one finger in the air and tried to stand.
Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “There’s been a break? In the Gittin case? Why didn’t Finn come?”
Spotwood frowned and shook his head. “Gittin case? Finn? Whatever do you mean? I’m talking about the Pendergast case. Remember? Our case? Tracking the police informant?” He glared.
“Oh… oh! Any other time, I’d be happy to help you but I just returned to town and I… a…” She shrugged and attempted a smile.
Spotwood’s eyes blazed as his lips pursed. “I see.” He tapped his chin with his index finger. “I thought you were committed to cracking this case. I thought I was working with a professional.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “If, however, you are too busy to uphold your obligations…” He waved a hand in the air. “This is only the single most important case of my career.”
Her face flushed. As if it wasn’t his only case.
“I’m sure it does not matter you gave your word to see this through.” He flicked at his suit-coat.
Sam sighed and rubbed her forehead, then stopped. It was such a Finn gesture. She supposed this was how he felt with her, upon occasion. Well, maybe more than occasionally. She hesitated. She was tired and too emotional. She couldn’t think.
Spotwood looked at her, condemnation on his features. Sam sighed again. Her sense of perfectionism called her to rally and see this through. “Of course I will help you Mr. Spotwood. Tell me your plan.”
✽✽✽
Sam leaned against the frigid stone as she dangled her feet from the wooden bench. Naturally her feet dangled. Holding cells were constructed for burly men bent on mayhem and destruction, not diminutive women without the brains God gave a goose. She cupped her elbow and shifted it to ease the pressure. Pain radiated from the joint. She sucked in a breath. The reek of urine and man-sweat was overpowering. And she didn’t have a hankie. Sam looked at her ruined clothing and fought back tears. Giving into waterworks would confirm everything they had ever whispered behind her back, or rather said to her face.
She banged her head on the wall. Why had she gone with Spotwood? She’d been angry with Hattie. In a rage. It made her reckless and he had goaded her; but he had paid the price. She’s seen Ernest fall and no one would tell her how he was. If he was.
The plan was simple. An informant told Spotwood of a midnight meeting between two of the gang in a backroom behind a bar. Earlier he had placed a barrel under the window. Before midnight, Sam was to hide and wait for the men to arrive. She was then supposed to climb the barrel, stay out of sight and listen at the window. Spotwood’s job was to remain at the front of the alley an
d provide lookout. Spotwood planned to use the gathered information to organize a sting using officers he said were clean. Simple. Straight forward.
It was the fault of that fiendish alley. Sam should have turned around and run home when she realized it was the same alley where she’d had her confrontation with Gallagher. If she believed in such things, she’d think malevolent fairies had infiltrated that section of town. Given most of the inhabitants were Irish, she could be correct. She had hidden herself when shadows slipped in from the entrance of the alley like rats to a feast.
Instead of a meeting between two men, several had arrived and began loading handcarts with crates from the backroom. She and Spotwood could have remained hidden. Should have remained hidden. That was her thought until she overheard the men boast about how much money they planned to make hauling the cargo across the state line. Kansas liquor laws had turned Missouri whiskey into liquid gold. When talk changed to the law looking the other way, Sam snapped. In hindsight, jumping out and shouting they were under arrest was not the smartest thing she did that night. Well, ever. Men bolted, guns discharged, Spotwood fell, and something knocked her to the ground. Then came the nearby police whistles. Either it was the fastest response time on record, or someone had been on the lookout. Someone in a uniform. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
The precinct was in an uproar. She had been stuffed in this cell by a snarling Sargent who had growled to not raise a fuss or he’d bash in her pretty little head. They placed her in a cell at the opposite end from the occupied ones. At least she was by herself. She wondered if anyone had notified Hattie. She huffed a dry chuckle. Even if someone had, Hattie certainly wouldn’t rush to the rescue. There was no way to tell time. Days could have passed. She knew they could only hold her for twenty-four hours without a charge. If anyone realized she was being held. Maybe they had locked her at this end so they could forget her. Weeks later they’d find a skeleton dressed in a tattered black broad-cloth skirt laid out on the bench. She supposed the odor might bring them before she turned completely to bone. A clang rang through the hall and she peered between the bars.
Three men strode toward her. One in an officer’s uniform, two in suits. One suited man waved his arms and argued with a taller, more muscular one with a wild patch of hair. He looked familiar… Finn. Relief overwhelmed her, and she choked back a sob, until she saw his face, even his eyelids looked clenched. She shifted uneasily. She should have expected this.
Sam slowly stood and attempted to return the coils of her hair to a semblance of order. She winced when the motion pained her elbow. The three stopped outside her cell. The uniform officer inserted a key and swung the door open. The suited man still argued, but Finn wasn’t paying attention and she was too overwhelmed to make out his words.
Sam shuffled over and blinked up at Finn. He took in her disheveled appearance and torn clothing. He noticed her hand cradling her elbow and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He gently grasped her uninjured arm and led her from the cell. He strode through the hallway as she struggled to keep pace. She tried to glance at him but he moved too rapidly and the motion made her stomach lurch.
“Thank—”
“Not. A. Word.” He quickened his pace and led her through the lobby of the precinct. She had a brief impression of glares from grim faced policemen then they were out the door and into the late afternoon sunshine. Sam blinked at the light then yanked her arm from Finn’s grasp. She scowled as he swung around to face her. He shoved a finger in her face and growled, “You’ll keep yer mouth shut, until we are alone.” He moved to grab her arm again, and she sidled out of reach.
