Hannah Grace (12 page)

As he meandered east on Water, stomach still full after a lunch of vegetable soup and a thick pork sandwich from the Lighthouse Restaurant, he passed the Culver Hotel on his right and the Mineral Springs Spa and Resort on his left, both at the corners of Water and Third Streets. He'd wondered about the spa, but not enough to venture past its front gate. Most resort goers who visited the ritzy place came from Chicago, Grand Rapids, Detroit, and beyond. They raved over the healing waters from the artesian well, not to mention the therapeutic massages, the hot and cold baths, and the various recreational activities offered. Even Gabe's mother had expressed interest in vacationing on the grounds, but Joseph Devlin never had been much for travel, so Gabe doubted she'd ever see her wish come to fruition.

He crossed Third, kicking up dust as he went. We could use a good rain, he thought. The grass had withered and turned brown in many spots, flowers bloomed for shorter periods, and farmers complained that the corn harvest hadn't produced nearly what they'd seen in years past. He stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk and wandered past one of the town's three barbershops. Howard Madison waved the hand that held a razor, and Tom Blake, one cheek shaved, grinned behind a soapy face.

In the nine or so days since he'd been here, he'd made a few friends and acquaintances, memorized some names, learned his way around town, and patronized a good number of businesses. Utmost on his list of priorities was familiarizing himself with his environment, and, so far, the scant number of crimes in Sandy Shores had allowed him to do that. Minor offenses had run the gamut from a couple of verbal disputes down at Charley's Saloon, to a spat between two oldsters at the harbor over some stolen fresh-caught fish, to a group of youngsters seen splattering the windows of a vacant building with ripe tomatoes. He'd managed most infractions verbally, perhaps his size alone working in his favor-that or his gun, stored conspicuously in its holster. From what he'd heard, Watson Tate hardly bothered with a firearm, spending most of his time socializing on the streets and in restaurants and leaving any disputes to his deputies to settle. Sandy Shores had vigilant deputies, but while he was on duty, Gabe meant to do his own law enforcing.

He passed a newsstand and read the headline: POLICE STILL SEARCH FOR MCCURDY GANG. The blood racing through his veins made it impossible not to backtrack. He picked up the paper, stepped inside the market, and laid a nickel on the counter.

`Afternoon, Sheriff," called Eben Markleby, owner of the little stand. Wearing an apron that came down to his ankles, he set down a stack of magazines that needed to be sorted and approached the counter. "Buyin' a paper, are you? How's business? I ain't seen much action around here since you come t' town. You must be layin' down the law pretty good."

Gabe chuckled and tipped his hat to the middle-aged man with the silver beard and bushy-browed, beady eyes. "Thanks, Eben. I've got no complaints."

"Wull, I ain't heard nothin' but first-rate reports about you, so things are good all around, I guess."

Gabe grinned and laid the paper out in front of him. "Let's hope it stays that way."

"You figure out who that little shadow of yours belongs to yet?"

"Not yet."

He shook his head in wonder. "That's somethin'. Somebody's got to be missin' that cute li'l guy, I'd think."

"You would think."

Eben leaned an elbow on the counter and angled his gaze down his nose where his reading spectacles sat, perusing the article alongside Gabe. "What you readin' there?" He had a distinctive wheeze that probably came with a nicotine habit, and he exuded the odor to prove it. "Hmm. That McCurdy Gang still on the loose?"

`Appears so," Gabe mumbled, studying the photo he'd seen innumerable times in police files back in Columbus. Rufus McCurdy, the brains behind a string of crimes that spanned several states, all the way from petty theft to attempted murder, and his no-account sons were now wanted for a more recent case. This time, they were wanted for murder. Unfortunately, the photo was a couple of years old, and anyone in law enforcement knew how quickly time changed a face. There was that one newer picture of Roy, the oldest son, taken on the sly by some sharp-eyed reporter in a Cincinnati saloon one year ago. Too bad Roy had split by the time the reporter could return with the police.

