“Glad to hear you were honorable. I trust you like a son.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ver, where are you? “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you let her go?”
“She was determined. It’s better for her to leave on my terms than to have her run away and not see her again.”
Not see her again. The words wrapped like barbwire around his insides, twisting and slicing his hope into shreds. Why did she always run? Anytime conflict came, she took flight. “May I ask what your terms were?”
“I made an agreement with her.”
Did the captain want to reduce him to begging? The way Mick’s heart was feeling, it could happen.
“Don’t sweat it, Ace. She’ll be fine. Go home.”
“Sir, if—”
“Go on home, Sergeant. Take a well-deserved rest.”
How could he rest while Vera meandered the streets? Would she retreat to a former lover? His muscles tensed. “Captain, do you know where she is?” He tilted his face to the ceiling, fighting the sting in his eyes.
He stood and patted Mick’s shoulder as though he was a good little boy who needed to obey. “She promised to check in with me. Go home.”
“With all due respect—”
“Thank you, Ace, for all your hard work.” The captain smirked and moseyed out of his office.
Mick cupped his neck with his hand, squeezing. Desperation clawed his soul. He had to find her.
CHAPTER 30
“There.” Vera secured the last pin into her hair. She piled it atop her head, looking more like a housewife than a single, jobless nobody.
When Mrs. Elridge, the landlady, had opened the door, she’d regarded Vera as though she was a vacuum salesman. Then Vera mentioned Captain Harpshire, and the woman turned giddy like a flapper at a dance hall.
The salt-and-pepper-haired woman had placed Vera in the best room of the apartment building, one boasting a shower. Studio apartments had never been her favorite, but this one dripped with charm. The living area and tiny kitchenette were the main features of the space, the bed and shower toward the back. And to Vera, it was like staying at the Ritz-Carlton. This was the part of Pittsburgh she loved.
And never in her life had she thought she’d be so ecstatic to put on fresh undergarments. The boys in blue had done great collecting her stuff from the cabin.
Whispering Pines.
She sighed. Thoughts of Mick pestered her like mosquitos. You slap away one just to have another land in its place. It was best for her to find out now that Mick hadn’t cared for her than to journey deeper into her feelings for him. She swallowed back what tasted more like hurt than pride.
No one had warned her that love came with pain.
Twirling around, she made certain her back buttons were even and her stocking seams straight. A little overdressed to remain indoors, but necessary for her mood.
She glanced at the money on the table. The thirty dollars Captain Harpshire gave her was a lot of dough but could go quickly if she wasn’t wise. She had to think differently. She was on her own again.
No more canary life. No more finding men to secure a job or comfort. God would bring something her way.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She glared at the door, agitation tightening her muscles. Something was being brought her way. Rather, someone. But it wasn’t from God. Twenty minutes after she’d arrived, another boarder had introduced himself as Vernon Listeller. This was the third—no, fourth—time he’d rapped on her door.
The first had been to tell her she could order dinner from Mrs. Elridge, the landlady. The second to say what time dinner was because he’d forgotten to mention it before. The third to show her how to lock the windows because they were tricky. She’d assured him she’d be all right because she was on the third floor. When his face had flushed with embarrassment, she’d believed he’d leave her alone from then on. This was ridiculous.
She jerked the door open. “Mr. Listeller, you’ve got to stop disturbin’ me—”
“Vernon?” Mick, with arms folded in front of him, leaned against the wall, looking like he’d been there all day. “Do I need to have a talk with him?”
Air evacuated her lungs. She stood, blinking. “Sergeant Dinelo.” Did her heart just run down the fire escape? “Why are you here?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step forward. “I was going to ask the same thing about you.”
“You … live here?”
He tipped his head in an annoyingly handsome way. “Down the hall on the left.”
Captain Harpshire. The old billy goat. “He knew the whole time.” Of all the shenanigans.