“I will follow you on my own, thank you. You needn’t drag me like a mongrel pup.” Finn threw his hands in the air and walked on. Sam struggled to keep up then stopped and glared at his retreating back. Finn noticed she wasn’t behind him and halted. He ran a hand through his hair then motioned her forward waiting until she was even with him before setting off at a slower pace. She didn’t notice where they were going until he pushed open the door to Pendergast’s Place. She shot him an incredulous glare. One side of his lip twitched up as he held the door giving a slight bow as he ushered her inside.
“Finn, Finn me boy, Finn-O,” chorused shadowy shapes scattered around the room.
“Need to use the back room Miles,” Finn called to the barkeep as his hand pressed her lower back, steering her through the tables. Miles nodded and Finn guided her to the room behind the bar. The only light came from a bare window. The exact window that had started her trouble less than twenty-four hours ago.
“That cursed alley seems to be the center of my existence,” she moaned.
Finn cocked his head and squinted. She shook her head. He plopped on a chair at a wobbly table and pushed out another with his foot. He inclined his head and studied her as she gingerly lowered herself.
“Ye hurt?”
Sam grimaced and shook her head. “Not really. Just sore.”
Finn nodded, his eyes on her face. “That wus a damned foolish thing ta do. Waat were yer thinkin’?” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “Ye could a bin kilt.” His voice cracked and Sam blinked at him in surprise. He reached across the table and grabbed both of her hands. She flinched when he wrenched her injured arm. He was on his knees and at her side in a moment, gently feeling along her arm and flexing the swollen joint.
“It’s jist a sprain,” he concluded. Finn sat back on his heels. “Waat am I goin’ ta do with ye?”
Tears filled Sam’s eyes and this time she was powerless to hold them back as the reality of the entire catastrophe hit her.
Finn made a noise in the back of his throat and scooped her up, taking her seat and depositing her on his lap. He rubbed small circles on her back and murmured words over the top of her head. Sam gave in to his warmth and comfort and let out the buildup of tears. She finally sat up and attempted to wipe her eyes. He handed her his handkerchief, and she scrubbed her face before blowing her nose.
“I must look a fright.” She patted half-heartedly at her hair.
Finn laughed then pulled her closer. “Yer breath takin’.”
Sam gave a half-hearted smile. “Not sure that’s a good thing. Besides, save your blarney for other women.” She sniffed and folded the handkerchief to a dry spot.
“There are no other women.” Finn looked at her, his eyes twinkled. “I be thinkin’ yer more than enough to keep me busy.”
Sam gave him a real smile and rose to her feet. She sat across from him. “What now, Finn?”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair, his gaze fixed on the table between them. “Well, now…” he stopped and cleared his throat, “I’m afeard… I’m afraid I don’t have good news.”
Sam sought his eyes and frowned when his stare remained fixed on the table. “Out with it, Finn.”
He met her gaze. “I’m sorry, but I need to withdraw your deputation. My boss found out about… last night. He sent for me first thing.” Finn sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “He was… put out. He insisted I remove you from the case.” His eyes begged her to understand. She gave a slight nod, her eyes dropping to his waistcoat. Hattie’s words rose in her mind.
“I see,” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Did you fight for me?”
“Waat?” Finn frowned
“Did you fight for me to remain on the case or were you relieved to be free of my interference?”
Finn blinked as his jaw dropped. “Now jist a…”
“I understand.” Sam nodded stiffly. “Absolutely. I have pursued Gittin for years. Take the information I gave you, the help I gave you and toss me aside. No worry about credit for the arrest that way. This makes things so much simpler. For you. For your boss.”
“Waat are you sayin’?” Finn jumped to his feet, his chair toppling over as he glared at her.
“I believe I enunciated clearly, Marshal.” Sam wavered as she rose to her feet and turned toward the door. “I need to go.
I’m sure I—”
“Sam, wait.” Finn reached for her.
“Thank you for your earlier assistance. Goodbye Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley.” She marched through the bar and to the street.
Finn did not follow her.
✽✽✽
Sam lifted one heavy foot up the porch steps, eying the distance to the front door. The sun pounded on her back heating the tattered remnants of her jacket. Sweat plastered her shirt to her skin as her fingers fumbled the lock and opened the door. She entered the hall closing the door and collapsing against it. The climb to her room was insurmountable. She slid to the floor resting her injured arm in her lap, knees bent. After all her lessons in decorum if Hattie saw her now…
The sound of crinoline and silk approached. Instead of a gentle rustle, it was a strident crackle. Sam’s eyes popped open.
Hattie loomed over her, fists clenched on her hips, her face blazed a vivid red. “How could you be so stupid!”
Sam blinked. Her brain slogged through recent events. Which one had set Hattie off? There were too many to choose.
“You have ruined everything.”
Sam rose unsteadily, her eyes fixed on the snarling woman. She rubbed her temples. “What exactly are—”
“This scandal will ruin us. After I’ve been so careful. Tried so hard to not let—”
“Scandal?” Sam clenched her jaw. Hattie’s first words were not concerned with her ordeal or bodily state. No. This woman who had given birth to her didn’t waste a thought on what she’d endured. And Hattie prattling on about ruin? Sam laughed. She couldn’t help it, it was absurd.
“You laugh? You dare laugh? After everything I sacrificed for you, you—”
Sam whipped up a hand. Her eyes turned icy as she widened her stance. Something inside wrenched loose. A painful twist that went to her heart. “Tell me, mother,” Hattie winced, “what, precisely, have you sacrificed?” Sam stepped into her. “What, precisely, have you done, that hasn’t cost me dearly?”
