Deadly - Deadly Desire Part 9

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Flowers," Francesca said as Dot began to tug on her hat and laugh as a flower came off in her hand. "I am Francesca Cahill. I believe my mother hired you."

Mrs. Flowers hurried over with the energy of a locomotive. "Yes, she did. And I told her I am used to running the household, as far as the children go. My references are impeccable, Miss Cahill. I cannot tolerate interference!" She huffed and she didn't look at Peter, but it was obvious to whom she referred.

"I am sure Peter has other duties he wishes to attend to," Francesca murmured. Then, "I do think the commissioner and I need to discuss whether Katie should return to school today or perhaps next week."

Mrs. Flowers did not look pleased.

"Ow, Dot, you have stabbed me with a hat pin," Francesca scolded gently while Dot cooed happily at her.

"Frack!" she screamed. It was an ecstatic and ear-splitting sound.

"School will get her mind off of her ordeal," Mrs. Flowers said. "Please put Dot down. She will hurt herself with that hat pin." Mrs. Flowers took the pin away from the child.

Francesca was impressed. At least the new nanny would safeguard the children from harm.

She handed the struggling toddler over to Mrs. Flowers; Dot screeched in protest. Wincing, Francesca was about to take her back. "She hasn't seen me in a few days."

"A spoiled child is a troublesome child," Mrs. Flowers said firmly, not releasing Dot. "Dot, do calm down this instant."

From behind her, Peter gave Mrs. Flowers a glance. Clearly he was not about to miss a thing.

And to Francesca's amazement, Dot, who had opened her mouth to scream at the top of her

lungs, now shut it. She regarded her nanny carefully.

"That's my sweet, good girl," Mrs. Flowers said, not using baby talk in her tone. "Now, let's get your sister ready for school and after we drop her there, you and I can go for a nice stroll in the park."

Dot hesitated, then smiled. "Park," she said. Then she beamed angelically at Francesca.

"Frack!"

Francesca understood. "I'm afraid I have business to attend to, Dot. But we shall go to the park another time, when your sister can join us." She glanced at Katie, who was shoving her oatmeal around now with her spoon, clearly listening to their every word, but not looking up.

Maybe it would get her mind off of her mother's death if she went to school.

Francesca paused by the small kitchen table where Katie sat. Katie did not look up. "Good morning, Katie. I'm sorry I haven't been by in a few days, but as you can see, I hurt my hand, and I was ordered to remain in bed."

Katie looked up. Then she surprised Francesca by speaking directly to her. "What happened?"

Francesca blinked and saw that Bragg, Peter, and Mrs. Flowers were all as surprised as she was. She quickly recovered and pulled out a chair and sat down beside the dark-haired child. "I burned my hand. Rather badly. I was, ah, trying to remove a log from the fireplace, and it was on fire. I am very lucky I did not set myself on fire. But all is well now, and I do believe the bandages will come off later today."

Katie looked at her, burst into tears, and ran from the room.

Francesca jumped up. "What happened?"

"I don't know, but thank G.o.d she is starting to show an interest in her surroundings," Bragg said.

Francesca hardly heard him. She dashed for the door, to follow Katie, but so did Peter and Mrs. Flowers. The big Swede and the nanny were faster than Francesca, and they collided in the doorway. Francesca halted before ramming into them herself.

"I will handle this," Mrs. Flowers said firmly, setting Dot down.

The toddler immediately crawled in a beeline to the kitchen table. She sat under it, grinning.

Peter gave Mrs. Flowers a very dark look, and without a word, he walked out of the kitchen first, using his bulk to do so.

Mrs. Flowers rushed after him. "Mr. Olsen! Olsen! Ol-sen!"

Francesca was about to tell them she would handle Katie when Bragg grabbed her arm.

"What is going on, Francesca?" he said tersely.

"Shouldn't I go after Katie?" she asked worriedly.

"Kay Tee!" Dot shouted, crawling out from under the table. She hugged Bragg around the ankles. "Kaytee."

"In a minute. I have a nine o'clock meeting with Farr and several inspectors." He looked down and sighed. "Dot? You should be with your new nanny."

Dot ceased smiling and glared at him while Francesca wondered if Bragg expected Dot to understand his every word and to get up and obey. Dot said slyly, "Pa."

Although Francesca realized he had to leave immediately if he wished to be on time for his meeting, she blinked.

"What did she say?" she gasped, smothering the urge to laugh.

Bragg eyed her. "I have no idea."

"Pa!" Dot used his legs to haul herself up into a standing position. "Pa! Pa!"

Francesca clapped her hand over her mouth, helplessly giggling.

"What is so funny? She is the loudest child I have ever come across, the most demanding, and she piddles where she pleases."

