“But a frank one.”
Beret appraised the young man. He was stocky but solid, not so tall, but he carried his size well. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, and his face—a very nice-looking face, Beret had to admit—was tan. Since winter was barely over, Beret wondered where he had gotten the sun. Perhaps he was a horseman.
“I have always liked a woman who is frank,” Joey said.
Beret tilted her head. “If that is the case, then I ask what your intentions were toward my sister.”
Joey turned away and clutched the railing of the balcony, looking down at the stone floor of the driveway a dozen feet below them. “I loved her. I wanted to marry her.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Joey stared for a long time before he turned back to Beret. “Because she wouldn’t have me.”
Beret waited. She had learned at the mission that people often said more following an uncomfortable silence than if they were questioned.
“She turned me down,” Joey said at last. “She told me my father wouldn’t like it.”
“And why is that?”
“How would she know whether my father would approve? She’d only met him once or twice.”
Mick had said that Joey didn’t know about Lillie and his father. Evan Summers might have hidden his relationship with Lillie while she lived in the Stanton house, but how could the two men not know that the other visited her at the House of Dreams? “I was under the impression that your father was fond of my sister, that they were”—Beret searched for a word—“friends.”
“What are you implying?” he asked loudly. “That is despicable. My father is a man of honor.” He swallowed down his anger. “It was my sister who was Lillie’s friend. Father considered Lillie to be a fortune hunter. He ordered me to stay away from her. How dare you impugn a woman who can’t defend herself.”
In the darkness, Beret could see Joey’s eyes glisten, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand. “Yes, of course,” she murmured. Then she said, “There is another thing I would ask, and I would like an honest answer,” she said. “Did you take her to Miss Hettie’s House of Dreams?”
Joey jerked up his head and stared at Beret. “Good God, no! Why would I do such a thing?”
“Caro thought you might have.”
“She always believes the worst of a person.”
“In my short acquaintance with her, I have found the opposite to be true, but no matter. You might have taken Lillie to Miss Hettie’s because she could no longer stay with my aunt and uncle, due to her pregnancy.”
Joey looked forlorn. He took a step backward and leaned against the iron railing, which was low, and Beret feared he might fall.
“Perhaps she would have married you—if you were the father,” Beret continued.
“But of course I was. How can you even suggest otherwise—you, her sister?”
“Because you were not the only one who enjoyed Lillie’s affections.” She felt sorry for Joey, but the words must be said.
Joey raised his arm as if to strike Beret, then thought better of it. “You are talking about your own husband, Miss Osmundsen, the man who seduced her. Yes, I know he followed her here, but she’d have nothing to do with him.” Then he added acidly, “I can see why he preferred Lillie to you. Perhaps you should ask him why she joined the tarts at Miss Hettie’s.”
Beret ignored the insult. “Lillie’s earnings there supported him.”
“It can’t be. You’ve made that up.” He swallowed. “You have no right to speak of your sister that way. I can see why she disliked you—and your husband. I met Mr. Staarman once, and had I known at the time how he’d taken advantage of Lillie, I might have killed him. I was that angry.”
“And were you ever angry enough to kill Lillie?”
Joey gave her an astonished look, then a harsh laugh as he started past Beret to the door. But Beret grabbed his arm and said, “That is a thing I must know. I promise the answer will remain between us, if for no other reason than my aunt and uncle’s sake.” She paused, then asked, “Did you murder my sister?” She put her hands against the cold stone wall to steady herself.
“How can you think that?” Joey asked, his voice hoarse with rage. “The police have identified the Stanton coachman as the killer. How can you possibly suggest…” Joey shook his head, and suddenly, he rushed from the porch into the room.
Beret let him go, then went to the railing herself and looked down at the roof of the stable below. Slowly, she became aware that someone had come up beside her, although he had made no sound. She turned and found Evan Summers staring at her.
“You are a despicable young woman to treat my son as you have,” he said, giving her a look that might have terrified others. Beret did not frighten easily, but she felt uncomfortable and wished Mick were close by.
“Then you heard our conversation.”
“Enough of it. You accused my son of murdering your sister.”
“I did not,” Beret countered. “I asked him if he had done so.”
“You put too fine a point on it. You believe he is responsible.”
“No more than I believe you are.”
Summers’s eyes turned even paler, and in the dim light on the balcony, Beret could see the hatred in them. “What are you saying, young woman?”
“That you had a reason to see my sister dead. You were intimate with her, just as your son was.” Beret was frightened at her boldness.
“And you have that from my nephew Michael? He has had it in for me ever since I refused to employ him in one of my enterprises.” Beret started to reply, but Summers held up his hand. “Oh yes, I know how the two of you have been prowling Holladay Street, talking to whores. It appears you have no more morals than your sister.”
Beret might have held her tongue if the man had shown more humanity, but she replied, “Do not lecture me about morals, Mr. Summers. I will not take a scolding from a married man who finds nothing wrong in being intimate with a young girl, getting her with child, and abandoning her in a brothel, with false promises of leaving his wife.”
Summers was taken aback. “And do you have proof of these foul accusations?”
