Josiah's Treasure (13 page)

“The fellow who did the work. Cook. His cousin.” The man scrunched up his face. “And me. ’Course, you too.”

And possibly the rest of San Francisco, once Daniel had begun to make inquiries. A story this good wouldn’t take long to spread. “Did you learn anything about Sarah Whittier?”

“Not much asides from her showing up a few years back like a bolt outta the blue. But if you want me to keep askin’ . . .” He waggled his brows suggestively.

“Thanks, but no.” Daniel reached into his coat pocket for his coin purse. He tossed two Morgan silver dollars—the balance of the money he had promised the server—onto the table. The boy snatched up the coins as quickly as a toad lapping up a fly. “I’ll figure out that mystery on my own.”

“So you’re Daniel Cady.”

The housekeeper’s gaze flicked over Daniel, leaping from head to toe and all points in between, then slowed to an unyielding halt upon his face.
Does she think I resemble Josiah? Would it bother me if she did?

“Miss Whittier’s out back painting with one of the lasses until they’re set to go on their excursion.”

Sarah was busy and Daniel nearly apologized for the interruption until he remembered the reason he was there. Any notion to be polite snuffed out. “I need to talk to her.”

His tone didn’t leave much doubt that he was not going to leave without doing so. Mrs. McGinnis harrumphed. “I suppose you can come through the kitchen.”

“Thank you.”

The kitchen was tidy, if cramped, certainly much smaller than the massive whitewashed kitchen at the Hunts' mansion. Efficient
and clean, the space smelled of freshly baked cookies. The Hunt kitchen had never smelled of something as simple and unpretentious as cookies. Mrs. McGinnis pushed open the rear door and Daniel stepped through, into the green of a garden and the hush of a world set apart from the grime and dust of the street.

He paused on the porch. Her back to him, Sarah hadn’t heard him arrive. She sat with the red-haired young woman from the shop—the one who enjoyed singing—their chairs facing the corner of the garden so the sun would be at their backs. An easel was propped before them, and just beyond, a fountain gurgled, as civilized a scene as any in the finest neighborhoods of Chicago. Roses and jasmine tumbled off the wall, scenting the air, and heavy-headed lilies crowded the wood fence. They had lilies at Hunt House, planted alongside a bed of marguerite daisies. His grandmother’s gardener had planted them in honor of his sisters’ births. Back when Hunts still tolerated Cadys. Before the scandal. Before the heartache.

Blast you, Josiah, for growing them here, as if you had spared a thought for the two little girls you’d left behind before they could talk well enough to call you back. As if you had cared.

Sarah shifted in her wicker chair to clean off her paintbrush and spotted him. “Mr. Cady?”

Cora peeked over her shoulder and grinned. “Good morning, Mr. Cady! Are you coming with us today?”

“He’s not here for that, Cora,” Sarah said, frowning at him. Daniel wondered if she’d figured out why he
was
there. She didn’t let on, though. “Did you have more questions about the studio?”

“I need to talk to you.” He twisted the brim of his hat in his hands and descended onto the gravel path that wound between beds of kitchen herbs and marigolds. He shot a glance at Cora. “In private.”

“Can it wait a few minutes? I was just finishing my lesson with Cora. She’s missed so many recently and the weather is so fine, I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity.”

She turned back to the easel and the half-finished painting without waiting for an answer.

“Cora is our best watercolorist. I expect her work to sell very well. We already have interested clients.” Sarah swished the paintbrush in the cup of water, turning it an even murkier shade of gray. Drying the bristles on a cloth, she dipped into the dark orange paint and began applying shading. Her brush flowed across the paper with practiced ease, graceful as a dance. “See, Cora, this is the best way to accomplish shadows on leaves.”

“It really can’t wait, Miss Whittier,” said Daniel.

Sarah tucked in her chin and lowered her brush. “Please go into the house, Cora. The others should be arriving soon, anyway. If you hurry, you might catch Mrs. McGinnis pulling fresh cookies from the oven.”

