“Difficult call to make, given that I’m in worse shape than he is.”
Darcy looked amused. “There is that.” She pushed away from the door frame. “The interview is set up for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. You know where the station is?”
Jordan nodded, tensing again.
“There’s nothing you can do for now, so go back to your unpacking. I’ll be there, and so will Jase. I threatened to find financial backers for Kathleen’s restaurant if he doesn’t represent you.”
“If he’s uncomfortable with the idea, I don’t want him pushed into it.” Despite what Jordan had told Ted, she didn’t yet know how she felt about Jase representing her.
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Get a grip. He won’t let any other attorney within miles of you—he’s not taking any chances with your defense. And he’s damn good, so do what he says tomorrow. No heroics, no rebellious moves. Got it?”
Jordan nodded again.
“Just let Drake go through his routine, answering with only the barest minimum of information. He’s holding his cards close to his chest at the moment—I couldn’t get much out of him. We’ll have a better idea of what he’s got after the meeting, and then we can devise a strategy.”
Jordan swallowed and nodded a third time.
“You okay?” Darcy peered suspiciously at her.
“Sure.”
“You’re not going to hyperventilate or faint or anything silly like that, are you?”
“Of course not.”
* * *
JASE was waiting for her when she walked back inside. She could hear a chain saw whining upstairs—Bill must have come in through the kitchen door while she was talking to Ted on the porch. Amanda and Tom were arguing in the upper hallway. Jordan heard Amanda say that some one had to stand up for the plant’s rights, and she decided to steer clear of that debate. She headed for the kitchen.
Jase followed, standing in the doorway and watching her pull open a moving box to start unwrapping china.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. She knew he’d picked up on her ambivalence, but she didn’t trust her instincts where he was concerned. She’d seen no reason not to trust him, but—
“I was young, and it’s the family business. I was expected to enter the firm,” he explained again. “As soon as I realized what I’d gotten myself into, I bailed.”
“But you were good at it.”
“Yeah, I was.” His voice turned cool. “Why do I feel like that’s a criticism?”
Why indeed? She had no answer for either of them—she didn’t yet understand why the knowledge of his past upset her so much.
She turned away to stack dinner plates in the cupboard to the right of the sink. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? I need a lawyer, and you’re willing to help. Darcy is right, beggars can’t be choosers. I should be grateful.”
“But you don’t have to like it,” he concluded astutely.
She didn’t reply, pulling another newspaper-wrapped stack of china out of the box.
He sighed and held out his hand. “Give me five dollars, dammit.”
She fished the bill out of her pocket and handed it to him. “In the movies, it’s always a dollar,” she said lightly.
“I’ve never been cheap.”
She smiled, but it was halfhearted.
He shook his head. “Anything you need to tell me before the meeting tomorrow? Something you might know that never made it into the accounts in the newspapers?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“All right.” He turned to go, then paused. “Just one more thing.” She looked up from her unpacking. “Just in case you’re inclined to make comparisons, I’m not at all like your late husband. Got it?”
She nodded. Again.
He certainly wasn’t acting laid back any longer.
* * *
FOR the rest of the day, Jordan unpacked, focusing on the kitchen, trying to ignore the sounds of the chain saw and large pieces of wood thumping down the stairs. She worked even harder at ignoring the meeting tomorrow and her stark terror of being arrested. Somehow, if she could get the kitchen under control, she told herself, she would be able to handle the chaos in the rest of her life.
The ghosts remained conspicuously absent, for which she was grateful—she couldn’t cope with them at the moment. She could only hope they weren’t up to anything nefarious.
Tom poked his head in around midafternoon to tell her that the foundation was solid, but that the library wall would have to be rebuilt. Calling Amanda in from the garden, they discussed strategies for saving the wisteria and creating an iron trellis structure that could be attached to the outside wall and support the vine, preventing it from damaging the new wall.
Not too long after, Felicia Warren dropped by to deliver the forms Jordan would need to fill out to have Longren House added to Port Chatham’s historic homes register. They spent a pleasant hour discussing the pros and cons of owning and refurbishing a historic home. Jase was right—the woman was a fount of knowledge. Jordan’s head was spinning by the time she left.
Just before dinner, Jordan slipped out to deliver the dog to the vet’s for grooming and a wellness check, repeatedly promising him that she would be back to pick him up in the morning. She could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe her. Clearly, he had as many trust issues as she did—he’d probably been betrayed in his life just as many times.
The movers were finished by the time she returned, and she wrote a check, adding a large cash tip. She even accepted with aplomb the Goth kid’s note referencing a Tourette’s syndrome hotline and support group.
When the ghosts still hadn’t reappeared by dark, she decided to simply enjoy the time on her own. Pouring herself a hefty glass of Merlot, she knocked down empty boxes for recycling, then smoothed and folded a small stack of packing paper, to be saved in case she decided she had to slip over the Canadian border in the middle of the night with the dog and a few belongings. With a second glass of wine in hand, she headed up to the attic to search for Charlotte’s diaries. After an hour of digging through boxes covered with debris from the earlier chain saw activity, she’d uncovered nothing of interest and admitted defeat. A search of Charlotte’s room yielded similar results.
