The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (7 page)

Sister Faith stood in the doorway, her mouth pinched together as she looked Avilon up and down. Avilon half wondered if the nun had a private stash of lemons that she liked to suck on every morning to obtain that puckered expression. It did wonders for maintaining her godly ministrations.

“Miss Chambert,” Sister Faith greeted, her tone anything but friendly, “are you just coming in this morning?”

“Actually, I’m here to collect my belongings, Sister Faith.”

The nun’s eyebrows rose. “And where, pray tell, will you being going?”

“I found a lead on my sister.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” The door was wrenched all the way open to reveal Sister Agatha, who was smiling widely. Of all the nuns Avilon had traveled with, she liked Agatha the best. The woman was cheerful, something that had to be difficult through the many and long, laborious hours spent repenting and praying. Even their weeklong trek through the jungle hadn’t managed to diminish Sister Agatha’s optimistic effervescence.

The bubbly nun threw her arms around Avilon and hugged her tightly. The white woolen robes of her order’s habit were rough and scratchy against Avilon’s cheek, while the white scapular and black wimple crushed into her eye.

Sister Faith sniffed her displeasure. “Such public displays are quite vulgar, Sister Agatha. Our presence is to affect a level of decorum, humbleness—”

“Oh, tosh,” Sister Agatha laughed as she pulled back from her impromptu hug and gave a dismissive wave at the older nun. “The Good Lord has rewarded Avilon’s diligence of finding her sister. Is that not reason to celebrate, Sister Faith?”

“I’ve not completely found her yet, but I have some leads,” Avilon replied. “In fact, part of the reason why I’m here is in case she should show up at the center asking for mercy.”

“Of course,” Sister Agatha replied. “Come in, please, and tell us all you know.”

As she packed her small valise with her few belongings, she told the two sisters a quick version of what had transpired last night, omitting the few details of Jason and Eli.

“You can’t stay there!” Sister Faith said with a horrified gasp. “It’s a den of sin.”

“I have to,” Avilon answered. “I have to find Amelia.”

Sister Agatha placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Have you ever considered that Amelia might be with the Almighty now?”

Avilon shook her head. “I can’t afford to think that way. I’ve come too far to give up hope.”

“Sydney Town is nothing but a wasteland of filth and crime,” Sister Faith said, disgust thick in her voice. “The whole district needs the strict hand of God delivering his judgment.”

Sister Agatha frowned. “It is not up to us to judge, Sister Faith.”

Sister Faith sniffed. She glanced at Avilon and looked her up and down. “One day God will strike his mighty sword, and I suggest you not be anywhere in the vicinity, Miss Chambert, lest you become another casualty.”

And with those words, she turned and marched away.

Sister Agatha cleared her throat. “She comes from a strict cloister.”

“Yes, one that has sticks up their asses, apparently.”

Avilon heard a startled gasp come from Sister Agatha before the nun started to laugh. “Heavens!”

“I’m sorry,” Avilon said contritely. “I should never have said that. It was an expression I heard recently.”

Sister Agatha cleared her throat. “Yes, well, crudely put, but perhaps the correct visual in this case.”

Avilon quickly gave the nun a hug. “Thank you for everything you and your order have done for me. I never would have been able to travel here safely.”

Sister Agatha returned the embrace. “You have become a friend, Avilon. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.”

When she pulled back, Avilon smiled and nodded. “Take care,” she said and picked up her valise.

She left the boarding house with one thought on her mind.
What if Sister Agatha is right?
What if the reason Amelia had disappeared was because she had died?

Not wanting to, but knowing it was a path she had to investigate, she changed direction and headed to the sheriff’s office. It was one place the sisters had pointed out to her as soon as they realized her true intention for reaching San Francisco. The smell of fish permeated the air, the cool wind nipping at her nose and making it run slightly. She sniffed a few times. When she finally found the sheriff’s office, she was winded from climbing up and down the steep hills. She had to rest a moment before being able to talk again.