"I read the other day they're top suspects in that murder case down in South Bend," Eben was saying. "Some, er, fancy woman claimed to have spent some quality time with one o' them McCurdy boys after it happened. Apparently, he bragged about the whole business t' her. 'Course, who can believe a harlot, even if she did have a number of details right accordin' to authorities when it come t' describin' the crime scene an' all?"

Gabe kept reading.

"It's a shame. That man and woman wasn't doin' a thing but mindin' their own business when them McCurdys come bustin' through their door. If it was them, that is. I guess everybody's innocent till proven guilty, idn't that right?"

Still, Gabe read on.

"Must've caught 'em completely off guard. It say anything there'bout them havin' any leads? "I heard the dead guy had a gun in his hand. Poor feller must've thought he could draw faster. Why d'you s'pose he took a chance like that? Why, if someone come in here with plans t' rob me, I'm going to give 'em the shirt off'n my back, besides what little cash money I got." He chuckled to himself. "Which isn't much, mind you."

Gabe half-listened as he scanned the rest of the article.

"Call me a chicken-liver if y' like, but I'm no match for a gun. What's them folks' names?" He leaned in for a closer look at the article, his winded, wheezy breaths a distraction. "Harley and Mary Littleton,"

He made a ticking sound with his tongue. "That's a shame, ain't it? Article I read a couple days ago says they was nice country folk, young, too. Kept to themselves, but they was nice. Attended church real regular."

Gabe looked up and acknowledged the gabby merchant, suddenly sorry for his poor manners in ignoring him. He patted the man on his shoulder. "I best let you get back to work, Eben. I thank you for the newspaper."

"Wull, now that you've read the article, you may as well take back your nickel,"

Gabe folded the paper and stuck it under his arm. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll read the rest of it tonight with my final cup of coffee,"

On his way back to the office, while Gabe pondered the article and the thugs on the loose, the sky started spitting rain. It came down in intermittent sprinkles, at first. He hastened his steps, thinking he might beat the storm, but before he reached Fifth Street and Sandy Shores City Hall, the clouds let loose their rain. He took the stairs two at a time but got wetter than a dog paddling upstream before making it through the doors.

Kitty Oakes looked up from her desk and scowled. "You couldn't have holed up somewhere?" she asked. "You'll catch your death. I don't suppose you have a dry uniform hanging in the back?"

"They only issued me one, but another's coming in next week."

"A lot of good that'll do you now," she chided him sympathetically.

He removed his hat and shook off the moisture as best he could. Kitty slanted her gaze at him. "You better put that hat back on and run across the street. Judge Bowers said to send you over as soon as I laid eyes on you."

He sighed and made an about turn, plopped his hat back on, and pushed open the door to the raging elements.

"And you best not sit on his fine furniture," she called to his back.

Judge Bowers was standing at the window and watching the rain. He spun around at the gentle knock on the door.

"Gabriel, come in." Then, giving him a perfunctory look, he said, `Appears you just took a dip in Lake Michigan."

Gabe lifted his mouth in a short-lived smile. "Very funny. Kitty said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, have a seat."

"I better stand."

"Pfff. Can't hurt this furniture any. It's been kicked at, thrown around, wet on, spat on, and, hmm, retched on."

Gabe raised his eyebrows in silent curiosity.

"Don't ask. I'm sure that, as an officer of the law, you can relate to the fact that not everyone is going to love you. Same holds true for me." His eyes glinted with humor as he gestured at the closest chair. "Sit."

Gabe did as told.

Rather than sit in the chair opposite Gabe, the judge dropped into the one behind his oversized oak desk, folding his hands on his big green ink blotter. "Now then, have you come any closer to figuring out that young boy's identity, other than discovering his name?"

Gabe shook his head, frustrated that all roads thus far had led to dead ends. In all their digging, even his father and brother, an attorney-at-law, had come up with nothing more than a list of missing children, the same list he'd found in his police files, none of whom bore the name of Jesse Gant.

