The Red Canary

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  “What?” She talked to his reflection in the mirror. “I’m listening. Heard every word ya said.”

  “It’s not that.” Mick put his fist to his lips, hiding a smile. “You’re distracting me. It’s not nice of you to be so pretty when you wake up.”

  Vera spun on her heel, facing him. “Mick Dinelo.” Her warning tone only fueled him to take a generous step toward her. She raised the hairbrush like a tomahawk. “So help me, I will launch this at your head.”

  “You don’t scare me.” His mischievous grin unleashed, and he advanced another stride. “I’ve seen your aim.”

  A laugh escaped faster than she could mash her lips together. She shuffled back a step and smacked her heel on the leg of the cheval mirror, sending a sharp ache up her leg. She winced. “The way we’re going, it looks as though we both may end up hurt.”

  All the playfulness fled his features. “I never want to be the source of your pain.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and Vera’s heart stumbled. “Last night, I thought I’d lost you. Then to find you here safe? I may have hid it well, but—”

  “You don’t have to.” Her heart couldn’t bear another explanation as to why he could never be hers.

  “I want to.” A gentleness overtook his eyes, disarming and engaging.

  She should tear her gaze from his, but something in her wouldn’t allow it. No man had ever looked at her with such tenderness. And probably none other would. The ache stretched wider, the decision sealed—she’d leave today. It was best for them both.

  Which meant this would be the last time she’d see him.

  She cupped his face, taking in the feel of his strong jaw. She studied his likeness, committing to memory every plane and angle, the perfect slope of his nose, his inviting lips. She pressed a finger to that perfect dent in his cheek. His dimple. Sadness gathered in her chest. Now, his eyes. The vibrant greens shone with an intensity enclosed by a jade ring.

  Mick’s gaze fused to hers, and the moment lengthened. For sanity’s sake, she withdrew her caress, but he caught her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. He then entwined his fingers with hers, a union of touch but not hearts.

  She tugged from his delicate grip and hugged her arms to her chest. The few inches between them might as well be a canyon. He was out of her reach.

  “Vera.” His breathless voice swirled about her. “Are you in love with me?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Her eyes burned to cry as much as her soul ached to be his. “I think you should get going.” And so should she. The longer she stood in his presence, the weaker she became.

  “Ver,” He dipped his head.

  She jolted back.

  “I’m not going to kiss you. I want you to know that I—”

  “Can’t give me what I need. I remember.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Please.” What more could he want from her? Hadn’t he made things clear last night? She wouldn’t prolong the inevitable. Hardening to the dull throb in her chest, she straightened her spine. “I’ve got to get dressed, Mick, and I don’t want an audience.”

  “Can you listen for one minute?”

  “There’s nothing new to be said.” Vera held up her hand, keeping Mick from moving closer, the fakeness glaring at her from her fourth finger. That dumb ring. Why hadn’t she removed it last night? “Here.” She yanked it off, almost skinning her knuckle. “Give this back to Lacey for me.”

  “Listen. Last night, after I talked to you, I—”

  Vera wiggled the ring. “Will you please leave?”

  He exhaled loudly and held out his hand. “If you want to act that way, I’ll go for now. But we’ll talk later.”

  No, they wouldn’t. She dropped the ring in the center of his palm, careful not to touch him. “Goodbye, Sergeant Dinelo.” She clipped her words, masking the rising emotion.

  At the door, he stopped on the threshold. “Please stay here and don’t venture out.”

  She folded her arms.

  “I’m serious, Vera. I’m going to the office to check on something, but I’ll be back. Lock the door behind me and don’t answer it for anybody. And Ver.” His tone softened. “Please don’t push me away. You mean a lot to me.”

  The air swept out of the room along with Mick.

  Wasn’t he the one who’d pushed away first? Her heart twisted before shattering into a million shards. She meant a lot to him. Sure. So did Lacey. So did the captain. So did that ridiculous Lincoln.

