West of Paradise (15 page)

Think, Kath, think!

It came to her like the jump of an old time record, at slow speed for a minute until the whole scene became clear in her mind. Not that she’d seen it, of course. She rarely saw her parents as a child. Mostly she heard them late at night discussing their discoveries or planning new ones.

And she remembered the night they’d spoken of Alanna Rose McLeod, of how young she was when she’d died, how tragically.

“Imagine being trampled and run over by a carriage,” her father had said.

“Imagine lingering for weeks after,” her mother had replied.

Katherine had not been too young to imagine the horror. She’d had bad dreams about it for weeks after. But eventually she forgot about it and Alanna Rose McLeod, never imagining she would care.

Dammit!
When
was Alanna supposed to die? Her parents had never given an exact date. All Katherine knew for sure was that Alastair McLeod had purchased J. Gould in early December of 1881, that Alanna Rose’s accident had occurred on Beacon Hill and that she’d lingered for weeks afterward.

Wait, that wasn’t right.
Her parents
had
said something more. They’d said the accident had occurred after a huge storm had blown into Boston and out again, washing the city clean, boats out to sea, and strange debris in. Hadn’t one of the bellboys at the Parker House mentioned something about a steeple landing on one of the waterside taverns?

Katherine felt sick.

Alanna was supposed to have already
had
her accident. She was supposed to be lingering painfully in her grandfather’s care.

The timeline had been disturbed and
she
was to blame.

❧

Jack opened the door to Silas’ grim countenance.

“Silas,” he said, surprised. “What brings you out so late?”

“Ah, you don’t know,” Silas said. “I suspected as much.”

“Don’t know what?”

Silas raised a curious, bushy brow. “Aren’t you going to invite me in for a drink?”

Jack shrugged, ushering Silas inside and leading him down the hall to the parlor. “Have a seat. I’ll get us something to drink.” He returned shortly with two short glasses and one of three bottles of Kentucky whiskey he’d picked up in his travels. The other two were safely stored away.

Jack poured them both a half glass and took the other chair, settling back and sipping, waiting.

“I would not, ordinarily, come calling unannounced,” Silas said after a long swallow and an approving nod. “I know how you dislike surprises. But I thought it prudent in light of our recent discussions.”

“Something has happened,” Jack guessed.

“Yes, and I’m afraid it isn’t good. One of your Pinkerton Agents was found dead last night, stabbed.”

“Larry Sweet,” Jack guessed, wanting to thwack himself upside the head. Of course! It made perfect sense now.

“How did you know?”

Jack didn’t answer right off, wondering whether to tell Silas the truth. Not the whole truth—even Silas couldn’t handle that—but the truth about Alanna and Katherine. He could handle that, and he might have some advice.

“I’m going to tell you a story. The first part you know.”

When he finished a short while later Silas had finished his drink.

“And you say she’s here, in your house, this Katherine Kennedy?”

“She is and has been since she was shot. George can vouch for it.”

Silas smiled a little. “I’m sure he can, but unfortunately you and I both know that George would not be viewed as a reliable witness.”

“She was shot, Silas, she has the wound to prove it.”

“Hmmm, there is that,” Silas agreed.

“And there’s everything you gave to me. Not to mention the fact that all this time I’ve been a step behind, as if Alanna knew my move before I made it,” Jack mused. “Now I know why. Larry Sweet was telling her, warning her whenever I got too close. She’s burning her bridges.”

Silas nodded. “It makes sense, but . . .”

“But?”

“Jim Woolbridge, Larry Sweet’s partner.”

“What about him?”

“When he was told of Larry’s murder he said, and I quote, ‘I will make it my life’s mission to bring Miss McLeod to justice by whatever means necessary,’ end quote.”

Jack muttered a curse.

“Yes,” Silas agreed, “and I’m not entirely certain he’ll believe that your Katherine is not Alanna, especially if they look as much alike as you say.”

“But what about all those clippings about Alastair McLeod and his granddaughter?” Jack asked. “His granddaughter ‘Rose.’ Surely that would count for something.”

“Possibly,” Silas allowed. “But I’m still not sure you should bring your girl out in public. At best she would be held until the real Alanna was found. At worst she would be charged as Alanna and we both know where that would lead.”

