Weak Flesh (20 page)

Where had she gone from there? The Station House was a mere three or four blocks from the school. What was so interesting that she forewent the short distance to his office?

James Wade hadn't been arrested until late morning. The man was free until then and could've seen Bailey. Could've accosted her before she reached the Station and then hurried back to the saw mill.

Gage sighed deeply. Was he grasping at straws? Or was it possible Wade knew something about where Bailey was?

As the notion overtook him, Gage made his way toward the Station, his jaw clenched with determination. He had serious questions to ask his prisoner.

Chapter 22

Gage browbeat James Wade for over an hour, but the man insisted he hadn't seen Bailey this morning. Although he'd arrived late to his job at the saw mill, he accounted poorly for his actions before ten o'clock when the deputies took him to the Station House.

Gage pressured him further. "This looks very bad for you, Wade," he threatened, his patience nearly threadbare. "Are you telling me you can't remember what you did before work?"

Slouching in the chair opposite Gage's desk, Wade appeared even cockier than during his last interview. Not at all like a man who had something to fret about.

"I ain't done nothing wrong, Marshal. I told you that." Wade spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I didn't harm Nellie and I ain't touched that school teacher. I don't know nothing about her."

"You were late to work because you were ill?"

Wade shrugged. "Yeah, I don't rightly remember the details, but I felt pretty poorly."

"Hung over from a late night of drinking, then?"

Gage knew he'd guessed right by the look on Wade's face. The man was probably telling the truth. "Did you see anyone during the time in question? Can anyone testify to your so-called sickness?"

"Didn't see anyone," Wade muttered.  

"You drank alone?"  

"Not a crime, is it?" Wade countered belligerently.

"Not unless you got skunk-drunk and hurt someone. Maybe accidentally." Gage leaned across the desk and pierced Wade with a hard look. "Maybe you came across Meghan Bailey early this morning. Had words with her. Everyone knows how aggressive the woman can be."

Gage leaned back in his chair, eyed Wade speculatively. "Is that what happened? Miss Bailey accused you of having hurt her friend? She learned something about the two of you, confronted you, and you retaliated. It was an accident, right?"

Wade jumped out of his chair and it clattered to the floor. "God dammit, Marshal! I never seen the woman."

Fifteen minutes later Gage was convinced Wade told the truth. Not about everything. The man was a slippery liar who knew how to protect his own hide, and Gage was certain the little weasel hid something behind all that bluster that he didn't want Gage to know.

But he didn't think the man had run into Bailey between last night and this morning. He believed that part of his story.

He still wanted to discuss the ruby ring, but not now. Right now Bailey was on his mind.

What mess had she gotten herself into, he wondered, still more annoyed than worried.

#

Mr. Thomas was nowhere to be found, but since the schoolhouse was comfortably warm, Meghan took the opportunity to complete a few tasks for the return of the students after vacation. When he still hadn't returned by the time she'd finished up, she glanced at the clock.

She didn't relish arriving early at the Station House and having to wait around the drafty old place for Gage, so decided to visit Mrs. Nolan again instead. The woman had remarked that she was an early riser and invited Meghan to stop by any time she wished to speak about her daughter's schoolwork.

Meghan surmised she'd be safe from another confrontation with Mr. Nolan, for he spent most of his days at the bank, and Emily would be home during the school recess. Meg felt only a bit guilty about using the daughter as an excuse to probe into Mr. Nolan's affairs.

But when Meghan arrived at the Nolan house, she found Mrs. Nolan abed – yet again – and Emily fending for herself with the aid of their harried Negro housekeeper.

"Will you play with me?" Emily asked when they settled on the sofa in the parlor.

Meghan would much rather have spoken to the mother, asked her directly about her husband's activities with the Klan. "What would you like to do?"

"Hmmm, we could play dress-up with Poppa's robes," the girl suggested, her face all pure innocence.

"That's probably not a good idea," Meghan said hastily. "In fact, Emily, your father's, uh, clothing is private. You shouldn't play with his things." She looked chidingly at the girl. "And you shouldn't invite others to see them."

