Murder on the Last Frontier (22 page)

She suppressed a shudder and pressed onward.

In her note, Charlotte had instructed Ruth to meet at the bridge that crossed the creek running through the center of the park. James was hiding here somewhere. He had left over an hour before to find a place and wait, warning Charlotte that he wouldn't make himself known until Ruth gave her confession. It was reassuring to know he was around, but Charlotte still felt very much alone.

Her boot hit the edge of the first plank. The thud sounded very loud in the deep darkness, louder than the slow-flowing water in the narrow creek. Charlotte scanned the ten-foot span of the bridge. Her beam of light fell upon a pair of heavy black shoes and the hem of a dress. Before she could bring the flashlight up, Ruth's beam caught her in the face. Charlotte squinted, trying to keep an eye on Ruth in the glare. How long had she been waiting there? Did she know James was nearby?

“I should have known it was you,” Ruth said. “You've been a menace ever since you arrived.”

Charlotte's eyes adjusted, and she focused on the woman across the bridge. “I'm not nearly the menace that other folks in this town are.”

“We don't abide sinners here,” she said. “That includes whores and blackmailers.”

Charlotte gave her a knowing grin. “But at least I'm not a murderer.”

“What makes you think I am?”

Clever. Ruth was trying to get Charlotte to tip her own hand first. Charlotte would give her brother's fiancée a hint. “You said something this morning that made me realize you knew more about Darcy than you should have.”

In the glow of the flashlight, Ruth frowned. “What?”

“You said she and her bastard would rot in hell. How did you know Darcy was pregnant?” Charlotte watched Ruth's eyes narrow and her free hand clench. At least she didn't have a weapon. Not one she could access immediately, anyway. “No one but Michael, James Eddington, and I knew about that. And her killer, considering the condition of her body.”

Ruth's features contorted into a mask of hatred, the indirect light making her appear demonic. “She was a filthy whore who deserved to die.”

“She was a young woman, a human being,” Charlotte said, anger rising at this woman who had decided to play judge, jury, and executioner. “She and Michael had intimate relations and you hated that, hated her, despite your supposed acceptance of his ‘carnal needs.' It became too much to bear, didn't it, Ruth? What she was doing with him?”

“I wanted to talk to her. Tell her to leave Michael alone. I had Sam bring a note, like Michael said he did when he wanted her to meet him up at his room.” Ruth shook her head, disgust on her face. “I told Sam the other night he had to go back and collect all of Michael's letters to her, but he didn't get the chance.”

It must have been Sam and Ruth in the alley beside the Windsor the night of the mayor's party talking about the papers, not Tess and Frank referring to the articles Darcy had kept.

No one had mentioned finding notes from Michael in Darcy's room. Had she burned them, or hidden them somewhere, as she'd hidden the newspaper articles and money? Michael had mentioned getting word to Darcy about dates and times to meet. Surely he would have been smart enough to not explicitly request her in his private room or sign his name.

Ruth slammed her hand down on the bridge railing. “Only a wife should see to her husband's needs. None other. I told her to leave him alone, that tempting him during their health exams only added to her sins. But she laughed at me. Said Michael admitted he had more fun with her than he could ever have with me. And claimed that she and their baby would be his family.”

Even in the low light, Charlotte saw Ruth shaking with rage. She'd been angry at Darcy, at Michael. Admitting she had spoken to the girl wasn't the same as confessing to murder.

“She was going to take Michael away from you,” Charlotte said, “so you killed her.”

“No.” Ruth's fist clenched again. “I told the bitch she could have him. Then she opened her filthy mouth again.”

“What did she say?”

“That maybe Sam was the father.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Or Michael. She wasn't sure. She ensnared my brother and my fiancé with her wicked ways. But she'd leave Michael alone and not tell everyone she was having
his
baby if we paid her.”

