She turns up the wick.
“What time is it?” George plucks his watch off the nightstand. “Good God, one in the morning. How long have you been standing outside the door?”
“I got back shortly after midnight,” Abe says softly. “I—I wanted to tell you, as soon as you awoke—” Abe rambles to a stop, already second-guessing his intrusion into George and Fiona’s privacy.
“What?” George snaps the word like a whip.
“It’s—Luther. He’s—disappeared. He was with me—but then we ran into trouble—”
Silence thickens in the chilly room. Suddenly George backhands Abe.
Blood oozes from Abe’s nose, but he doesn’t react, doesn’t cry out or step back after the first blow lands, doesn’t make a move in response.
George grabs a handkerchief from the nightstand, wipes Abe’s blood from his hand, but doesn’t offer the handkerchief to Abe, who stands stock-still, awaiting his boss’s next command—or another blow.
“Stop stuttering around like a fool. What happened?”
“We went to find Dr. Goshen for Elias. He was not at his home. His wife said some young girl had showed up—something about trouble with her brother—and they’d gone to find Sheriff Lily Ross.”
At this, it’s George who goes still.
Fiona turns this over. This is twice in less than twenty-four hours she’s been reminded of Lily—first her aunt, saying she’d come out here after Uncle Henry died, and now Abe.
“Mrs. Goshen didn’t know the name of the girl or the family, just that her husband had left with her. So we went to Lily Ross’s farmhouse. I know where it is from last year—”
“I don’t want details I don’t care about.” George tosses the handkerchief at him after all. “Clean yourself up! We don’t want you bleeding on the lovely rug and furniture here,” he says with a nasty sneer.
Fiona keeps her expression placid, but the comment—of all things, in the midst of everything else that’s happening—stings. Aunt Nell had taken great pride in her home, keeping it neat and tidy all these years.
As Abe dabs his nose, he says, “We went to Lily Ross’s house, hoping to find the doctor or someone there who could tell us where they went—”
“You went to Lily’s house with Luther?” George says, putting emphasis on the last two words.
“I told Luther to stay in the automobile. But he got out and came up to the door, too. Sheriff Ross wasn’t home—but I spoke with her mother and a man who was there. Unfortunately—Luther spilled the news about Elias’s condition.”
“So now she knows we’re all here. Do you realize how stupid that is?” George clicks his teeth. His voice is cold, hard.
Fiona has pieced together that George had been involved in the life of Daniel Ross, both when he was a boxer for George before Daniel met Lily and later, when Daniel became sheriff shortly after he and Lily married—but she doesn’t know the details of Daniel and George’s connection. And she understands that Lily and Daniel’s uncle Elias, once close, are now estranged—but she doesn’t know why.
In a way, George and Lily are alike in that they are both impossible to cipher, only giving hints about who they are in the most stressful of moments. A little over a year ago, Lily had come, once, to the Cincinnati mansion to ask George for help in tracking down a person connected to a murder investigation—something about an elderly woman, killed along the train tracks in a remote part of Bronwyn County. Fiona had regarded Lily from across the expanse of the mansion’s well-appointed parlor—and found her expression closed, tight as a box nailed shut. Later, when Lily and the case were written up in Thrilling Gumshoe, Fiona read the article—and though she found the case itself fascinating, at the end she knew no more than she had at the beginning about what motivates Lily. Is she, too, after control? Power? Or something else altogether?
“Yes,” Abe says, weariness fraying his tone. “Luther wanted to hunt down the doctor for Elias, but I drove us back to the Goshens’. We waited at his house—”
Fiona can just imagine how anxious Mrs. Goshen must have been with Luther and Abe waiting in her parlor on Thanksgiving night.
“—and he got back around eleven p.m. He dispensed the medicine Elias needs, gave the bottle to me—and I’ve given that to Elias, by the way.”
George lifts an eyebrow. “You gave the medicine to Elias?” He smirks. “Let me guess—Luther was passed out by the time you got back here.”
