The Red Canary

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  Mick catapulted to his feet and chucked the scrub brush into the bucket, suds erupting over the sides. With palms spread on the Lincoln, he leaned on his car, keeping his back to her.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” No way his skin wasn’t blistering something fierce. The June sun and the metal car frame couldn’t make a happy resting place for human flesh.

  “It feels good.”

  “Yeah, sure it does.”

  “Give me … just a minute, please.” His please sounded forced.

  “Did I finally get a rise out of ya, Mick?” Took long enough. She huffed loudly. How long was he going to stand there, motionless?

  “Too risky.”

  She deflated like the tires on Hewitt’s rusted truck. He was supposed to holler, flail, and make a scene. She had her Christian hypocrite speech all primed to deliver. But no. Instead, Mick’s two words were uttered in complete calmness and in more of a soothing tone than he’d had all day. And yesterday, to think of it.

  She sighed. “What’s so risky? It’s just a drugstore.”

  “I can’t make that purchase.” Mick turned to face her. Finally. Soapy water or sweat discolored his shirt. But the sun brightened the pigments of his eyes. “That store has two clerks, and they both know me. They know I’m not married.” He held up a ring-less hand.

  Just what was she going to do? Sit in the creek for four days? “Mick, I need—”

  “I can’t allow any questions to be raised. It’s dangerous.” He palmed the back of his neck as if talking to her was a fatiguing activity. “And as for you going, that’s not an option whatsoever. You have to remain hidden, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you. In fact, from now on, every time I go to Mrs. Chambers, you’re going with me. You can’t—”

  “Can’t this! Can’t that! Can’t this! Can’t that! Your record’s broken, Sarge!”

  “Calm down. Don’t yell.”

  “I can pitch the pipes if I well please to!” She stormed up the porch steps and into the house, the percussion of her heels against the wooden floor echoing off the wall.

  Her bags would be packed in less than an hour.

  Mick squinted and held up the sliver of paper against the blinding afternoon sun pouring through his car’s windshield. “Are you sure you got this right?” A multitude of scenarios invaded his thoughts. None of them good.

  “Now, Mick, don’t let these wrinkles fool you, I have plenty of good years left in these two ears of mine.” Mrs. Chambers rolled the window down, allowing in the faint scent of her treasured petunias, and hung her arm over the side of the car.

  “Vera’s mad already.” He shook his head to clear the image of Vera thrashing her arms through the air like a bi-plane propeller. Maybe he should seek a bomb shelter now because when she read the news sitting in the hollow of his hand, she was sure to explode.

  Mrs. Chambers gave a sympathetic smile. “You still haven’t told me what the favor is that I am performing for you.”

  The car roared to life. “Vera’s going through …” Amazing, how he could challenge the gang lords but couldn’t spit out the word menstruation. He reversed the car onto the road. “It’s personal. It’s a …” He cleared his throat. “A womanly issue.” The captain never warned him to expect this when he was appointed as her guardian. Menstrual cycles went beyond any training he’d received. “I thought if I gave you the cash, that you’d—”

  “Buy the feminine napkins for you?”

  Heat crept up his neck. “Yes.”

  “Sure, dearie.”

  Relief surged through him. Mrs. Chambers had the excuse of having female visitors ever so often, including her daughter and two granddaughters. He pulled the wheel to the right, avoiding a divot the size of a hubcap. “Thanks, Mrs. Chambers.”

  “You could put a little smile on, sugar. It makes your face look better.”

  “It’s complicated.” He let off the gas and glanced over. “Vera’s been snooping in my room.”

  “What?” Her expression clouded. “That’s a bold accusation. You sure?”

  No doubt. He’d known as soon as he’d stepped into his quarters yesterday that Vera had snuck inside. “Personal items I keep in my Bible were scattered on my bed.” The envelope. The newspaper heading. He squeezed the steering wheel. Vera had discovered memories he regarded as classified. And painful. He only kept the envelope for those moments he required a reminder of his own folly.