Cora rose and strolled down the garden pathway, pausing at Daniel’s side. “You should come to our picnic today, Mr. Cady. You’d have lots of fun.”

“I was not invited to a picnic, Miss Gallagher.”

“‘Miss Gallagher’!” The girl giggled. “How high and mighty! You should call me Cora.”

“Cora, please leave us,” said Sarah.

Pouting, Cora dragged herself up the steps and into the house.

“She really is a very talented artist, even if her manners need polishing.” Sarah dropped the brushes into the cup and covered the paint receptacles. She stripped off her coarse cotton apron and laid it on Cora’s empty chair. Uncharacteristically uncomfortable looking, she picked at a fleck of blue paint on one of her knuckles. “I suppose you’ve come to let me know your identification has arrived, and the court date has been set.”

“Not even the fastest express train could get my documents here already, Miss Whittier.”

“That’s true.” Slowly, she stood and faced him. “Why are you here then? A casual stroll didn’t bring you all the way to Nob Hill.”

He ran the brim of his hat through his fingers. He’d wear down the nap if he continued the habit. “I’m here because I want you to tell me about Josiah’s treasure.”

She paled. “Not you too.”

“So there is one.” He suddenly felt sick. “I’ll tell my lawyer you’re willing to admit to hiding valuables. He’ll inform Judge Doran—”

“There is
no
treasure, Mr. Cady,” she said firmly.

“I have been told by a reputable source”—
a bit of a stretch
—“that a hidden compartment was installed in this house for the purpose of hiding gold nuggets.”

“Do I look as though I’ve been enjoying a secret hoard of gold, Mr. Cady?” Sarah gestured at her dress, a bland green check that looked rehemmed and in worse shape than his travel-worn coat. “I own four outfits, not a one of which is remotely new. Mrs. McGinnis and I eat simply and entertain never. Every spare penny I have has gone into my girls and my business.”

“Then explain the story I’ve heard.”

“I can’t.” She lifted her chin. A strand of hair had come loose from the knot at her neck, and it trembled alongside her throat. “But it is just a rumor. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and tell your lawyer to have someone tear this house apart from cellar to attic. He won’t find a treasure because there isn’t one. Furthermore, you may tell your ‘reputable source’ that Josiah installed a wall safe last fall to hold legal papers and some money after a spate of robberies in the neighborhood. Hardly a secret compartment or a hoard of gold.”

Sarah Whittier was either a crack bluffer or telling the truth. “Before, you said, ‘Not you too.’ What did you mean by that?”

Sarah pinched her lips between her teeth. “A man attempted to break in to the house while I was at the shop yesterday. Fortunately, Mrs. McGinnis scared him off. My neighbor, who knew about this rumor, seems to think this fellow must have heard it also. I’m apparently the last person in San Francisco to know.”

“Josiah might have decided not to tell you—”

“Josiah would have told me,” she snapped.

“Did he tell you about me?”

She couldn’t answer that and not condemn the man as a liar.

Sarah swallowed and regrouped. “I do find it rather strange that within a day of some man poking around my property, you’ve come looking for these rumored hidden nuggets too.”

The waiters at the Occidental . . . maybe they’d done more blabbing than he’d paid them to do. “Rumors travel fast.”

“I’ll say, and I hope you don’t have anything to do with the speed.”

Daniel crushed the brim of his hat; he wasn’t simply ruining the nap, he’d need to buy a new one soon. “Tell me about this man who tried to break in,” he said, trying to silence an annoying voice in his head. What if the story really
was
just a rumor? What if he was ready to believe it simply because it fit his tarnished image of Josiah?

What if he was wrong?

Sarah gave a small shrug. “Mrs. McGinnis said he was a big, ugly brute. Which could describe a thousand men in this city. We’ve informed the police.”

“Good.” At least she’d be safe.

She tilted her head. “Are you worried more about the rumored gold nuggets or me, Mr. Cady?”

The back door flung open, saving him from uttering the “you” that leaped to his tongue.

