Katie Rose (21 page)

Lafferty had also successfully cast Mrs. Black in a bad light. And with Charles’s parry and thrust, making sure the jury was aware that there could be more than one reason for her tears, the Black case was beginning to look very black indeed.

The missing tea tin, however, was a mystery. Someone, it appeared, was trying to protect—or convict—Mrs. Black. If the tin contained only tea, it would show that any poison present in the teacup had been added after the beverage had been prepared, incriminating Mrs. Black. But if the poison was already in the tea, perhaps she had not been the one to add it and was guilty only of giving her husband the tainted cup …

Her eyes flew open at the thought. Scribbling a few lines on a sheet of notepaper, she handed the note to the bailiff, then watched Horace read it. He glanced up at her with a nod of agreement. Excitement began to build inside her as she envisioned the possibilities. If they could find the tin, they could go a long way to throwing doubt in the minds of the jury about Mrs. Black’s guilt.

The judge called for an adjournment until Friday, and Winifred rose with the rest of the gallery. She would question everyone involved and see if she could find a clue to the missing tin. There had to be something the police had overlooked, someone they hadn’t talked to.

A
S SHE STARTED
for the door, she heard a shout behind her: “Miss Appleton!” Turning, she saw Charles approach, a determined look on his handsome face.

“Yes, Mr. Howe?” she said in her best starched tone.

“Winnie”—Charles glanced around, and seeing no reporters, he continued—“I would like to speak to you. I think we need to talk.”

Winifred ignored the thrill that raced through her
at his words. “Not now, Charles. I have to do some investigating about the case.”

“What kind of investigating?” His eyes narrowed, and he took her arm, propelling her to the rear of the courtroom where they could talk more privately. “You are not doing anything dangerous, are you?”

The concern in his voice was real. “I do not think it wise to reveal what I am working on at this time,” she responded loftily. “If I find anything of use, I will let your office know.”

Charles’s fingers tightened on her arm. “Stop it. I only want to protect you. I have more resources at my disposal than you do, and I could possibly assist you.” She forced a smile. “Thank you, Charles, I will keep that in mind, although I think it strange that the prosecution wants to help the defense.”

“Winifred,” he said evenly, fighting to control his impatience, “just because we are on opposite sides of this thing does not mean we have to be enemies.”

“Well, I think it means exactly that,” she said, trying not to react to the excitement of being in his presence. Never had he looked so handsome, so charming, or so desirable. “We do not have to be enemies exactly, but neither can we be friends, at least for now. You have to agree with the wisdom of that, Mr. Howe, particularly given our history.”

She had the pleasure of seeing a dangerous flash in his eyes, but it was gone in a moment, followed by a gleam of amusement. “I see,” he said sympathetically. “You are afraid to be alone with me. I understand that, given—”

“I beg your pardon!” she gasped.

“I am flattered that you find me so irresistible.”

“I do not find you irresistible,” Winifred hissed, forcing her voice down as several reporters glanced their way, “in the least.”

“Good! Then you won’t mind accompanying me to the Governor’s Ball tomorrow. I cannot possibly seduce you there, so there is no reason for you to refuse.”

Her lips parted in astonishment, the emotions tying her stomach into knots. It would be wonderful to go to the ball with him. Their evening would be filled with witty repartee, interesting conversation, and seduction. And taking her to such an event would signal his serious interest in her, something that would become publicly apparent to everyone.

But then she remembered she had agreed to go with Jared. Her heart sank as she recalled her impulsiveness, fostered by Jared’s admission that Charles had seen Elizabeth Billings. It could not be undone now. She lifted her face to his.

“I cannot, Charles. I’m sorry, I would have liked to go with you, but I”—she exhaled regretfully—“I have made another commitment.”

“I see,” Charles said. Releasing her arm, he gave her a cool smile. “I am sorry to have troubled you, then. Good afternoon, Miss Appleton.”

Winifred’s stomach tightened as he walked off, and the coldness in his voice reached all the way into her heart.

A
S COURT CLOSED
for the day, Charles flipped through his notes, trying to forget his irritation. Winifred could be so absolutely maddening. He had little doubt that her escort to the ball was Jared, whose smug looks and odd comments over the last few days suddenly made sense. But he could not blame Jared—the man simply got to her first.

And yet Winifred must have known that her choice would infuriate him, seeing as Jared worked in
his office. In fact, that was more than likely her motivation. It would be just like her to try to throw him off balance, to win emotional points regardless of the outcome.

Well, two could play that game. Elizabeth Billings had made it more than clear that she was interested in going to the dance with him. Perhaps it was time he gave Winifred a taste of her own medicine, Charles thought shrewdly. It would be interesting to see her reaction to another woman hanging on his arm. He didn’t like the manipulation, but extreme times called for extreme measures, and dealing with an Appleton sometimes meant exactly that.

His gaze fell back to his notes from the trial. The tea tin. Today was the first time the officer had thought to mention it. The missing vessel was extremely important. Normally, a policeman would disclose something like this long before the trial, but apparently, it had been overlooked until now.

Where was it? Who had hidden it? Was someone trying to protect Mrs. Black, or to incriminate her? He packed up his notes and started for the door. Someone had to know something about it. All it would take to find out was a little persistence.

S
he would find it. She had to.

Winifred stood on the porch of the Blacks’ house, knocking on the front door. The place was shrouded in darkness, with nary a gaslight to illuminate the inky black windows. The curtains appeared to be drawn, probably to discourage curiosity seekers. Where was Mr. Black? Was there not even a servant around?