Mick let out a steady breath. “He didn’t let me in on it. Not a word. Captain let me scour the streets of Pittsburgh looking for a lanky redhead.”
Her brain caught up with her pulse. Mick Dinelo. The man who’d kissed her in the alley then had regarded her like garbage. “Goodnight, Sarge.” She pushed the door, but Mick shoved his foot out, stopping it from closing.
The raw pleading in his eyes was the only thing keeping her from stomping on his foot with her heel. “Please, Ver?”
With a huff, she pulled the door open.
He breezed past her into the room, settling on her tiny sofa, looking like an elephant on a park bench. “Your place is nicer than mine.” He stretched out his legs. “Do you mind? My feet are tired.”
“I most certainly do. I—”
“So I search everywhere I know. Poking my head down alleys. Traipsing around the bus station. Rode the trolley several times. I’m tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a shower.” He locked his fingers behind his head and emitted a masculine sigh. “I searched five hours for you.”
“That long, huh? I’m touched.”
“It gets better.” He ignored her pert remark. “I take two steps into the complex and my aunt runs to me. Not to say, Hello—where were you for the past two weeks? But instead, Guess what? We have the most beautiful new boarder with hair as red as autumn leaves.”
Her jaw slackened. Mrs. Elridge was his aunt?
“Then I understood why the captain kept telling me to go home. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“I’m beginning to think Lacey taught the captain all her mischievous ways.” Vera’s emotional scale weighed between frustration and humor. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
“No.” He stood and covered the distance between them in three strides. “My mind was in chaos all evening. I didn’t know where you were. The danger you could have been in. A million thoughts flustered my mind. I was … a mess.”
Was that supposed to give her a warm fuzzy feeling inside? “I’m keepin’ the door open.” She cocked a thumb toward it. “You can leave any time.”
“I know you’re angry.” His tone lowered and his gaze fixed on her. “Hurt and confused. That wasn’t my intention. Believe me.”
Her heart begged for permission to sigh, but she scoffed instead. “Come on. It’s after ten.” She shuffled toward the door, grabbing the knob with one hand and waving him out with the other. “I think you can manage the walk home.”
“Can we talk?” He gestured to her to follow him to the sofa. “It’s serious.”
“Ten minutes, buster.” She pushed the door closed, wishing she could shut her heart to Mick as easily. The chair farthest away from him seemed safest. The longer he stayed, the more her strength ebbed. “You have ten minutes. That’s all. I ain’t fooling.”
And neither was Mick, considering the solemnness shrouding his face.
A moment of awkwardness ensued. Did this little chat have to do with the case? They’d run in circles over the past days, grasping at the wind, finding only a shabby piece of film. Her shoulders slackened against the seat. “Are you going to talk, or am I supposed to read your mind?” Because unlike the captain, that skill came with a great degree of difficulty for her.
The skin bunched around his pained stare. “I killed my fiancée.”
She clutched t
he chair’s edges. “What?”
“I killed her.” His voice raw, he wrung his hands, his knuckles turning white. “I was tasked with investigating the leading bootleggers. But it seemed every time I tried to get the drop on them, they were two steps ahead of me. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous those men are.”
Vera’s throat squeezed tight. No, she’d witnessed firsthand the brutality of Pittsburgh’s underworld. But how was this about Phyllis? She took a steadying breath and waited for Mick to continue.
“When Phyllis and I got engaged, I wanted no secrets between us. It was important to me to convey how life would be, married to a policeman. For her to understand the risk in my line of work.”
His words poked a tender spot in her heart. Mick viewed marriage as a partnership. Or at least he had at one time.
“I’d tell her about my day, tell her about the rumrunners I had my eye on. That way, she could pray for me.” He let out a humorless laugh. “She took all that information and sold it to them.”
A gasp escaped her lips. Oh, the betrayal Mick must’ve felt. No wonder the man held a passion for taking down bootleggers. His own fiancée had been tainted by their poison. “How did you find out?” And exactly how had that made him Phyllis’ killer? The Mick she’d known was protective to a fault. He wouldn’t harm anyone, let alone the woman he loved. Betrayal or not.