  A tear escaping down her flushed cheek, Vera curled a fist around the golden cross hanging from her neck. No other choice surfaced. She had three hours to get to the pawn shop, buy her ticket, and be on that train.

  Mick dropped his pen onto the desk. Another dead end. What was so hard about locating a warrant? Kelly’s residence had been searched the day he’d taken Vera to Kerrville. Not that long ago. Paperwork couldn’t vanish into thin air. Had the filing cabinet eaten it? He groaned, the tower of metal drawers challenging him. Why couldn’t the captain be more organized? Mick pushed folders back, searching the floor of the drawer for loose papers. Nothing.

  He eyed the phone, agitation tightening his shoulders. The officer who’d been in charge of Kelly’s search was off duty and impossible to get a hold of. Should Mick call again? He thumped the desk with his fist. Nothing today was going as planned.

  Why wouldn’t Vera let him talk? When she’d framed his jaw in her soft hands and taken in his face with a soul-ripping, pensive look, Mick had known at that precise moment—she loved him.

  He’d felt it in her touch, heard it in her voice. But then she hadn’t let him speak his heart. Though how could he blame her after all he’d told her last night?

  The pressure mounted in his chest, and he inhaled a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. What if he could start new, as he was for Vinelli’s search? Get another warrant. Call another search. This time he’d take command. He could bring over a late lunch and tell Vera about it after she had time to regain her composure. Maybe it was better this way.

  He grabbed the phone. Things were looking up.

  CHAPTER 32

  Vera faltered off the trolley, almost dropping her bag onto the street. She strengthened her grip and trudged down Forbes Avenue. A group of women consumed in conversation shoved past, bumping her with their parcels. She huffed. If it wasn’t for Gregory Pawn and Shop two blocks over, she’d never be spotted on Forbes on a busy Monday. At least the bustle kept her identity obscure. A policeman strolled by, his gaze bouncing from her eyes to her bag. She held her breath, her heart pounding in her throat.

  Had he recognized her?

  Temptation pressured her to glance back, but she quickened her pace, her fingers aching from the weighted bag. She spotted Craft Street and relaxed her shoulders, the pawnshop now in view.

  Her train would leave in an hour and a half. She had to be quick. With a sigh, she yanked the door open, bells jingling above her head. Her gaze scanned the room. She’d met Patrick Gregory a few times, but not enough for him to—

  “Hey there!”

  Her head whipped to the right. A lean frame stood between a row of bicycles and a table of dusty books. So much for him not recognizing her.

  “Haven’t see ya ’round. Where ya been?” His crooked smile exposed a gold tooth. Couple that with his overgrown stubble, and he resembled a pirate.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Around.”

  He adjusted a tag on a rusty percolator and strode toward her. “Have ya been down at the club lately? They got a new canary.” He put a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she restrained from shrugging it off. “That shortcake got nothin’ on you.”

  “Thanks, Pat.” She stepped away from his touch and forced a smile. “Um … I came to pawn my bracelet.” She let loose of her bag and held up her forearm, but the man didn’t glance at the diamonds. He sucked his tongue between his teeth, staring at her with a hunger that shriveled her insides.

  “Let me t
ake a look. Let’s go”—he jerked his head to the back of the store—“where the light’s stronger.”

  The air in the room thinned and warmed. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. After all—

  “Sure miss hearing you sing, Red.”

  Red.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, forbidding a gasp to escape. The notes. The ones she’d received daily at the Kelly Club. The person had called her Red. She’d always assumed it was Stony Eyes who’d written them, but maybe she was wrong. Or maybe this was a strange coincidence.

  “I knew someday you’d come to me.” His grin stretched. “Just had to be patient.”

  Her joints iced over, paralyzing her. “It was you. You wrote those notes.”

  He rocked back on his heels with a devilish wink. “You think I paid fifty cents a slug because I enjoyed that diluted garbage?”

  “Listen, Pat,”—she stooped to snatch her bag from the ground—“maybe now’s not the right time. I need to catch—”

  He grabbed her wrist, and her bag slammed against her knee, almost knocking her off balance. “Now’s the perfect time.” He glanced toward the backroom, his lips pulling back in a wicked snarl.