“I do indeed. A letter. I have it in my possession.”
“Then it is a false one. I do not write letters.”
“Lillie hid it. Did you not find it when you went to the House of Dreams and killed her?” There, it was out, Beret thought.
Evan glared at Beret until his eyes were little slits. “It’s not enough you accuse my son of murder, but now you accuse me, too? Which one of us would you and Michael prefer to hang, Miss Osmundsen?”
“Whichever one of you is guilty. You deny it, then?”
“I don’t answer to you.” He took a step forward, backing Beret against the railing.
Beret put her hands on the top rail, realizing how low it was. She braced herself as Evan came forward, fearing his intentions. He was a big man and could push her over onto the stones, claiming it was an accident. She slid to one side, thinking she could maneuver past him into the room, but as if he understood her intent, Summers matched the move. She could cry out, but when she glanced at the door, she realized Summers had closed it, and no one would hear her.
“And now what?” Beret asked at last.
“You should have kept silent. I imagine now you wish you had.” He took half a step toward Beret, who glanced behind her, but there was nothing except for the stone driveway. She looked up at Summers, who seemed to be enjoying himself. “People have learned not to cross me, Miss Osmundsen. It is dangerous. That’s a lesson I should like to teach to you—and to Michael.”
He leaned his head forward, which frightened Beret more than if he had taken another step. She felt her hands begin to sweat against the cold iron. At the mission, she had stood up to men with knives, to drunken louts who threatened to beat her. But she had never come face-to-face with a man who was so controlled, whose face was filled with such hatred, and she was frightened
. She had been foolish to confront him by herself. “What do you intend to do here?” she asked, wishing her voice were steadier.
“That is a quandary, is it not? I do not allow anyone to question my character.”
“I am well aware of your character. It is not my intention to make public charges, since the police have concluded Jonas killed my sister and the other girl. I wish only to satisfy myself as to the reason for my sister’s death.”
“And what if I say I don’t believe you? After all, you threatened me with blackmail.”
“I did no such thing. I was merely trying to get at the truth.” She knew now she should have waited until Mick was with her to reveal the letter.
Summers smiled, and Beret was reminded of a panther she had once seen in a cage. “It would be a pity if you fell over the rail while you were trying to get a look at the moon. You wouldn’t be a pretty picture, smashed against the stone, your neck broken, not as pretty as your sister lying dead on her bed.” He smirked. “I read about that in the newspaper.” Summers licked his lower lip. “Poor Caroline would be so distressed. She’d never forgive herself. I wonder if people would think shame drove you to it.”
“I do not believe anyone would make such a conclusion with you standing here.”
He shrugged, and his lips curled up a little. “No one would know. The room behind me is empty. I would say I tried to stop you. I would be considered a hero,” Summers said. He smiled, but his eyes were as cold as winter.
“You would kill me?” Beret asked.
“I wonder what it would be like. But then, I’ve done so before. That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”
The two stared at each other, and then suddenly, the door behind them opened, and Caro said, “There you are. We are ready to go into the dining room, Father. I should have known you would be closeted with our most interesting visitor. You and Mick have kept her hostage long enough. It’s time she met our other guests. Come along.”
Caro stood aside, and after a time, Summers said, “Why, of course, my dear.” He held out his arm to Beret and turned to her with his eyes narrowed to slits. “We will continue this, Miss Osmundsen. I shall make sure of it.”
Chapter 19
Beret emerged shaken from her encounter with Evan Summers and was anxious to tell Mick about it. But there was no chance to talk, because she sat at the far end of the table from the detective and could barely speak a word to him—or to anyone else that evening. He sent her questioning glances, but she did not respond. Following dinner, as the guests rose, the gentlemen to go into the library for cigars and brandy, the ladies into the drawing room for coffee, Mick whispered, “You’ve hardly said a word all night. Is something wrong?”
“Very wrong,” she replied, adding, “I can’t talk now. Later.”
“Later” was not to be that night, however, since Varina complained of a headache, and the Stantons left with Beret as soon as etiquette permitted.
Like Mick, the judge observed that Beret had been quiet during the evening. “I hope socializing isn’t putting too great a strain on you. Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, once they were home.
“Yes, of course. I had a fine time, but I think Aunt Varina’s headache must be catching,” Beret replied. She would have liked to ask him his opinion of Evan and Joey Summers but knew she must talk with Mick first. She did not want to taint the Stantons’ relationship with the Summers family for fear her interference would harm her uncle. Summers was that powerful.
Beret pondered whether Evan Summers had been about to kill her. Or was he just trifling with her, letting her know he was not to be threatened? Surely he knew Beret had no real proof he was the killer. Damaging as it was, the note told only that he was in love. If anything, the words he’d written suggested that killing Lillie was far from his mind, Beret thought, as she removed the earrings her aunt had loaned her. She had forgotten to give them back to Varina and would have to return them in the morning.
