Haunting Jordan (18 page)

After a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat and pointed. “See the third column of figures? The notations refer to account numbers which”—he reached out, his arm brushing her shoulder, and flipped to the back of the ledger—“correspond to names of boardinghouses and saloons that are known to let rooms.” He turned to yet a different section of the ledger. “And look here—this is your petty cash account. The dates of these credits match those of the payments associated with the first vendor entry for the crew. They’re probably kickbacks to Johnson, but there are no explanations regarding to whom the money goes. Cash is notoriously difficult to track.”

He turned his head to regard her, a lock of dark brown hair falling across his high forehead. She had the strongest urge to brush the hair back from his eyes, and she clasped her hands in her lap, mortified. How could she have these irrational feelings, so soon after Charles’s death, and with
this
man, of all men?

Returning to his chair, he said, as if nothing had transpired between them, “Longren Shipping is making a tidy
profit, but it’s coming at the expense of the crews you hire. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“But we have no concrete proof that you are correct.”

“No, not without further documentation. You’ll need the chart of accounts, which provides a detailed explanation of the purpose of each account represented by a number in the ledger, and you’ll have to request from Johnson or his clerk a documented list of the petty cash payments.”

She nodded. “Very well. I will return to the office tomorrow and demand that information.”

“I’ll ask around on the docks, see whether anyone has heard any rumors. I can also verify the dates ships came into port and set sail, which should tie to the dates of the deposits.” He hesitated, frowning. “Mrs. Longren …”

“You called me Hattie down at the beach,” she reminded him. “We’ve gone beyond formal names, I believe.”

Frank’s expression turned self-deprecating. “I doubt that’s a good idea, but very well … Hattie.” He paused a second time. “Are you certain you want to pursue this line of inquiry? It’s not without an element of risk.”

“Yes, I’m certain.”

He frowned. “As a union organizer, I’m pleased you are acting honorably. And I can’t deny that the opportunity to convert Longren Shipping to a union house would be a major coup, in terms of both workers’ rights and a boost to the credibility of the union. But … I’m concerned about your welfare.” He seemed uncomfortable with the admission, and she was unaccountably touched. “It would
be hard enough for a man to take on this task, let alone a woman.” He hesitated, then added, “And Johnson won’t back you up.”

“Clive Johnson has fought me since the day we received word of Charles’s death,” she pointed. “His lack of support will be nothing new.”

“It’s in his best interests to keep you away from the business. He’s benefiting from the current arrangement, far beyond the salary you pay him.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“It’s rumored on the docks.”

Hattie thought about it. A system of lucrative kickbacks would certainly explain Johnson’s fury over her “meddling” in the business. She paused, wondering whether she should trust Frank, then went with her instincts. Rising, she opened the safe, careful to keep the door angled so he couldn’t see the cash. Removing the small journal, she opened it to the list of dollar amounts in the back and handed it to him. “Do these mean anything to you?”

He glanced down the list, then whistled softly. “This is a substantial amount of money—I’ve known men to kill for far less.” He took back the ledger and searched through the entries once more. “I can find no corresponding payments of these amounts, nor any obvious smaller payments to a similar account or description that would add up to these sums. Have you checked your personal household accounts?”

“No.” She felt foolish that she hadn’t thought to do so.
“I’ll look at those this evening, but surely the amounts are far too exorbitant?”

Frank shrugged. “The explanation could be as simple as payments to workmen and landscapers, perhaps combined with some personal investments, though you’re right—I can’t fathom the house costing even close to that amount.”

She hadn’t considered the possibility of other business ventures. Her thoughts returned to the stacks of cash in the safe. It was possible that Charles had invested in side business ventures such as the railroad, and that the cash represented his return on those investments. But why keep so much cash around? Why not deposit it in the bank, unless he hadn’t wanted any record of receiving it?

Frank’s expression remained troubled. “My advice would be that you don’t show these to anyone else. At least, for now.”

“Because they could have something to do with Longren Shipping?”

