“Doesn’t sound like a very nice guy. So you think he had something on Kelly?” Brows quirked above questioning eyes, increasing his attractiveness and decreasing Vera’s ability to think.
She forced her attention on a crack in the wall behind him. “Artie was always sticking his nose in places he didn’t belong.” Barging in her dressing room. Pressing an ear to Carson’s closed office door. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he stumbled onto something worth his while.” Because her pay was table scraps compared to the hearty portion Artie could chisel out of Carson. Except Carson hadn’t put up with it like she had.
“Why didn’t you say this earlier?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want to be incriminated.”
Another nod.
“So there’s a possible motive.” She splayed her palms on the tabletop, pressing into the cooled surface.
“I’ll have my boys check into it.” Mick kept his gaze trained on her, and she struggled not to shift. “But so you know, the D.A. needs hard evidence. Proof to both the blackmail claim and to Kelly being tied to it all. Is there anything else you can remember?”
“No.”
“I’m going to need something more definite.”
And just like that, it was dismissed. The years of dread about her secret coming to light, the moments of panic when Artie would threaten her. All of it meant nothing because she had no proof.
If only she’d caught that bus to New York.
“Look. We’re doing the best we can.” He stood, ducking away from the light fixture. Another reminder of his hulking physique. “Are you done?”
“Yeah.” Fatigue spread through her as she held out her plate. Their fingers touched. She yanked her hand into her lap, burying it underneath her other hand.
“Do you want more to drink?”
She gave a small shake of the head.
He scooped up her empty glass. Then her silverware.
“Okay. What’s your racket, Sarge?”
“Racket?” The raised brow bit wasn’t convincing. She’d seen too much. They didn’t make honest ones anymore.
“Yeah. Just spill it and be done with it.” Then she could know where she stood. Would she be on her way to New York tonight since the D.A. considered her testimony as valuable as a wooden nickel? Maybe if she was nice to Mick, he could direct her to the nearest pawnshop. She glanced at her bracelet, her mood lightening.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“There’s crime sprouting all over Pittsburgh. Plenty of it. You’re here, cookin’ my breakfast, cleanin’ my dishes. What’s the angle?”
“No angle.”
“Gotta be.”
“No, there’s not.”
“Then why hide me away?”
“I told you last night, we don’t know who we can trust. It’s safer to keep you away.”
“Yeah, well, that was yesterday when my testimony was worth something.” Today she was back to a nobody. “There’s no reason for me to stay now.”
“It was the captain’s idea.” He flicked a small crumb off the faded tablecloth. “He has a hunch that Carson’s dealings are—
Ooh. Now things were getting good. “Are what? Out with it.”
“Not sure, really. Just a hunch.”
And like that, her hopes were dashed. “That was a whole lot of nothin’ ya just blabbed.”
The sergeant stood silent. He was keeping something from her, and she couldn’t contemplate an effective way to draw it out of him. She hardly knew him, but he didn’t look like one who’d dish out official information.
“Tell me, Mick. Are you on the level?”
He nodded once, never breaking eye contact with her. “There’s no danger with me.”
Ha! What a line! “Oh, yeah? How do I know? Prove it.” If the D.A. required proof, then so did she.
“You’re going to have to trust. I—”
“I. Don’t. Trust.” Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she slapped her palms on the table. She’d learned at an early age not to have faith in anyone. It’d kept her alive this long. “I can’t trust you. The police. No one. You could be crooked like all the rest of them. For all I know, that phone call you made last night could’ve been to Carson’s crew. And all this is a put-on to keep me here until Carson figures out how to dispose of me. There’s a lot of woods out that window.” She pointed. “No one would ever find me.”
“I’m not crooked. And I’m sorry you aren’t capable of trusting anyone.”
He spoke as if he had a soul, but Vera knew better. Men only showed interest or kindness when wanting a favor in return.
His shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m not going to lie. The captain believes you’re in danger. The people who destroyed your place aren’t to be trifled with. He doesn’t want me to take you back too soon. You’re safest here.”
The captain might believe her. That was encouraging. He seemed like a good one to have in her corner. “How long do I have to stay?”
“Not sure. The captain is doing this on the hush.” He nodded as if Vera knew the plan from the beginning. “No one else is aware.”
“Don’t you think people are going to put two and two together when you aren’t around?”
“No.”
She sighed, wishing he filled out his answers the way he did his cotton shirt. “Why? You skip out on work on a regular basis? Not very faithful of you, Sarge.”
His jaw tightened. “No. I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
So that was why the man was disgruntled. He’d been swindled out of his free time.
“The captain thinks you might remember something else. Information that will help propel this case and close it up.”
“I just tried and you said it wasn’t good enough.” Story of her life—never good enough. The words festered in her mind as her fingernails bit into her palms. “I’ve got nothing else. Nothing. The captain can’t force anythin’ with me.”
Mick pulled his hand through his hair. “The captain’s not like that. He’s a good person. He has a heart for the lost ones.”
“Is that how it is, huh?” She jumped to her feet, sending the flimsy wooden chair to the worn floor. “A rooty-toot with a badge. That’s all you fellas are, and you have the brass to think you’re better than me.”
