The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (36 page)

Queen set down the bag he was carrying next to the bed. “I went to his hotel room, Sister, and brought him some clothes. He only had one other set, and frankly they’re a bit garish, but he’ll probably be grateful not to wear that.” He pointed to Anderson’s suit, neatly folded on a shelf against the wall.

“Was he wearing a set of pistols when he was found?”

She shook her head, and tucked a lock of gray hair back under her mob cap. “We abhor weapons here, Mr. Queen. We are a place of healing, not violence.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “No argument from me, Sister. I was simply wondering, as the detective investigating his case, whether they were taken or not.” He grabbed his notebook and pencil from his pocket and jotted down some words to prove his innocence.

“So you are in charge of finding who did this?”

Queen honestly didn’t know. He hadn’t been to police headquarters yet that morning, and it had been the early edition of the
Minneapolis Tribune
that notified him of the sheriff’s situation.

“I expect so, Sister,” he said.

“He is an officer of the law, isn’t he?” she asked him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he replied. “He was, anyway. How do you know?”

She reached into a pocket in her apron, and pulled out his battered silver star. “It was found on the ground beneath him when the ambulance arrived. He seems quite old to be rounding up desperadoes.”

“He’s just a man looking for someone he loves,” Queen said. “Give it to him when he wakes up.”

He thanked Sister Swanson, wheeled and made for the door, feeling guilty as hell. He’d promised Cahill to find Anderson, and he’d failed. The old man shouldn’t have been knocking around that part of Minneapolis, but he noticed the sheriff’s knuckles were swollen, and figured he’d gotten in at least one good blow before he went down. An apology was in order, and although it pained him to have to deliver it, he knew Tom Cahill was owed one directly. Queen tipped his hat to a gaggle of nurses at the hospital’s entrance, and as he put on his hat and coat, felt a tap on his shoulder.

“How proud of you the citizens of Minneapolis would be, if they could read about you visiting sick patients, instead of getting into saloon fights.”

There was Karoline, pretty and trim in her striped gown and white apron. She touched his hand lightly, just enough to send a tingle down his spine, but not enough to draw unwanted attention from the hospital staff.

“Karoline. Of course you’d be here. Although I’m surprised. I thought Norwegians and Swedes didn’t get along so well.”

“Well enough,” she laughed. “I’m here almost every day to volunteer. They have a children’s ward.” Her expression grew serious as she looked him over. “Harm, you don’t look well. What’s the matter? Is it someone here you know? A friend?”

Queen shook his head and looked away. “Not a friend, but someone I let down.”

She reached to touch his cheek. Too forward a gesture in public for her reputation to allow, he thought, and gently moved her hand down. She blushed and looked away.

“Karoline. I can’t let you –”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she replied.

“I don’t mean to upset you, it’s just –”

“I understand. Let’s not mention it again. I’m sure you have so much to do.” Her eyes met his and she gave him a brave smile, but he saw anguish behind their sparkle. “There is a young girl down the hall, named Astrid. She has pneumonia because she had no coat to wear to school. I fear for her life and must go and comfort her, Harm. Please, let me go now.”

“I’ll come to call on you,” Queen heard himself blurt out. “As…as soon as I can.”

“If you’re serious about that, you must ask my brother’s permission first.” She smiled again and it was both radiant and sad. “But I saw how you looked at your young ward, Miss Flick. You know how much she admires you, don’t you? I would dare say her feelings go even farther than that.”

And that is the problem, Queen thought. I have feelings for Trilly. And for you, Karoline. He wanted to tell this young woman in front of him how lovely she was, and how desperately he respected her for her compassion, poise and grace. But he had no idea how to meet her in that elevated place. Deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve someone like her to love. He knew with certainty that if they ever were together, she’d quickly tire of him and his wayward ways. His connection to Trilly, on the other hand, was much more real. Like him, Trilly was combustible and acted on impulse. And she needed him, to protect her and love her. Christ, he was confused.

“I don’t know what to say,” Queen replied.