If Darcy had been blackmailing the mayor and his wife, as well as her boss, why not extort even more money from the Bartletts? But it looked like Darcy might have gone a little too far. Maybe she hadn't expected the reverend's daughter to be so vengeful.

“She could claim Sam was the father even if she left Michael out of it. I had to protect my family from her. And now you're threatening me with the same thing?” Ruth leapt forward, flashlight raised over her head.

Charlotte stumbled back as the metal and light swept in front of her face. Her own beam jerked up into the trees, adding to the chaotic dance of light and shadow. She caught herself before she fell. Ruth brought her arm around in a backswing. Charlotte ducked, catching the blow on her right shoulder rather than in the face.

The pain would have been worse if she hadn't been wearing two heavy shirts and Michael's old winter coat, but it threw her off balance. Her retaliating swing missed Ruth's face and glanced off her arm.

Ruth grunted, slipped in the wet duff, and dropped her flashlight. Charlotte recovered her footing. She shoved Ruth and bolted in the opposite direction. Her own heavy breathing blotted out other sounds. Had James heard them? Where was he?

“James!”

Charlotte stopped to catch her breath and listen for him. To her right, she heard grunts and muffled shouts. The crack of a branch. Was James in trouble? She started toward the noise.

A blow to her lower back sent her sprawling. Still clutching the flashlight, she kept her face and head from hitting the ground, letting her arms and free hand take the brunt of the fall. The sting of scrapes and bruises would come later. Ruth's weight on her back pinned her down.

“You rotten bitch,” Ruth yelled, yanking Charlotte's head back by a handful of hair. “You're just like her. You whore.”

Sensing a blow coming, Charlotte turned her head away. Ruth didn't release her hold. Charlotte's scalp burned as hair was pulled from her head. The punch landed on her ear. Stars exploded in her ringing head, but Charlotte ignored them. With strength borne of desperation to escape, she pushed up onto her hands and knees and threw the smaller woman off her back.

Ruth didn't land far away. She started to rise. Charlotte braced her upper body and delivered a solid kick to the other woman's face. Ruth tumbled sideways, then lay still.

Charlotte scrambled to her feet. She could hear a second scuffle not far away and ran in that direction. The jumping flashlight beam created pockets of darkness, hiding roots and rocks that caught her feet. The knob of a root pressed into the wound on the bottom of her foot, shooting pain up her leg and making her stumble. She couldn't stop now. James might need her help.

She reached a small clearing where her light found Sam Bartlett straddling James's chest. James held the boy's wrists with both his hands, his face contorted in pain as he kept a pocketknife blade from plunging into his face. Sam's expression was murderous.

Charlotte darted forward and grabbed a short carved post that must have been knocked over during their fight. She cracked the heavy wood across Sam's head. He howled and fell to the side. James rolled away. He sprang to his feet, panting. Before Sam could recover, James snatched the knife from him and tossed it aside. He flipped the boy onto his stomach, securing his hands with a pair of metal cuffs from his coat pocket.

“Are you all right?” Charlotte knelt beside James and cupped his face in her hands. One eye was swollen and partially closed. His nose was bleeding, possibly broken for a second or even third time.

James's crooked grin made her smile despite the last few minutes of pain and panic. “I'll live. The little bastard caught me by surprise, and sure can fight.”

She gently brushed his bloody lip with the pad of her thumb. “So can his sister.”

James's head jerked up, and he scanned the area. “Where is she?”

“Near the bridge. I think she's unconscious, but I'm not sure.”

James helped Charlotte to her feet. “If she isn't, she won't get far. I heard what she said just before Junior here jumped me.”

Charlotte shook her head, a sudden sadness and pity wending through her. “Poor Ruth.”

He gave her a startled look. “Poor Ruth? She killed a girl and tried to kill you. I don't think I'd be so charitable or forgiving under the circumstances.”

“I don't know. I do feel sorry for her. She was willing to let Darcy go and put Michael out of her life until Darcy attempted to blackmail her. Sometimes we just don't know what will set someone off.”

