The Red Canary

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  A stillness settled in the hallway, but her heart pounded such a thunderous beat it could produce its own echo.

  Mick’s door was ajar. She strengthened her grip on her weapon.

  “Phyllis!” A rustling noise mixed with his anguished voice. “No!”

  She stilled. Phyllis? Who’s she?

  With all the courage she could scrape together, she peeked in. The moon’s silvery haze poured in the window. Mick wrestled in his bed with an imaginary assailant. She rested the plank on her shoulder, the splintery stubs poking her skin.

  No intruder. It was only Mick having a nightmare. He writhed in a bedframe not much larger than him. She welcomed air back into her lungs. Should she let him be or wake him?

  She placed the board on the floor, careful not to let it clunk.

  He groaned and turned toward her, his frame stiff, his face contorted. She bent low and put her hand on his bare shoulder. His eyes popped open, and he lurched back.

  “Mick, it’s okay. Just me.” She touched him again, smoothing back his hair from his forehead, as her grandmother used to when nightmares came. “You were yelling.”

  “Vera.” His voice was a sleepy, yet haunted, drawl.

  She sat next to his recumbent form, her fingers traveling to the nape of his neck. “I’m here.” With light movements, she massaged his balmy skin, the tension in his muscles lessening.

  “Haven’t had … one of those for a while.” His loud breaths tugged at her heart. “Sorry.”

  He shifted and held out his hand. She pulled her touch away from his neck and placed her fingers in his.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Moisture collected in the corners of his eyes.

  Sweat or tears? She reached for the handkerchief stowed in her robe pocket, but her fingers hit only the satin of her nightgown. Her pulse quickened. In her frenzy, she hadn’t grabbed her robe. Great, she was half naked and in a man’s bed. Maybe he couldn’t see. She turned her shoulder and yanked at the thin material, trying to cover more of her chest.

  She glanced over. He faced the window, and his body lay motionless. Phew. He’d fallen back asleep.

  Now to get off his bed without disturbing him. She inched her way until only her palms put pressure on the mattress. Slowly, she pulled her hands away.

  “Goodnight, Mick,” she whispered and left the room.

  But she lay awake a long time, wondering who Phyllis was.

  CHAPTER 18

  “I want her protection withdrawn.” Robert Shultz folded his arms and scowled at the captain.

  Mick swallowed the refute billowing in his chest. The D.A.’s word sizzled in his ears, blazing his insides, but he had to remain calm. For Vera’s sake. He couldn’t let her down. Especially not now. She’d proven herself a friend by not badgering or ridiculing him for his nightmare the other day.

  His neck grew stiff. In his dream, Phyllis, covered in her own blood, had been calling—more like accusing—him. And just like all the other times in those dark visions, he hadn’t been able to save her. As much as he hated the torment, it served as a reminder—he couldn’t get close to Vera. He couldn’t open his heart to her. But that didn’t mean Mick wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect her.

  “You can’t withdraw our service now.” The captain sat straight in his chair, his posture like granite. Even his jowls seemed rigid. “It’s only been a week and a half.”

  “Too long.” Shultz’s beady eyes turned to Mick. “Sergeant, can you provide me with something substantial, a reason to extend her guardianship?”

  The D.A. occupied the exact chair Vera had sat in the afternoon he’d brought her to headquarters. So much had transpired since that day.

  “I’m waiting, Dinelo.” Shultz dipped his chin, making his receding hairline more obvious.

  “Sir.” Mick regarded him with a smirk of his own. “I know Miss Pembroke is in danger. Remember her apartment was broken into?”

  Captain Harpshire nodded in agreement.

  “That’s old news. Besides, her apartment isn’t in the most respectable area of the city. Could have nothing to do with the case. Anything else? Have there been any more attempts on her life?” He tapped his pen repeatedly on a stack of loose papers on the table.

  “No.” Mick forced the word out. “There haven’t been any other assaults or attempts.”

  “None?” He quirked a brow, a note of victory smearing his eyes. “Any threats?”

  “No.”

  “Well.” Shultz dropped the pen in his pocket with an exaggerated nod. “Guess we can conclude the young woman is no longer in danger.”

