Finding Mary Blaine

by Jodi Thomas

  “You’re welcome to use my office if you need to. I’ll finish talking to Mrs. Crockett.” Winslow glanced toward the door, leaving no doubt what he wanted Mark to do.

  Without looking at Lilly, Mark stood, excused himself and went straight to Winslow’s office. He’d left enough phony leases in Lilly’s file to keep the old partner busy for an hour and Lilly could probably hold him longer if necessary.

  Mark closed the office door and smiled as he saw Winslow’s keys dangling from one of the files. Winslow was the only partner who kept locked files in his office. He locked everything and never left without his keys. Not even his secretary was allowed to touch the files behind Winslow’s desk. Only today, greed had made him forgetful.

  Mark went to work. Within half an hour he found what he’d been looking for. Somehow, early on in his career, Winslow had found a way to skim twenty percent off the top of his clients’ oil holdings. It was a tricky game best played with older clients and people who didn’t really understand legal language. Ten minutes later he had copies. Winslow had made millions and all he had to do was make sure the files were never audited. If Mark had been elected into office as the railroad commissioner, all his papers and probably those of the partners would have been checked. Winslow’s game would have been over.

  With the new file under his arm, he walked back into his office and acted surprised that Winslow and Lilly were still there. Winslow looked frustrated as if he hadn’t found what he’d been hoping for, and Miss Lilly looked tired.

  “Walk me to my cab, young man” she said. “I’ve decided not to get a divorce today after all.”

  Mark helped her into the cab, kissed her on the cheek and said he’d tell her everything later. He had people to see and first on the list was Randell. He needed to tell the cop his theory might just be true, for Mark now had proof.

  He had a hard day’s work ahead of him. Everything had to be checked and double-checked. Mark wanted to ensure there were no loopholes Winslow could slip through.

  “How’d I do?” Lilly asked as he put her crutches in the cab.

  “Perfect. If I wasn’t married, I’d propose to you right now.”

  She reddened, then waved her hand. “What makes you think you’d be man enough for me. I’m not an easy woman to please.”

  He grinned. “I never would have guessed.” He closed the cab door before she had time to answer.

  Thirty-One

  It was almost 11:00 p.m. when Mark walked into the café. Tuesday waited on him, forgetting the cream, but he was too tired to care. After he finished his second cup, he asked about Mary with what he hoped sounded like only mild interest.

  “She went home early,” Tuesday volunteered. “She reads to the doctor she lives with when he’s feeling poorly and my mom called to say he was really having a hard time of it tonight. Sometimes Mary reads to him until dawn. Not that she ever complains. Not that she has to with Miller around.”

  Mark hid his surprise. Tuesday would have made a good witness on the stand, she gave ten times more information than necessary.

  He started to ask another question, but Detective Randell walked in. In an odd way, they’d become friends. Kind of like the two kids in school who no one likes but who band together. The cop and the lawyer shared a desire to solve a crime. That mutual obsession connected them.

  He’d tried to reach Randell several times during the day but all he got back was a message to meet him here. So, Mark had had to hold his news while he’d spent the day researching the law on oil rights and checking his facts.

  Randell motioned Mark to bring his cup and join him at a table. It took several minutes for Tuesday to deliver Randell’s coffee and run out of any reason to hang out at their table. Randell seemed to be a regular and no doubt the girl’s favorite.

  When they were finally alone, Mark asked first about the fight between the thugs and Miller. Since he hadn’t read about it in the paper, he figured no one got hurt. He’d had Bettye Ruth check the arrest reports for any details but no one had been booked downtown except a few drunk drivers.

  Randell finished chewing a bit of muffin before he answered. “The old man picked up a couple of the thugs who got too close to the bag lady and literally threw them out of the way. We rounded up some of the boys, but I couldn’t see arresting Miller. From what I could figure, he stopped them before anything got ugly. Even so, little Vanilla Anna got so upset she thought a storm must be coming.”

  Randell leaned back and mumbled his way through another bite of muffin. “Miller took a little nick on the arm. He refused the ambulance saying he knew a doc who would sew it up, but I insisted on driving him to the emergency room.”

  “He gave them hell for a while before he finally let them patch him up. I ran a check on the old mountain of a man, and you’re not going to believe this.” Randell leaned closer. “Old Luke Miller got the Medal of Honor for what he did over in Vietnam. The old guy’s a hero.”

  “Where does he live?” From his clothes, Mark would have guessed he slept on the streets, but Mary had said something about him staying above the café.

  “Who knows, but he hangs out here. Seems to think his job is to watch over that waitress named Mary. Word on the street is they’re friends, but he’s none too friendly and she’s shy as a mouse. An unlikely pair if you ask me.”

  Randell finished off the muffin. “I need to talk to you for another reason. I’m going to tell you something that I probably shouldn’t.”

  Mark leaned forward.

  “We got a tip a few weeks ago as to what the clinic bomber looks like. It wasn’t from the most reliable source, so we filed it away. But last week, with the pizza place drive-by, we got a dozen witnesses giving us the same description as the tip. They all claim our bomber was driving the car that slowed in front of the pizza place.”

  “And?”