“She’s there now,” Karoline said. “Ask her. Go to her.”

“I’ll go to your home,” he finally said. “But it’s to talk to Tom. I’m sorry to have surprised you by sending him over, but I figured Peder wouldn’t have a problem with an extra guard.”

“What are you talking about, Harmon? Who is Tom?”

“Detective Tom Cahill. He went to your house last night.”

“I was there last night and this morning. No police officer came to our home.”

Queen stopped himself from reaching for his whiskey flask, and instead furiously rubbed his brow in frustration.

“You are upset,” Karoline said, worry on her pretty face.

“I have to go,” Queen replied. He bowed awkwardly, unsure of how to part company with her, and she returned with a little curtsey and, of course, that stunning, sad little smile.

The police wagon driver bent quickly to threats, Queen discovered. Even idle threats that he never meant to carry out. Queen knew the driver had a nasty opium habit, which would lead to certain expulsion from the police force and possibly family ruin if ever revealed. Queen hated using this information gleaned from low places, but he needed to get to the Ulland house fast, and when he saw the wagon parked near the hospital, he pounced.

Riding through the city, Queen pondered Anderson’s situation. Who would do something so violent to him? Had he so quickly stumbled onto information that would put him in harm’s way? It seemed hard to believe. He was still carrying his copy of the
Tribune
and scanned it until he found the article to verify where Anderson had been found last night.

Just yesterday, he had handed Colonel Ames a list of men and saloons that might fit into their plans. It took a special kind of criminal to pull off a mitt game, and Ames had been eager to get Queen’s recommendations for which local swindlers and bunco artists might be reliable enough to do the job. One of those was the owner of the Dandelion Saloon, on Hennepin Avenue’s north side. He had a back room for poker and had worked with Queen on a couple of ventures in the past. He was reliable and, even better, had a dealer who was lightning fast at cold decking. The paper said Anderson had been found at the corner of Fourth Street and Third Avenue, literally five feet from the saloon’s door. Could this have been Colonel Ames’s doing? His brain smoldered at the very thought of the police superintendent not only attempting such stupidity on a wily old dog like Anderson, but using Queen’s own list without his knowledge or participation. He forced his fists open to grip the wagon seat as he stepped down, to keep from slugging the driver out of blind rage.

When they arrived at the south Minneapolis homestead, Queen jumped out with barely a word to the driver, reminding himself to stay calm until he could confront Ames in person and get the truth. He ran up the path, giving a quick wave to the men sitting or standing in the yard. Peder’s Norwegian friends were smoking cigarettes and holding shovels, bats and other makeshift weapons. He recognized the largest of them as Big Snorre, a gigantic man in saggy overalls with a fat, pleasant face and a wisp of brown hair on his balding head. He greeted Queen in Norwegian, proceeding to babble on as if Queen were a fellow immigrant from the old country and understood every word. Queen gave Big Snorre a quick hello and pretended not to hear the rest. Big Snorre was a decent fellow, Peder’s right-hand man when he needed a menacing presence at labor rallies and political meetings. Peder was a pacifist at heart, but smart enough to know a little muscle standing nearby helped make his case more relevant in certain situations.

He’d barely knocked on the door when it opened, and there stood Trilly, ravishing in Karoline’s second-hand clothes. Her eyes lit when she saw him and she laughed to see his jaw drop.

“Karoline let me borrow this, until I finish my own. Too proper for me, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. Very becoming, in fact.”

“I can tell you like it,” she said. “Should I invite you in? I don’t know how to feel in these clothes. What’s proper and what isn’t. Or should I say ain’t? I just can’t tell no more.”

“I’m actually here looking for someone, Miss Flick, and you can leave the door open if you’d like, but I don’t think those fellows out there care much what’s proper or isn’t.” He stepped in and she shut the door. The house was neat, the blood had been scrubbed away, and the clothesline stripped clean.

“Is Miss Pease safe?” he asked.