It wasn’t until late that night, after she came back from taking a long walk through her new neighborhood, missing the company of the dog the entire time, that she realized she was still so keyed up over the upcoming interview with Drake that her chances of sleeping through the night were slim to none.
She changed into an oversized football jersey, crawled under her down comforter, and, with a cool night breeze flowing in the window, picked up the stack of Hattie’s diaries she’d pulled off the library shelves that afternoon.
Might as well distract herself with a murder investigation she could control.
Unintended Consequences
HATTIE reached into the carriage and lifted Frank’s hand to feel for a pulse. Fast and erratic, but there. Dear God. She’d been the cause of this.
“We have no doctors on the waterfront,” Mona said in a low voice behind her. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. He’s been unconscious for hours—my men found him in the alley behind the Green Light this afternoon. I had hoped he’d come to, but …”
Arms wrapped around herself to keep from trembling, Hattie straightened. “Sara!” she yelled.
The housekeeper must have been standing close by, for she appeared within seconds.
“Go quickly and fetch the girls,” Hattie ordered. “Have Charlotte rush a note over to Dr. Willoughby’s infirmary—we need him on a matter of utmost urgency.” Willoughby was Celeste’s father and ran the neighborhood medical clinic. “Instruct Charlotte to take Tabitha with her, and to remain vigilant, returning home at once. Upon their departure, put clean bedding on the cot in the attic bedroom.”
“Ma’am!” Sara protested, spying the contents of the carriage. “You can’t possibly m
ean to bring him into our home!”
“That is precisely what I intend. Mr. Lewis may have suffered this beating because of what I asked of him. It’s our responsibility to see that he gets the care he needs. Now, go!”
The housekeeper fled, and Hattie turned back to Mona. “Can your coachman help us carry him inside?”
“Of course.” Mona walked to the front of the carriage and gave a quiet order. “Frank was doing your bidding when this happened?” she asked as they waited for the man to climb down.
“Yes, he was looking into a business matter for me.”
“So you might know who did this—or ordered it done.”
“I have a very good idea, yes,” Hattie replied, her fury building. “Rest assured that I intend to have a word with Chief Greeley.”
The coachman had opened the opposite door of the carriage and positioned himself at Frank’s head. With Hattie and Mona holding Frank’s legs, they eased him out of the carriage and onto the ground.
The coachman leaned down and gently lifted him in his arms. “Where to, ma’am?”
Hattie directed him through the back door, then up two flights of stairs to a room under the eaves. He lowered Frank to the cot Sara had just finished hastily making up, shifting his body to a more comfortable position.
Hattie surveyed the room, mentally rearranging the secondhand furniture to create a small but functional infirmary. If she left the door open to the floor below, heat would make its way up the stairs and keep the room comfortably warm. Frank would be safe, yet well concealed. If anyone made a social call, he or she would be none the wiser.
Sara handed her a blanket, which she shook out and draped carefully over Frank. He hadn’t stirred since he’d been removed from the carriage. She turned to Sara, who hovered, sneaking curious glances at Mona. “Prepare a basin of warm water, along with some clean rags, and bring them to me.”
“Yes, ma’am. The girls are on their way to Dr. Willoughby’s, ma’am.”
“Good.” Hattie glanced at Mona. “There’s nothing more we can do for the moment. If you’d be kind enough to follow me down to the second-floor parlor while we await the physician’s arrival, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Mona inclined her head. “Of course.” Turning to the coachman, she ordered him to wait for her in the carriage.
They descended the stairs, Hattie motioning for Mona to precede her into the small, comfortably furnished room in which Sara kept a fire lit most evenings. Moving to a side table that held a tray of crystal glasses and a decanter, she poured Mona a glass of sherry. Hattie indicated they should sit in the two Murphy rocking chairs in front of the fireplace.
“Now, tell me everything you know,” Hattie said. “Where did you find Frank? Did anyone witness the attack?”
“My butler found him in back of our house around midafternoon.” Mona adjusted the skirts of her brocade gown, then leaned back in the rocker, her beringed fingers gently tapping on the rocker’s arm. “Booth asked the merchants in the immediate vicinity, but no one admitted to hearing or seeing anything unusual.”
“Could Frank have been beaten in a different location, then dumped at your establishment?”
Mona frowned as she lifted her glass from the small table between them and took a sip of sherry. “Possibly, yes. It does make sense that Frank would’ve been attacked on the wharf—he rarely comes to our block during the day.”
“And an alley sees less traffic, thus ensuring that it would’ve taken longer for someone to discover him.”
“Yes.”
So whoever had beaten him had possibly meant for him to die of his injuries, Hattie surmised. “Do you employ anyone who could ask around the wharf without raising too much suspicion? I would like to know anything he can discover about the attack—the number of people involved, whether any of them were recognized. I might be able to track them based on their employment to the person who ordered the attack.”
“Booth can make inquiries, yes, but to what end?” Mona turned concerned eyes on her. “I would strongly advise that you not pursue this—to do so could be very dangerous.”
“But I must know whether this attack is related to my business,” Hattie insisted, then voiced her deepest fear. “And what of the possibility that Frank doesn’t recover?”