“What do you suggest?”

Silas considered—after he’d poured himself another glass and downed half of it. “Let me do a little investigating of my own, ask a few questions. Then I think you and Mr. Woolbridge should have a conversation,” he suggested. “I could arrange it.”

Jack considered. “All right, but not here. I’d just as soon Jim not know where I live, if you take my meaning.”

Silas smiled, rising and taking his hat. “I do. I’ll see if he can’t come to my office.”

Jack walked him to the door.

“I’ll be in touch,” Silas said, tipping his hat.

Chapter Twenty
Proof

A
t approximately 3 p.m. the next afternoon Jack arrived at Silas’ office on Exeter Street. The place was small, consisting of a front room where Silas worked and conducted business, and two smaller rooms in the back. Jack had never seen the back area, but the front room was large and messy. It contained a desk overlooking the street below, a sofa that had seen better days, a corner cupboard, and an old pine table with two cushioned Windsor chairs. The oak floor was mostly covered by a frayed braided rug.

Silas had made some semblance of order from the papers and inkwells and pens scattered about, having confined them to one end of the table, and he’d brought out a bottle of his cheap whiskey and three glasses.

Jim Woolbridge was waiting but not drinking. He rose at Jack’s entrance and the two shook hands before taking their seats, Jim on the sofa from whence he’d risen and Jack in one of the Windsor chairs. Silas handed Jack a glass and he took a long slow swallow.

“I understand you have some information regarding Alanna McLeod,” Jim said.

“He does,” Silas interrupted, “but I have something to share first. I did a little investigating of my own after speaking with you both and had an interesting conversation with Miss Constance Marden, who was the housekeeper at number 12 Louisburg Square until two days ago. She was there the night in question, hiding for her life, I might add, and distinctly remembers seeing two Alanna McLeod’s, one of which had been injured.”

“Which backs up my story,” Jack said, reminding Jim briefly of what they both already knew, and finally his discovery of Will and Katherine’s location. He described how he found them at the opera where he subsequently saw Alanna who he followed to a house in Beacon Hill. There, he told Jim, he heard shots, saw two people race away in a carriage, and found Will and Katherine inside, the former dead, and both of them shot by a man Alanna called Sweety.

“I’m guessing it was Larry Sweet, our rogue Pinkerton agent,” Jack said. “Which explains how Alanna was always a step ahead of us. Either Alanna didn’t need him anymore or figured he was too dangerous to have around. Oh, and I have this.” Jack handed him the clippings he’d brought, the ones Silas had given him.

Jim Woolbridge looked everything over carefully, studying each grainy picture, re-reading the accompanying articles “I’ll admit, you make a good case, Mr. McCabe. When Mr. Sweet and I first arrived, I happened to follow him to a house in Louisburg Square, number 12. He received a note from a servant and after leaving I noticed a rather well-dressed woman emerge. I followed her to a house owned by Alastair McLeod.”

“There, you see,” Jack said.

“I do,” Jim agreed, “The trouble is that while this evidence supports your claim of two women who look remarkably like one another, we still need proof.”

“What kind of proof?” Jack asked.

“I want both women.”

Jack went silent for a minute. “You mean you want Katherine.”

“She could be very helpful to the investigation.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because if Alanna McLeod is the granddaughter of Alastair McLeod, the shipping magnate, then it will be very difficult to prove. All he would have to do is give her an alibi. And it would be in his best interest to do so. Which leaves Katherine the fall guy, so to speak.”

“Mr. McCabe,” Jim said, “she’s a witness to a murder and has information pertaining to another. The authorities are going to want to talk to her. I want to talk to her.”

“Like I said, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you think it’s a good idea,” Jim said, obviously perturbed. “She needs to turn herself in.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll pass the message along to her,” he said, drinking the last of the horrible whiskey Silas had served. The liquid burned in a satisfying manner. “Thanks for the drink, Silas.” He tipped his hat to both men and went for the door.

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours, Mr. McCabe,” Jim Woolbridge called after him.

❧

Jack didn’t waste time when he arrived home.

