Echoes of Mercy: A Novel (41 page)

Noble turned one hand and gripped hers. Hard. Assuringly. Confidently. “You have my blessing. And more than that, my dear, you have my prayers.”

Caroline nodded gravely. If some of her worries proved valid, she might very well need those prayers before tomorrow came to a close.

Oliver checked his timepiece, frowned, then made another pacing journey back and forth behind the row of garbage cans near the factory’s service doors. Hadn’t he and Carrie decided on seven o’clock? It was already ten minutes past seven, and no sign of her.

He’d watched her clock out, just as they’d planned, and leave with the other workers a little more than an hour ago. When she’d scurried up the sidewalk in the direction of her boarding hotel, he’d expected her to take a detour, work her way around the block, and return. But instead she’d completely disappeared in the early-morning mists. Had she changed her mind about meeting him?

Yesterday’s rain had created more puddles in the graveled patch where wagons pulled in to receive the crates of chocolate. Oliver eased around them, mindful of the difficulty of washing muddy spatters from the bottom few inches of his pant legs. Odd how being forced to perform the rudimentary chores himself had awakened a sense of diligence. When he returned home, he would express frequent appreciation to those who saw to his laundry.

He reached the loading-dock doors and perched on the damp edge of the hip-high dock, sending another glance up the alley. Still no Carrie. He’d give her twenty more minutes, and then he’d go in alone. Even if she’d lost interest in investigating whether or not Bratcher could have accidentally fallen to his death, he wanted to know. He wanted to be able to tell Father. Because if his suspicions were correct, and Gordon Hightower had orchestrated the man’s death, his first act as the new owner of Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory would be to search for a new manager.

Or maybe he’d just fill the position himself.

He paused, considering the feasibility of such a plan. Father had always remained president of the company while allowing others to oversee the actual operation. Oliver wouldn’t criticize Father for the choice. His philanthropic endeavors, made possible by his freedom from the duties of management, had benefited many over the years. But Oliver toyed with the idea of being a more hands-on owner, so to speak. He’d enjoyed mingling with the workers, learning their names, and becoming acquainted with their concerns, both work related and personal.

His ideas went against the societal separation that he’d been trained to follow, yet the thought of working alongside his employees rather than keeping a distance gained in appeal the longer he remained among their ranks. Perhaps he could continue Father’s tradition of philanthropy but focus it more on his own employees. The mantle of leadership began to feel more comfortable on his shoulders as he considered the option.

The patter of footsteps on cobblestones captured his attention. He darted to the edge of the building and hid himself in the shadows, squinting through the rays of dawn. A woman approached, her skirts held above the ankles of her boots and her head down, revealing an explosion of auburn corkscrew curls. A smile burst across his face. She’d come.

He remained rooted in his hiding place and greeted her in a muffled whisper. “Carrie, over here.”

Her steps slowed, and she searched the area until her heart-shaped face aimed in his direction. He waved his hand, alerting her to his location, and after a moment’s pause she slipped behind the cans.

“I thought you’d decided not to come,” he said with a hint of chiding.

“I was hungry, so I walked uptown and located a vendor cart. Here.” She held out a paper-wrapped bundle. “I purchased an extra sweet roll for you.”

He appreciated her kindness, but he was much too tense to eat. Armed with information about the elevator shared by Father after he’d grudgingly agreed not to sign Oliver’s discharge papers, he wanted to complete their task. He tucked the packet into his jacket pocket and took her arm. “Thank you, but I’ll eat it later. Right now we have a job to do.” He guided her to the double
doorway, then retrieved the ring of keys from his belt. With a surreptitious glance right and left, he inserted the proper key in the lock and twisted it. The door creaked open. Oliver gestured for her to enter.

Carrie shivered and hung back. “It’s dark in there with the clouds hiding the sun and all the lights off.”

Oliver peered through the gray shadows. He’d always loved the sound and smell of the factory, but empty of its workers and its machines silenced, the factory floor seemed a gloomy place despite the aroma of chocolate filling the air. He gave her a gentle nudge on the lower back, ushering her over the threshold. “I know. But the dark is really to our benefit. If it were light in here, someone might see us moving around and alert authorities. Everyone in town knows the factory is closed on Sundays.”

He pulled the door shut behind them and secured the lock. Then he stood for a moment, listening to her deep breaths and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings. When he felt secure to move, he touched her elbow. “Come. We’ll get an oil lantern from my closet and use it when we’re away from the windows. Will that help?”

She nodded, and when he pressed her forward, she didn’t resist. They moved along together, their wet soles squeaking against the concrete floor and her skirts swishing in rhythm with the
whish, whish
of his trouser legs. The farther they ventured into the factory, the richer the aroma of chocolate became, filling his senses. Or perhaps it was the aroma of the woman beside him stirring his chest to beat in double thrums. His pulse had increased its tempo the moment she appeared, and it showed no signs of returning to normal. Simply being in her presence gave him pleasure. He truly was smitten.

And oh, how hard it would be to end their fledgling relationship before it even had a chance to bloom.

Pushing aside those gloomy thoughts, he stepped inside the closet and located a small tin of matches and the coal-oil lantern placed there in case of emergencies. Still inside the room, he lit the wick, settled the globe into place, then held the lantern aloft by its curved handle. The glow fell on Carrie’s still form just outside the door, illuminating the serious expression on her face. The desire to protect her and put her at ease rose.