"Okay," Emily answered with cheerful alacrity.

An idea sprouted in Meghan's brain. "You haven't, have you?" she ventured.

"Haven't what, Miss Bailey?"

"Shown others the robes your Papa has hidden in the chest beneath the alcove."

Emily squirmed and jerked her round blue eyes away from Meghan, a sign she took to mean the girl knew she'd done something wrong. "No," she answered, still avoiding Meghan's eyes.

Children were rarely good liars and Meghan had learned long ago the subtle signs of falsehood, had practiced them herself many times to avoid punishment for her youthful indiscretions. Emily was lying to her.

She'd wager her pitiful teacher's salary the child had told someone else about the robes. Perhaps a servant. Or even another schoolmate. Perhaps even Nell, Meghan thought. Her friend had spent a lot of time in Emily's company.

Meghan couldn't imagine anything more disastrous than having Mr. Nolan realize his daughter had discovered his secret cache of clothing. Except knowing she'd shared the information with others. Even if he had nothing to do with Nell's disappearance, he'd want his Klan affiliations kept private.

"Why don't we take a walk by the river?" Meghan suggested.

Emily wrinkled her small nose. "I'm not allowed to go to the Narrows," she said by way of answer.

"But you'll be with me and I'll keep you safe."

Emily frowned. "That's what Nell used to say, but look what the river did to her."

An icicle of alarm trickled down Meghan's back.

Before she could respond, Mrs. Nolan called from upstairs and the girl ran to see what her mother wanted, leaving Meghan alone. She rose and wandered around the parlor. No sounds emanated from upstairs or the kitchen at the back, and the house was eerily quiet.

What had the girl meant about Nell? Why had she mentioned Nell going to the river? Had Nell confided in the child? Had Emily, in turn, told Nell about her father's Klan robes, shown them to her?

Meg strolled unsupervised around the downstairs, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. What was going on in this house? The Jolly and the Nolan families – both seemed to harbor secrets.

At last she moved to the corridor and to the alcove space beneath the staircase. She could hardly detect the hidden door to the storage area, the room where Emily had previously shown her the large trunk with the white robes.

She hesitated with her hand against the wall when she turned her head and noticed another door tucked
behind
the flight of stairs. It stood invitingly ajar. She moved for a closer look and saw that an unhinged lock accounted for the open door.

Darting a quick look behind her, she reached for the knob, temptation beckoning. She hesitated, torn between a need to explore further and fear of being caught snooping.

Curiosity won and she pushed carefully on the door. It squeaked open, its broken lock dangling on the doorjamb. She slipped inside and pulled it closed after her.

Blood pounded thickly in her ears and her palms grew damp. The thumping of her heart was a roar in her ears and drowned out the small household noises that came from the back of the house. When she wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, it came away wet.

Although her nerves grew increasingly jittery, she examined the room. Tidy and sparsely furnished, it was decorated in heavy dark furniture and deep red and gold upholstery. Thick damask curtains blocked out the sun. In addition to a richly covered sofa, a desk, a chair, and a cabinet were the only items in the room.

Meghan moved swiftly to the desk and opened the middle drawer. Nothing but pencils, a notepad, and a small dictionary.

She tried the one on the right. File folders filled the drawer, piled haphazardly on top of one another as if tossed carelessly inside. A small metal flask of what she presumed was spirits lay at the front.

When she examined the third drawer on the left, it jammed and she realized it had a small keyhole.
Locked.
She cast about for a key on the desktop and inside the middle drawer, but found nothing.

Pulling a pin from her hair, she knelt down on the expensive carpet, worked at the lock a moment. Deeply absorbed in her work, she didn't notice the gradual dwindling of noise from the rest of the house. Without warning the sound of an unexpected footstep jerked her out of her crouch.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" roared Nolan from the doorway, his features crimson with anger. "Where are my wife and daughter?"