“If the worst happens, then you’ll send word and I’ll make plans to remove his body to a location where it will be discovered by the authorities,” Mona replied. “One more body, discovered on the waterfront, will be of no consequence. When you report this to Greeley, do not tell him of Frank’s whereabouts until we can be certain he will recover. You must protect yourself from falling under suspicion in the event that Frank dies.”
Hattie shuddered, though she knew Mona was only being pragmatic.
“Your physician will be discreet?” Mona pressed.
During Hattie’s past interactions with Willoughby, she’d found him to be rather proper, with a grandfatherly manner. He and Charles had been acquaintances though not close friends. “Dr. Willoughby is likely to believe Frank’s presence in my house is inappropriate.”
“Can his silence be bought?” Mona asked bluntly.
Hattie thought about the stacks of cash in the library. If need be, she would use that cash to ensure Frank’s safety. “I’ll double his usual fee in return for a promise of discretion.”
“Then we’ll hope for the best. As soon as Frank can be safely moved to the Green Light, contact me and I will return for him.”
Hattie nodded, then hesitated. “I’d like to ask you about comments you made the night of the fire, if I may?” When Mona showed no signs of objection—other than a slight return of wariness in her expression—Hattie continued. “You indicated that my husband, Charles, wasn’t a nice man. Precisely what did you mean by that?”
Mona studied her in silence, then seemed to come to a decision. “He beat one of my girls so bad she couldn’t work for weeks.”
Hattie swallowed, chilled despite the blazing fire. “You’re certain? I can’t believe—Charles would never have treated a woman that way!”
“You mean he wouldn’t have treated you that way, and you’d be right. He saved his more savage appetites for my girls.” Mona leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Remember the young girl who brought you the blankets the night of the fire? The one who was so timid in your presence? You must have noticed the freshly healed cuts and burns on her face and arms.”
At Hattie’s reluctant nod, Mona continued. “Charles and his man, Clive Johnson, asked to share Isobel one evening. At that time, Isobel was relatively new to the trade, and she still retained an air of fragile innocence that appealed to many of my customers. Of course, I agreed to Charles’s request.”
Hattie’s eyes widened. “You mean, two men with one woman, at the same time?”
Mona looked momentarily amused. “We don’t place limits on the sexual practices of our customers. My girls are trained to accept and enjoy all our customers’ predilections, no matter how unusual.”
“Of course,” Hattie said faintly.
She’d heard the girls in the Boston clinic giggle about odd requests from their customers, but she had no firsthand knowledge of such things. The fact that her husband had participated in them stunned her. Though now that she thought about it, many of the young men in town visited the brothels, and perhaps this was part of the allure.
“This wasn’t the first time Charles had brought along his business manager for a ménage, of course.” Each of Mona’s words fell like a blow. “And though I’d had to warn him once in the past when he’d gotten overly rough, he’d been more circumspect since then, so I wasn’t concerned. But this time he and Johnson went too far.” Mona stopped for a moment, then shook her head. “If another girl hadn’t heard Isobel’s screams and come to find me, I’ve no doubt Isobel would’ve been killed.”
Hattie’s breathing had become shallow, and there was a faint roaring in her ears. Unable to remain seated, she rose and w
alked to the window that looked down on the front garden.
The picture Mona drew was one she could hardly fathom. It bespoke of a casual cruelty in her husband of which she’d seen no evidence during their short marriage. Though he’d been cold and distant, she couldn’t relate Mona’s words to the man she’d known. She now understood why Frank had refused to give her details.
“I can’t …” She stumbled to a halt, unsure of what she meant to say, then pressed a hand to her stomach.
“If a man beats on me or my girls, he’s not invited back,” Mona continued, seemingly unaware of the depth of her distress. “I had Booth throw them both out. Clive Johnson is no longer welcome at my establishment.”
Mona drank the last of her sherry and placed the empty glass on the table. “Why do you ask about the incident? Is what happened to Isobel related to what Frank was making inquiries about?”
Hattie thought once again about the cash in the library safe, and about the rumors of the white slave trade. But until she established a connection to Longren Shipping, she had to assume the two matters were unrelated. “No, it was another matter entirely. I simply wanted to know the truth about Charles’s visits to the Green Light. You are not the only person to insinuate that Charles had unhealthy appetites.” Hattie shook her head, her mind still reeling. “It seems I didn’t know my husband at all.”
Mona didn’t offer sympathy, for which Hattie was grateful.
“Do you think Clive Johnson was behind this attack on Frank?” Mona asked instead.
“Possibly,” Hattie conceded. “Though I think it equally likely that Michael Seavey ordered the beating—he visited me two days ago to warn me off.”
Mona frowned.
“Hattie?”
Hattie jerked around to find Charlotte hovering at the door to the parlor, her eyes wide and questioning. Dear God, how much of the conversation with Mona had Charlotte heard?
“Dr. Willoughby is on his way?” Hattie managed to ask calmly. At Charlotte’s nod, she turned to Tabitha, who stood behind Charlotte. “Tabitha, please accompany Miss Charlotte to her room and stay with her until I come for you both, is that understood?”
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