  Randell took a drink. “One of the uniforms spotted someone who fit the description two days ago. I’m thinking if I tell you the facts, you’d be another set of eyes watching for the guy. But I want you to swear to me that if you think you see him you just call, that’s it. I don’t want you confronting him. No citizen’s arrest or anything like that.”

  “I know the law,” Mark said, ending Randell’s rambling. “I want this guy behind bars worse than you do.”

  Randell agreed. “Look for a man, slim build, blue baseball cap and dirty hands. The first informant said he had gray eyes, but the others didn’t remember that.”

  “Color of eyes is hard to see walking the streets at night. And anyone can change caps.” Logic fired Mark’s statements as if he were in court. “He’s probably washed his hands. Dirty hands on the streets are more the rule than the exception. Not much of a lead.”

  “Right, but two witnesses to the shooting reported how dirty his hands looked. They mentioned the cap and the build.”

  “If you two have had enough male bonding,” Tuesday interrupted, “I thought I’d get you to try my new muffin recipe.”

  Randell grinned. “I’d love to, darling. Being your tester makes my night.” He wiggled an eyebrow, indicating a few other things might “make his night” as well.

  When Tuesday giggled and ran to get the muffins, Randell added in a whisper to Mark, “Another policeman walking the drag spotted him an hour before the drive-by shooting. He got a good look at him thanks to all the streetlights. He thought the guy might be a thief—there’s quite a problem with burglary in that part of town. He tried to question the man, but said he ran like a rabbit. Since the cop didn’t have anything hard on him, he figured he’d just keep an eye out and catch him next time. When he turned in the report, he also mentioned the same details, right down to hands covered in oil.”

  Tuesday fluttered back like a giant multicolored butterfly circling the table. She offered refills, then left, finally getting the hint that the men were talking.

  Mark leaned back as he slid a folder across the table to Randell. He’d been waiting all day to tell Rand
ell his news. “I found a man who would stand to lose a great deal of money if I got a seat on the Railroad Commission. In fact, Winslow knows me well enough to guess that if I got the job, I’d do it with a passion. And eventually, I’d discover the flaws in his legal dealings over oil leases.”

  Mark stared directly at Randell. “It was in his best interest to be my friend because I’m honest, but if I were in office, I wouldn’t look the other way. Not even for a friend.”

  Randell was fascinated. He glanced at the first few pages, then looked up. “But would he kill to protect himself?”

  “Not me, it would cause too many questions. But he might have someone killed to stop me. If he were desperate and, from what I’ve been able to discover, Winslow is desperate. He’s lost quite a bit of money in the market of late and with three ex-wives, two homes and half a dozen offspring bleeding him, he can’t afford to let his extra income dry up. He’s told me stories about the oil game fifty years ago when things were wild, like a poker game with too many aces. My guess is he’s still playing the same game.”

  Miller set down his muffin. “What are you trying to say, Anderson?”

  “Your theory is right. Blaine was the target that morning at the clinic. He must have been at the end of his rope to come up with such a crazy plan. But maybe he knew the right people who’d do anything for a dollar. I think I may have met the man you just described in Winslow’s office one night. I don’t remember a hat, but I remember not wanting to shake hands with the man.”

  “If we can tie the bomber to Winslow…”

  Mark stopped him as two people passed them on their way to a back table. “If?”

  As soon as Mark knew they wouldn’t be overheard, he continued, “The morning after the bombing, one of the security guards at our town-house complex mentioned someone had tried to break into the parking garage. But, at the time, I was too lost in losing Blaine to care about my car. But what if that someone had been trying to get to Blaine’s car? When he couldn’t, he followed her to the clinic and somehow knew what part of the building she was in.”

  “It’s a stretch, but it might have happened.” Randell leaned in closer. “Are you sure about Winslow?”

  Mark nodded. “I’ve made copies of enough files to send him to jail for the rest of his life. First I went through all the partner documents. Nothing out of order. In fact the file was almost too clean. Then I remembered a locked file I’d seen Winslow close every time he left the office—even to go to lunch. All I had to do was get him to leave his office without thinking to lock the file.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “I used greed as bait and it worked. I had just enough time to copy the files so he won’t suspect a thing until the moment he’s arrested. The papers in the files are on standard office stationery so legally, since I didn’t break and enter, we should be able to use them as evidence. I even have a witness who’ll testify that Winslow told me to use his office. And if I know my secretary, she overheard the entire conversation between Winslow and me. She’ll back me up.”

  Randell looked around. “If you’re right and this partner, Winslow, hired someone to kill Blaine, you’d be wise to disappear. If he knows what you’re up to, he will come after you.”

  “I’ll take that gamble. Can you see these papers get to the right people?”

  “I can, but you’ve got to come with me. We can put you in protective custody.”

  Mark shook his head. “Not now. I’m safe enough tonight. But as soon as you hand that file over, there is a possibility he will come looking for me.”

  Randell nodded. “Meet you here tomorrow night and I’ll fill you in on the progress. It may take a few days to get the warrants. To link the clinic bombing and the pizza place drive-by to Winslow is going to take a little time.”