“I want you to go over to the Parker House and collect Katherine’s belongings,” he said to George, adding, “If they ask, tell them her husband has rented a house over on Dartmouth and make sure you pay what’s owed. And pick up a train schedule.” He handed a wad of bills to George who gave a curt nod and was gone.

In his room Katherine was sleeping on her side, facing the window, her hair fanned out over the pillow. He had helped her up that morning and Mrs. Henry had brought water for a sponge bath. Jack suspected even that minimal effort had left her tired and in more pain than she’d admitted to. He’d given her a small dose of laudanum to help her sleep.

Gently he reached over and shook Katherine awake. She resisted at first, mumbled something, and flung a hand at him in an effort to make him go away. But he persisted, calling her name, until she rolled over and opened her eyes, looking at him, blinking, remembering.

“What is it?” she asked crossly.

“We have to leave,” he said.

“Leave? Why?”

“I went to talk to Jim Woolbridge, one of the Pinkerton agents involved in the case. I told him about everything that’s happened and gave him some information about Alanna he didn’t have. I was hoping to clear your name and get him aimed toward the right person.”

“But it didn’t work out,” Katherine guessed.

Jack shrugged. “He believed it, but he wants you to turn yourself in.”

“Would that help?”

“No,” Jack said. “At least, not in my book. The only way it would help is if we had the real Alanna.”

“And she’s gone.”

“That and left another dead body behind.”

“Who?”

“Larry Sweet, Jim’s partner.”

“A Pinkerton agent? Oh! Sweety!”

“I’m afraid so, and it’s made Jim a little testy. He gave me twenty-four hours to get you to turn yourself in, says you’re a witness.”

“I take it you declined,” Katherine said.

“I didn’t give my answer. But if you were to turn yourself in now without Alanna I have a feeling you’d end up guilty. There are powerful people involved, and Alanna has connections I never guessed at. I sent George to the hotel to get your belongings, but in the meantime I do happen to have a few items of yours, the ones I made you leave behind. I’ll go get them.”

Jack returned a few moments later with a sack, which he upturned on the bed, careful to avoid her leg. Katherine looked at the pile, seeing it through a sleepy haze. It took her a moment to recognize some of them, notably the gowns she had been so distressed at leaving behind. That she could wear them now made her smile a little. But it wasn’t until she saw the book that her eyes truly lit up. She snatched it from the mass of velvets and silks and muslin.

She glanced up at Jack who was watching her curiously. “It was a gift from someone special,” she said.

Jack shrugged and left it, but she could tell she’d aroused his curiosity. He started for the door. “I’ll let you get dressed then. If you need help, holler.”

Of course she needed help, she thought a bit crossly, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him for it. Besides, she had to check first, make sure the key was still there.

She waited until she heard the door latch behind him before opening the book and pulling it apart, revealing the tiny space where the key lay. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. She could go home now. All she had to do was get to Leavenworth and she could go home. Leave this horrible place. She closed her eyes and imagined being back on the Cape for September . . .

Until she remembered Alanna—who was supposed to be dead—free to do no good.

With a strangled curse Katherine struggled into a fresh chemise, laboriously working fresh drawers over her legs before carefully letting her feet touch the floor. She put the majority of her weight on her good leg while she tied the laces, then yanked the petticoat on over her head.

She paused to catch her breath, eyeing the gowns on the bed, snatching the gold silk walking dress up from the pile. It took forever to get into it and eventually she did have to call for help as she found it impossible to manage the buttons in the back.

“I have a cane you could use,” Jack offered. “It’s a man’s cane, but at least it would offer some support.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said, shivering at his touch. His fingers were surprisingly light against her neck, barely brushing against her skin as he buttoned her all the way up.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head, feeling herself grow warm. If he noticed he didn’t say anything and left her to finish with her stockings and boots.

George had delivered her belongings from the Parker House, and Katherine carefully folded the gowns, placing them in the trunk she’d bought in St. Louis. The skirts and blouses, brush, small velvet pouch of jewelry, and the little strong box, all went into the valise along with the book, which she determined to keep close to her.

