Hannah Grace (41 page)

"Hot-diggity, this here's somethin'," said Billy B, scoping out the Kane attic in the same way Jesse had the first time he saw it, eyes wide open, mouth gaping. To get to the attic, one had to walk through the Kane sisters' bedroom, as the attic was an extension of their room, separated only by a curtained doorway. It was a long room with a ceiling that sloped so low that Jesse had bumped his head a few times. Crates and sealed boxes lined the short wall, and, at the end of the room where the ceiling was highest, clothes bars extended from one side to the other, holding coats, long dresses and skirts, and an array of frilly-looking things. Under the clothes were cubbies of women's shoes and boots in every style imaginable. At first glance, one might have thought he was in a boutique.

"What's in all them trunks?"

"Stuff," Jesse said. "Pillows, blankets, old artwork, picture albums, Grandfather Kane's army uniforms."

"You looked in all of'em?"

"Not all. Mostly Grandmother had me sorting through those books over there." He pointed at a floor-to-ceiling bookcase at the opposite end of the room, its shelves lined with volumes of all sizes, from encyclopedias to children's books. "There's another room downstairs they call the library. There's a big desk in there and more bookcases with glass doors. The only place I ever seen more books was at my school library in New York."

Billy B gave him a sideways glance, and Jesse suddenly realized he'd never told his friend about his former home, much less talked about his mother, or the mission where they lived, or the orphanage where he was sent after she died.

"New York?" Billy B moved away from Jesse to roam about the cedar-scented room, stroking the fabric of a long wool coat as he passed it, then bending to pick up a stray work boot and place it with its mate. `Ain't that a long ways away? I'm not very good at my maps."

Jesse rubbed the side of his nose with his sleeve and nodded. "Yep, it's a long ways from Michigan."

"How'd you get here if you ain't got parents?"

It was a fair question, and one Jesse gave Billy B credit for neglecting to ask a lot earlier. He looked at the big cedar chest sitting next to the bookcase and pictured all the quilts inside it-quilts Grandmother Kane said survived the trip across the ocean when she and Grandfather Kane left England those many years ago. She said every quilt had its own special story, just as he had his. Jesse liked thinking about his life in that way.

He walked to the big chest and plopped on top of it. "You want to hear my story?"

A flicker of light flashed in Billy B's eyes, accompanied by a lopsided grin. "If y' want t' tell it to me."

Hannah hung the last of the wash on the clothesline at half past twelve and hoped it would dry before the rain came. The air was heavy, not at all a good day for doing the wash, but Grandmother insisted she stick to her routine. Tuesday was wash day, rain or shine-it always had been and always would be, even when it meant a two-day drying period.

In the dead of winter, at least they hung their finer things on clothes racks in the kitchen.

She bent to lift her empty clothes basket. "Howdy, Miss Hannah,"

Startled, she turned at the voice, then quickly relaxed at the sight of Jarvis Vandermueller's head peering over the wooden privacy fence. She wasn't sure when he'd arrived to relieve the fellow who had stood watch all night, but he'd been there when Gabe had dropped off Jesse that morning. She knew, because she had run to the window to gaze down, hoping for a peek at Gabe. And when she'd seen his muscled frame loping down the porch steps, her heart had lurched, just as she'd suspected it would. Drat! There simply was no denying that she'd fallen head over heels for the bossy sheriff.

Before mounting Slate, Gabe had stopped for a moment to speak to Van, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, probably telling the deputy to keep the women of the house locked up tight. She could see keeping Jesse under lock and key, but why her?

"Well, hello there, Van." Clothes basket resting on her hip, she walked to the fence, pulling her coat collar close to her throat to ward off the icy chill in the air and putting on a smile for the friendly, if not slightly quirky, deputy. "You must be plumb tired of guarding our house."

Ever the gentleman, he removed his hat as she approached. "No miss. I'm just doin' my duty."

"I appreciate your dedication, then. Would you like something to eat?"

"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am. The wife packed me a fine midday meal. In fact, I just finished it not ten minutes ago."

"How about some coffee, then?" It seemed a shame to make him stand outside by the hour with nothing hot to soothe the nip in the air.

He gave a nervous glance in all directions, as if expecting trouble. "I better not. Fact is, the sheriff told me you mustn't be out wanderin' around."

She shifted the clothes basket on her hip. "I'm not wandering around, Van. I'm standing in my fenced-in backyard."

A sheepish expression washed across his narrow face. "Well, I s'pose that is different."

"Of course it is. I don't know what the sheriff thinks is going to happen. It's been very quiet around here."

"Yeah, almost too peaceful, if you ask me."

It did seem deadly quiet for the noon hour, now that she thought about it. Most weekdays, Ridge Street bustled with folks heading toward downtown on horses or in buggies to attend doctor appointments, make bank deposits and withdrawals, mail letters at the post office, and pick up items at the grocery store. She wondered how business fared at Kane's Whatnot.

"I only seen a few folks pass by in the last hour. I guess that article Stewart printed in the Tribune has Sandy Shores livin' more cautiously these days."

