When she opened the front door she looked up and down Springwater Street and at the vacant lot across the way. She didn’t see anyone except a neighbor four doors down who’d come out to get the mail from his mailbox. She adjusted her handbag on her arm, straightened, and headed down the sidewalk toward the New Cascades Hotel.
The day’s busy street traffic was dwindling on Main, and a cool, clear dusk settled over the town. Shops had already closed or were in the process of doing so. She passed Jessica’s office and saw that she’d locked up for the evening. Of course—she was meeting Amy for dinner at the hotel.
As she walked, her new shoes pinched but her attention was consumed with staying alert to any suspicious-looking man who might seem to be shadowing her movements. She saw no one until she reached Granny Mae’s café. Through the large front windows, she saw a few diners sitting at tables. She barely recognized the mayor, Horace Cookson, sitting alone with a roast beef dinner in front of him. His son, home on leave from Camp Lewis during the war, had brought the first case of influenza to Powell Springs. It had spread like a kerosene fire, and both his son and Mrs. Cookson died during the epidemic. The rumpled old dairy farmer looked as if he’d aged twenty years instead of four.
As if waiting for her to come along, Granny pushed open her side door and hailed her. “Hello, there, Amy. My, but you’re looking smart and dressy.” The old woman wore her standard practical dress and dirty apron, and a strangely self-satisfied expression.
Amy groaned to herself. She hadn’t talked to Granny since the day she’d gone to her for Deirdre’s cough remedy. “Thank you.” She didn’t stop, though.
Ahead, the hotel’s facade came into view. It wasn’t as grand as the Benson Hotel or the Portland Hotel downtown, but it had two stories and covered half a block. It was constructed with brick, and green awnings hung over the lace-curtained windows. Potted blooming roses were stationed on either side of the entrance, adding a touch of elegance to the place. She stood in the lobby and looked around. It was fairly quiet, although a pair of obvious newlyweds sat forward in facing chairs with their heads together, exchanging the private whispers that lovers share.
Feeling like an eavesdropper, Amy searched the lobby for some clue as to where the dining room might be located, but all she could see were the front desk and the staircase leading to the upper floors. To her right was a hallway with a ladies’ room at one end.
A desk clerk emerged from a side office and she took a step forward to ask about the dining room when she saw another guest approach first. He carried a suitcase and an arrogant set to his head that she recognized before he spoke. Amy stood riveted in place, her throat as dry as burned toast, while sickening waves of terror flooded her.
“Mr. Jacobsen, how nice to see you again. What can we do for you?” she heard the clerk ask him over the rush of blood through her head.
“I’m hoping you can give me some information—”
She didn’t wait for the rest. Overcome with a panicky urge to run, she turned and hurried to the doors and escaped into the street.
Oh, God!
Oh, dear God!
Had he seen her? Was he behind her? Glancing over her shoulder, Amy pounded down Main at a trot, barely aware of her surroundings. She ran as if the devil himself had appeared at that front desk, and her heart thundered in her chest. At the end of the block she ducked into the deep doorway of a closed shop and pressed her back against the wall. She peeked around the edge of her hiding place and saw Adam emerge from the hotel. He turned the corner, disappearing from view. The breath she’d been holding whooshed out in an exhale that made her shoulders droop.
Then, just as she was about to step out of the doorway, she saw Jessica leave the hotel, too. Her sister looked around furtively and dashed down the other side of the street to a car parked in front of Cole’s blacksmith shop. Getting into the driver’s seat, she started the vehicle and it lurched forward like a startled horse, issuing a loud backfire as it went.
Amy’s thoughts churned and raced. Her sister and Adam in the same hotel—coincidence? Coconspirators? Had this invitation just been some kind of scheme they’d cooked up? No, no, that wasn’t possible. Jessica hated Adam.
Didn’t she?
Suddenly she felt exposed and vulnerable on the dusk-shaded street. She turned and darted from the doorway, dodging a couple of people along the way. She looked back to see if she was being followed, and felt herself caught by the shoulders. With a shriek, she whipped her head around and saw Bax in front of her.
“Whoa, what’s going on?”
She knew she should be glad to see him, but right now her panic overruled everything else. Gasping for breath, she tried to free herself, but he held her fast. “I have to go home. I have to go home right now!”
He looked down the street over her head. “What happened? Were you insulted or bothered by someone?”
She gestured in the direction of the hotel, then tried to shrug out of his grip. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let me go. I’m going home!”
He gave her a short, gentle shake, trying to calm her down enough to pry a story out of her. “Amy, is there anything the law should know about?”
“No, no, let me leave!” She managed to squirm out of his grip and ran toward home.
Jessica wanted nothing more than the peace and safety of her husband and child. She left the hotel and rushed back to her office, where her car was parked in front of Cole’s blacksmith shop, next door. He had already picked up Margaux from Susannah and gone home.
The trip home seemed to take forever, and although she was tempted to drive faster, full darkness had fallen and there was no illumination along the road except her own headlamps. When she finally turned onto the rutted path leading to her house, the warm glow of light in the windows welcomed her. Roscoe, Cole’s black-and-white sheepdog, barked a greeting at her from the porch.