James draped his arm around Charlotte's shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. “You have an interesting way of seeing things. Come on. Let's find this ‘poor soul' so I can arrest her and get her and her brother shipped the hell out of our town.”

C
harlotte set another cup of coffee in front of Michael. He hadn't spoken for the hour she'd been there, explaining to him what had happened. He'd listened in complete silence, occasionally sipping his coffee, his face turning pale and eventually almost green.

Now, he sat there, staring down at the table. His clothes were askew, hastily donned when he'd answered her knocking at dawn.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly, sitting across from him. “Maybe I shouldn't have sent that note. Maybe I overstepped boundaries.”

His head jerked up. Red-rimmed eyes held hers. “You did overstep.”

Charlotte's heart sank. Damn it, she'd ripped open the tenuous healing of their relationship with her involvement. Would they relapse to strained conversations and secrets, ending up even worse off than before? She wouldn't be able to stand it if that were the case. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to check the steamer office for the southbound schedule. Not that she currently had the funds for a ticket.

Michael's gaze dropped again. “But you were right about more than you were wrong.”

“Barely.” She'd thought Darcy's murder had been an impulsive act of passion, but both Ruth and Sam had proven capable of repeating the deed. That had almost been a fatal error, for both her and James.

“I can't believe I didn't see it in her,” Michael said. “Maybe I just didn't want to.”

Charlotte had wondered the same thing with Richard. Had there been earlier signs that he wasn't the type of man she'd thought he was? Had she fooled herself into ignoring the hints because otherwise being with him had been so interesting and fun?

She came around to Michael's side of the table. Much as he had done with her two days before, during their confessions, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her chin on his head. He pressed his face to her side as she tried to reassure him. “It's not your fault, you know.”

“If I hadn't been seeing Darcy, Ruth wouldn't have been so angry at her.”

Charlotte eased away to look at him. Tears welled in his eyes. “She was angry at Darcy for Sam as well. And Darcy was fool enough to think she could blackmail the Bartletts. Your seeing her wasn't the epitome of fidelity, but her death isn't your fault, Michael.”

He grimaced, perhaps trying to believe it was so. Maybe he never would.

A heavy knock sounded on the door of Michael's living quarters. Charlotte stepped aside to allow him to answer. James Eddington held his hat, dark hair mussed and his freshly broken nose still looking painfully swollen.

“Doc.” He nodded to Michael, then caught Charlotte's eye. “Miss Brody.”

Michael returned to his seat. “You don't have to pretend to be so damn formal with her, Eddington. I think circumstances allow you to call my sister by her given name.”

Charlotte and James exchanged glances.

“Fair enough,” James said, shutting the door. “I know it's a difficult time for you, Doc. Sorry about all this.”

Michael shrugged and shook his head, dismissing James's apology. “I feel worse for Reverend and Mrs. Bartlett. Have you spoken to them?”

James nodded. “First thing after we got Ruth and Sam squared away. They're with Blaine now.”

“What happens next?” Charlotte asked.

“Considering Ruth's confession and all, I'll take them both to the federal court in Seattle with a female court officer out of Juneau. They'll stay at Morningside until their trial's set. The Bartletts will come along, I reckon. I'll need your written statement before we sail.”

“Of course. I'll come down later.” Though at the moment all Charlotte wanted was a hot bath and a long, dreamless sleep.

James glanced at Michael, then back to her. “We have Ruth's confession that she wrote the note to you, and that Sam threw the firebomb through your window, but you may need to bear witness in person at some point. You up for that?”

Charlotte met her brother's gaze. His lips were pressed tight. Surely he had expected she'd have to give her account to the federal court. He stared out the window over the sink. She hated seeing Michael like this, hated Ruth and Sam Bartlett for putting him through such a terrible time. And if truth be told, she also hated Darcy for being such a greedy little fool.