Francesca nodded and said, "Craddock has demanded five thousand dollars. He has indirectly threatened the children. There has been a note and Lucy showed it to me."

"Christ," was his equally swift response. His eyes had turned nearly black. "And how is Calder involved?"

"Lucy went to him for help," she said tersely now. "Knowing his conscience is less thanyours, she went to him so he would do her dirty work for her!" "I see." Bragg seemed amazingly calm. "And Hart decided to remove Craddock from thislife?" "Yes, but first he intends to confront Craddock-when he finds him-in order to discoverwhatever it is that Craddock has on Shoz and Lucy." "The picture becomes clear," Bragg commented. "You are very upset, Francesca." "How can I not be upset? You should be upset as well! Your brother is intending to murder aman, Bragg." "I am hardly surprised," he said. She grabbed him. "That is not fair. You know as well as I do that this is entirely unfair. Hartmay be many things, but he is not a killer." His jaw was tight. "I take it Shoz has been left in the dark about this entire affair?" "Lucy is trying to protect him. He remains in Texas at the ranch, ignorant of all that ishappening here." Bragg gave her a dark look. He walked away from Francesca, stepped in the oatmeal onthe floor, and slid. He cursed. Francesca knew his reaction had nothing to do with the mess on the floor. She hurried tohim, avoiding the oatmeal. "Are you all right?" she asked softly. Of course he was upset.Hart was his brother, Lucy his sister, Shoz his brother-in-law. He didn't turn. "Craddock is a convicted felon, of the worst sort. I have done someinvestigative work, and it seems likely that he did murder Larry Parridy. He is the kind ofhoodlum that need not exist on the face of this earth. When he finishes terrorizing my sister,he will move on and find another victim." "What are you saying?" she asked fearfully. "I am saying that another police officer would look the other way and allow Calder to solvethe problem. Another police officer would sweep any unsavory remains under the table, thenthrow away the key to any open doors." He faced her. His golden eyes moved over her face."That is not the kind of man I am," he said. "I know," she whispered, shaken. And she did know, but the extent of his personal andprofessional dilemma was only now beginning to hit her, hard. "What will you do?" "I don't know," he said. She stared. "My brother-in-law has a past. A criminal past," he said. "My sister is happy. She loves herhusband. I could never live with myself if I destroyed her marriage, her life, her happiness." "Oh, G.o.d," Francesca whispered, scooping up Dot, who screeched and gripped her withgooey fingers. "Bragg? Shoz needs to know. He needs to know what is going on; he has aright to know! And we need to talk to him. He can tell us what Craddock knows. But there isno time!" Bragg sighed. "Come with me," he said. Curious, Francesca followed him out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the study. Hewent to his desk and lifted what was clearly a telegram. "What is that?" She set Dot down. "It's from the warden at Kendall. He was very cooperative," Bragg said. "Dot, the fire is stillhot, no!" He rushed over to her and led her away from the fireplace where ashes were stillglowing. Dot grinned at him. "But I sent him a telegram yesterday!" Francesca cried as he let Dot go. She toddled offhappily, only to fall to the floor. Undeterred, she managed to get up and start toddling again,making crowing sounds of glee. "I sent him a telegram on Sat.u.r.day, as soon as I had read Craddock's file," Bragg said.They both kept one eye on the child. And Francesca sensed the worst. "What does it say?" "It says he will meet me himself at the depot near Kendall tomorrow afternoon." Exhilaration began to course over her. "You do mean he will meet us at the depot!"

"Francesca-"

She grabbed his arm. "I am coming, and besides, we work best as a team and you know it."

She released him, filled with excitement. "What time do we leave?"

He hesitated. "At noon."

She was already out the door.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1902 - 11:00 A.M.

Neil shook hands with the gentleman he had spent the morning doing business with, a smile on his face. But the moment the other man was out the door, the door solidly closed behind him, Neil's smile vanished. He stood in his entry hall, alone except for the doorman, and while his house was filled with people, it felt eerily empty.

Gloom settled over Neal like a heavy, soaking wet cloak. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to, so he did his best to ignore it, shake it off. It remained.

He walked through a large dining room, where their table had, at times, seated sixteen or even eighteen, with the addition of a leaf or two. For larger parties, the table would be removed and numerous round tables would fill up the room, covered with ivory damask cloths, silver, and crystal. In that instant, he could imagine the dining room on just such a festive evening-his wife was brilliant when it came to decor; she was brilliant as a hostess.

An unusual flower arrangement would grace each table; the guests would be seated in a clever manner, so that the conversation never ceased. And Connie would not sit all night, not even to eat. She would flit from table to table, a vision in whichever evening gown she had chosen to wear, smiling, happy, loving every moment of the evening-loving him.