  Mick cleared his throat. “Sir, I think—”

  “And the manner in which you’ve hidden her raises my suspicion. You’ve told no one.” Shultz’s glare displayed an arrogance that tightened Mick’s stomach more than a hundred push-ups. “I’m trusting she’s not at some high-end hotel, loitering away the city’s funds.”

  “She’s at my summer cabin in the Alleghenies,” the captain said.

  Shultz’s expression twisted into a mixture of surprise and disgust, as though he’d swallowed a fly. “Captain Harpshire, we should use our manpower to find the criminal behind Cavenhalt’s death. We need to build a strong case, not entertain a nightclub singer.”

  Mick gritted his teeth. A left hook to this man’s jaw would be an improvement.

  The captain set his coffee mug on the table, a frown settling between his brows. “The police protection was my decision.”

  The D.A. practically growled. “And now it’s mine.”

  Mick folded his hands, squeezing his fingers against his knuckles. It was ingrained in him to respect his superiors, but people like Shultz made it difficult. Who was to say the criminals hadn’t been looking for Vera? That the hideout hadn’t been the very thing keeping them from finding her? To bring her back into Pittsburgh unguarded—like a lamb to the slaughterhouse—could be what they were waiting for. The thought sickened him.

  Shultz glared at the captain. “The city of Pittsburgh needs a prosecution, and we don’t have a suspect since Kelly’s alibi surfaced.”

  “One more week.” Mick’s fist thudded the tabletop with more intensity than planned.

  Shultz blanched. Captain Harpshire smiled.

  “She knows something. I’m convinced to the point I’d risk this.” He withdrew his badge and tossed it on the table like a bargaining chip. “Give me another week, and I’ll have your evidence.”

  Shultz cocked his head, his eyes more thunderous than the storm Mick’d gotten caught up in on the way here. A long silence hovered between them.

  “One week, Dinelo.” Shultz held a bony finger in the air. “One week and you better have something.” He stood and shoved out his right hand.

  Mick answered with a firm grip. God help him.

  Mick groaned at the disarray before him. The thought of scouring Vera’s apartment had tapped his heart ever since Vera had hinted about a precious token left behind, but after the meeting, the idea had nudged him like an elbow to the ribs. Maybe there might be something linking to the case. His words from the meeting wrapped around his chest, squeezing. His badge was on the line. More importantly, Vera’s safety.

  He shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie. No doubt, he’d expected a mess, but this resembled the remains of an explosion. Clothes and papers littered the floor. Lamps smashed. Everything torn off the walls. He ran a hand over the back of the sofa. The same sofa he’d sat on the day he’d brought her to headquarters. The once plush cushions now hacked open, stuffing spilling out.

  Who had done this? And what had they been looking for?

  Hunched over the last pile of rubble, he came up empty and stood, stretching his sore muscles. He twisted, cracking his back. Glancing at his watch, a sigh escaped. An hour of searching had landed him nothing but a slice on his index finger from remnants of a vanity mirror.

  He stood, pressing a palm to the stiff spot on his neck, sweeping the shambolic room
with a doubtful gaze. Nothing could be salvaged here. All junk. Worthless and broken. The realization hit deep and strong. Was that how Vera felt about her life? Ruined and fragmented?

  If only he could help her, show her that a marred history didn’t have to stain her future. An exasperated huff swelled in his chest, and he kicked a mangled hatbox out the way. He couldn’t escape the past himself, let alone guide Vera to.

  And this little scavenger hunt wasted valuable time. Couldn’t find Vera’s token. Couldn’t locate anything to help the case. He rolled his shoulders, a vain attempt to shrug frustration away. Fatigue pressed in, and a five-hour drive awaited. He took his key from his pocket, his pen coming out with it, dropping to the floor, rolling beside the radiator.

  He stooped. His favorite fountain pen cozied up next to something he never thought would be in Vera’s possession. He scooped them both up, shoved them in his pocket, and strode out.