“Are you going to pick that up?” His gaze shifted to the turned-over chair.
“No.” Vera’s hand itched to slap his clean-shaven face, but another urge intensified. She stormed past him and into the kitchen. Nope, didn’t see it. Into the living room. Not here either. Back to where she started, standing in front of Mick. “All right. Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The powder room. Where is it? In the linen closet?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
“I’m waitin’, Mick.” She spat out his name like she’d been using it for years.
“So am I.” The way his eyes trained on her—firm and unrelenting through a black fringe of lashes—she didn’t have to imagine how severe his countenance would be when concentrated on a lawbreaker.
“Fine.” She stooped down and placed the chair on its legs. “There. Happy?” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Now, spill it.”
He turned and she tagged along, walking out of the dining room and into the kitchen. He creaked open the screen door. “Follow me.”
She harrumphed and walked outside. “I want to use the powder room, not go on a nature walk.”
They rounded the corner, and she spied an outhouse, her belly sinking. Too familiar. She spun on her heel, heading back inside, branding her footsteps into the soil. The screen door whacked closed with her entrance. In the main room, her gaze took in the bones of the place with fresh eyes. She plopped onto the sofa, launching a cloud of dust in the air.
How could this house be so similar to her grandmother’s? No way they shared the same builder. Redding was on the other side of the state. And why couldn’t the memories remain buried? Her eyes close
d against the sting. She wasn’t fourteen anymore. The pain, yeah, she couldn’t escape it, but this place … she could.
The door banged against its wooden frame, announcing Mick’s presence.
“I’m not goin’ to use it. Never. Probably filled with every kind of critters. Spiders bite. So do snakes.”
“Looks like you’re going to be uncomfortable, then.” He disappeared into the kitchen area.
“No phone. No indoor plumbing. No Vera. Get it, pal?” She’d play the role of spoiled duchess before telling him her real reasons for needing to leave this place.
The scraping of a fork to a plate was all the response he gave. What gall. The guy was cleaning food off dishes while her insides screamed.
“Quit ignorin’ me.” She vaulted to her feet and ambushed the kitchen.
His attention remained fixed on the wash bucket. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m choosing not to respond.”
Word games again? “It’s the same thing.”
No emotion. No flare in the eyes. Why couldn’t this man get angry with her? His cool tone broiled her temper. And why couldn’t she think of a devastating reply? On the stage, she thrived off improvising, but this gig left her brain devoid of any intelligence.
He leaned over the counter, gazing out the window. “I’m going for a walk.”
Perfect. Get lost.
He faced her. “You need to come too.”
Ordering her around like a child. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” She glared at him. “I thought I’m to be hidin’ out, not frolickin’ around the forest.”
“Come here.” He waved his hand toward the dining room table. “This is the cabin.” He set his pocket watch in the middle of the table. “On either side of us is forest.” He motioned to the left and right of the watch.
“You don’t say.”
“The woods in back belongs to the cabin. The woods to the front belong to the government. A nature preserve that no one goes on.” He ran a finger along the table and stopped when he reached the watch. “This road is only used by us and a neighbor five miles down the road.”
Her interest piqued. Did he just say neighbor?
He shrugged. “People can’t find this place. That’s why we’re here. We’re seven miles from a back road and fifteen miles from a main road. But”—he stroked his square chin—“when we go for walks, we’ll stay on our land behind the house. Just as a precaution.”
Back to the walk again. “I’m not going.”
He stuffed his watch in his pocket. “Okay, Miss Pem—”
“Vera.”
“Fine, Vera.” He emphasized her name, and some bizarre part of her liked the sound of it. The tone of his voice possessed a deep rumble like thunder in the distance—slight but powerful. In her adolescence, a thunderstorm thrilled her with its danger and unpredictability, but she’d tasted enough peril, and none of it was alluring anymore. But the brooding man who stood a yard away held an unsafe charm. Yes, his personality proved drier than day-old bread, but his confident stance and mesmeric eyes trapped her stare. Like right now.
He must’ve sensed her unease—or his—because he stepped back to straighten the already perfectly situated chair. “You can stay here. I’ll be able to see the road from where I’ll be.”
“Swell.” Maybe there was something to take her mind off murderers and cops. “I’ll sit here listening to the noise box … and waiting for my bladder to explode.”
“Sorry. No radio either.”
Was he serious? How primitive could a joint be? In a shrewd manner, the police had indeed taken her to jail. But instead of a retaining cell, she had a dusty cabin with dead beetles for cellmates. She kicked the petrified insect, lying belly-up, into a gap in the floorboard.
The sergeant’s expression turned sheepish, and she was relieved to see the man show a slice of emotion, however minimal. “Sorry about the filth. It’s been a couple months since it’s been lived in.” He skimmed a finger on the windowsill, carving a trail in the grime. “There are some books over there.” He wiped his hand on his handkerchief and pointed to a stack of hardbacks in a wicker basket by the sofa.
“Books are for clammy intellectuals.”
“That’s all I have for entertainment,” Mick called over his shoulder as he hustled up the stairs two at a time.
