Josiah's Treasure (12 page)

Daniel could do with less energy and tumult right then. He longed for a bit of silence so he could put his thoughts in order. He wished he knew how to pray. Wished he still
believed
in prayer, but his belief had dwindled with each passing year until it had disappeared altogether, leaving not even a trace to mark where it might have once existed. His purpose had been so clear when he’d come to San Francisco, his mind focused on one cause, his feelings contained and controlled. It was all a jumble now.

He kept thinking of Sarah’s girls and the adoring way they looked at her. Kept recalling Miss Samuelson’s flinty determination and Sarah’s stiff-necked confidence, daring him to tell her she was unwise to continue with her plans. He shouldn’t have gone to the shop and recognized how serious her efforts were. Even though he still had more questions than answers about her, one thing was clear: Sarah’s business was no lark, which is what Sinclair apparently believed. She, her partner, and her girls may or may not succeed, but they certainly didn’t intend to fail.

Even if he succeeded in claiming Josiah’s estate.

Josiah.

Daniel dropped his hand from the window, leaving an imprint on the glass. Every day he spent here, stuck in one spot for the first time in eight months, forced him to deal with his memories of the man. Sort through the consequences of what Josiah had done since he’d left Chicago, including stoke the ambitious fires of hope in a brown-eyed woman who was as lovely as a spring day when she blushed.

He shouldn’t have gone to the shop. Because in seeking some final reparation from Josiah, Daniel could no longer avoid knowing how much he was going to hurt Sarah.

“Everything is set for this evening, Miss Whittier.” Mrs. Brentwood wagged a finger at Sarah, seemingly oblivious to Sarah’s dinner cooling on the small parlor table. True to her nature, Mrs. Brentwood hadn’t been dissuaded by Sarah’s attempt at privacy earlier that day. The woman’s curiosity always won out. “I told Ah Mong to be extra sharp about watching your house.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Brentwood.” Sarah offered a tight smile. She had opened the door to the woman’s persistent knocking before looking through the glass to check who it was, expecting that it might be Ah Mong himself asking after her or perhaps the police come back to check on them. She would be more careful next time. “But really, it isn’t necessary—”

“‘Be smart and keep your wits about you,’ I said,” Mrs. Brentwood interrupted. “But he has the oddest way of looking at a body that I can never tell if he’s understood me or not.” She leaned close to whisper, as if her Chinese servant had the ability to hear through the walls of Sarah’s house. “That brother of his is even more peculiar.”

“I don’t know why you keep Ah Mong on if you’re bothered by him, Mrs. Brentwood,” Sarah said, her voice edged with irritation.

“Because he’s so much cheaper than an Irish girl, of course!” Mrs. Brentwood’s close-set eyes peered down the expanse of her lengthy nose. “Mr. Cady did teach you about household finances and such affairs, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“He always was practical and most careful about expenditures.” Her neighbor’s gaze swept the room much as Daniel Cady’s had, resting on the finest pieces of furniture, the rug on the floor, and
the gilded mantel clock in particular. “Never profligate with his money. Procured items of taste, but never extravagant. In fact, rather a miser, if the stories about his treasure are—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry, my dear. I spoke out of turn.”

“‘Treasure,’ Mrs. Brentwood?”

Mrs. Brentwood waved her hands as though Sarah was an annoying insect she was attempting to sweep away. “Silliness. It’s nothing, Miss Whittier. Truly. I told Robert I’d never breathe a word.”

A sick feeling burrowed into Sarah’s stomach. “You’ll have to apologize to your husband, then, because you have.”

“You won’t tell him I told you, will you?” Her brow pinched, deepening the wrinkles across her forehead. “He would be upset. I wouldn’t have even thought of that silly rumor if not for your unfortunate intruder earlier today. Please don’t tell Robert.”

“What treasure did Josiah supposedly possess that Mr. Brentwood doesn’t want spoken of?”
And why had Josiah never mentioned such dreadful rumors?

She dropped her voice again. “Gold, Miss Whittier. From the Black Hills.”

Relieved, Sarah shook her head and smiled. “I know about that gold. It was his share from his mining operation, but Josiah always said he spent most of it on this house, and I know what was in his bank accounts. Believe me, the money he left behind is a nice sum but no treasure. And if he had hidden any cash or gold nuggets on this property, he would’ve told me.”

“Ah, yes. He would have.” Mrs. Brentwood nodded. “That’s good to hear, because it’s these sorts of rumors that encourage the criminal element.”

The sick feeling returned. “You believe the story of a treasure is why someone was sneaking around my backyard and came onto the kitchen stairs?”

“Sadly, I do.”

“But why today? This house has been here for years and no one has attempted to break in before. Undoubtedly the man was simply looking for a handout.”

“A beggar? You can’t be as naive as that, Miss Whittier.” Mrs. Brentwood sniffed indignantly. “And as for why this creature might have chosen today to lurk about . . . well, I certainly don’t claim to understand the workings of the criminal mind.”

Sarah pressed her lips together. She had managed to convince herself that their intruder had been harmless, but Mrs. Brentwood had succeeded in resurrecting her worry.

“I am tired from all the excitement, Mrs. Brentwood. Thank you for telling Ah Mong to watch out for me, though; his vigilance is comforting.”

Mrs. Brentwood appeared mollified and let Sarah show her to the door. “He has always watched out for you, my dear. Mr. Cady asked him to years ago, right about the time Josiah’s health went into serious decline.”