  Being in direct line with the afternoon sun, the exterior doorknob burned his palm as he pulled the door shut. A shuffling to the right drew his attention. He glanced over. A fist propelled toward him. He jerked back, missing the full impact but receiving a knuckle to his cheek.

  The attacker, a scrawny man with shaggy hair, cussed, then sprinted the opposite direction and down the stairs. Mick charged after him, leaping off the last five steps. The man moved swifter, expanding the gap between them. The assailant turned the corner of the building, and Mick slowed, withdrawing his gun. He couldn’t afford the mistake of rushing into a bend and getting jumped. Gun raised, he rounded the turn.

  Gone.

  Heavy breaths fought their way out of his chest. Trigger finger holding steady, he scanned the dumpsters. He dashed farther down the graveled way, dust flying up behind him, but only came across a rusty bicycle.

  Mick dragged a hand down his sweaty face, heart pounding. Who had that been? And what had he been doing outside Vera’s apartment?

  Vera walked over to the window and pulled back the sheer white curtain. The empty drive stared back at her.

  “Watching for him won’t bring him back sooner, darlin’.” Lacey stood in the living room doorway, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.

  “Who said I was watchin’ for anything?” She dropped her arm to her side, the curtain falling back in place. “Thought I heard something. That’s all.” A small lie, but no harm done.

  “He won’t be long. When I talked to him this morning, he said he had a few errands to run before his drive here.”

  What errands could he have? Was he enjoying his freedom away from her? Vera thought she’d enjoy the break from his company, but even with all the musical options, she found herself bored, listless. Last night, she’d had trouble falling asleep despite Lacey’s guest room mattress being softer than anything she’d ever slept on. What did all this mean? She couldn’t be … could she?

  “Anything on your mind, dearie?”

  Just Mick. “What date is it?”

  Lacey puckered her lips and raised her eyebrows as if it would help her think. “It’s the sixth.”

  Vera’s hand went to her mouth. “You foolin’?”

  “No, sugar, I’m not.” Lacey walked to the hutch and pointed to the calendar. Two little fat angels held the word JUNE, and above Lacey’s fingernail was the number 6. “Is there something important you have to do?”

  Nine days she’d been hidden away. And it was the sixth already? She pressed her lips together. It was just a day. “Nope. Nothin’s important, anymore.”

  Lacey tilted her head. “I’m wondering who’s going to clear the air first? You or Mick.”

  “Clear the air?” Maybe Lacey was frustrated with their arguing. They had been getting along better, a lot better.

  “Come on, sugar. Don’t think I haven’t seen it.” Lacey waved a hand at Vera. “Mick’s calf-eyed looks. Goodness, he’s love-struck.”

  “For me?”

  “No, for Mitzy.” Light-hearted sarcasm coated her tone. “Of course, for you.”

  Vera’s breath hitched in her throat, a heady wave coursing through her. But then … Lacey was a matchmaker. Even the first day they met, the woman tried to pair her and Mick. And as for the calf-eyed looks, Lacey had imagined it.

  Outside the window, a flash of yellow arrested her attention.

  Mick’s car.

  Vera gulped so hard she might have swallowed a tonsil.

  “I think I heard Mick.” Lacey gracefully stood and stepped to the window. “That’s him, all right. I wonder if he’s hungry.”

  Vera’s stomach and heart were at odds with each other, one queasy while the other turned cartwheels.

  CHAPTER 19

  Mick killed the motor and relaxed against the seat. The soreness in his neck extended to his fingertips. The five-and-a-half hours of strain, finally over.

  No one had followed him. He’d skirted towns, venturing backroad routes, dodging any form of traffic.

  Leaning forward, he pinched the bridge of his nose, restraining the throb in his temples. The dull ache had lingered since he’d informed headquarters of the attacker at Vera’s apartment. The captain had received the news seriously, but the D.A. had dismissed the incident on account of it being in a high-crime district.

  With a heavy exhale, he stepped out into the summer air.

  Nothing looked out of place. He checked the barn, jiggling the knob. Locked. The leaf he had wedged between the barn door and the shovel’s handle was still there. Satisfied there hadn’t been any foul play, he made his way to Mrs. Chambers’ car.