  “Hmm. Suppose you could’ve done it?” Her gaze flitted his way as the wind poured into the car. “You might have left it on the bed. You have been under abnormal stress.”

  “No. I didn’t. The point is, she’s snooping.” Mick’s pet peeve—someone trespassing in his personal space. In the Army, there’d been discipline enforced for that kind of behavior. “She’s harder to control than Hewitt’s truck with a bent chassis.”

  “Is it your job to control her?” The words might have posed a question, but she was driving home a point. With a sledgehammer. “Vera’s not sheet metal and bolts like that Ford, she’s flesh and blood.”

  Blood. Vera was out for his blood. Mrs. Chambers didn’t understand. If she did, she would take sides with him. “The girl is difficult. I think she takes joy in it … you know, being difficult. If I say yes, she says no. When I say left, she says right. The other day, when I asked her … What? Why are you laughing?”

  Her hearty chortles weren’t comforting. “Mick, I’ve never known you to get so worked up.”

  “I’ve had a bad day.” And it wasn’t over. He needed this break from Vera, but he didn’t want to be gone long. Her alone at the cabin, though well-hidden, didn’t sit well with him.

  “Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ve withstood all the lawlessness the prohibition has brought about but can’t endure a headstrong female? I know you don’t want to hear it, sugar, but this granny is going to speak, anyway. You need to trust God.”

  “She’s too emotional. She needs more discipline.”

  “There. Right there is your problem.” Her light tone turned serious. “You treat her like a child.”

  “I do not. And please don’t look at me like that.” If her jaw dropped any farther, it would be in her lap.

  “What about the other day, darlin’, when you told her to help me with the dishes?”

  “Nothing wrong in that. Listen, I’m not above helping. I would’ve, but I’m so close to getting that truck running.”

  “And that’s more important?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Mick thudded the steering wheel with his thumbs. “She needs direction.”

  “No, she doesn’t need to be told what to do. She resented it.” Mrs. Chambers smoothed out the skirt of her floral dress. “She apologized to me. Said she would’ve helped without being told. You, young man, embarrassed her.”

  “Vera apologized to you?”

  “Surely did. Looks as though you need to gain her trust.”

  Maybe Vera had taken a liking to Mrs. Chambers, but this account … this wasn’t the redhead he knew. How come? Because I’m an idiot. That’s why. “What can I do?”

  “She needs to trust you. The work is gaining her trust, darlin’. That will establish a relationship.”

  Mick gazed steadily on the road. “Vera’s doesn’t trust. If she even suspects she’s being pushed, she—”

  “Not pushed. We never push … we draw. Rules without relationship always lead to rebellion.”

  Rebellion. The word summed up the situation. Mick commanded an outfit on his terms—shipshape, while Vera declared mutiny.

  “This might go smooth, but then”—he shook his head—“I can’t predict how she’s going to respond.” Women. “This is going to be complicated.” More than he’d thought at the beginning.

  “Usually, anything worth anything is.”

  Frances Chambers, the cotton-haired Aristotle. “Thank you, Mrs. Chambers.”

  “That young lady hasn’t handed over all her trust to me yet, but I think I’ve made s
ome progress. Treat her kind. She acts tough, but her heart is as tender as one of those apples I used in that crisp you devoured. She’s just as sensitive and easily bruised.”

  Mick breathed out slowly, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “I needed to hear that.” He braked at the stop sign. Kerrville’s one and only. The drugstore was situated at the end of Main Street. With only seven shops total, Mick could never tire of its charming view. Quiet. Uneventful. So different from the streets of Pittsburgh.

  “Did you consider, Mick, that she had your Bible? If she took some things out of it, then it’s possible her eyes were reading it. Looks like the good Lord is doin’ a mighty fine job of drawing her already.”

  Mick could beat his head on the dash. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Cause your head’s been shouting, and your heart’s been whispering. It takes some persistence to hush the thoughts, but when you do, the right power can direct. The heart never makes a mistake. God’s in there, sugar.”