Meghan sprang up from her task and stumbled back against the chair. "I – I'm so sorry, Mr. Nolan. I – I was – was looking ... " Meghan scouted about for a plausible excuse. After all what could she say?

I've entered the sanctity of your private office and I'm trying to break into your locked desk drawer because I think you're a maniacal Klan member who, for some reason, killed my friend Nell Carver? Oh, and additionally, I think you could be emotionally or physically abusing your young daughter.

"I was looking for a piece of paper to leave Emily a note," she finished lamely. "Uh, she ran upstairs to see Mrs. Nolan and hasn't returned."

"Get out." Nolan's voice shook with a low menacing growl as though he were barely keeping himself under control.

Meghan eased past him, but stopped at the door. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Nolan. I did not mean to intrude on your privacy."

He grabbed her upper arm in a brutal grip that would leave bruises on the morrow as he pinched the tender flesh with his huge hand. For the second time today she'd been manhandled by a seriously disturbed man.

"Do not cross me, Miss Bailey." His voice was a bare whisper and when Meghan looked up at him, she saw pure hatred in his pale cold eyes. "If you do, you'll live to regret it."

Meghan jerked away and fled to the foyer.

At that moment young Emily skipped down the stairs. "Are you leaving, Miss Bailey?" As soon as she saw her father, the girl clamped a hand over her mouth as if she'd spoken too loudly or out of turn.

Mr. Nolan stared at his daughter with narrowed eyes. "Go upstairs, Emily," he said with ugly menace in his voice.

The girl's eyes widened and she stepped backward until her heels clunked against the bottom stair step. She turned around and raced up the stairs as if a demon were chasing her.

When Meghan saw the fury in Mr. Nolan's face, she could believe Emily had good reason to fear her father.

#

By four o'clock in the afternoon, Gage had checked every place he could think of and found no one who'd spoken to Meghan or seen her that day. By the time early evening descended on Tuscarora City, an irrational and paralyzing fear gripped him.

Where had Bailey disappeared to? Who was she with?

Shortly before five he reached for the voice amplifier in the corner of his office. He'd have to make a general announcement to the town, send out a search party. She'd been gone nearly the entire day and even thoughtless Bailey wouldn't worry her father so.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Bailey strolled into the outer doors of the building as casually as if she hadn't a care in the world. To her credit, she put a soulful expression on her face as she climbed the stairs. "Sorry I'm late, Gage."

She walked straight into his office, ignoring the glower he aimed at her, and collapsed into the guest chair with a loud sigh. "You wouldn't believe what a difficult day it's been."

She removed her hat and patted ineffectually at the straggly strands of coal that crossed her brow and curled around her ears.

Gage wanted to shake her. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to gather her in his arms and run his hands over her small body to assure himself she was all right.

Instead he blinked furiously at her, too angry to speak, too afraid of his violent feelings to chastise her. He inhaled slow deep breaths and expelled them in agitation.

"You are not a
little
late, Bailey," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You're nearly an entire
day
late. And – "

"Don't be silly," she interrupted and then frowned, looking at the clock. She blinked those absurdly long sooty lashes as if she read the time wrong. "Surely not an entire day," she protested uncertainly.

"And," he continued pointedly, "your father and I have had half the town looking for you."

This was an exaggeration, but his voice remained level, and he credited himself that he didn't manhandle her violently in order to make her realize what she'd done. How afraid they'd been for her safety.

She stood now, looking a little shaky, but still unrepentant. "I'm sorry if I caused Papa to worry. Where is he?"

"At home. Waiting for you to return."

He rose and firmly held her upper arm as he ushered her out the office door and down the Station House steps. He noticed her wince as she tried to pull away from him.

"I'll return in an hour," he barked at the duty sergeant.

After they'd settled in the gig, he turned to her. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing," she muttered and rubbed her arms through the thickness of her coat.

Gage decided silence was the safest route to take as he drove his gig to the Bailey house. Meghan sat quietly beside him the entire way, alternately fidgeting with the handle on her purse and rubbing her arm.