  Her Buick was parked in the same spot as it had been the day he’d left. He crouched down and, guilt nibbling his heart, saw the stick he’d set behind the front left tire. He should trust Vera more, but he’d been unable to shake the fear of her convincing Mrs. Chambers to take her into town. Or worse, her sneaking off by herself.

  He stood and took in the area. No movement anywhere except the clothes on the line, almost horizontal with the steady breeze.

  Mrs. Chambers waved and pushed open the screen door.

  “It’s good to see you.” He side-hugged the woman, her fragrance of vanilla and bleach making him smile.

  “How did everything go?”

  He shrugged. “I think I got us into a mess.” A big one.

  Mrs. Chambers’ brows rose. “Speaking of messes”—she waved her embroidered handkerchief—“you have dirt on your cheek.”

  Mick shook his head. “It’s a bruise.” He determined to leave it at that, but Mrs. Chambers inclined her head as though she was ready to hear some juicy gossip. “I was leaving Vera’s apartment and ran into some trouble.”

  Her eyes widened, and he held up a finger. “But I’m fine.” Even if the bozo got away. “Everything is all right.” He forced a tight smile and shuffled his feet on the tweed doormat. “Do you have anything to drink?” Mitzy greeted him, rubbing against his leg.

  “Lemonade all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Was it hotter in here than outside? Having discarded his suit jacket in his car, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Where is she?”

  “In the powder room. Took off like a pelican when she saw you coming up the drive.” Lacey sidestepped to him and stood on her tiptoes, pulling on his shoulder. “We all know why.”

  “Yeah. She’s hiding.”

  “Oh, stop that. Give yourself a little more respect.” Mrs. Chambers swatted his arm with her handkerchief. She hummed the wedding march as she stooped to pat Mitzy’s side. “Da-dum da-da.”

  “Mrs. Chambers, I’m exhausted.” He hated to be blunt. But the matchmaking had to stop.

  Her easy smile flattened. “I just don’t want you to miss out on anything. Yeah, you have a fear of getting killed in the line of duty, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “I’ve sworn off matrimony.” His voice sounded gruff, but it was all he could do not to explode. His nerves had taken a severe beating today, and the worst was yet to come. He still had to tell Vera about the m
eeting. “Please don’t push that topic with me.”

  “Mick, I only—”

  Vera appeared in the doorway.

  His gaze met hers. What had she heard? A surge of regret rushed through him. He should’ve kept quiet. Mrs. Chambers never listened to his objections, anyway.

  A warm smile danced on Vera’s lips, and his chest burned from the welcome.

  Something had happened between them since that evening with the rattlesnake. They’d bonded. And now, her appearance made him realize even more what a woman she was. Mercy, did she have to look so fetching? The sundress hung over her modestly, but there was no hiding her curvy frame. He’d never seen her hair fixed such a way, all piled on top of her head with ringlets framing her face. Had she done that for him? The urge to pull her into his arms surprised him. Hadn’t he just resolved not to let her crowd his heart? He steeled his mind against her pull.

  “Hey, there, Sarge.” Vera glided closer and regarded him with eyes greener than the fields behind Mrs. Chamber’s cabin.

  “How are you? Feeling okay?” He broke the long stretch of eye contact with her, studying her face for any sign of stress. “I have a lot of news from Pittsburgh. I want to wait until you’re …” Why couldn’t he think of the word? Maybe he should sit for a time before delving into the business that’d been the subject of his prayers. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

  He held out his arm, giving Vera the right of way. She smiled but concern framed her eyes. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  It was maddening. Nothing short of torture watching Mick slowly sip on the tall glass. At the pace he was going, she wouldn’t know about the meeting until next month. She shifted in her chair a couple times, traced the design of a flower on the tablecloth with her fingers, and patted Mitzi when the furry thing rubbed against her leg. Lacey was outside watering her petunias, leaving Vera to stare at Mick drinking his lemonade like a parched camel.

  Stretching her arms out on the table, she tapped softly, repeating the rhythm.

  His mouth inched up and his eyes met hers. “You’ve been practicing.”