“Upstairs sleeping in the attic. We all get to share a feather bed together. I had my own bed before, but at least I don’t have men crawling all over me here.”

Queen didn’t know how to respond. Just continue with why you’re here, he thought, and don’t let her know that she is the pink of perfection. This is not the time or place.

“Let’s sit on the sofa, for a moment, if you don’t mind,” he said.

She flopped herself down, looking dejected. “This is dull music,” she said. “I thought you might be taking me out for a ride.”

“I wanted to make sure that a man named Tom Cahill hasn’t been here this morning.”

“I don’t know him,” she said quickly. “It’s a hum-drum sounding name too, if you ask me. Say, speaking of names…” She sidled up to him, and he smelled Karoline’s lavender perfume wafting from her skin. “What kind of a name is Queen? I’ve never heard a man called Queen before.” Her tone was playful and cutting at once.

“It’s English.”

“English. I see.” She moved even closer now, and the hair on his arms rose as her bosom brushed lightly against him. Even through the thick layers of fabric, he could feel the warmth of her, and her sweet breath as she brought her mouth close to his. He wanted to step back but was transfixed at the sensations overloading his body, arousing him in every sense of the word.

“So what are you waiting for, anyways?” she asked him, batting her eyes.

“What are you driving at?” Queen asked, even though he knew perfectly well what it was.

“Men!” she scoffed. “Don’t be coy. I’ve seen you makin’ goo-goo eyes at me, Detective Queen. Or should I call you Harmon, like
Karoline
does?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she stretched out Karoline’s name.

“I-I came to see about a fellow detective, Miss Flick.”

“Well, that’s cold coffee for you.” The corner of her lip curled into a sneer, and then it was gone, replaced in an instant by a sultry, pouty smile. His every instinct as a policeman told him to get up and leave, but his arousal, even greater now, kept him planted in his seat.

She kissed his neck, and then, finally, his lips. His heart pounded in his chest as he returned her kiss with his. She reached her arms over his shoulders, and he responded in kind, grabbing her waist and pulling her tight. For an instant he second-guessed himself. This was the home of a woman he’d admired – and loved, too – for such a long time, and Karoline might love him in return. But there was no way he could keep this bottled up inside any longer. The anger, the frustration, and the attraction he felt towards Trilly was manifesting itself as cold-blooded lust. Was there love, too? He couldn’t tell, and frankly, at that moment, didn’t care.

They kissed with desperation, trying to push their mouths closer together, and then he found himself grasping at her skirt. Her body heaved back and forth in anticipation, and she licked at his lips and bit them hard as he undressed her. Then he worked at his trousers, but she was impatient, and tore at them until they were at his knees. Locking their lips again, they fell from the sofa and onto the cold floor, grinding on each other frantically. He wanted to finish before Edna came down, or one of the guards out front opened the unlocked door.

“Christ almighty,” she groaned, as they held one another. Her eyes were glazed in concentration, and her beautiful face had collapsed, surrendered, almost in a trance. Her breathing was rough and intense, and he felt his chest heave with hers in unison, her supple, small nipples pushing against the hair on his chest. They were pulsing now, moving like animals, unable to stop. He couldn’t hold any more, and he released, gripping his bottom lip with his teeth, and a moment later heard an anguished scream from her lips. They both gave low moans, and then he rolled onto his back, pulling out of her as the fear of discovery filled his head.

“I don’t care if anyone hears,” she said.

“I do,” he replied. He stood, picked up her bloomers and handed them to her, but she tossed them aside like a sullen schoolgirl. He ignored the display, and quickly put on his trousers and shirt. “Are you going to throw a few bills on me next? You think I’m a fast girl, don’t you? A
tottie
?” she asked, her face deepening in anger.

He stopped. This wasn’t the way to act, but he still knew what they’d done wasn’t fitting. So, feeling a stab of guilt, he got down on one knee next to her, pulling the hair from her eyes. He gave her a kindly smile, but forced himself to look into her face and not at her small firm breasts and brown nipples that still stood erect in the cool air.