Beret put on her nightdress and went to the window, staring out at the stable and realizing she was looking at the window of Jonas’s room. Everyone else believed Jonas had killed her sister. Why did she resist it? Because she wanted her sister’s death to be the work of someone who cared about Lillie—Evan Summers, Joey, or even Teddy. She wanted there to be a reason to Lillie’s death, something that made sense, something that was personal. She did not want Lillie to have been merely the victim of a madman.
* * *
When Beret awoke, rain was lashing the windows, but the storm was not what had disturbed her. She heard a pounding somewhere in the house and sat up in bed, trying to orient herself. At first, with the noise of the rain hitting the window glass of the cold room, she thought she was in her bed in New York, but then she realized she was in her aunt and uncle’s house in Denver. The pounding continued, a knocking. Where were William and Nellie and the other servants? Why hadn’t they answered? Then Beret remembered it was Sunday and the Stanton staff had been given the day off so that they could attend church—or that had been her aunt’s intention, at any rate.
Her aunt and uncle must have gone to church, too. Well, she was not about to answer the door in her nightdress. Beret lay against her pillow, hoping to go back to sleep. But the knocking did not cease. Then she thought that the insistent caller might be Mick. She did not want to miss him. So she rose and threw on a robe, hurrying down the stairs.
Through a leaded-glass panel on the side of the door, Beret made out the shape of a man in an overcoat, his hat pulled low over his face to keep out the rain. The walking stick in his hand was familiar, and she unlatched the door before she realized that Mick did not carry a stick, that the object belonged to Teddy. But it was too late. The door was open now and Beret’s former husband stood on the wet tiles of the porch floor, the collar of his coat pulled up around his neck.
“Hello, Beret.” He grinned at her. “I was afraid you’d sleep through the clatter—you did sometimes, you know—and I’d have to go back out into the rain. He shivered. “As you can see, it is as thick as a sheet of iron.” Indeed, the rain came down in torrents, splattering against the ground, forming pools of water on the sidewalks. Without waiting to be invited inside, Teddy stepped through the door and removed his hat, flapping it against his leg and spraying water onto the Persian carpet.
The familiar gesture made Beret’s heart flutter, and she almost held her arms out to him as she once did when he arrived home in the midst of a storm. Instead, she kept her arms at her sides. She would not let Teddy see how he had affected her. “This is an odd time for a call, Edward. What is the hour?” she asked.
“Early yet, but I wanted to catch you alone.” When Beret sent him a scornful look, he continued, “Oh yes, I know that this is the servants’ day off, that the Stantons are at church and they rarely come home before mid-afternoon.”
“This is when you came to visit my sister, then.” She realized her robe was loose, and she clutched it to her throat.
Teddy didn’t respond to Beret’s remark, but instead, he looked at the folds of her garment and said, “You needn’t act so modest. I’ve seen you with your robe open, seen you with no robe at all, you know. Would that I could see you so now.”
“That is an offensive remark.” The words tormented her.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have thought so at one time. We did enjoy ourselves, didn’t we?”
Beret did not reply, for she couldn’t deny it. Teddy was right. She gave him a flinty look, however, hoping he did not see that her emotions were in conflict.
“I remember that stare. It would turn a man to stone, but not me. I was always flesh and blood around you. And you, ah, Beret, what a woman you were—you are.”
Beret softened as she remembered their times together, how early in their marriage, she could not wait for his embrace. For a tiny moment she wished the past could be forgotten. Then she wondered at herself, that she could be moved by him when she hated him so.
“I have missed you,” he
said softly. He glanced up the darkened staircase and reached for her hand.
But Beret would not take it. She did not trust herself. “Why have you come here, Edward?”
“To talk to you, of course. To talk to you alone, without your aunt and uncle. Will you invite me into the parlor?”
“No.”
“You have turned hard.”
“You have turned me hard.”
“I suppose I can’t blame you. I wish things could be the way they were.” He took a step toward her and held out his arms. “I wish you would forgive me and we could go back to what we had.”
Beret’s good sense reasserted itself, and she pushed temptation away. “In time, perhaps I shall forgive you, but go back, to live as your wife again? No! The divorce is final, Edward. I have no intention of taking you back. I could never trust you. How little you know me to think I could do such a thing. If this is the reason you’ve come here, you must leave now.”
“You are afraid people would laugh at you.”
“You should know I care little about peoples’ opinions.”
“Ah, but you do.”
Beret looked at him curiously, aware now that Teddy was playing with her, that his talk of reconciliation had been only a ploy.
Teddy cocked his head and slowly lowered his gaze, taking in her body. “A pity. I think we could make a go of it again, but I can see you are not game.”
“Game!” Beret shot back at him. “Game to take back a philandering husband, who caused my sister’s death? I do not consider Lillie’s murder a game.”
“I did not cause it. I told you I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you seduced her. Because of you, she came to Denver.”
“Surely you have learned enough in your investigation to know that Lillie was as responsible as I for what happened.”
Beret had, indeed. Still she said, “You were a father to her. Your action was heinous.”
Teddy wiped his face with his coat sleeve, then ran his hand through his hair, which had curled from the dampness. Beret found the familiar gesture too intimate and turned away. “I do not want this conversation again. Please leave, Edward.”
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