Had Darcy deserved to die? No, but the ramifications of her actions would be felt for a long time to come.

She faced James again. “Let me know when I need to be there.”

“The court will send a summons.” He put his hat on and tilted his head toward the outer door. “I'd best get back to the office.”

Charlotte got the hint of his gesture. “I'll walk you out.”

She closed the inner door firmly and followed James through the exam room. She shut that door behind them as well. Not that Michael would eavesdrop, but she wanted to maintain whatever privacy James sought. He waited for her at the front door.

“Is he going to be all right?” James looked at the exam-room door as if trying to see Michael through it. She followed his gaze, hoping the barriers between her and her brother weren't as solid as the doors and walls.

“It'll take some time,” she said, “but I think so. There's a lot to sort through.”

“Charlotte,” James said, drawing her attention. “This isn't his fault, and it's not yours either. Ruth and Sam chose to take Darcy's life.”

She gave him a wan smile. “I said the very same thing to Michael.”

“You'll both get through this. Let me know if there's anything I can do.” He glanced down at his boots, then back up at her again. Uncertainty filled his eyes, a rare thing indeed for the Deputy Eddington she knew. “I'll be gone for a bit to take the Bartletts to Seattle. Would it be too forward—” He cut himself off, grimacing.

“What?” she asked, her heart suddenly double-timing.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to look after the cat?”

Charlotte's shoulders slumped. The cat? “Oh. Sure.”

It was better to have James as a friend who would support her and ask her to watch his cat, and nothing more.

Grinning in relief, he tapped the brim of his hat. “I'll see you down at the office later.”

Charlotte shut and locked the door behind him. Unless there was an emergency, she didn't want Michael having unexpected visitors or people asking questions. Toliver would surely want to know the whole of the story for the newspaper. She'd convince him that she should be the one to write it, when all was said and done.

But for now, her biggest concern was her brother.

 

Charlotte brushed at the wrinkles in one of the skirts Brigit had donated to her. She hung it in the small closet in her room at the Lakeview beside the other items of clothing, including the trousers and heavy shirts she'd appropriated from Michael.

The hotel offered a fine view of Nirvana Park, but Charlotte rarely took the opportunity to appreciate it. Four days later was still a little too soon to put the encounter with Ruth and Sam far enough out of her mind to enjoy the sight.

The Lakeview wasn't as luxurious as the Windsor, but the room was larger than Charlotte's old room at Sullivan's, and more expensive too. She couldn't afford to stay at the hotel and replace her things, even with her income from
Modern Woman
and Michael's loan. She'd have to take Toliver up on his offer of a full-time job sooner rather than later and find a new place to live.

Charlotte wasn't sure when, exactly, she'd decided that, but it felt right. Maybe it was after she realized James and Brigit and Michael would always be there for her. Or when she decided that finding peace for Darcy meant she could find peace for herself eventually. And this was the place to do it, to start over.

A quick double knock prompted her to close the closet door and cross the faded rug. She opened the door and smiled at Brigit. The woman was laden with more clothes. A carpetbag dangled from one arm.

“You're being far more generous than necessary,” Charlotte said, taking the clothing to the bed.

“Not at all.” Brigit closed the door behind her and set the bag on the floor. “Just a few more things, like nightclothes and undergarments. Shoes too. You can't go traipsing around in those god-awful boots all the time.”

Charlotte couldn't argue there, though it was getting rainier and windier each day. The rubber boots seemed much more practical than the soft leather pair Brigit withdrew from the bag. “They're lovely. I can't thank you enough.”

Brigit shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “You'll get more wear out of them than I will. With just the three of us in the house, I'll be on my back more than my feet.”

She stuck her tongue out comically.

Charlotte laughed. “I'm sorry you're short a girl, but I'm still not interested in a job.”

“Oh, I know,” Brigit said, laughing along with her. “I'm just lamenting. I'd hoped at this point I'd be done with that end of the business.”