“I’m glad to see you too,” she said, rubbing the dog’s head.
The door opened and Cole held the screen door for her. “You’re home already?”
The sight of him still made her catch her breath. Tall and ruggedly blond with chin-length hair, he wore his thirty-four years very well. Though now a married man with a baby, there remained a touch of wild independence in him that had always drawn her to him. Horses, women, and the elements—he handled them all with an easy sureness she loved.
“You were right. Amy didn’t come to dinner.” She set her doctor’s bag on the entry table and sank into the chair beside it.
He gave her an arch look. “I could say ‘I told you so’—”
“But you’re a smart man, so you won’t. There’s something else. Adam is in town.”
He scowled. “Shit. I should have known it would happen. So they’ve made up.”
“Really, I don’t know if they split up to begin with. If they did and reconciled, why would he be staying at the hotel?” She shrugged. “Since I didn’t talk to her tonight, I really don’t know anything. Personally, I have trouble with the idea of living in the same town with him.”
Cole walked to a cabinet in the dining room and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the china cabinet. “Come on in here. I’ll buy you a drink.”
She pulled herself to her feet and followed him to the table. “Where’s the baby?”
“Asleep. I had dinner with Susannah and Tanner, and she fed Margaux at the same time. I think she wants the practice.” He poured her enough whiskey to cover the bottom of her glass, then poured an inch for himself. “Drink that and I’ll fix you a fried egg and bacon sandwich.”
She sat at the table and wrinkled her nose. “Fried eggs and whiskey.”
He went into the kitchen and pulled a cast-iron skillet to the front burner. “Hey, it’s what I know how to do. You were supposed to eat in town.”
She nodded and sipped at the liquid fire. “I know. You’re
a wonderful husband.”
“Don’t I know it.” He gave her an impudent smile that made her laugh, then shaved three thick strips of bacon from a slab and put them in the frying pan. The smile faded, replaced by a frown. “What about Jacobsen and your sister?”
“I hardly know what to think. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens. I don’t think anyone is going to bother you. Neither Adam nor Amy will be jumping at a chance to see you, you know. Have you even caught a glimpse of her?”
“Yeah, once so far—from a distance.” He poked at the bacon and cracked two eggs in beside it. “At least I’m pretty sure it was her. She looks so different, I had to check twice.”
“I was hoping to find out why tonight.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by Whit’s office tomorrow and let him know one of his old buddies is in town. He made a lot of trouble for Whit, what with him on his witch hunt for everyone he thought wasn’t patriotic during the war. He and Bax ought to know.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose. If they don’t already. Bax lives at the boardinghouse.” A cranky wail came from the baby’s room. “Okay, Margaux, I’m coming.”
“I’ll have your dinner on the table,” Cole said.
Climbing the stairs, Jessica wished with all her heart that they could go back in time to the day before Amy came back to Powell Springs.
CHAPTER NINE
“What are you doing here? I told you we’d meet only in Twelve Mile, and when I contact you.” Adam peered at Milo Breninger through a narrow crack of his hotel room door.
“I got damn tired of waiting for you. We’ve got some business to take care of, you and me, right now. I found your wife for you two weeks ago. It’s time to pay up, Jacobsen.”
Adam opened the door just enough to grab the man’s arm and pull him inside, hoping that no one had seen him lurking in the hall. He scanned the empty corridor and shut the door. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded in a low voice. “Do you want everyone to know what you’re doing?”
Breninger shrugged. “I’m not the one who cares about what your wife does. Or did. You hired me—I didn’t volunteer for this.”
Exasperated, and with his temper threatening to escape his control, Adam directed Breninger to a chair.
He shifted from one buttock to the other on the rigid, unupholstered desk chair, looking oafish and out of place in the pleasant surroundings. Adam was annoyed that the man had chosen to seek him out here, in an all-too-public place where they might be seen together.
“Our ‘business’ isn’t finished yet. I told you when we met at Porter’s that I might have other things for you to do.”
“It’s finished. You said you’d pay extra for anything more. All I had to do was find your wife and you’d handle the rest. I did my part.”
Adam lifted a brow and looked over Breninger’s cheap suit. It was a different one than he’d seen before, but of no better quality. “You spent the three hundred dollars already?” He’d suspected as much. “Anyway, I don’t have that kind of money with me. I’d be an idiot to carry so much cash.”
The corner of Milo’s mustache dropped with his scowl and he leaned forward. “Y’know, there’s ways of dealing with a man who welches on his debts.”
Adam gave him an even, icy glare. “You don’t want to forget just which man you’re dealing with now. You’re not in a position to make threats. Your past isn’t a secret—it would be very interesting to certain people.” He was bluffing. He didn’t know much of anything about Breninger beyond what he’d mentioned at their first meeting, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had a closet full of skeletons.
Breninger didn’t back down. “You’re no choirboy yourself, Jacobsen. In Portland I heard talk about the wolf in minister’s clothes with debts and shady dealings attached to you. People here remember you, too—and Amy.”