  No way she’d be accosted by Pat the Pirate. She tugged her hand, but his grip strengthened. She couldn’t even strike him with her bag because he clutched the arm that held it. Her gaze darted. Maybe she could—

  He pulled her to him, and she smacked into his chest. With a caged breath, she snagged a metal flashlight from the table to her left and bopped him on the back of the head.

  He cussed and released her, doubling over.

  Vera took that opportunity to bolt. Energy surging through her, she bounded out the door and raced down the street without daring to glance behind her. She snaked through the traffic, holding tight to her belongings, only stopping when she realized where she was. About a block from the Kelly Club.

  Despite her chest wrestling for oxygen, she couldn’t control her fast and shallow breaths. The familiar anxiety returned. Her body was strained from running, her mind spastic from Pat’s advances, and now the Kelly Club was in her line of vision. She remembered Mick’s instructions and focused on evening out each gulp of air. Within minutes, her lungs were stable. The pulsing of blood in her ears hushed, and a recognizable sound swept in.

  A cart’s wheels.

  “Grimby.”

  His hunched back faced her, but she’d know him anywhere, the shuffling of weathered boots, the squeaking of cart’s wheels. The urge to scram was tangible in her trembling knees, but she had to at least say goodbye to him. This was her only chance.

  Vera covered the several yards between them and placed a hand to his shoulder, the fabric coarse under her fingers. How could this man stand wearing a trench coat in the summer? “Hey, there, Grimby. It’s me. Vera.”

  He mumbled something, his jaw flapping up and down. She took in the empty cart and frowned. “Where’s Fred?”

  “Always so nice to me. So nice to me.” His muttering was quieter than usual. “I set food out, but he didn’t come.”

  “I’m sorry, Grimby. Fred was a loyal dog.” Now the poor man was all by himself. Did he feel the loneliness?

  She listened for a handful of seconds to his mindless chatter, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the club. Sweat ran down Grimby’s face and throat. She withdrew a handkerchief from the top of her bag, and, just like two weeks ago, wiped his face.

  “The light’s on. The boat comes.” The old man latched his stare on the speakeasy.

  She felt so far removed from that place, it was like she gazed upon her former life. From what she could see, no one was there. She could retreat with ease. Legs, stop shaking.

  “I got to go, pal.” Vera put a hand on his shoulder. “But I promise to pray for ya.”

  “The light’s on. The boat comes.” His hand lingered in the air, pointing.

  She blinked. “What’s that mean Grimby? Show me?” It was day out, no sign of any so-called light.

  Grimby held his stance for one intriguing moment, then clutched the cart and hobbled onward.

  Was he trying to show her something? She glanced in the direction he walked. Just the back of the Kelly Club and the polluted Monongahela River, the place as lifeless as a graveyard. But what was an extra minute? She shot a look toward Grimby, who shuffled down the road, leaving her behind. Breathing deep, she stepped onto Kelly Club soil.

  The farther she walked, the more unkempt the property became, the tall grass swallowing her feet. Rusty trash cans and broken wooden crates lined the back wall of the club. Nothing suspicious. Disappointment stung, her hope of Grimby possessing any sense of intuition sinking like a stone in the murky water.

  She gave the broadside of the back of the Kelly Club one last glance. Too bad. Never should have … she stilled. A pale white circle dominated her attention.

  A light. Fixed on the back of the club, a solitary bulb rested about six feet high from the ground. How about that Grimby? He understood more than he’d been letting on.

  But a light? Nothing around it. No door. No window. And of course it wasn’t on. Vera scrunched her brow. There wasn’t a switch. Must turn on from the inside. “What are ya here for, little bulb? A signal of some kind?”

  “What are you here for?”

  Thick fingers bit into her shoulder, and something hard dug into her side.

  Angelo.

  “Walk with me and I won’t use force.” Angelo jerked his head toward the river.