Hannah had not read the article, but she heard talk of it over the supper table. Naturally, the subject was taboo in Jesse's presence. "You're probably right. I'm hoping that awful bunch of scoundrels has left the area altogether. Has anyone actually spotted any of them?"

"Can't tell you that for sure, miss. All I know is, the sheriff's one smart man. He wouldn't be issuin' all these orders if he didn't believe some kind of danger lurked."

She wondered what other orders he'd doled out besides the ones intended to keep Jesse safe. A shiver shimmied up her spine. "You sure I can't interest you in some coffee?" she asked, turning back toward the house.

"No, Miss Hannah, but I thank you for askin'. You best get back inside now,'fore you catch your death." His choice of words gave her pause, prompting her to lift a brow at him.

"Oh, sorry, I meant 'fore you catch a cold," came his quick revision.

"You s'pose folks is still expectin' some of Luis's family members to show up at the cemetery, Pa?" Roy asked as the threesome made their way down a narrow path carved parallel to the main drag leading into town. At the fork, they'd separate, then meet again at the Kane house, just as Roy had recommended. Earlier that morning, over a breakfast of dried bread and hot coffee, they'd rehashed their plan, then wiled away the rest of the morning in nervous anticipation.

"I'm sure they're hopin' so."

"Don't see what it would hurt for one of us to pay ar respects. I'd gladly go. It ain't like anyone knows who he is, or who I am, for that matter. I'd stay way in the background," Reuben said.

He had been spouting offers to attend the funeral all morning long, and Rufus's patience had long run out. "How many times Roy and me gotta drill this through your grapefruit-sized head, Reuben? You ain't goin' to no funeral,"

"He's my brother," Reuben whined.

"I don't care if he's the king of Siam, you ain't goin'. We got no idea what folks is sayin' about us. Just 'cause we ain't heard no talk don't mean there ain't been somethin' in the newspapers. Shoot! If one of you jackrabbits could read, we might have some idea what we're dealin' with here,"

"You can't read, neither," Reuben blurted.

"Both ofyou shut your faces," Roy said, taking over Rufus's job as authority.

Rufus spat a wad of tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth and clammed up, the ache in his chest still there, but not as pronounced as it was the night before. He heaved a few deep breaths and studied the darkening sky. "What happens if it rains?"

"Nothin'. We proceed as planned," Roy said, sounding increasingly like the leader of the pack.

Thirty or so yards ahead, they spotted the fork in the road. Something like a heavy rock settled in the pit of Rufus's stomach, making his throat dry up and his chest constrict.

"Here's where we part ways," Roy said, voice strangely calm. He looked from Reuben to Rufus. "Everybody remember his job?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rufus said, feigning confidence, even though his heartbeat fluttered in an unnatural rhythm, sometimes stealing his breath.

Roy checked his pocket watch, then shot them both a menacing glare. Rufus hated that Roy had taken advantage of his weakened state and had taken over. "Don't nobody do anythin' stupid, y' hear?" He looked straight at Reuben. "If everything goes as planned, we'll split out of this half-cracked town before sunset,"

A few sprinkles of rain fell on Gabe's sleeve. He watched them shimmer on the seasoned leather of his coat. A loose twig dropped from a nearby tree, Startled, Slate shifted his stance and tossed back his head. Gabe calmed him with a gentle whisper and a pat to his withers. The cemetery, situated several blocks from downtown on Lake Avenue, couldn't have been more eerily quiet as folks-mostly men, along with a few women in furry hats and long woolen coats-started to gather for Luis McCurdy's funeral service. Whether from sheer curiosity or genuine compassion, they came in hushed clusters, tying their horses to hitching posts at the cemetery entrance before coming in. Gabe couldn't fathom why they'd come unless the kid's notoriety played a part.

He tipped his hat at those who passed: Mr. and Mrs. Gerritt, Peter Van Poort, Josh Herman, and, hobbling along behind them, good old Enoch Sprock.

Gabe lifted his gaze to meet that of Harry, one of the detectives from South Bend. Harry would stand guard at the west entrance to the cemetery, watching for any suspicious behavior. Beside him on horseback sat Arend Fordham, one of Sandy Shores' oldest citizens. Every day, like clockwork, Arend watched the masses from his roost on the second floor of Dirkse's Dry Goods. A confirmed bachelor, he'd lived in the upper story apartment for the past forty years, and he rarely missed a thing around town. He knew virtually every citizen, just as they knew him. That's why Gabe had selected him to assist Harry as a sort of watchdog, an appointed deputy.

And the oldster wasn't the only one he'd chosen. As a matter of fact, once word got out that Arend had a "job" helping to find the thugs, several other citizens volunteered their services, claiming they could spot a newcomer a mile away. Apparently, many citizens already had seen strangers; they just hadn't come forward to tell about it. One man finally divulged that he'd spoken with a young fellow in Sparky's Bar over in Columbus. Evidently, the fellow had asked a lot of questions about the drowning victim's funeral, then wanted to know about the Kanes, the sheriff, and the orphan boy and his whereabouts. Several bartenders admitted they had served a number of newcomers, not suspecting anything unusual, but after reading the article in the Tribune, they realized that a couple of the new customers had borne a tattoo on the left arm-a snakelike figure weaving around a name.