Haunting Jordan (36 page)

He sighed, inclining his head. “More than you do, my dear.”

* * *

S
HE
thought dinner would never end.

As poor luck would have it, she’d been seated across from Seavey, which gave him an excellent vantage point from which to observe her barely disguised terror. Mayor Payton, jovial to the point that she wanted to scream, had been seated next to her. When she’d seen the name cards placed among the glittering lead crystal and china on the dinner table, determining the seating arrangement as Eleanor decreed, it had been all Hattie could do not to snatch them up and rearrange them.

She could be thankful for one small bit of serendipity, though—Chief Greeley had been seated to Eleanor’s right at the far end of the table, well away from her. To that end, he was forced to limit his treatment of her to icy, rage-filled stares. Hattie had no doubt that had she been forced to remain in close quarters with him for the duration of the six-course meal, they’d have come to blows.

As it was, she was forced to endure Payton’s inane chatter and Seavey’s cat-and-mouse barbs, all the while willing herself not to throw up the rich food. The butler oversaw the serving of each course—Quilcene oysters on the half shell, mock turtle soup, filet of beef in morel mushroom sauce, escarole salad, salmon in dill sauce.

At last, waiters removed the tablecloth, providing finger bowls before the serving of dessert. Hattie dipped trembling hands in the lemon-scented water, wiping her fingers on a paper doily. She’d made it this far; surely she could survive floating island with fresh raspberry ice.

At Eleanor’s signal, they rose en masse to retire to the music room for the evening’s entertainment. Hattie made
certain she positioned herself close to the doors leading onto the patio, opened to allow a small amount of fresh air into the room, which was a crush of warm bodies sated on heavy food and strong spirits.

As discreetly as possible, she checked the time on her pocket watch. A few moments before midnight.

Scott Joplin appeared beside the grand piano, formally dressed in a black suit and vest, snowy white shirt, and silk tie, bowing to the adoring crowd. Seating himself, he paused for a moment, eyes closed and hands suspended over the ivory keys, then launched into his ragtime songs.

After one last glance around the room to ensure Seavey and Greeley stood some distance away, Hattie quietly slipped out the French doors, escaping into the night.

Chapter 15

JORDAN swore, slamming Hattie’s diary shut and tossing it onto the bed. It simply
stopped
, and at the worst possible moment. Of course, it probably ended in that place because Hattie had been murdered shortly thereafter, but to Jordan’s way of thinking, that was no excuse. She refused to be left hanging. It wasn’t as if she could just snuggle down and drop off to sleep without knowing whether Hattie and Mona had succeeded in freeing Charlotte.

She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Three o’clock. This was ridiculous—she hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since graduate school and had no intention of doing so now. Reaching out, she switched off the light, then lay back, pulling the covers over her as best she could, given that the dog had most of them pinned beneath him. Two minutes later, she turned the light back on and glared at the watermarks on the ceiling.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and trotted downstairs to the kitchen. How did one go about conjuring up ghosts, exactly?

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she called.

After enough time had elapsed that Jordan was contemplating some sort of ritual dance to awaken sleeping spirits, the air shimmered, and the ghosts appeared in their assigned spots at the kitchen table. Both were wearing high-necked, ankle-length flannel nightgowns sporting lace and ruffles. Their hair hung in single braids down the center of their backs.

“Really,” Hattie admonished her, yawning. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Why do you care? Do ghosts actually sleep?” There had to be at least four yards of material in their nightdresses. Thank God football jerseys had been invented.

“Well, of course! We need our beauty rest, after all. And it’s not as if we’re part of some children’s parlor game. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’?
Please
. Simply call our names and we’ll appear.”

“My apologies.” Jordan’s tone was sarcastic as she dealt with the espresso maker. “I just finished your diary. You have to tell me what happened the night of Eleanor’s soirée.”

“And you needed this information so badly you had to awaken us at three
A. M
.?” Hattie’s tone was querulous.

While the machine heated, Jordan ground beans. “I still don’t know who killed you,” she admitted. “I know about Frank’s attack, the abduction, and Seavey’s proposition. But that’s far from the proof I need to convince anyone Seavey murdered you.”
And as added inducement, I now have another ghost breathing down my neck, criticizing my performance
.