Abe looks down. “No. Luther ran out as soon as he saw I had Elias’s medicine. I gave chase, but I couldn’t find him. I came back here, and—”
George grabs Abe by the jacket. Though Abe looms over George by almost a foot, his usually placid expression crinkles with fear. Through gritted teeth, George says, “So you’re telling me that Lily knows Elias and Luther are back here? Isn’t that going to make it harder when they disappear? What if she gets curious about their presence, starts asking around, comes here?”
A chill runs over Fiona, sharper than the coldness of the room, like a knife’s edge scraping along her skin. Disappear. George and Abe mean to use Elias and Luther for their knowledge and connections to set up the operation here on the farm and then kill them.
“What made him run off? Did Dr. Goshen or his wife say something to set him off?”
It had to be something incredibly important, for Luther to trust Abe with Elias’s medicine.
Abe shakes his head. “He’s a wild card. Always has been. Too hotheaded for our operation. I’ll find him—and deal with it.”
“Find him—but don’t deal with him until we have all we need from Elias,” George says. “We’ll have to come up with something to explain Luther’s absence, and now we’ve got the problem of Lily knowing. She’ll want to snoop around, so now she’s a problem to deal with, too.” George grins. “I kind of like her, even better than Daniel in some ways. She’s a scrappy fighter. But she won’t be easily bought. Maybe it’s time for a new sheriff.”
Abe nods eagerly, relieved that George is giving him a new task to focus on. “I can work on that.”
Oh God. They don’t mean … Fiona’s heart sinks. Yes, yes, they do.
“Maybe Lily knowing about Luther and Elias can be used for good,” Fiona says.
Both men pause, turn, look at her. As if they’d forgotten she was in the bedroom.
Fiona forces herself to smile softly. “What I mean is, I could go to Lily. Just tell her Luther is missing. I know Lily. Always one for precise rules and regulations. Filling out the proper forms. Back when she was jail matron. Irritated Martin to no end.” She checks George’s expression to see if he’s upset that she’s referenced her previous husband, but he’s still staring at her as if she’d just popped out of the wall. It wasn’t true in any case—Martin admired Lily’s penchant for precision as much as he did Daniel’s bravery. In a mocking tone, as if speaking as Lily, Fiona says, “‘The rules apply to everyone,’” giving her head a little shake as if to say, Silly Lily.
The rules really don’t apply to everyone, Fiona thinks. Prohibition had confirmed that to her. As had living with George.
“So Lily will of course look for Luther. And she’ll find him for you,” Fiona says.
Then she stops, waits for the inevitable question.
George glares at her, irritated by her interruption. “How in the hell does that help us?”
Ah, there it is.
“Because why would I go to her if there’s anything to hide?” Fiona smiles, demurely. “It will be easy to explain, woman-to-woman. Yes, yes, you hired Luther to work in your business—Vogel’s Tonics. He approached you. He has management skills, after all. And I can explain that I really wanted Elias around as doctor since I trusted him with the birth of Leon.…” Fiona pauses, just a hair of a second to see if George reacts to her son’s name. But no. George’s expression remains skeptical about where she’s going with this plan. “And so of course I’d want Elias as doctor again now, since I’m, well, in the family way.…”
/>
She pauses longer this time, to take in Abe’s expression—a slight lift of the eyebrows the only change, but enough to tell her that he is turning this over in his mind: How will this change things, George becoming a father?
Indeed, George’s expression softens, just at that phrase—the family way—the curl to the ends of his smile becoming if not loving, at least less cruel. First flush of excitement, Fiona thinks. And: Leverage. “Go on,” he says, intrigued.
Fiona’s hands tremor. She clasps them to hold them still. She hopes she’s not giving away too much by showing that she’s willing to use her pregnancy to manipulate others.
“And I can tell her that Elias is better, but upset that Luther is missing, and that’s why I want Luther found—so Elias can settle down, and take care of me.…” Fiona hesitates. Is what comes to mind next a step too far, a betrayal of Lily? But she plunges ahead. “Lily has lost babies. Just after Daniel died. She will understand.”