When she opened the front door, a young man seated behind a desk glanced at her and immediately stood. He looked to be around her age, maybe a little older, dressed in black with his hair slicked back.

“Ma’am,” he greeted politely.

“Hello,” Avilon replied. “I was wondering I could talk to the sheriff for a brief moment.”

“Are you here to report a crime? I can take your statement—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I…I came to San Francisco with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. I’m trying to determine if my sister might be…deceased. Do you, perhaps, have a log of unidentified…people?”

“Ah,” the young man murmured and gave her a sympathetic smile. “If you wait here, I’ll see if Sheriff Scannell has a moment.”

Avilon nodded and watched as he disappeared into the back. She occupied her time by looking at the plaques of the previous sheriffs of San Francisco all lined up in a regal row of officers. But the young man was gone only a few minutes. He cleared his throat to grab her attention.

“Right this way, ma’am,” he said with a gesture of his hand, holding open the door to the back.

The front office had been quiet, inactive, but that changed as soon as she stepped through the door. Cigar smoke hung heavy in the air, as did the smell of unwashed bodies and stale alcohol. Men swarmed around like ants in a hill. Some were handcuffed. Some were being led to a hallway where she glimpsed cells. Almost all looked at her as if they hadn’t seen a woman in years. She gripped her valise tightly.

The clerk led her to a large office in the back where two men were waiting. One was seated at a desk piled with papers, and the other was at the bar, pouring a drink. The sitting man rose when she walked in.

“That will be all, Roger,” he said.

The young man closed the door behind him.

“Good morning, Sister. I’m Sheriff David Scannell, and this is US Marshal William Richardson,” said the sheriff, who looked to be in his midthirties and stood with his spine straight. His dark hair was trimmed neatly, matching his beard. His mustache flared widely on the ends, giving him a slightly walrus-like appearance.

“I’m not…Never mind.” She took a deep breath. “My name is Avilon Chambert. Thank you so much for seeing me on short notice. I’ve traveled to San Francisco looking for my younger sister, Amelia.”

“Of course, Sister Avilon,” Sheriff Scannell said. His tone was consoling, and he gestured to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat and tell me a little about your sister.”

Avilon sat, perching on the edge of her chair as she placed her valise beside her on the floor. She hadn’t realized how much it would mean to her to have a person of authority listen, but a weight she didn’t know she carried suddenly lifted a little.

“All right. Let’s see, I had just returned to New Orleans and received a letter from Amelia stating she had been living in San Francisco for about a year—”

“Was she with the sisters as well?” Marshal Richardson asked.

Avilon shot him a surprised look. “Pardon?”

“I was just wondering what she was doing here in the city.”

“She was working for Mr. Eli Masters.” She saw the two men share a look.

Sheriff Scannell cleared his throat. “In what capacity?”

And suddenly, Avilon’s sense of relief vanished. The muscles of her shoulders tensed, and she gripped the folds of her skirt tightly. “She worked as one of his upstairs girls.”

Sheriff Scannell closed the ledger in front of him with a snap. Avilon flinched.

“So your sister was a…working girl,” Marshal Richardson stated.

“My sister
is
in a difficult position in her life,” Avilon stated, acid dripping from each word. “Missing, perhaps hurt.”

“Perhaps all you can do now is pray for the Almighty to forgive her soul,” Marshal Richardson said sarcastically.

Avilon frowned at him. “I came here to see if there were any unclaimed bodies matching her description in the past six months. Brown hair, brown eyes. She has a red birthmark on her right shoulder.”

It seemed to take an eternity before he shook his head. “I can assure you, Sister Avilon, I’ve had no deceased women matching her description.”

Avilon felt a band around her heart ease. “Then I’d like to declare her missing.”

“Missing? She’s a whore.”

Rage flooded her. “Don’t call her that!”

“But it’s true, Sister Avilon,” Marshal Richardson stated. “San Francisco has become a city flooded with all walks of life. Five years ago, the population was a thousand. Now we’re pushing forty thousand, where men outnumber women a hundred to one.”

“What does that have to do with my missing sister?”