"I put out a bulletin to several lakeshore towns, sent wires to their law enforcement agencies, but nothing positive's come of it. You'd think if a boy came up missing, there'd be an outcry over it,"

"Not if he had no home to speak of or anyone to care about him. Might even be his people shoved him out of the nest,"

"At his age? I'm guessing he's no more than seven or eight."

Something like disgust brimmed in the older man's eyes. "Some folks don't have the brains to raise a window shade, let alone a child. Could be they mistreated him. He looks malnourished. Maybe they starved him,"

Gabe winced. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd grown fond of the lad. The idea of someone harming him gnawed painfully at his heart.

"Fact is, until he talks, it'll remain a mystery. Anyway, you wanted me to see about finding him a place to stay."

Gabe repositioned himself in the chair, his wet clothing clinging to the seasoned leather. Outside, a sudden crack of thunder shattered the last nerve that ran along his spine. Torrential rain fell in sheets now, slamming against the judge's windowpane.

"Yes?"

"You'll be happy to know that I found someone to take him off your hands. They already have six critters, all under the age of twelve, mind you, but they seem to think one more into the pot won't matter. He'll have to sleep on their living room sofa, though, as all the beds in the house are spoken for." He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "You might have seen them at the church service last Sunday. I noticed you sat about five or so rows behind them. They take up an entire pew, as you can imagine. Names are Herb and Lizzie Monroe. Can't tell you all their kids' names, though. Nice Christian family. He runs a dairy farm a couple miles out of town."

The judge kept up his description, but Gabe still stumbled over the first part of it, namely, "You'll be happy to know that I found someone,"

This is good news, Devlin-good news all around. He tried to snap out of the instant slump in his spirits; worse, tried to picture the boy surviving in an environment filled with certain chaos.

"...tomorrow morning. You listening?"

"What? Yes. Yes, that's good. Tomorrow morning? Already?"

"Around ten, after they've finished the milking. I can give you the directions now if you like, or, better yet, since my morning schedule looks clear, I'll go with you-make the introductions, you know. That work for you? In the meantime, you keep your nose to the grindstone and figure out where this little fella belongs."

Gabe gave a slow nod and dragged up his wet frame, suddenly numb with stupor.

"If it's any consolation, the Monroes were happy to accommodate. I approached a few other families, but most said they couldn't manage another mouth to feed. You understand. 'Course, he'll have chores, as any young man should," Ed droned.

"Of course."

He picked up a pen and tapped its ink tip on the blotter. "You okay?" he asked, giving Gabe a scrutinizing gaze. "I thought you'd be happy about this. It is what you want, right?"

"What? Sure, yeah. I'll just let Hannah know she won't have to watch him after today. I best swing by there once the rain lets up."

"You told me yourself you didn't have time for the boy."

"Exactly."

The judge leaned forward, comprehension dawning after he had given his graying beard a few thoughtful tugs. "You're growing attached to that boy." His voice took on a low, fatherly tone. "Best not do that, son. He belongs to someone, and, eventually, he'll be heading back home. It's just a matter of time,"

He spoke the truth, Gabe knew.

So why was it so hard to swallow?

"Here we go." With Jesse at her side, Hannah pulled out the hardcover book she'd been seeking. "Someone must have put it on the wrong shelf after looking at it. Have you ever heard of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz?"

She put the book at Jesse's eye level and watched him gaze at the cover with interest. He gave his dark head of hair a slow shake.

"Well, I'm not surprised. It just came out a couple of years ago, but I hear it's really catching on with children everywhere. Would you like me to read some of it to you? You'll love the pictures."

He nodded and took her hand, leading her to the table and chairs on the other side of the room. It was her day to staff the library, and, with the rain coming down in steady intervals, only a handful of people had visited, allowing her to catch up on bookkeeping, organize files, and spend time with Jesse. Lately, he'd been more responsive to her; he hadn't spoken yet, but at least he smiled more readily. Maggie and Abbie both noticed the subtle changes, too.