The scene vanished before his very eyes. He was shaken-it had been so real.

The gloom returned, heavier now. He dared not think of just when they had last had such an enjoyable evening. Even so, he knew the answer-before his d.a.m.ned stupid affair with Eliza Burton.

He regretted every moment he had ever spent thinking about the other woman, not just being in her arms. There was simply no excuse for his lapse. None. He should have remained faithful. He had not tried hard enough.

Unfortunately, his wife did not really care for relations. Not that she did not respond to him, for she did. He just knew that she preferred to avoid that part of their life. And he had tried so hard to avoid it, too.

As, unfortunately, until his marriage, he had been with a woman each and every night. He was a very virile man.

He entered the kitchen. He had probably never entered the kitchen in his entire life, not here, in his American home, and not in either of his homes in Great Britain. And the moment that he did, he was surprised.

Dozens of people were within. The noise level-all happy conversation punctuated with an Irishwoman's lilting song- was astounding. Added to it was the chopping of a knife on a wood block and the clattering of pots and pans. He could also hear his daughter Charlotte's laughter. His gaze found her at the pine table in the center of the room, where she was helping a kitchen maid mix a batter. Charlotte was eating the dough as much as she was stirring it, and the sight of her broke his heart.

She looked exactly like his wife. Charlotte was the most beautiful child he had ever beheld, just as Connie was the most beautiful woman.

The conversation ceased. The chopping of the knife on wood stopped. Pots banged-and then the silence was absolute.

Dozens of eyes turned to him, each and every one wide and astounded.

He felt himself flush. Before he could speak, Charlotte saw him and screeched, "Papa!" She

leapt off the stool, to his amazement, not falling on her face, before Mrs. Partridge could react. Charlotte raced toward him on chubby legs and he caught her in his arms and swept her up against his chest.

"h.e.l.lo, darling," he said, squeezing her hard.

"Papa, I am baking pie. Apple pie, we shall have it for supper tonight," she announced.

"And I shall love every bite," he said.

Charlotte's smile disappeared. "I am making it for Mama," she said.

He froze. He was afraid of what his little girl might say next.

But she only smiled. "Mama will love it and be happy," she said.

His heart lurched, hard, as if he were having cardiac arrest. "Of course she will love it," he said softly, setting Charlotte down. He looked up, at Mrs. Partridge. He had never paid very much attention to the girl's nanny until recently; now she seemed to be his confidante.

But the innuendos were intimate enough. "Where is Lady Montrose?" he asked quietly.

"She remains in her rooms, my lord," the tall, lanky woman said.

He had thought so. He stared-and the nanny stared back. Their thoughts flowed, melded.

Why was Connie doing this? Each day it became worse. The woman he had married was up at six with the children. That woman had more energy than ten women combined. That woman would never remain in bed a bit later and later each and every day. Who was the woman upstairs, who no longer wished to go out and attend parties, who no longer wished to entertain their friends?

Who no longer loved her husband, her family, her life?

"Shall I go up and see if she needs anything?" Mrs. Partridge asked carefully.

"No. Have breakfast sent up." His mind sped. Connie had hardly been eating-he could see that she had lost weight. Her face was taking on gauntness. "An omelette, please, with her usual tea and toast."

"Papa?" Charlotte tugged on his hand. "I want to see Mama, too."

He hesitated. "Another time, sweetheart."

Charlotte's eyes widened, and then her expression changed, becoming set and stubborn, oh yes. In this way, she reminded him not of her mother, but of her Aunt Francesca. "No! I want to see Mama, Papa! I want Mama!" And suddenly tears filled her wide blue eyes.

"Mama doesn't play with me anymore! She doesn't play with Lucinda! I want Mama!" She stomped her little foot, hard.

It would be so easy to give in. He lifted her up into his arms, gave Mrs. Partridge a look, which she understood, and left the kitchen. Mrs. Partridge followed. "You may visit Mama when she has her breakfast. I wish to speak to her alone first."

Charlotte hesitated, and he almost smiled, for her mind was racing-she was trying to decide whether or not to accept his offer. Finally, she smiled just a little and nodded. "Can I have breakfast, too? I want an omelette."

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then you shall have to ask Mrs. Partridge," he said. He left the two of them negotiating over the terms of a second breakfast. The gloom was inescapable now. It filled each step as he went upstairs. Outside Connie's closed door he paused, listening intently. But if she was moving about her rooms, he did not hear a thing.

He hesitated, then knocked. There was no reply.

He knocked again, with more insistence. After a long pause, he reached for the doork.n.o.b.

As he turned it, he heard her say, "Who is it?"

He froze, the door ajar. "It is I, Connie."

She hesitated now. "One moment, Neil."