“What do you need to know?” Hattie asked.

Jordan poured her espresso and sat down at the table. “Tell me
exactly
what happened the night of the party.”

“Well, Charlotte was kidnapped the day before Eleanor’s soirée, as you probably know by now.” She smiled sadly at Charlotte. “Remember? You had wanted so badly to attend.”

Charlotte nodded, then gave her a look of encouragement.

Hattie’s eyes lost their focus, her mind in some distant place. “Mona and I had come up with a plan to free you, you see. She would have Booth find out who was holding you, and the location within the tunnels where you were being held. Then we would bribe the guards to turn you over to us. Once you were back at the house, we’d decide whether to try to force Greeley to press charges against your kidnappers.”

“You must have been so scared,” Charlotte murmured.

“Yes. The party was torture. Seavey was watching my every move. I thought it would never end. But around midnight, I slipped through the library doors while Scott Joplin was playing. He traveled the country back then, you may remember, playing at opera houses and brothels to support himself while composing his songs.” Hattie’s expression turned momentarily wry. “I always thought it ironic that Eleanor, of all people, would allow him into her home. But his music was so popular she probably overlooked his questionable connections.”

“Never mind that.” Jordan noted Hattie’s careful
omission of Greeley’s refusal to help find Charlotte, assuming it was to spare Charlotte’s feelings. “Go on,” she urged.

Hattie drew a breath. “The guests were so enthralled with the music that no one ever saw me leave. Or if anyone did notice, they must’ve thought I was slipping out to the garden for some fresh air.

“The moon was bright, and there was already dew on the grass. My evening slippers were soaked through before I’d even made it halfway across the garden. Isn’t it funny the impressions you’re left with? I can still feel the cold damp soaking through my stockings.” She sighed. “Anyway, all I could think was that damp feet and ruined shoes were of no consequence, that I had to get to Charlotte. Seavey’s men had had almost thirty-six hours to do whatever they wanted, and though Mona wasn’t saying as much, I knew she feared the worst.”

Charlotte placed her hand on Hattie’s arm. “They never touched me. Seavey must’ve given them an order not to harm me. Oh, they talked about what they’d do to me when they got the chance, and they kept me petrified with the descriptions, probably so I wouldn’t fight to get away. But mostly, they just forced me to drink a foul-tasting tea of some kind.”

“Probably drugged,” Jordan surmised. She nodded at Hattie to continue.

“After a block or so,” Hattie said, “I thought I’d gotten away without Seavey realizing it. So I moved as fast as I could, trying to stay in the shadows of the buildings along the waterfront, hoping no one would see me.” She clasped
trembling hands on the table. “I was afraid I’d be waylaid, you see. Danger abounded on the waterfront that late at night. If I’d had the bad luck of some group of drunken sailors spying me, keeping me from my destination …” Her face twisted. “As it turned out, I needn’t have worried.”

“Why?”

“Because Seavey caught me and dragged me into a dark alley before I could get inside the Green Light. Mona never even knew I’d arrived.”

Jordan almost dropped her espresso. “So Seavey
did
follow you.”

“Oh, yes.”

The Price Paid

MICHAEL Seavey wrapped an arm around Hattie’s waist, lifting her away from the Green Light’s door and clapping his gloved hand across her mouth to muffle her screams. He dragged her into the darkness at the end of the alley, silently swearing when her teeth sunk through leather into the fleshy part of his palm.

Holding her pressed between his body and the rough brick wall of the courthouse, he whispered into her ear, “Cease your struggles, my dear, if you ever want to see Charlotte again.”

She went limp.

“Excellent.” He turned his head as the back door to the Green Light opened.
“Ssshhh.”
Mona’s butler leaned out and scanned the alley, listening. After a moment, the man shrugged and went back inside, closing the door.

Michael loosened his grip slightly. He turned her so that her back was to the wall, his hand still firmly pressed against her mouth. From the look in her eyes, she would have spit at him if he’d given her the chance.