  Maybe Vera had read it. If God was working on her heart, then he wouldn’t interfere. But getting her to trust him? How could he ever find a way?

  “Something pleasant could develop here.”

  Here it comes.

  “She could be just what you need.”

  And like that, the conversation took a nosedive. “Mrs. Chambers.” Always someone. Always marriage. It never failed.

  She heeded his warning with a chipper smile. “You aren’t getting younger. You need a good woman behind you.”

  “I swore off matrimony for—”

  “Yadda-yadda.” She opened her hand and closed it, making it look like a mouth yapping away. “You say that every time.”

  And he’d continue to do so.

  “Mick, being a policeman doesn’t mean you can’t have a family.”

  “I’ve never said that’s the reason.”

  “No, but it is. You think your job is too dangerous and don’t want to leave behind a wife and children. I watched my brother struggle with it when he became a policeman. God can take care of you. Never let fear call the shots, Mick.”

  He forced his mouth tight, controlling frustration with several hard breaths. How did they get on this subject, anyway? If she knew why—the real reason behind no relationships—then maybe she’d leave him be. He’d made an oath on the snow-ridden ground on Fifth Avenue. An oath sealed in death.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Vera?”

  Mick’s deep voice drifted beyond the closed door into her bedroom. She sighed. What should she do? She wasn’t in the mood for talking, but if she didn’t respond, he’d bust open the door. Better to keep the message simple enough for a man to understand. “Go away.”

  “Vera?”

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t simple enough. Something slid under the door. A slim, baby-blue box now rested on the coarse hardwood floor. Followed by another box and another.

  “I didn’t know how many of those you needed. Can I come in?”

  Let him in? Don’t let him in? If another argument rose, then that was it. She’d be on her way. Her bags were packed, but something in her couldn’t leave just yet. “You know there’s no lock. What’s keeping ya?”

  “You.”

  The look on his face when she opened the door would be the deciding factor. Her head hoped she’d be met with angry eyes, but her heart … well … who thought with their heart, anyway? She twisted the circle knob and pulled. Here goes.

  “Thank you, Ver.”

  She expected enraged Doberman-like eyes, not sad Bassett Hound. Regret and humility looked good on Sergeant Mean Eye.

  “I believe you, Vera. I want you to know that. And …” He dug in his pocket. The corners of his mouth turned up as he jangled his keys. “I lowered the top.”

  “The breezer’s freed up?”

  “Yeah.” His dimpled smile made her breath hitch. “Want to take this square for a ride?”

  “You better believe it, buster.” She snatched the keys. “And as for the square part, admission is the first step to recovery.” She patted his shoulder.

  His laughter filled the room. The glimmer in his eyes was everything swoon-worthy. Take it easy, heart. Romance for her was about as possible as landing on the moon. Besides, she didn’t want his adoration, right?

  “Mrs. Chambers gave us a mission. She’s out of teaberry.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but as long as I get to drive the breezer, then I’m golden.” She gave a saucy wink. “Let’s get a move on.” Oh, but first . . . “Just give me a few minutes to get things taken care of.”

  Mick handed her one of the Kotex boxes, pinching it by its corner, touching as little of it as possible.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not catching.”

  “Now this here—”

  “Is the choke. Mrs. Grable taught me all this.” Vera huffed for the umpteenth time. “You know it’s going to be dark before we get this mechanized baby rollin’.” They’d gotten a late start, but Vera had to admit it was worth it, considering Lacey had sent a basket of her delicious fried chicken home with Mick for supper. But now, the early evening sky teased her.

  “We have some daylight left.” Mick adjusted the mirror and then glanced at her. “How’s that? I think that suits your height.”

  “Dandy. Can we go?”

  “Yes, but first tell me who taught you how to drive.” He inched to his side of the bench.

