Weak Flesh (15 page)

Emily shied away from the janitor who cleaned up at the schoolhouse, a harmless, friendly old man. And behaved with silent terror when the school board visited or the mail carrier delivered a package.

It occurred to Meghan that Emily was not generally shy at all, but terrified of men.

#

Tucker Gage performed extraordinarily well during his first two years at West Point. After living in a small town, the frenetic hustle of New York excited him, and he chose to remain there year round rather than returning home for holidays.

Although he found the winters mildly distressing, he quickly adjusted. He thought the state was one of the most beautiful in the nation and spent many of his free hours along the Hudson River.

Congenial and unfailingly polite in the tradition of southern-bred young men, he was a favorite among the other cadets and particularly the teaching staff. Along with most of the five hundred ninety-nine fellow cadets that formed the core of his freshman class, Tucker studied engineering, and upon graduation and the receipt of his commission, was assigned a post in the West.

By the end of his third year, he'd assimilated the discipline already ingrained in him by his father and grandfather and the Academy code of "Duty, Honor, Country." His already highly honed sense of honor deepened, and by the time he was commissioned at the age of twenty-two, his strict moral code became the foundation of his character.

He was allowed three weeks to see his family before he was shipped by railroad to Virginia City, Nevada. He despised every moment of his time at home. A stranger to his parents, even his gentle mother, he couldn't converse with old friends or family members.

He felt like a man crawling around in someone else's skin.

When the day came for him to ship out, he felt only relief.

But within six months of his Army experience, every ethical fiber of his moral code shattered all to hell and back.

#

Solicitor Alexander Westin scrutinized Marshal Gage. He'd read the coroner's report and frankly didn't like it one bit. "There's no evidence here, Tucker," he said and worried the small pointed beard on his gaunt-looking face. "Not sure I have enough to warrant an arrest."

The two men sat opposite one another in the courthouse where Westin kept his office several blocks down from the Station House. Night had fallen and they'd been considering their options for handling James Wade.

Gage shrugged. "Maybe the arrest should be less about how guilty Wade is and more about how dangerous it is for him to roam the streets of Tuscarora without protection."

"Hmmm, true. There's a lot of vicious talk out there. Fantastic rumors that can't possibly be true, but you know how folks are. Emotions are running high."

"We could take him over to Raleigh, see if they'll house him until a trial ... or whatever's going to happen."

"Don't you think you can protect him in your own jail?" Westin challenged.

Gage bristled at the implied criticism. "That's not the point. If that mean crowd gets it in their head that Jim Wade kidnapped and murdered Nell Carver, a militia isn't going to keep them at bay."

"You think I should ask the governor to call up the National Guard?"

Gage shook his head in disgust. "They're likely to be as rowdy and drunk as any of the others. Don't know how much good they'd be."

He stood and took his hat from the peg against the wall. Settling it securely on his head, he opened the office door. "This could be a nightmare. We've got visitors passing through town just for a lark, trying to get an inside piece of news about the
latest sensation of the year."

Westin looked up, his thin face clearly concerned. "We could be in a world of trouble if someone takes it in their head to relieve the law of its burden of trying James Wade."

Chapter 17

The Battle of Sugar Point occurred near the end of Gage's assignment in the West, but he'd been discouraged, disillusioned, and stripped of his idealistic fervor long before that event.

What Gage called the "Chippewa" incident in his mind was long behind him. Even to himself he seemed an altogether different man by the time he settled into Minnesota. A ghost of what he'd been, at the very least.

He wouldn't have survived if he hadn't pretended to forget the horror of Chippewa. But he'd be lying if he claimed he never woke up with the silent screams of the dead ringing in his dreams. The stench of bloody bodies gagging him. The night sweats slicking his skin with the slime of remorse and regret.

Eight long years on the western plains could give a soldier nightmares, he realized, at least one like himself. Unlike many other soldiers, he'd never gotten the aptitude for dissociating his duty from his ethics, his actions from his shame.

Other men, he learned, were quite good at shielding themselves against a pesky and disabling morality. Men like Captain Butler steeled themselves against the atrocities of war and the plight of the plains Indians as if they wore armor around their consciences.

Gage's Infantry had been sent to apprehend "Old Bug" in Minnesota, a disastrous fiasco that resulted in six soldiers dead and ten more wounded. The Pillagers were in the right, as far as Tucker could determine, for it was about more than the flooding of the Indian reservation from the dams on Leech Lake.

The lumber men had burned the Pillagers' forests and claimed them as dead lumber which they could haul off under the terms of their contract with the Chippewa. Whatever the situation, they all knew the Pillagers didn't have a chance in hell of prevailing and the dust up that resulted was ugly and vicious. And completely unnecessary.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back as far as Tucker was concerned. He'd more than finished his seven-year requirement and had no intention of extending his service.

Trouble was, he had no fucking idea where to go or what to do next. The thought of the life he'd left in Carolina when he was eighteen and then again at twenty-two paralyzed him.

Although both his parents were long gone, why would he go back to a place that would only remind him of how much he'd lost? How could he go back to that after what he'd seen?

After what he'd done? What he'd been?

#

"Are you sure that James gave Nell the ring?" Meghan stood by the bay window in Susan Carver's home and stared at the girl who sat stiffly on the sofa.

"Yes, of course I'm sure." Susan's lower lip jutted out as if she'd burst into tears at any moment. Meghan worked not to roll her eyes at the dramatic display.

She felt instantly contrite, however, remembering that Susan had just lost her elder sister. Crossing to sit beside the girl, Meghan gently touched her shoulder. "It's just that it's terribly important, Susan, and might give us a clue about what happened to Nell. If someone else gave her the ring ... "

"Nell told me that Jim gave it to her and that she was going to give it back because he wasn't really the kind of beau she wanted." Susan looked from under long spiky lashes. "You know, he's an odd sort of fellow anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"For one, he was terribly possessive of Nell. He didn't like that she saw other men on an occasion, even though it was harmless flirting."