“All my intended missions failed. It happened too many times for it to be a coincidence. Then my notepad would go missing and turn up in random places. I hated to suspect my own fiancée, but she became too inquisitive. So I thought I’d try a little test.” He shuddered and his chest heaved, tightening his features.
“What kind of test?”
“I fed her phony information. If she wasn’t working with them, then nothing would come of it. But if she was, the knowledge I gave her would lead them right into my hands.” He clenched his eyes shut as if reliving the dark moment. “It all went wrong.”
The devastation marking his husky tone pulled her from her seat and to his side. He gave her room on the sofa, but it wasn’t enough to keep their sides from touching.
“We met at Gino’s on Fifth for dinner but never made it to the entrance. A black Ford came barreling down the road and stopped long enough for someone inside it to shoot her.” Several heartbeats passed, Mick’s strained breathing the only sound. “She died in my arms.”
Woman, 22, Fatally Shot on Fifth Avenue.
The newspaper headline in Mick’s Bible. It was about Phyllis. She’d been the one who’d been fatally shot. Vera’s hand pressed over her heart, but she couldn’t dull the ache for the man beside her.
His glassy stare turned from her to the floor. “I killed her.”
“No, the goons did.”
“But I set her up. I gave her false details.” He dragged a hand across his face, settling it in a fist on his lap. “Her blood was everywhere. All over me. The sidewalk.”
She placed her hand over his, but it didn’t seem enough. How could she comfort him? “Mick, I’m sorry.”
“Her dress. I’m forever haunted by the image of red-stained rosebuds.”
Her eyes slid shut. It all made sense now. The way he’d responded when Lacey had handed him a rosebud-embroidered napkin. His haunted expression at Millie’s apartment. The woman had worn a dress covered in those flowers. “Did you ever catch the men who shot her?”
“No.” He tightened his hand into a fist, then unclenched it, slowly. “But even if we caught them, the memories would still torment me. I put her in that position.”
“Phyllis put herself in that position. She had no business selling your police information to them.”
He shifted, turning watery eyes to her. “I can’t move on past the guilt.”
And what was she supposed to say? Being a Christian only, what, a whole two days? But there was one thing she did know. “Maybe you need to forgive yourself.”
“I …” His heavy exhale filled the room with anguish. “I can’t.”
“Couldn’t you ask God to help you?” She swept a lock of hair off his forehead.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Ver.” He stood and regarded her, his eyes wearied and shoulders curled forward. “Sorry I can’t give you what you deserve.”
She rose and kissed his cheek. “You can always rely on me as a friend, Mick.” The urge to kiss him again burned her lips. To caress away his pain through her touch and carry the burden in her arms as she’d hold him. But … she couldn’t. The sigh rose, but she pushed it back. “A good friend.”
Mick fell onto his bed, staring at the blank ceiling. “God.” Tears. Finally, tears. For years, he hadn’t been able to cry. Not for Phyllis. Not for him. He’d imprisoned the emotion inside, numbing his soul.
Vera’s word struck. He couldn’t forgive himself. Guilt grasped his heart and dug in with ugly roots. The all-too-familiar restlessness churned through him. He stood, shoving his hands through his hair, squeezing his scalp. Could he bear a lifetime of this? He kicked the empty trashcan, sending it across the room. He wanted Vera. He wanted a normal life with her. But he couldn’t.
“God, I don’t know how to get over this.”
My grace is sufficient for you.
The still small voice. So quiet, yet so distinct, echoing off the walls of his soul. He dropped to his knees. Never before had he heard Him so clearly. Yes, he’d get impressions and caution nudges, as Lacey would call them, every once in a while, but never this. My grace. Over and over, resounding.
