Flora's Wish (20 page)

The cold, hard truth was that he'd been had. By a redhead in skirts carrying borrowed sandwiches, no less.

“
Pssst.”

Lucas looked around, shifting the heavy platter as he made a full circle. Nothing.

“
Pssst
.”

This time he looked up and spied her perched on the fire escape, the basket at her side. “What in the world are you doing?”

“I'm getting us out of the kitchen without being noticed. Come on!” She nodded toward the upper reaches of the fire escape. “Set the cake on the steps and climb up over there.”

This time it was Lucas who did as he was told, placing the covered platter on the step just above him and then climbing over the guardrail and chain at the bottom of the fire escape. By the time he straightened to reach for the cake, his companion was already nearing the second floor.

Thankfully the storm had passed, leaving only the twinkling lights of the night sky and the shimmer of rain on the ground. The wind had died down to almost nothing and, with the temperature still unseasonably warm and the moon broad and round over the mountaintops, the night ahead appeared to be a fine one.

He looked up to see that she had bypassed the second floor entrance into the hotel and was moving at a rapid pace toward the third level. At this point, she could race him to the roof and win before he'd catch her.

“What is it with you and heights, Miss Brimm?” he called as he paused on the third floor landing to adjust the burden of the heavy platter. While he was at it, Lucas said a prayer that the knife he'd wedged under the chocolate cake would not fall out and do serious harm to anyone who might have the poor fortune to be standing below.

Ignoring his question, she kept moving forward until she had reached the fourth floor. This being the floor her suite was on, Lucas figured she might actually stop this silliness and cease her climbing. When she actually did as he expected, he shook his head.

“It's about time you came to your senses,” he said as he came up next to her and shifted the weight of the platter to keep from losing his balance. “Let me see if I can unlock this door. I have a tool I use for occasions like this in my pocket, but I'll have to put the cake down first. It's a little difficult to see well out here, but I think I can—”

“No.”

He looked down at her and shook his head. “No?”

“No. I'm just pausing here a moment to check something. Here,” she said as she thrust the basket toward him. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?”

“Holding this how, exactly?” Lucas nodded toward the covered platter that required both hands to keep it horizontal.

“Good point.” Her gaze swept the length of him and then slowly a smile dawned. “Of course. This will work just fine. Hold still.”

Before he could comment, she balanced the basket atop the domed platter. Turning her back on him and his predicament, she stepped over the rail and onto the ledge.

“Oh, not again,” he muttered as he tried to figure out a way to divest himself of his burdens and give chase. But no matter how hard he tried to remove the basket, he only succeeded in coming nearer to dropping the platter with each attempt.

“Miss Brimm, you come back here this instant! You are in my custody and I demand that you do as I say. Do not make me come after you!”

He tried to kneel and deposit the platter and basket onto the step. The effort failed miserably, though he was able to catch the basket before it tumbled down three flights of stairs. When she disappeared around the corner, Lucas gave up altogether and started trying to figure out how to get back down the stairs without harming anyone. For if he saw Miss Brimm, he just might be tempted to throw a sandwich in her direction. A much better choice than any of the heavier or sharper objects in the arsenal he currently held.

He let out a long breath and tamped down on his ill humor. Throwing things was about as childish as he could get, and if anyone was going to be childish, it was Flora Brimm, not he.

No, if he ever caught up to the infuriating woman, he would see that the handcuffs went back on immediately. After that, he would make short work of hauling her into Eureka Springs and handing her over to the sheriff.

Then he would stake out the lobby where she would be meeting Will Tucker and catch him while he was waiting. “Yes, that would work,” he muttered. “And I sure wouldn't be dependent on that woman.”

M
r. McMinn, where are you going?” Flora called to his retreating back.

He paused to slowly turn around and face her. While the moon's light was not at its brightest tonight, the illumination was sufficient to see that he was doing a doubtful job at best of keeping their feast from tumbling to the ground below.

“Where have you been?” he demanded with no small measure of irritation. “Did you not listen when I told you that you must remain within my sight at all times?”

“Yes, but—”

“And did you or did you not hear me tell you to come back here when you headed off over the side of the fire escape and down the window ledge?”

She gripped the rail of the fire escape and climbed back over. “I did, but—”

“And did I or did I not tell you that you were in my personal custody?”

“Yes, you did,” she snapped, “but if you would just listen!” She briefly closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, I'm terribly sorry. Truly I am. But I needed to see if my idea was correct, and it was.”

Moving toward her on the stairs, he paused just close enough to allow her to reach the basket's handle. Mr. McMinn shifted the covered platter and leaned against the rail.