  The river! Her ankles wobbled like a leaf floating on the current. His cold glare met hers, and something ignited within her. She stomped his foot with her heel, squirming to get away. His grip strengthened, and she elbowed his gut.

  He grunted.

  “Help!”

  He yanked her arm, pulling her into his chest, and slapped his hand over her mouth. She bit his palm. Hard.

  Angelo cursed.

  “Help! Someone! Hel—”

  One-armed, he picked her up by the waist and threw her over his shoulder, sprinting toward the river.

  “Stop!” She smacked her jaw off his back, her teeth slicing her tongue.

  “Shut your mouth!” He bypassed the river via a hidden wooden stairway to a water-level platform, ducking under the dock.

  She kicked her feet, pummeling his abdomen. “Let go!”

  He pulled her off his shoulder, pinning her back to a wall. “Step aside.” He panted, spitting on her. Light lined his face from slits in the deck overhead. “And no funny business.” He shoved her to the mud-caked ground.

  Her vision grayed, but she didn’t dare shut her eyes. If Angelo intended to kill her, she’d fight with every breath.

  Angelo pointed his gun toward her while unlocking … a door? Who’d put a door under the dock? And why?

  Shuddering, she tucked her knees beneath her and managed to stand.

  Angelo opened the door, a dark, musty passageway stretching before her. He motioned with his revolver. “Get movin’.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Mick knocked for the third time on Vera’s door. How on earth could she hear him with the radio blaring? He wedged the dozen roses under his arm and fished in his pocket for his aunt’s skeleton key, a smile escaping his lips.

  Today he’d tell her.

  He turned the key and cracked the door.

  “Ver, it’s me.” He waited, giving her a minute to get decent if necessary. Brass instruments flavored the air along with Vera’s perfume. He slid inside and glanced around. The sight enflamed his chest, burning into his gut. All her stuff was gone. Like that day at the cabin. “She ran.”

  He squeezed the stems in his hand, welcoming pain from the thorns into his flesh. Anything to numb the ache searing through him. Played the fool again. And why the running game? For him to chase after her? He threw the flowers, petals scattering on the pale carpet. Not this time. The captain could deal with her now.

  He scowled at the radio where a jazz tune blasted. With a ragge
d exhale, he turned off the music. A note sat under the dials in Vera’s handwriting.

  Mick,

  Had to leave. It’s better this way. Tell the captain I’ll check in. I’m awful at writing notes. I do better with songs. But I want to thank you. You’ve helped me, protected me, and proved to me that gentlemen still exist. Remember the question you asked me earlier? The answer is YES.

  Vera

  The question he’d asked? When? He worked his jaw, his mind replaying their last moments together. She’d been standing almost right where he stood now. Her eyes a watercolor green, her hair brushing over her cheekbone, calling for his fingers to swipe away the tendrils. Are you in love with me? His heart did an about-face.

  She loved him.

  He shoved the note in his pocket and strode out the door.

  Vera blinked several times, allowing her eyes to adjust from dark to light. From the creepy tunnel to … to the basement of the Kelly Club? Whoa. She’d thought only a crawl space existed under the gin joint.

  “I’m going to have to use this on ya.” Angelo dangled a handkerchief. “Open wide.”

  A tremble stole through her, the musty air clogging her throat. She stared at the cloth sullied with dirt … and blood? Her heart forgot to beat. Whose blood was that? “Don’t touch me with that thing.” His arms matched the size of beer kegs. Was it smart to be sassy with him?

  “Then I’ll have to knock you unconscious.” Lips peeling from his teeth, he tapped the butt of his gun. “I don’t wanna do that. Sit down.” He jerked his head to a wooden chair in the corner. “Going to tie ya up too.”

  Bound and gagged. Not how she wanted to spend her Monday. Angelo stood solid, like a brick wall, fixing a glare on her that chilled her blood. Her heels slowly clomped the soiled floor. She stilled, mouth dropping open.

  The plating machine. The press.

  The items from the picture were as large as life next to her. Why here? This room held secrets. A mystery Artie had discovered. And he’d paid for it with his life.