Vera kept herself sane by pacing about the lower level. Being on the move lessened the pressure from her middle.
Mick bounded down the steps, graceful as a Saint Bernard.
Whoa. What had come over him? Her eyes could’ve collapsed in their sockets. The last thing she expected was for the Sarge to be donning cutoff denim trousers. His exposed arms and calves commanded her attention, the sculpted muscles flexing with his movements.
“I’ll be back soon.” He took the towel dangling from his hand and draped it around his neck.
What was that for? Was he going for a run? A swim? “Take it easy. No hurry.” No rush at all, big boy.
His eyes locked on hers. “Except for the outdoor room, do not go outside.”
“Since I’m not using it, that won’t be a problem.” With a roll of her eyes, she walked to the window, frowning at the dead flies gathered in the corner. What should she do now? Was there another option than being stuck with Sergeant Mean Eye? Maybe there was. She pressed her lips together, hiding her smile.
CHAPTER 9
Mick inhaled, taking in the woodsy-scented air.
The path to the swimming hole narrowed, and ferns brushed against his shins with each stride.
The creek whispered over stones and fallen branches, a sound he never tired of. He descended a hill and spread his towel on a yellowed patch of grass. Off went the shoes, socks, and shirt. He withdrew his pocket watch and placed it in his shoe.
His feet invaded the water, and the minnows scattered. Chilly, but it had been icier. Ankles and knees disappeared. Before Mick was waist-deep, he pulled the soap out of his pocket. Once he worked up a rich lather, the bar went on the shore and he went underwater. How that log got on its side to stretch across the creek, he’d never know, but it’d been a great lap marker. Ten or twenty? He settled on fifteen. With each lap, tension eased from his mind. Something he needed. Bad.
Mick finished up floating. With water beneath and the open sky above, his gaze looked heavenward, but his thoughts remained grounded on a certain fiery-haired woman.
Vera Pembroke.
“Oh, Lord,” he whispered. Car thieves he could deal with. Unruly juveniles, take ’em any day of the week. Twenty-something females?
He let out a stream of air.
This woman had a tongue sharper than his penknife. But … it was all an act. Everything about her screamed that she was hiding something beneath the façade. Being an investigator required a discerning eye, but it didn’t take a magnifying glass to identify the lingering confusion and dread swimming in her darting glances.
He sunk in the water before planting his feet on the spongy creek floor. How deep was Vera’s involvement? Would these men be combing the countryside for her? They would if they thought she knew something … and possibly if she didn’t. Did she really not know of Kelly’s dealings? Behind that pretty face stood a universe of secrets.
He slapped the water and it rippled away. Secrets. That word had become his undoing. His devastation. If the captain hadn’t intervened four years ago, those black moments, the darkness, would’ve swallowed Mick whole. And he would’ve succumbed without arguing. Phyllis’ death had bled him of any fight he’d had left.
He dunked his head under—a feeble attempt to rinse his thoughts free of that December day—and resurfaced. Better get back to his charge. He’d already lost one on his watch. His heart couldn’t bear another.
He hung his towel on the sagging clothesline and smiled. Sure enough, the outhouse door hung open, its hinges creaking along with the mild breeze. He’d predicted it wouldn’t be long before she broke down. Just like an obnoxious trainee, a taste of discipline was all she neede
d. He kicked his heels off the mat before entering the cabin.
Silence.
The only motion was the curtain blowing in the window.
“Vera?” He sailed up the steps and knocked on the closed door. “You in there?” He waited and then pounded again. The least she could do was respond. “Vera, I’m going to open the door.” He waited a few more seconds and threw it open. Fists clenched at his sides, he surveyed the empty room.
She was gone.
He scowled at the vacant spot on the floor where he had set her bags the night before. Vera’s flowery scent lingered in the silence, taunting him.
Mick sprinted out of the house, the crack of the screen door a faint tap compared to his heartbeat thrashing in his ears. He strode toward his car and settled behind the wheel. Adjusting the fuel cut-off, pulling the choke, fiddling with the spark lever all seemed to take the time he couldn’t afford to waste. He turned the ignition and stomped on the starter. His Lincoln roared to life. He put the car in first gear, and with a thump of the gas pedal to the floor, he took off in search of the speakeasy singer.
He palmed the back of his neck, pressing hard against the knotting tension. Why had he told her about the neighbor? Dumb. He was about as competent as his one-eyed uncle at darts. Mick had utterly missed the mark. The captain’s strategy was for Vera to remain here, guarded and safe, but in less than a twenty-four-hour span, Mick had already managed to lose her.
Didn’t she realize the danger? The district attorney might be deceived, but Mick had been after crooks like Carson Kelly for years. Those kinds of men held no regard for anyone but themselves. His fingers gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles draining white. Mick knew very well of their disregard for human life. He jerked his head to shake the venom from his mind. Phyllis had made her choices, and sadly, so had he.
After a mile and a half, he downshifted and flexed his foot off the gas, letting the car cruise. The brush was tall on either side of the dirt road, but the curly mass of Vera’s red locks acted as a signal flare. He slowed the Lincoln to rumble along beside her.
The Red Canary Page 8