He said quietly, “If you promise not to scream for help, I’ll remove my hand.”

She nodded her head fractionally, and he lessened the pressure of his glove, waiting to see whether she’d keep her end of the bargain. When no sound other than her harsh breathing was forthcoming, he took a step back but kept hold of her upper arms.

“Unhand me!” she spat in a harsh whisper.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Though I suspect you’ve already ruined an expensive pair of kid gloves,” he added wryly, “and I’ll probably have a sore hand for days.”

“How dare you follow me,
attack
me!” One cheek was already reddening where it had scraped against the brick wall, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

He shook his head. “Your plan to rescue Charlotte was foolhardy and doomed to fail—my bodyguards can’t be bribed. However, I will take you to her now.”

Hattie’s breath hitched, her expression turning wary. “There is a condition—I must know it.”

“Yes, very astute of you. I need your promise that you will tell no one of the events leading to Charlotte’s rescue.” He noted her confusion, but he added to forestall any further questions, “On this I am unyielding, Hattie. I will not explain myself, nor will I tolerate any prevarication on your part. I won’t risk arrest on kidnapping charges.”

“But—”

He felt her jolt when he once again placed gloved fingers against her lips. “Do I have your promise? Yes or no.”

She hesitated, then nodded. However, once he removed his hand, she added, her voice cold, “But never my forgiveness.”

He sighed. “I don’t expect it, though trust me when I say you don’t know the entire story of what has transpired.” He dragged her farther down the alley to the corner of the courthouse, peering into the adjoining street. “Come,” he said, motioning with his head for his bodyguards to follow.

They walked the two blocks to his hotel in minutes, no one save his bodyguards bearing witness. The building comprised two parts—the original structure, still frequented by a well-heeled clientele, and a newer annex used to house sailors and provide access to the tunnels. The customers intermingled only in the saloon, located on the ground floor of the older hotel. Seavey bypassed the lobby, forcing Hattie to climb an outside set of stairs at the back of the annex.

Once inside, he pushed her ahead of him, up another half flight and down a dim hallway to the room to where he’d had his men transfer Charlotte. At their approach, a third bodyguard at the door nodded deferentially, moving aside.

Seavey opened the door and Hattie flew over to the bed where her sister lay. Though the girl’s clothes were soiled and her hair disheveled, he knew Hattie could see for herself that Charlotte was unharmed by her ordeal.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

Hattie laid a hand on Charlotte’s forehead. “She sleeps deeply.”

“I had my men give her a drug earlier—she will awaken by morning. It has no lasting effects.” He crossed his arms. “And now I think it’s time you and I discussed business.”

Hattie’s fists clenched. “I have money—I can pay you.” She reached into her skirt pocket and removed the roll of money, holding it out.

He took it, quickly assessing the amount, his mouth twisting as he realized its probable source. There was a certain sense of poetic justice, he mused, in receiving cash Charles and Clive Johnson had no doubt acquired through the transport of prostitutes to the Far East, given that they’d spread rumors intimating his own involvement in the scheme.

“This is a start,” he agreed smoothly, pocketing the cash. “I’ll reluctantly drop my earlier proposition, but I’ll also need your assurance that you won’t alter the arrangement I have with Longren Shipping.”

She said nothing, her eyes filling with anger.

“May I remind you,” he said, hardening his tone, “that you and Charlotte aren’t safe. I can give an order, and the two of you will disappear this night, your bodies never to be found. And I can get to you and your sister anytime, anywhere.”

Her shoulders sagged, her tone bitter. “I won’t interfere with the running of Longren Shipping in the future.”

He nodded, straightening. “Then we are agreed. I will arrange for the two of you to be taken home.”

“I only have one question, Mr. Seavey.” He paused and
turned to meet her cold gaze. “How does a man like you sleep through the night?”

“More easily than you would imagine, my dear. Much more easily.”

* * *

H
ATTIE
didn’t break down until Seavey’s men had safely delivered Charlotte to her bed and departed from the house. After assuring herself that Charlotte was indeed sleeping comfortably and well cared for, she let herself into the second-floor parlor, collapsing into a chair by the fire.