  Mark agreed. He picked up two muffins for Lilly and left, heading home to sleep with the cat. Blaine was safe tonight and if he didn’t get some sleep soon the mattress in the alley would start to look great. He wanted her, needed her near, but most of all, he wanted her safe.

  On the drive home he tried to see if Randell had been right about him being tailed, but no one followed him. The cop was just being paranoid.

  The next night Mark barely looked at Blaine when he walked into the café. He went straight to Randell. Mark decided that the fewer people who knew who she really was, the safer she would be. He might trust Randell with his life, but he didn’t plan to trust anyone with Blaine’s.

  As Mark took a chair he noticed Miller was back on guard at the last table. The hairy old guy didn’t look any the worse for wear after his fight with the thugs.

  “Good news.” Randell smiled. “We picked up a man over by your apartment complex and brought him in for questioning. He had a gun on him, violating his parole. A night in jail should make him more talkative, but I’d be willing to bet he’s the man hired to watch you. Not much of a professional. Interesting fact though, he spent his youth working in the oil fields of West Texas.”

  Mark smiled. “Just like Winslow.” Mark glanced at Blaine. He wanted to talk to her, but keeping her safe was more important than ever. He didn’t know how many others Winslow may have hired.

  “If his gun was the one used in the drive-by, my guess is our watcher will spill his guts.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m working on it.” Randell raised his coffee. “We make a pretty good team.”

  Mark agreed and made Randell promise to call if there was any change. They said good-night as Miller locked the door behind them. Mark could see Blaine through the glass as she cleared the tables. She didn’t look up, but he knew she was missing him as much as he missed her.

  He walked to his car knowing he couldn’t go the night without seeing Blaine. Driving down the back streets he decided he could have walked faster to the doc’s place. He parked several houses away, got out of his car and waited. He’d drifted to almost in front of the doctor’s house by the time Tuesday dropped Blaine off at the curb. Mark stood on the sidewalk between the circles of lights from the streetlights.

  She walked past him as if he were no more than a tree root and headed up the path to the long front porch littered with old metal lawn chairs and broken-down wicker. When she reached the first step, she turned around. The porch light wasn’t on, so he couldn’t see her face. He didn’t know if she smiled or frowned. She might even be angry.

  He moved until he stood directly in front of her. “I—”

  “You ignored me,” she whispered in a voice he was still getting used to.

  She was angry, he realized. Blaine was angry.

  “You acted as if I wasn’t there. As if I was of no importance.”

  Mark smiled. He’d never loved her more than right now. Right at this moment when she finally found fault with him. When she finally told him what she thought.

  “You’re right,” he answered. “I didn’t speak to you. But not for one moment did I forget that you were there.” He moved his fingers into her curly hair and said something he’d never said to her. “I’m sorry. You’ll never know how hard it was to keep from touching you, from watching you.”

  She leaned off the step and into his waiting arms.

  He tried to explain between kisses about Randell and keeping her safe, but nothing made sense but holding her. He’d worried about her from the moment he’d left her two nights ago, and the pleasure of holding her close once more was almost painful.

  “I want to be with you,” she whispered as he kissed her gently.

  “I know, but you’re safer here for tonight.”

  “Then come in with me,” she asked. “We can sit on the couch like we did before and hold one another.”

  He almost died with need for her, but he knew he couldn’t stay. Not tonight. He needed to be ready if Winslow made a move. “No one can know that you’re my wife until we put a few men behind bars. With any luck you won’t have long to wait. But I’ll not put you in harm’s way. Right now, standing
too near to me might do just that.”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  They stood in the shadows of the porch for a long while, neither able to let go even though they both knew they had to. Finally, he pulled away and walked into the night as she stepped inside.

  Neither of them noticed the man sitting at the far corner of the porch, little more than a shadow among shadows.

  Miller slowly stood, covered the sleeping child, hidden among the wicker benches and chairs, with an extra blanket and stepped over the back of the porch, leaving the same way he’d come.

  Thirty-Two

  Blaine checked on the doctor, then curled into her makeshift bed on the couch and thought of the way Mark had kissed her. The taste of him lingered on her mouth. Familiar, newborn, addictive. He hadn’t kissed her with so much hunger since…he’d never kissed her with so much hunger.

  He seemed to be awakening before her eyes, evolving in her arms. The knowledge frightened Blaine almost as much as it excited her. She’d changed in the past few weeks, but so had he.

  He had always been a good lover—when he scheduled the time into their lives. But spontaneity never altered their hours together. He usually asked politely if “tonight would be a good night” and all she had to say was “probably not” to discourage him. Occasionally, there had been lovemaking in the morning, but she always initiated those encounters, needing to keep him near her a few moments longer before his work claimed him once more each dawn.

  Mark must be finding this sudden attraction to her as strange as she did. She felt as if they’d been calmly floating in their marriage for years and now suddenly faced a storm only to discover the water far deeper than either of them imagined.

  He hadn’t mentioned the baby. There hadn’t been time. Blaine knew they’d have to face it, but somehow they were both stronger than they had been.

  She moved her hand over her middle, feeling the slight movements of her child. “We’ll make it,” she whispered. “We’ll all make it.”