There, a flicker of surprise—and a little fear—in George’s eyes. He did not know this about Lily, then. And the notion, of a woman losing a baby, scares him—now that Fiona is bearing his.
Fiona adds that to her mental list of George’s vulnerabilities: His nightmares—his reference to his mother—prove he’s haunted by something. His dislike of being questioned. His disdain for any incompetence—the way he’d treated Abe just moments ago! And where did Abe’s complete loyalty come from? Maybe finding out the root of that would be useful, too.
But in the next moment George is again sneeringly doubtful. “And if Lily finds Luther, what if he tells her about our operation here—just like Elias told you?”
At that, Abe gasps, a sound that brings Fiona a small bit of satisfaction. Abe always ignores her, as if she doesn’t matter, as if she’s just another of George’s conquests.
Still, she must be careful. If Abe sees her as a threat, he could undermine George’s trust in her. She doesn’t want to turn Abe into an enemy. She just wants him to see her as someone he must also fear and respect.
“Luther hates Lily. He won’t tell her anything.”
And, Fiona thinks, in getting George’s permission to go to Lily she’ll have a chance to forewarn Lily about the tainted alcohol.
Finally, George says, “Very well. Go see your Lily tomorrow.”
Fiona nods. “I’ll need one of the drivers.” Martin had never taught her to drive, as Daniel had taught Lily.
But George shakes his head. “Abe will take you.”
Dammit.
Abe gives Fiona just the slightest smile, as if to say, See. He doesn’t completely trust you.
Then George looks at Abe. “I’m going to trust that you won’t foul this up.”
That’s enough for Abe’s smile to disappear. “Of course not,” he says.
George sighs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Luther will stumble back somehow, sometime tonight on his own. Or freeze to death between here and Kinship, trying to get back to his precious uncle.” George gives a hard laugh. “If not—we’ll try Fiona’s plan with Lily. Simpler, after all, if fewer heads have to roll to make this work out. Right, Abe?”
Abe nods.
George moves over to Fiona, strokes her hair, and Fiona’s scalp throbs, a visceral reminder of how earlier he’d grabbed her hair as if he wanted to snap her neck. “Big day tomorrow, my little spitfire.”
“Oh, convincing Lily to think nothing of our presence here will be simple; after all, she’s so—” Fiona stops short of saying gullible, as George’s brow descends toward a glower. Careful, Fiona thinks. George may see Lily as an enemy—but he respects her. And, truth be told, Lily may have once been gullible, but that has not been true for a long time. “—so sentimental about her friends,” Fiona finishes. Well, Lily is a bit sentimental. Though she would not count Fiona among her friends.
George laughs. “That’s sweet. No, I mean tomorrow you need to convince your aunt Nell to sell this property to me—before Kinship Trust Savings and Loan closes at the end of the day.” He looks at Abe. “I’m assuming the paperwork is in order?”
Abe nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, well, of course you thought of everything, dear,” Fiona said. “Except, well, it will take Aunt Nell some time to pack, and I’m guessing it will be heartbreaking for her to observe your, ah, renovations on her old home. But I’ll help Aunt Nell gather up tomorrow morning’s eggs. Tell her you are prepared to make her a most generous offer, and sweeten it by another ten thousand—if she’ll leave tomorrow.”
George looks shocked, perhaps by the amount Fiona had stated or by the audacity of Fiona’s plan. But she hurries on. “She just needs to pack a few things. The one o’clock train goes to Cincinnati. Believe me, after years of living in Kinship, before finding you…”—here, Fiona pauses to put one hand on George’s arm—“I know the train schedule. We can ship furniture, anything she wants from the house, down to wherever she settles in Florida. I know she already has a location, a great spot for fishing—”
“Your aunt loves fishing?” Abe starts to laugh, but George scowls at him.
Fiona squeezes George’s arm lightly, drawing his attention back to her. “Yes, she loves fishing. I think she’ll be willing to go quickly—if you’ll let me talk with her. Then you have no delays, no risks from her remaining on.”
George says thoughtfully, “It’s an interesting plan.”