Katherine pinned her hair beneath the bonnet, brushed her teeth with sozodont, and made use of the chamber pot one last time, hoping Jack didn’t decide to return at that moment and see how she was doing. Thankfully he did not, and she managed to complete her toilette before he rapped on the door again

He’d brought the cane, silver-tipped and very distinguished looking, though obviously meant for a man. It did, however, help keep some of the weight off her injured leg that was throbbing heavily. She would’ve liked some more of that laudanum Jack had given her. She hobbled after Jack and George, who were carrying her trunk between them out through the house.

Outside the carriage waited; as soon as her trunk was loaded, Jack gave her a hand up. After speaking a moment with George, he followed and settled into the seat opposite her.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

She nodded and stared out the window at the house as it fell behind them. How had a bounty hunter managed to acquire a place like that? Better yet, why had he acquired it? Jack had seemed the sort who went from place to place with only his horse for company, always traveling, always after someone, never settling anywhere. And yet he had this big old house, in Boston of all places.

Katherine glanced over at him and saw a slightly different Jack than the one she had first met. He was clean-shaven now, dressed in a suit rather than worn pants and vest, and though he had a hat, he wasn’t wearing it. His hair was clean and falling across his forehead just short of his eyes, the late afternoon sun accentuating the golden highlights. He didn’t look like a bounty hunter, she decided, and he wasn’t acting much like one anymore either. Maybe there was more to Jack McCabe than she thought.

The carriage wound through the streets, still busy with traffic though it was approaching the dinner hour. Katherine could hear the noise of the city beyond the windows, the shouts of hotel runners, the curses of cab drivers, birds, whistles, and fishmongers. There were people of varying ages and in all manner of dress from ragged children to uniformed constables, men in suits and women in aprons and caps.

The day was drawing to a close, and the late summer heat that had settled over the city made her think of her house on the Cape and the beach only steps away. What she wouldn’t have given for a nice swim in the ocean or even a barefoot walk along the shore. She repressed a sigh and resisted reminding herself whose fault this was, closing her eyes and feeling the comforting hardness of the book in her valise. All she had to do was get back to Leavenworth and that cigar shop with the storeroom in the back. The one with the fancy lock her key fit.

The carriage rolled up before the station, and George jumped down to open the doors, calling for one of the many boys loitering about in the hopes of making a few coppers. Jack gave Katherine his arm, and they soon made their way up through the doors and across to one of the ticket booths.

“Where are we going?” Katherine asked.

“We’re going to visit an old friend of mine,” Jack answered.

“Oh? Who?”

“His name is Harlan Harris. He’s . . . ah, been a friend for a while now.”

“And what aren’t you telling me?” Katherine asked, having heard the hesitation.

Jack gave a small guilty smile. “He’s in law enforcement, but don’t let that worry you. He may not seem it, but he’s pretty smart, and he’s fair.”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life,” Jack answered simply.

Jack took their tickets from the agent and they made their way to the train platform where their train was beginning to load. George and the boy followed with Katherine’s trunk and Jack’s leather satchel. The platform was loud with the huffing of the trains and crowded with people.

Katherine limped after Jack who was weaving his way through the crowd to their train. Once inside they found their compartment, which, while not as luxurious as the one she’d enjoyed coming east, was at least private. Their baggage was stowed, the boy tipped, and Jack had a few words with George before joining her, shutting the door behind him.

Katherine settled in to wait, turning her thoughts away from the moment in an effort to relieve the pain in her leg, which was nearly unbearable by this point. Leavenworth. That should be her priority. She had the key now, after all.

But then she thought of Alanna, who was alive and free rather than lingering and dying as she was supposed to. Where was she now? What was she going to do? What if she killed someone important, someone who wasn’t supposed to die?

“You sure you’re okay?” Jack asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Katherine nodded.

“It’s your leg, isn’t it,” he said. “I know, it hurts. I have laudanum if you want some; it’s a long ride.”

Katherine hesitated.

“There’s no reason not to be comfortable,” Jack said.

“All right. But I’ve heard it isn’t something one should become too dependent on.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said with a grin. “I don’t have enough for you to get dependent on.”

He found the bottle in his satchel and gave it to her. “Sorry, I don’t have a spoon or glass. If you take a small sip, it should take the edge off.”