Adam clenched his jaw briefly. “She’s Mrs. Jacobsen to you, Breninger. Don’t forget it.”
The man stood and uttered a sly chuckle, revealing his mostly toothless gums. “Maybe you should tell her that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He headed toward the door. “It’ll cost you six hundred and seventy bucks and then some to find out.” With his hand on the knob he turned and added, “Isn’t that what you thought, anyway? That she has a fancy man?”
Adam worked to keep a firm grip on his anger. Yes, he’d said it to Breninger, but he hadn’t meant it. Amy would never, ever—“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Now the grubby fool was laughing outright, and Adam felt his blood begin to boil. “I told you she’s living at that boardinghouse with two other men. That’s all I bothered to find out. You figure out the rest yourself or go talk to her. I could ask around too, but I’m not doing a damn thing more unless you pay up. I’m glad you’re not the only iron in my fire.”
Eager to be rid of him, Adam disregarded his bragging and said, “I’ll meet you in Twelve Mile tomorrow noon. Across the street from the tractor store.” He had no intention of meeting him or paying him until he had the facts and his property—all of it—in his possession.
Apparently satisfied with his day’s work, Breninger nodded and touched his brow in a smart-alecky two-finger salute before leaving.
Adam barely noticed him going. His mind was now turning on two problems: Amy still had that damning evidence against him and now she’d possibly gotten herself involved with another man. Another man. The very idea made him want to put his fist through the wall, since he couldn’t hit anyone else at the moment. He briefly considered the idea that Breninger was just egging him on to pry money out of him.
But if it was true—if she believed she could two-time him—she was in for a big surprise. As comfortable as it was, he’d have to move out of this hotel. To put all of his plans into action, he realized that he needed to be someplace less conspicuous, close enough to town for convenience, but far out enough to maintain his cover.
And he knew just where to find it.
Bax leveled his gaze on Amy. He had cornered her in the living room after dinner. They had eaten, but Amy stayed hidden in her bedroom during the meal until Deirdre went upstairs and asked to use the sewing machine. Tom was working a night shift at the mill. The faint, rhythmic sound of the pumping treadle drifted down from the floor above.
“I don’t know what made you decide to come back to Powell Springs, but from what I’ve seen, I’d say it’s a fair bet that you’re running from that man. Even though you don’t want to admit it.”
Her back stiffened. “What? You have no right to go stirring up trouble and poking around in my personal business!”
“You’d expected to see him again, hadn’t you? That’s what you’ve told people.”
Bax sat her down on the sofa and dropped into place on the other end.
“Yes, but deep down, I dreaded the thought that he’d come here. I hoped he wouldn’t.”
“Tell me what happened out there on the street this evening.”
Her gaze wandered to the flowered wallpaper, and suddenly she looked very tired and frail, even though he suspected there was a lion’s heart beating beneath that exterior. After all, she’d scraped together the nerve to leave Adam Jacobsen to begin with. Some women became so browbeaten and defeated, they were terrified to even try to get away from an abusive marriage. The subject was only whispered about—if it was discussed at all—but Bax had seen enough in mill towns to recognize it.
“I was on my way to meet my sister for dinner at the New Cascades Hotel. That’s what was in that letter you gave me—a dinner invitation. I thought it was supposed to be a reconciliation for us. I was hoping for that, anyway.” She sat with her hands tightly folded in lap. “But when I got there, I saw my husband talking to the clerk at the front desk.”
Bax put his elbow on the sofa arm. “And you have good r
eason to be afraid of him.” He waited for her to acknowledge this. “Right?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “You know I do.”
“But didn’t you tell me just the other night that he knows you’re here in town?”
She dropped her chin and her knuckles whitened. “That wasn’t exactly true. At least I didn’t think it was. I left in the middle of the night while he was out of the house.”
“You ran away.”
She looked at him and her brows rushed together. “I didn’t steal the silver, if that’s what you’re implying. As if we had any silver. If you’re going to insult me—”
He shook his head and waved off her protest. “No, no, settle down. That’s not what I meant. I mean you escaped.”
Some of the indignant sizzle left her. “Yes, I did. I had to. I’d been waiting a long time for the chance.” She pleated the fabric over her knee. “And the courage . . .”
“Do you think your life is in danger? Maybe this is something I need to tell Whit about.”
Her head came up again. “No!”
“Because . . .”
“Adam didn’t see me and I don’t want to make trouble.” She leaned forward, her expression adamant. “You don’t know why he’s—well, you don’t know.”
“Make trouble! Lady, you’ve already got that, in spades.” He eyed her with a searching look. “What’s really going on, Amy? It’s more than him breaking your arm and leaving bruises on you, although God knows that’s plenty. And it’s not just that he’s a bully who wants to drag his wife home so he can keep telling himself that he’s king of the world and all he surveys. I think you’re hiding something. You said I don’t know why. Well, tell me.”
The Fire of Home (A Powell Springs Novel) Page 10