  “Mrs. Grable, my landlady.” Pinching her lips, she went through all the motions, checking them off in her head. The pad of her shoe pressed down the starter pedal. Ah, the motor’s smooth purr. “We had an agreement. I would help her run errands, and she’d let me use the car if I needed it. Like to get groceries and such. Carson wasn’t keen on the idea.”

  Mick raised a brow. “Why not?”

  “He wanted me completely dependent upon him. He’d been like that ever since he claimed me as his girl.”

  “Claimed you?” The sun shone on his face just right, casting a bronze light on his skin and drawing out hidden layers of green in his eyes. “If he respected you, valued you, then he would’ve asked you to be his girl. Not demanded it.”

  Her gaze slid to her lap. Mick confirmed what she’d always felt. It had been unfair for Carson to stake her as though she was a piece of property and not a human being. Carson had bullied her, and she’d let him because she’d needed the job. The ache in her heart was a cruel reminder of her stupidity. “Can we go?”

  “Yeah.”

  The trip started with her clutching the steering wheel and leaning so close to the dashboard she could press her nose on it. But a few minutes on the dirt road cured her rigidness.

  She relaxed her grip and straightened. “So do you miss not being at work? I’m sure loads of rumrunners are running roughshod over your officers.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “It’s getting to be a lost cause.”

  She couldn’t help but agree. Speakeasy owners shelled out more dough to policemen than the city government’s payroll. It was either money or a free pass to unlimited liquor that enticed the boys in blue. Sometimes both. “Do you think the prohibition was a good idea?”

  “I get paid to enforce the law, not challenge it.”

  Something lingered under the surface of his clipped words. Was he not in favor of the amendment? Did he secretly enjoy drinking, and now his integrity wouldn’t allow him to sip the juice? Had that left a sour taste in his mouth, or was there another reason?

  Curiosity took hold of her mind with the tenacity of a badger. “If the big men never had signed the Volstead, would you be in the Kelly Club on Saturday nights?”

  “No.”

  “Somewhere else, then. Maybe the Star, sipping champagne?” Of course, he wouldn’t want to loiter around a factory-laden avenue where the soot hung thicker than the stench of vomit from the clumps of drunks.

  “No champagne. No Pittsburgh Scotch. Even if the sorry law was repealed, I wouldn’t drink.”

  A
nother thing in common? “Ya wouldn’t?”

  “No. My job gives me upfront views of an alcoholic’s lifestyle. Hauling ’em in and locking ’em up until they’re sober. It’s not my ideal pastime.”

  Boy, had she had an upfront view too. “I don’t like alcohol either.” She glanced at him in time to catch his brow raise. “I’ve seen too much of it in my family. I can’t stand the stuff.”

  “But you worked in a gin joint?”

  “What can I say? I’m a walking irony.” Or plain pathetic. A man like him wouldn’t understand her father’s plight. How alcohol had turned him into a monster, causing Vera to flee to Pittsburgh—broken and hungry, forcing her to succumb to Artie’s manipulation. Then Carson’s.

  “You can pull over coming up.” He pointed to a shaded area on the left. “The teaberry patch isn’t far from here.”

  “You got it.” She eased off the gas and steered onto the open space. There. Nice and smooth. “How’s that?”

  “You drove well. Mrs. Grable was a good teacher.”

  “Nah.” She gave a cheeky grin. “I was a good student.” She put the gear in neutral and pulled the brake.

  Mick twisted in his seat to face her, and Vera caught sight of the gun ever strapped to his hip. “If you ever want to talk about your past, you can confide in Mrs. Chambers. Her grandfather was an alcoholic.”

  “Sure.” Like the day after never.

  Mick smiled as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Might help you to talk.”

  Sorry, but Vera Pembroke didn’t talk. She ran. Although she hadn’t figured how to outrun memories. Wasn’t time supposed to be a healer? Somebody lied on that one. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I turned out okay.” Okay? You have nothing to show for the past ten years. Sure, her voice got her the canary job, but what had that landed her? An all-expense-paid vacation to the sticks with a cop for an escort.