Meg didn't think that sounded like the James Wade she'd heard of, the dandy who had an over-inflated view of himself.

"And he was very much older than her," Susan added. "Not at all like Michael."

Meghan's eyebrows shot up. "Not so very old," she muttered. As far as she knew, Hayes had been released from Gage's jail and no charges had been filed against him. "What do you know of Michael Hayes?"

Susan sighed heavily as if the weight of the entire family lay on her slender shoulders. Meghan tamped down her impatience.

"Was Nell very much taken with Michael?"

Susan smiled. "Oh, she liked him quite a bit." She frowned prettily and bit her bottom lip with tiny, perfect white teeth. "Of course, his family is very poor, so I doubt Papa would have approved of him for Nell."

She inspected her nails carefully and when she spoke, a sly tone crept into her voice. "You know how Nellie was always Papa's favorite."

The girl's tone disturbed Meghan as she remembered Gage's hints. Susan's voice gave an ominous cast to the simple claim of fatherly favoritism.

"Did – do – is it possible that your father was ... too much concerned with Nell's boyfriends?" Good grief, that hadn't come out very well, Meg thought.

The furrow between Susan's brows grew deeper. "I don't know what you mean. Isn't a father supposed to be concerned over his daughter's welfare? Papa was performing his duty."

Meghan mentally shook herself. No, she thought, Susan was far too innocent to understand the dark desires that sometimes developed between a man and his daughter. She herself only suspected the kinds of unnatural liaisons some men concocted with their daughters, and she wasn't at all sure she really understood. She just knew that her own beloved Papa behaved differently from Mr. Carver. Less ... obsessive, she supposed, less controlling.

However, did obsession and control translate to perversion?

She shivered, deeply perturbed by even the suggestion of such things. And yet she knew that Gage had those same suspicions.

#

Bailey arrived at the Station House early Monday morning. Gage was alone, save for a man sleeping off his drunken rage and subsequent threat to his wife. She'd promptly smashed the side of his head with a cooking pot. Gage ought to have arrested the woman for assault, but he'd been so completely in sympathy with her circumstances he'd hauled the husband off instead and thrown him in a cage.

Gage eyed Bailey through the open door of his office where he stood by a bookcase examining a law textbook. Apparently she hadn't noticed him, for she leaned against the oak divider, removing her hat and then the pins from her hair one by one.

He watched her, drawn by a compulsion he didn't quite understand. Her wild, youthful innocence bloomed on her cheeks. Her sure steadiness showed in the smooth capable hands. She worked her fingers through the unruly curls again and again, wholly unaware of his presence and thus completely natural in her movements.

The grace of her hands, the lift of her arms and the stretch of her bosom against the heavy fabric of her coat – all were strangely erotic. She drew the heavy weight of her hair off her neck and twisted it this way and that until she'd fashioned a sort of careless knot at the top of her head through which she jabbed the pins again.

Gage couldn't see much difference in the look of it from when she'd started, but Bailey appeared satisfied. She patted her hair several times before replacing the hat and hiding away all that midnight glory.

He felt momentarily bereft and shook himself before turning away. His back to the door, he dropped the heavy book he'd held and bent to retrieve it. Then he waited for Bailey to make her way unannounced into his office, as he knew she would.

"Good grief, Gage," she exclaimed. "Have you been here all this time? I thought no one was about."

He managed to look surprised as he replaced the book on the shelf and offered her a seat. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I've given my students the day off," she declared regally as if she had the entire school board in her employ. "They haven't gotten nearly long enough a holiday and most of them took extra tutoring sessions in math."

He raised his brows and sat down behind his desk. "Indeed."

"Indeed," she repeated and smirked a little at her own cleverness. "Now we can work on the case."

Folding her hands primly in her lap, she continued. "I visited Susan again. She's positive Jim Wade gave Nell the ruby ring."

Gage steepled his fingers, elbows on his desk, and gave her a long look. "You conducted an interview with Susan Carver."

She waved one slender hand. "Hardly an interview. It was a visit."

"During which you asked her about the ring?"

"Well, I found the damn thing!" she snapped. "It was my right to questio – to ask her about it."

Gage sighed and jammed his fingers through his hair. "I suppose it does no good to remind you not to interfere." He narrowed his eyes. "Nor to swear."

"Very little." She smiled prettily and continued. "I've also been looking at the code Nell left us. I think she was trying to send us a message."

"Because she knew she was going to die?" he countered dryly and somewhat unkindly, he realized when he saw her start. "Why would she not simply tell you, Bailey? Why indulge in all this rigamarole?"

She floundered momentarily and then recovered. "I'm sure I don't know, but the note is there and the squiggles on it remarkably resemble the code we used as children to send secret messages while we played."

"This isn't a child's game," he warned.

"I know that." She rose in exasperation and walked around the desk to lay a sheet of paper on the desk. "These are the common symbols we used," she said, pointing to the first on the list. "The heart, that means 'love,' naturally and the lightning bolt I believe is 'danger,' or some such concept, although she might've used a skull and crossbones. She's altered the code somewhat so I can only hazard a guess."

Gage stared at the pencil-drawn valentine, colored red with chalk or crayon, he supposed, and a long-forgotten memory flashed through his mind.

An eye, a heart, a sheep.
How could he have forgotten? Why hadn't he realized the significance of
that
particular note all those years ago?

Bailey leaned closer and he smelled the clean, fresh scent he'd always associated with her even when she was a child, lemon soap and honeysuckle. He remembered the soft comfort of her when he'd found her huddled on her porch looking like a drowned kitten nearly fifteen years ago.