Fiona pulls his hand to her belly. “Mothers are used to cleaning up messes.” She nearly smiles at her own genius: a pointed jab at Abe, for making a mess, and a reminder of George’s child. “And once I tell her that, well, I want to raise our son at least part of the time here, she’ll agree. She never had children of her own, you know. Then after that, I’ll go visit Lily.”
Again, from the corner of her eye, Fiona observes Abe’s reaction. This time, he’s gone utterly pale. He knows that nothing will give Fiona more leverage than her being with child.
Indeed, George cups Fiona’s face gently. “Ah—beautiful and brilliant.” Then his voice hardens a little. “If I didn’t know better, I’d be a little worried by you.”
Fiona smiles, widens her eyes. “Oh, George.”
“Very well,” he says. “Better get some good sleep if you’re getting up early to gather eggs—just you and your aunt Nell.”
Abe casts his gaze downward, dabs at his nose. He’s been thwarted—for now.
“But no more nightmares, all right?” George says with a little laugh.
All right then. George wishes to pass off his nightmare moans as if they had been hers—though both she and Abe know better.
But they will all pretend otherwise—for George’s sake.
And for their own.
So Fiona smiles again. “Of course, darling.”
CHAPTER 11
LILY
Friday, November 25, 1927
7:42 a.m.
After parking her automobile on a side street, Lily had meant to hurry to the courthouse but found herself pausing by the house that had been the sheriff’s house—her and Daniel’s house for all of their marriage and up until last year. She’d had their children there. Now the house is empty, as the county commissioners debate renovating it into either county government offices or space for a small police department for the town.
For a moment, she stares at the house from across the street, watching the snow sift down around the trim two-story, its neat porch. So many precious memories—already, they seem to occupy a place that can only be conjured, but not revisited. The structure that had once been her home is now a building destined to be repurposed. She’s been stopping to stare at it less and less lately, and someday soon she’ll hurry past without giving it a second look.
Once in her new office, though, as has become her habit, Lily pauses after neatly hanging up her coat and hat on the rack by the door—just long enough to appreciate the satisfying tidiness of her cozy though sparse office: polished wood floor, sturdy wood desk and swivel chair, clean white plaster
walls, filing cabinet.
In particular, her gaze lingers on her one personal touch: a war bond poster that Mama had found in packing up her house, of the Statue of Liberty in front of a sunset rendered to look like the American flag, the admonition imprinted over the sparkling water at her feet: Before Sunset Buy a U.S. Government Bond of the 2nd Liberty Loan of 1917. Once, it had hung in the grocery store when Papa had owned it.
It’s so ratty, Lily! Mama had fussed. Shouldn’t you have a photo of your children?
Lily had bitten back the first retort that came to mind: I’m not likely to forget—and I don’t need to remind some folks that they think I should be at home.
Instead, she’d just smiled at Mama, who, after all, had not thrown away the poster all those years ago and who now does so much to take care of all of them. And then Lily had it framed and hung it in her office anyway.
She is not, after all, completely without sentiment.
Now Lily tucks her tote bag under her desk and settles into her chair as Lady Liberty peers over her shoulder at the telegram confirming a visit this morning from Special Agent Barnaby Sloan, from the Columbus field office of the Bureau of Prohibition, to discuss plans for the big visit from US Assistant Attorney General Mabel Walker Willebrandt at the middle of next week.
Lily picks up her notebook to the right of the stack and opens to the notes she’d made from articles she’d been reading about Willebrandt. It’s striking how much Willebrandt has achieved at only thirty-eight. She’d grown up in Kansas, gone to college in Arizona, law school at the University of Southern California, divorced, become Los Angeles’s first female public defender, and—Lily liked this in particular—led courts to allow women, as well as men, to testify in cases. She wasn’t the first woman to be appointed assistant attorney general—that designation belonged to Annette Adams, who’d held the post briefly in 1920–1921—but Willebrandt had held the office since 1921 and was nicknamed the First Lady of Law. The moniker was not always applied with favor. It could also be a snide reference to her status as a divorced woman. A woman without a man.
The Stills Page 10