Her knuckles ached from knocking. Yet the tea tin could either make or break their case. She had to find it before Charles or the police did, or else Mrs. Black would surely be seeing a jail cell for the rest of her life.

Somehow it must have been overlooked. That was the only explanation that made sense. As a woman, Winifred was certain she had a better chance of locating any domestic article than a burly policeman. It was probably sitting right behind the flour, or beside the sugar. If she could only get into the house.…

She quietly opened her lantern and allowed just enough light to escape to illuminate the few inches beneath the doorknob. She could see the keyhole just
below the knob. It did not appear terribly complicated. Now if she could just get it to open.…

It would be breaking and entering. But, her cause was desperate, and no one was around. She certainly didn’t intend to steal anything, just to borrow—evidence.

Whipping a hairpin from her bun, she jiggled it back and forth in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Frowning, she recalled that in every novel she had ever read, this worked. Why, even New York gangs were experts at picking locks in little more than a few minutes. She continued to move the wire back and forth in the keyhole, yet was rewarded with only a backache.

A twig snapped somewhere behind her, and she froze. A dozen ugly scenarios rushed through in her mind. If she was caught, she would have a terrible time explaining this to the press or to the judge. She could just see the headline now. Worse yet, if Mr. Black came home, he wouldn’t be delighted to see her, his wife’s law clerk, breaking into his house.

The shrouded moon rose high in the velvet sky, smothered by an occasional cloud. A dog barked somewhere, and down the street, she could hear people talking. Everything else remained quiet.

It must have been a squirrel or some other animal, she thought. Stooping back down, she jiggled the hairpin again, trying to push it even deeper into the lock.

“Damn!” she whispered in frustration as the pin fell to the floor. She was about to look for it when a voice from the darkness stopped her cold.

“May I be of some assistance, Miss Appleton?”

“Charles!” she hissed in horror as he stepped into the feeble lantern light. “What are you doing here?”

“I could well ask you the same question,” he said dryly.

Frantically, Winifred wondered how long he had been standing there and what he had seen. Straightening, she tried to appear nonchalant.

“I was just knocking to see if anyone is home. No one answered, however, so I suppose I will be leaving.”

“I see,” Charles drawled. Stooping down, he picked up the silver hairpin. “Forget this?”

Winifred tried to take it from his hand, but he held it firmly. “Thank you, it must have fallen from my hair.”

“And right into the lock,” Charles surmised. “You do know that breaking and entering is a crime in this city, don’t you?”

“I was not—”

“And as a prosecutor, it would be my duty to report you.”

Her bravado fell at that. Charles was on the side of the law, and breaking into a man’s house was something he would not abide. She had no alternative now but to throw herself on his mercy. “I—Charles, you know how important it is to find that tea tin. The entire case hinges on it. I just thought—”

“That you would break into the Blacks’ house and find it yourself,” he hazarded. He took a step closer as Winifred backed up to the door, then lifted her chin to look into her face. “Did I not tell you to stay out of trouble?”

A door creaked across the street. Charles pressed up against Winifred in the shadows, trying to make them as inconspicuous as possible. She started to protest, but he held a finger to his lips, warning her to be silent. It took every ounce of her self-control to obey him—especially standing so close to him. The scent of him, the feel of his body against hers, the warmth of him, all brought back memories she’d been struggling to forget.

Suddenly, a head popped out of the door of the house across the street. The female face looked directly toward the Blacks’ doorway, peering into the blackness like a cat. It seemed impossible that the woman couldn’t see them. Holding her breath, Winifred waited for her to shout for help. But to her astonishment, the woman disappeared, slamming the door behind her.

“That was close,” Winifred breathed.

“Yes. Mrs. Costello is a bit of a busybody,” Charles said softly. “Seeing you here on the Blacks’ porch would have made her day.”

Winifred eased awkwardly away from him. “So will you report me, then?” she asked.

Charles gazed at her for a good long moment. “I ought to do much more than that. But since we are here, we might as well make the best of it.”

To her stunned amazement, he squatted down, inserted the hairpin into the keyhole, and then expertly wiggled the instrument. Within a moment, the tumblers fell, and with a sharp click, the lock sprang open. Winifred held her breath as he picked up the dark lantern, then stepped quietly into the house.

“Wait here,” he whispered when she started to follow him.

“But—”

“Unless you prefer to spend the night in jail?” Charles looked at her, one brow lifted quizzically. When she continued to glower at him, he was forced to smile. “Besides, I need you to keep guard.”

Fuming with impatience, Winifred did as he ordered. As she waited, hearing him moving about the rooms, each minute seemed to take forever. Glancing at the house across the street, she breathed a sigh of relief when the lights went out. Mrs. Costello was
apparently going to bed. Winifred was just beginning to relax when a carriage lumbered up the street.

“Charles!” she hissed into the door as the vehicle slowed. Within a few moments, she heard a slurred voice speaking casually to the driver.

“I told you to pull right up to the porch, didn’t I?” Mr. Black said drunkenly. “Damn, I have to walk now. A man should not have to walk after being out all night, Kelly, you know that.”

The carriage was as close to the steps as it could possibly get. Mr. Black disembarked, then wove across the lawn. Frantic, Winifred rushed into the house, careful to close the door softly behind her.

“Charles!” she whispered loudly, tiptoeing into the parlor. A moment later, she stubbed her toe on a piece of furniture hidden in the darkness, then hopped about on one foot, rubbing the injured member.

Footsteps sounded on the porch, and she could hear Mr. Black fumbling with his keys. Feeling her way into the kitchen, Winifred found Charles by following the sound of moving pots and pans.

“He’s here! Mr. Black!” she said in a panic.