“Minnie and Anne have arrived, Miss Sarah,” Mrs. McGinnis announced. “And Miss Charlotte.”

“Thank you.” With one hand, Sarah lifted her skirts. The other, she clenched at her waist. “My girls and I have planned a picnic at Golden Gate Park. A treat for them and time for me to show you out. Unless you want to conduct a search of the house right at the moment.”

He returned her unblinking regard. He didn’t know who or
what to believe anymore. “No, Miss Whittier. I’m satisfied.”

“Thank heavens.”

She turned sharply on her heel. He moved to follow. Holding her head very erect, Sarah swept through the kitchen then into the passage that led into the dining room. From the direction of the front parlor, Daniel could hear excited female voices whispering. Her girls, likely gossiping about him.

Miss Samuelson intercepted them just as Sarah reached the front door. “Mr. Cady, I did not expect to see you today. Are you joining us?”

“Hardly, Lottie. He came to ask some questions and has gotten his answers.” Sarah flung the door wide. “Have a good day, Mr. Cady.”

“Just a second, Sarah,” said Miss Samuelson. “I will see Mr. Cady out.”

Leaving the door wide open, Sarah retreated into the parlor and drew shut the pocket doors. The murmur of voices on the other side rose into a crescendo.

Miss Samuelson smiled as though she didn’t hear the noise. “You should come with us.”

“To your picnic?”

“Do not sound so dumbfounded! Yes, our picnic. The weather is perfect and the park is lovely. Have you seen it? No, you have not. Before you leave town, you must. Why not today?”

Her smile was both gentle and firmly direct. His mother used to smile at him like that, right before she convinced him to do something he didn’t want to do. “I’m pretty sure Miss Whittier wouldn’t care for my company. Which makes me wonder what you’re up to, Miss Samuelson.”

She paused to consider him. “I shall be honest with you, Mr. Cady. I want to prove to Sarah you are not as bad as she thinks you are.”

“I don’t see how a picnic will prove that.”
Because what if I am that bad?
“And I don’t know why you want her to appreciate my
fine character. Seems to me it’s best we have nothing to do with each other outside of our legal dealings.”

“That is not true at all,” she insisted. “Come with us. Get to know Sarah better and meet the rest of the girls. Clearly you are interested in our business endeavor, or else you would not have come by to see the shop yesterday.”

“So, all this persuasion isn’t about Sarah getting to appreciate me. It’s for me to appreciate her more. And your business.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Samuelson, I don’t need to hear or see any more, and I’m not going to be swayed to offer financial support. I made a promise to my sisters to claim our due from our father. As I’ve already explained to your partner.”

Miss Samuelson lifted her chin. Her face was as sweet as an angel’s; her eyes were as hard as an auction house clerk’s. “Mr. Cady, do not disappoint me by revealing that you are a coward.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. I saw your interest yesterday. You could invest in worse causes than our business.” Her pale brows crept up her forehead. “But you are not willing to pursue your interest and appreciation, which forces me to conclude you are afraid.”

And here he’d thought Miss Whittier had the steel spine. It seemed they both did. “I don’t like to be blunt with ladies, but I question that your business has a chance of succeeding, Miss Samuelson. You’re counting on customers to give their work to a shop run exclusively by women. Former factory girls. Rough immigrant girls. You’re being overly optimistic, if you ask me.”

“‘Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord.’ Psalm four, Mr. Cady.” Her voice was patient and confident. “I have faith we are pursuing a right cause, doing the best we can, and hopefully making a positive difference in the world. It is not an easy path, but it is the only one worth taking. What path are you taking?”

His gut knotted. He’d lived the past months with only one
relentless goal. Not the sort of path she had in mind, but the one he’d had to be on.

Daniel gave a crisp bow. “I have another engagement, Miss Samuelson. I must leave.”

She stepped in front of him. “Sarah is too proud to beg, but I am not. Please go on this outing with us. Spend some time and get to know the girls better. They are not all as silly as Cora Gallagher.”

“I hope not.”