“Let me get this straight. You had an idea that required you to risk your safety and my ire, and you thought it a good idea to act on it?”

“Yes. And it concerns…” Flora felt a check in her spirit that told her it was best not to mention anything about Mr. Tucker right now. If she did, she'd have to tell him about her theory that the railroad detective had used the fire escape to climb from his room on the third floor to hers on the fourth.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Never mind,” she said slowly. “It's nothing of any importance to a Pinkerton man. Just a situation with an accessory.”

His eyes narrowed, but thankfully he did not question her any further. Instead, he nodded toward the fourth-floor entrance. “Let's just go on inside and eat, all right? And no more side trips to the window ledge on the front of the building, theory or no theory.”

Flora grinned. “Oh, no you don't. We agreed that returning to the suite was not a good idea for several reasons.”

“I don't recall agreeing to that.”

“At least reserve your judgment until you see that I have such a better idea in mind.” Flora put on her most pleading expression. It worked, for by the time he looked away, he'd also begun to grin.

“All right, since I didn't have to throw sandwiches at you—”

“Throw sandwiches?” Flora shook her head. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Don't ask. The other option was to turn you over to the sheriff. But because you came back of your own free will, I guess I can humor you and at least let you show me where you want to have this picnic.” He shook his head. “But I warn you, Miss Brimm. I refuse to carry this platter much longer, and I absolutely will not walk on any window ledges. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” she said sweetly. “Now follow me. We're almost there.”

She continued up the fire escape until it ended at the fifth floor roof. Here the staircase gave way to the topmost point of the hotel, the rooftop deck and, at its center, the half-story climb to the belvedere. Much like a square gazebo, the belvedere was open on all four sides and yet large enough for its gabled roof to provide shade from the sun and protection from the rain.

Flora knew this because she'd happily endured both up here during her stay at the Crescent. Tonight, however, was the first time she'd seen the view by moonlight.

Leaving the basket on the bench that ran the length of the structure's interior, Flora moved to the edge to look up at God's glorious heavenly handiwork. What the rain had washed clean now sparkled beneath the almost-full moon. Lights twinkled in the city below, mirroring the stars above.

And though the sound of revelers in the atrium drifted up to the roof, Flora felt as though she were miles away from anyone. Then a clang of metal against metal followed by a string of muttered complaints behind her reminded her that she was far from alone.

“Welcome to my favorite place at the Crescent, Mr. McMinn. Isn't it lovely?”

“Lovely, yes,” he said softly.

By the time he stepped into her peripheral view, Flora had returned her attention to the scene unfolding before her. The remnant of the rainstorm was evident in the distant streak of lightning that played across the mountaintops. The slim flash of white was so far away and so pale that Flora was left to wonder whether she'd seen it at all.

“There is still some weather happening over beyond the valley. You might want to be careful about straying too close to the rail. You never know when you'll get a surprise jolt.”

“Don't be silly. The bad weather is miles away from here.”

“That may be, but I have learned the hard way to respect an electrical storm, even if it doesn't look as though it's anywhere near.”

“The hard way?” She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Out on the prairie things travel far. A man can hear sounds that started out a mile or more down the road.”

He paused to adjust his hat, and Flora took the chance to study him. With his features washed in silver moonlight, he looked much younger. Much more like a man who might be more fun and less fuss.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Mr. McMinn smiled. Then, slowly, he swung his gaze to meet hers. “I ought not to tell you the rest. I'd hate to scare someone as fearless as you.”

She nudged his shoulder with her own. “You started this story and you'll finish it. So tell me, what does that have to do with lightning?”

He dipped his head. “Just that it strikes at the most unexpected times. The good news is I survived with nothing but this scar to show for it.” He pushed back his collar to show her a faded pink scar that snaked down beneath his shirt. “Now, how about we go see if I'm any good at sandwich making?”

Though she longed for more of his story, Flora sensed she would get nowhere by asking. So she nodded and tried not to think of the scar and how very much it must have hurt him. Instead she watched him work quickly to prepare the makeshift meal. He was quite good at it actually, as she discovered after settling the tablecloth across the bench and taking her first bite.

“I am impressed. You have surprising culinary skills.”

He joined her, placing a napkin carefully across his lap before biting into his own sandwich. “I'm much better with a campfire and a pot of beans, but this isn't bad.”

“I'm not sure I could see you hunched over a campfire and stirring beans.” Her gaze swept the length of him, from the top of his bowler hat to the tips of his well-shod feet. “You look far too comfortable in formal attire.”