Sarah’s heart contracted.
Heavens, Josiah, how can you still be caring for me from beyond the grave?
And what had she ever done to warrant such fatherly affection? Especially from a man who must have suspected how far from perfect, how far from deserving she’d been.

“My thanks, anyway.”

Mrs. Brentwood dropped a dry kiss on Sarah’s cheek. “If you require further peace of mind, you could always borrow my Remington vest pocket pistol.”

“I’ll keep one of the kitchen knives close at hand,” she replied, only partly joking.

Sarah saw the woman out. Closing the door behind her, Sarah leaned against the wood and stared up the turn of the staircase. Rufus mewled from his post on the landing, returned to his spot after concluding the ruckus had settled down.

“Do you believe such silliness as a treasure, Rufus?”

He flicked his crooked tail—not much of an answer. Sarah released
a breath. Where would Josiah have hidden valuables? She knew the combination to his wall safe, and there were only legal documents and some letters inside it. She could search his bedroom. It had been months since she’d last gone into it. Months since she’d looked through any of his personal possessions, and at the time, it had only been a cursory examination. She simply hadn’t had the emotional strength to do more.

Sarah pushed away from the door with only a passing thought for the meal gone cold in the parlor. Because the time had come to do more than a superficial perusal.

After two hours of rummaging through Josiah’s belongings, Sarah sighed and sat back on her heels. She had searched his wardrobe and discovered nothing but clothes. She’d hunted beneath the bed and only found boxes holding shoes. Now the contents of numerous drawers lay scattered on the bedroom rug, and not a single piece had anything to do with treasure. There were a couple of IOUs, a few folded bank notes, underclothes and socks and handkerchiefs, a nice pair of jet-and-gold cuff links and another set in silver, a tortoiseshell comb and brush. Several good cotton sleeping shirts. A quick ink sketch Sarah had done of Mrs. McGinnis dozing by the stove. That item had made Sarah stop her search and cry.

But nothing unusual. In fact, all the typical property of a man. Sarah refolded everything and returned Josiah’s things to the drawers.

“I should not have listened to Mrs. Brentwood, Josiah.” Gently, she placed the shirts in the bottom drawer, smoothing them flat with her palm, the yellowing cotton soft under her skin. “All that woman does is collect gossip for redistribution later. I should know better than to listen to her silliness and let her worry me.”

She held on to the sketch—Daniel Cady might eventually succeed in claiming the contents of Josiah’s house, but her drawings
were hers to keep—and slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door. It was time for Mrs. McGinnis to pack the contents; Sarah had held on to the memories long enough.

“H
e’s got a treasure hidden up there, Mr. Cady, sir.” The reception lounge server’s eyes shone at the prospect. That and the fact Daniel now owed him two more dollars for his information. “Just like you thought.”

“A treasure?” Daniel glanced about the dining room. Restless, he’d gotten up early for breakfast, never really having gone to sleep. As a result, the room was mostly empty, the nearest other diners a good thirty feet distant. Out of earshot.

“Yep! Exactly!” The boy—Red was his name, if Daniel recalled correctly—flashed a grin. “Cook says you were right and there’s stories on the street about your Mr. Josiah Cady and his treasure.”

“You didn’t promise Cook I’d give him money for telling you this, did you?” The man might be making up a story just to get some cash out of Daniel.

The server looked hurt. “Didn’t have to. Cook was more’n happy to talk all about it.”

Daniel tapped his fork, the tines clinking against the china plate. His suspicions—he’d been ready to dismiss them, frankly—might be true, after all. If these stories were right, Josiah
had
hidden valuables, which would explain where the rest of his money had gone. It would also make Miss Whittier a confirmed liar.

Disappointment weighed heavily. After yesterday’s visit to the shop, he had begun to want to believe the best of her. He didn’t
want to be shown she was as bad as Josiah, full of dreams, willing to sacrifice others—and the truth—in order to attain them.

When will I learn?

“What sort of treasure?” Daniel asked, and popped a piece of bacon into his mouth. Too bad he couldn’t really taste the meat anymore, because it had been good.

The lad looked left and right, bent down, and whispered, “Gold nuggets.”

Nuggets. What else would it be? Daniel waved his empty fork at the boy, urging him to tell more.

“Might be better if I sat, Mr. Cady.”

“Then sit.”

After a grand smile at the other waiters in the room, Red scraped back the chair and sat. “A few days back—sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Mr. Cady, but I didn’t have to work again ’til today—I went and talked to Cook like I said I would. He told me his cousin knows some fellow who worked on the Cady house last year. It seems Josiah Cady asked him to install a secret compartment.”

“To hold the nuggets.”

“Well, what else? ’Course!” He leaned over his elbows propped on the table. “Cook said any of the folks who got rich in the gold fields have ’em. For hiding their diggings or their money. Guess they don’t trust banks or somethin’.”

“Why wait until last year to have this compartment built? I would think, if he wanted to hide his diggings, he would’ve had it installed right away.” He was thinking aloud and didn’t expect the server to have an answer to his questions.

“Mebbe he was scared of being robbed all of a sudden. Been some trouble around Nob Hill these past coupla years. Or mebbe he knew he was gonna pass on and decided . . .” Spots of red blushed the waiter’s neck. “Sorry to mention his passing, Mr. Cady. No disrespect meant.”

“None taken.” Daniel’s head started to throb in rhythm to the
beating of his heart. Hidden treasure. Josiah had to have told her about it. “How many folks know about Josiah Cady’s stash of nuggets, do you think?”