It was time for him to take the ax to the root. Could he do it? He breathed in a ragged breath. “God, I choose to forgive myself. I ask you to help me cope with the guilt. The pain. I’m saying this by faith because I don’t feel a bit better.” And he didn’t.
It would be simpler to have an overwhelming rush of peace backing up his words, but … nothing. Not even a goose-bump. But he couldn’t live in this state anymore. “I won’t live in this state anymore.” God’s Word said he was to walk by faith, not by sight. If this wasn’t walking by faith, he didn’t know what was. “I believe I’m free from the torment. Free from the anguish. And free … from guilt.”
The sorrow may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He had tasted the sorrow. Had plenty of it. It was time for the joy.
CHAPTER 31
Vera stretched and rolled to her side. Sunlight squeezed in from the closed drapes. Her weighted eyelids and soft sheets invited her to drift. A knocking sound startled her. Neighbor’s door? She hoped.
“Ver, it’s me. You decent?”
Mick.
Her heart responded with a twist. The man responsible for her late-night crying session now stood outside her door.
Shoving off the covers, she stood and blinked to clear her vision. “Give me just a second.” She tightened her robe while walking, leaving her just enough time to run a hand over her wayward hair. Sighing, she opened the door.
Hello, Sergeant Swoon. Instant alertness. Mick all cleaned up. And boy, did he clean up well. A crisp, white-collared shirt beneath a charcoal sports jacket, matched with light-gray trousers. And then there was her … in a robe. Better than the nightgown, though. She rubbed her lower lash-line, swiping away any sleepy sand.
Ah, Mick. His most alluring feature was the black mug in his hand. “For me?”
“For you.” He handed it to her, taking care so it wouldn’t spill. “My aunt makes a pot of coffee every morning. Sometimes two.”
Vera inhaled the soothing aroma. “So tell me, Sergeant Vogue, how early did you rise to look all handsome?”
“Vogue, huh?” He half smirked, stepping into the room. “I do keep a bar of soap around. And the shave? I can do that myself.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I take it, it looks good?”
“I take it, you know it.”
Mick chuckled low. “You keeping the door open?”
“Yeah. I’m a lady.” One with morning breath
and out-of-control hair, but still a lady.
The amusement in his eyes faded. “I forgot to ask you something last night, Ver.”
Oh boy, this could be anything. She pressed her lips to the brim of the cup.
“The film from that doll. We enlarged it.”
“And?”
His mouth pressed together, then relaxed with an exhale. “It’s not any room at the Journal. I don’t think it’s a newspaper room of any sort.”
“I don’t get it.” As much as she’d prompted herself not to get her hopes up about the film, she had. To have this wrapped up and solved would lessen the stress on her. And Mick.
“I don’t either.” He shrugged. “But there was a door in the back. It’s a metal gate. Was there anything like that at Kelly’s house?”
She slid her hand through her hair. Argh. Tangled. “A metal gate? No, not at Carson’s house.” She set the coffee cup on the tall dresser and reached for her hairbrush. “But I never been in his basement.”
He watched her closely. “So it’s possible?”
“Sure.”
“What about Vinelli’s house?”
“Angelo.” She squeezed the brush handle, narrowing her eyes. “What kind of person do ya think I am? I don’t make house calls to every man in town.” So she’d been right when she’d deduced he still saw her as scum beneath his shoes.
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
She shot him a knowing look. What other way could he mean it?
“You mentioned before that he was your friend. All I asked is if you’ve seen his house.”
“No.” She turned toward the mirror. Ah, the comfort of the brush needles against the scalp. Like a massage.
“Might find it there.” He scratched his cheek. “Better coordinate two searches today.”
She hated to destroy a good theory, but steel gates and doors weren’t something out of the ordinary. “This is a steel town. You’ll have your work cut out for you.” She grabbed a clump of hair and pulled the brush through to the ends.
“I’m aware of that. I thought if I got a warrant for Vinelli’s house, I could … Will you stop?”
The Red Canary Page 23