“We’ll be all right,” he said, speaking quietly even though they couldn’t disturb anyone. “Are you ready?”

She hugged herself, but she nodded. “Let’s go.”

The elevator lurked at the end of a wide hallway, its gaping mouth seeming to wait to swallow them up. To dispel his childish imaginings, he shared with Carrie the things he’d learned from Father about the elevator. “Our freight elevator has the design patented by Elisha Otis. The inventor himself displayed the elevator at the New York Crystal Palace Exhibition back in 1854, so it’s hardly a new design, but its proven safety measures have become very popular over the years. Father insisted on an elevator safe enough for passengers even though it was meant to haul crates up and down.”

When they reached the elevator, Oliver handed Carrie the lantern. “Hold that up here, and let me show you something.”

She angled the light toward the iron gate, and Oliver pointed to a sprung latch.

“See? The bed releases this catch by brushing against it. So if the bed isn’t in position for entry, the gate won’t open.” He gave the gate a tug, and it groaned as the crisscross of iron bars crunched together, creating an opening for them to enter the bed. He stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow. She did so, and the wooden platform swayed gently on its cables. He took the lantern from her and aimed the light toward the side, where an iron bar carved with zigzagging teeth ran up and down. “But this is what makes the Otis elevator truly unique. See those teeth?”

She stretched out her hand and touched one tooth. “Yes. I observed those when I was in here last and wondered about their purpose. They look vicious—like a crocodile’s mouth.”

He chuckled at her picturesque speech. “They’re meant to be as strong as a croc’s jaw. Should the cable be severed, the elevator box is equipped with safety brakes that catch on the teeth, keeping the box from falling to the bottom of the shaft. Want me to show you?”

“No!”

He couldn’t resist laughing at her horrified expression. “I was only teasing, Carrie. Apparently when Otis showed his elevator at the exhibition, he did just
that—had someone cut the cables while he stood inside the box. People were amazed. And the elevator always saved itself, thanks to those teeth.” He furrowed his brow, examining the sides again. “That’s why I find Bratcher’s accident so puzzling. Father chose this elevator because it’s known to be the safest one. Obviously the bed didn’t fall, so somehow Bratcher entered the shaft when the bed wasn’t settled at one of the floors. But how, when the doors are designed not to open unless the bed is at floor level?”

Carrie made a slow circle in the elevator, seeming to examine every inch of the walls on all sides. When she completed her survey, she shrugged. “I don’t know. But given the safe construction of the elevator, it does seem unlikely that he would accidentally fall. Unless …”

Oliver leaned close, his curiosity aroused. “What?”

“You can’t open the door unless the bed is pressed against the catch. But will the elevator rise or descend to another level if the gate is left open?”

“I’m not sure. But there’s one way to find out.” He grinned, eager to test her theory. “Let’s give it a try.”

Caroline heaved her weight against the gate on the upper-level landing, grunting along with the groan of the hinges. She stepped into the hallway, and Ollie trailed her, a look of joy on his face. “Carrie, you solved the mystery! If someone neglected to close the door after entering the elevator and rode from the upper to a lower level, then it’s possible for someone to come along and fall into the shaft.”

“It’s true we’ve discovered it’s
possible
for someone to accidentally fall down the shaft. But”—she grimaced, taking no pleasure in dampening his delight—“we still haven’t proved it wasn’t deliberate.” She trailed her finger over the crossbars of the iron gate. “Wouldn’t anyone who used the elevator have been warned about the importance of closing the gate before sending the elevator to another level? An open shaft is an invitation for danger.” She glanced at him, noting his euphoric grin had disappeared. Her heart ached at the change in his
demeanor, yet she had to be honest. “Would any of the workers in the freight area be careless enough to leave the gate open?”

Ollie leaned his shoulder on the wall, releasing a heavy sigh. “Unless they were overly tired or rushed, no. They all seem to be very dedicated, responsible men. So the likelihood of it being an accident diminishes.”

Unable to bear his slumped shoulders and somber tone, she brushed his arm with her fingertips. “We don’t know for sure yet. We need to explore further.”

He caught her hand, clinging as if in need of encouragement. “How?”

She swallowed, aware that her next words could cause Ollie much pain. Yet he needed to know what his father had said to her. “Can we sit? I—I need to tell you something, and I think it would be better if you were sitting down.”

His scowl deepened, but he nodded and guided her away from the elevator to a stack of empty crates. After choosing two of them, he settled them in the middle of the hall. He placed the lantern on the floor between them, then held his hands out in invitation. She sat, and he plopped onto the second crate, facing her and resting his hands on his widespread knees.

“All right, Carrie. What is it?”

Calmly, without even a hint of malice, she shared the details of her conversation with Fulton Dinsmore. She watched Ollie’s expression change from concern to disbelief and finally to anger. She asked, very gently, “Is it possible your father might have left the door open, knowing Bratcher would be unaware of the missing elevator box when he—”

Ollie leaped up and exploded. “No!” He ran his hand over his hair, stomping back and forth between the walls. “Of course not! My father isn’t capable of … of planning a murder.”