Charlotte sat on the other side of the pile of clothes. “You could shut down the house.”

The madam only shook her head. “And do what? I'm running a lucrative business, making money more often than not. It's just a momentary setback. Trust me, there will be some girls looking to get away from the canneries or domestic work sooner or later.”

Probably sooner, thought Charlotte. At least at Brigit's they'd find a clean place to live, good food, and regular health care.

“Charlotte,” Brigit said, suddenly serious. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” She couldn't think of anything she'd done that the woman could be grateful for. In fact, after Charlotte's accusing her and her sister of blackmail and murder, Brigit should be furious with her.

“Mary Theresa—I mean, Tess and I have been living this stupid lie for too long,” she said. “It felt good to get it off our chests, even if it was only to you and Eddington.”

Their meeting on the street the other day made sense now. The women weren't holding any hostility toward each other due to social status. They hadn't wanted Charlotte to learn they were sisters. With a little prompting from Charlotte, Brigit, Tess, and Frank Kavanagh had quietly approached James, the day after Ruth and Sam Bartlett had been arrested, to clear up the last few questions about Darcy and the contents of her coat.

Mary Theresa, or “Tess,” and Elizabeth “Brigit” Jensen had changed their identities in an effort to start over after the trial in Fairbanks. John Francis Kincaid, aka Frank Kavanagh, had gone along with the sisters. They'd left Alaska, lived in Virginia for a time, then legitimately went into business with Kavanagh's cannery partners. By that time, Brigit had given birth to Charlie, but, she'd privately confessed later to Charlotte, she couldn't stand Kavanagh enough to even pretend marriage to him. Tess bit the bullet and actually married him before they all arrived in Cordova.

All three vehemently denied any involvement with the murder of Cecil Patterson. With no reason to question them, let alone hold them, James agreed not to reveal their true identities, but Mayor Kavanagh would have to withdraw from the upcoming election. The money Darcy had solicited from them would go into the new school being built. The Kavanaghs and Brigit O'Brien would be allowed to remain in Cordova as long as they followed territorial law from here on out.

“I'm glad you're done with it,” Charlotte said, “but I still don't understand how Darcy knew who you really were.”

“Her mother worked the Line with us up north, though I barely remember either of them. The trial in Fairbanks was a big deal. Darcy said she'd kept the clippings in a scrapbook because she was excited to know local ‘celebrities.' ” Brigit rolled her eyes at the younger woman's antics. “When she arrived down here and saw us, she got different ideas.”

Darcy had been the daughter of a sporting woman. Was that why she had sought out similar work in Cordova, or had she learned who Brigit really was before meeting Marie? They'd never know.

Charlotte recalled her conversation with Marie at the Edgewater pool hall. “Ideas like blackmail being much easier on the back than cannery work or being a laundress or even working your house.”

“Exactly,” Brigit said. “Frank was looking forward to a political career. There's a long tradition of reinventing yourself in this part of the world, and we wanted to take advantage of it.”

“I can understand that,” Charlotte said. “But if you were acquitted and not involved with the death of Cecil Patterson, why worry about it at all?”

Brigit's expression hardened. She leaned closer, as if someone might overhear them. “To be honest, I'm not sure Frank is completely innocent in Patterson's death. Tess and I had nothing to do with it, I swear.”

“He'd rather have paid the blackmail than have someone look too closely at the accident.” Her view of Frank Kavanagh had already been skewed, but Charlotte's wariness now increased toward the otherwise genial lame-duck mayor.

What if he
had
been involved in the ten-year-old Patterson incident?

“Leave it be, Charlotte.”

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she focused on Brigit. “But—”

“Please.” She reached out toward Charlotte. “As a friend, I'm asking you to leave it alone. We're happy here. I have my boy to think about. Tess and I don't want any more trouble, and there's no proof Frank had anything to do with that man's death.”