The marshal set down his drink and walked to stand behind the desk, near the still-seated Sheriff Scannell. She looked back and forth between them and saw the stigma of her sister’s profession blanketing their faces.

“Whores are…a necessary evil, Sister Avilon,” the sheriff said. “We’re working hard to put an end to that way of life here in San Francisco, but truth is, women of that ilk come and go all the time.”

Though Eli had said the same thing to her, it stung a bit more ferociously coming from someone who was supposed to serve and protect the public. She stood and grabbed her valise.

“Remember the Gospel according to Matthew, judge not that ye be not judged, and what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you. I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she said. “Good day.”

“Wait, Sister,” Sheriff Scannell called out.

Avilon paused, but she didn’t turn back.

“If a woman turns up matching her description, I’ll make sure to let you know. I assume I can reach you through the Sisters of the Sacred Heart?”

Avilon swallowed back her bitterness. “Yes. The message will get to me.”

With that, she opened the door and walked out.

* * * *

When she returned to the club, the fiery anger that had ignited at the sheriff’s office had cooled, giving way to practical logic. It had been a wise decision to talk to the sheriff, because now she understood that she was the only help her sister would get. The few clues she had managed to acquire thus far pulled toward a grim outlook for Amelia, though it was hard to make sense of them. She really needed to get Homer to open up. But since Homer was still a closed book…for now…she turned her mind to her other dilemma: Eli Masters and Jason Braddock, two of the most exasperating yet handsome men she’d ever met. She had thought appealing to their sense of morals would be enough to entice them into opening up about Amelia, but so far, all she’d gotten was nowhere. It was time to try a different tactic.

She walked into her dressing room and went to the armoire. She opened it, found the purple satin dress, and pulled it out. From her valise she pulled out her sewing kit and sat down, determined to make something out of the dress.

Sometime later, a knock sounded on her door. She set aside the dress, the needle, and thread, and stood and stretched, easing the knot between her shoulder blades. When she opened her door, Jason smiled at her.

“Morning, love.”

“You shouldn’t call me that.”

“It’s an endearment, and you are endearing.”

She wanted to smile but managed to keep her lips straight. “You hardly know me.”

“I’d like to get to know you better. May I come in?”

She turned from the door, leaving it open in invitation, and he followed, closing the door with a soft click. Instantly, her heart jumped into her throat.

“Are you fixing a dress?”

She sighed. “
Trying
is the correct word. I’m not much of a sewer, and this isn’t much of a dress.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure whatever you can accomplish will be fine. I came by to see how you’re doing after last night.”

“From the singing or the attack of Mr. Behr?”

“Mainly the second, but we’ll start with the first.”

“The singing was…amazing. I felt like I was soaring. But then I crashed when Mr. Behr grabbed my arm. I’ve been replaying his words in my head, and I’m still confused by what he said.”

She saw his mouth tighten fractionally.

“You know, don’t you?” she asked.

He gave a small nod. “Eugene Behr was the client.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up her hands. “Eugene Behr was the man who accused the upstairs girls of cheating him? Who was his, er, lady that night?”

Jason shook his head. “The girls work the crowd downstairs by pushing more drinks, edging the men to bid higher. They find their johns among the men, and that night, almost all the girls had approached him at one point or another.”

“So then anyone could have stolen…By the way, what was taken?”

“A coin.”

“One coin? My sister disappeared over one coin? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jason walked to her. All thoughts of her sister and Eugene Behr faded when he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her into his body. She threw up her hands, pressing her palms against his chest. Immediately, the world melted away as excitement poured through her system like a tidal wave.

“You know what doesn’t make sense?” he murmured into her ear. “Why is it that I’ve just met you, but I think about you every minute of the day? I walk away from you, and all I want to do is run back to hold you.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I can’t think when you hold me like this.”

“Then don’t think.” She felt him bend his head and place a kiss on her neck.

She shook her head. “I…I kissed Mr. Masters.”

He paused and pulled back to look at her. “I’m not surprised,” he said ruefully.