“Possibly. The fact that they don’t show up as legitimate accounting entries indicates they might be associated with illegal contraband that wouldn’t be listed as inventory. Have you ever heard your husband discuss opium or other smuggled items?”

“Absolutely not.” She halted her unconscious defense of him. “Though from what I’ve been told, Charles evidently did his best to shield me from what he did, even socially.”

“You’re referring to his visits to the Green Light,” Frank said softly.

She flushed. “Then the rumors are true?”

He contemplated her, probably trying to decide what to reveal. “It’s not my place to discuss his … proclivities. If you want answers, ask Mona.”

“I have a right to know.”

He hesitated. “You’re right, you do. But I’ll not be the one to tell you, and if I had my way, I’d make certain you never found out the details.”

She wanted to push him, but she could tell by his expression it would do no good. She sighed. “Then I will be in touch. I’ll request the documentation you mentioned first thing in the morning.”

“Very well.” Frank stood, his gaze warm, yet worried. “Most women wouldn’t even consider taking this on.”

She shrugged. “You may have been right all along—I may not have any clue about the man I married,” she admitted. “But I’m determined to find out.”

“If Clive Johnson is complicit in what we have discovered today, he won’t change his ways without a fight. And the fact that you’re a woman won’t even give him pause.”

“I refuse to be afraid of him,” she said, her chin lifting. “I own the company, and I
will
have control.”

Frank walked to the door, then turned to quietly study her one last time. She had the oddest feeling he wanted to say something of a personal nature, but he said instead, “I’ll expect to hear from you.”

With a nod, he walked out as he had come, through the kitchen.

* * *

H
ATTIE
scarcely had time to tidy Charles’s desk and return files to drawers before she heard a knock on the front door. Her immediate thought was one of concern that whoever was calling might see Frank Lewis leaving and wonder at the reason for his visit. Then she chastised herself—
she
had been the one to insist that he not worry about such issues. Her business with him was legitimate, and she wouldn’t ask him to skulk around. Even in light of Frank’s concern over the risk she was taking, she’d be damned if she’d worry that someone would spy on the two of them and inform Clive Johnson.

Rising, she walked around the desk just as Sara received Chief Greeley in the front hallway, Charlotte on his arm. Tabitha trailed a few steps behind, looking anxious. Hattie’s brow knit—what had they been doing outside?

Charlotte’s cheeks were flushed as she laughed up at the police chief, her young love written across her face for all to see. He leaned down and murmured something to her, his manner slightly cocky, and she blushed.

“Miss Charlotte!” Sara rushed to take the girls’ capes and gloves. “Where have you been?”

“Out, Sara,” Charlotte answered gaily, waving a hand. “It’s a beautiful day!”

Hattie moved forward, stopping at the library doors. “Chief Greeley,” she said, nodding coolly. “Charlotte, please explain yourself. You and Tabitha were supposed to be in the parlor, working on dress designs.”

Charlotte hesitated, showing the first signs that she
might have done something wrong, then she tossed her head, her gaze defiant. “As I believe I indicated this morning, Hattie,” she said, her tone artificially mature, “today was perfect weather for an outing to Fuller’s. Tabitha and I were enjoying a delicious raspberry ice when Chief Greeley stopped by.” She leaned into the police chief’s side, her hand still on his arm. “We had a wonderfully pleasant time, wouldn’t you agree, John?”

Greeley smiled down at her indulgently, though his gaze, when he looked at Hattie, was censorious.

Hattie sighed inwardly. “Sara, please take Charlotte into the parlor to wait for me there while I talk to Chief Greeley.” She turned her gaze back to Tabitha. “Go with Sara, Tabitha.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tabitha said, shooting a sulky look at Charlotte.

Hattie had no doubt Charlotte had pushed Tabitha into agreeing to the outing. She leveled a hard look at Charlotte. “And you and I will discuss
your
rebellious behavior in a moment.”

“But—”

“Now
, young lady.”

Charlotte blanched at being chastised in front of the police chief. Her eyes filling with tears, she whirled and stormed across the hall.

Hattie motioned Greeley to follow her into the library. “I’m not in the habit of allowing the girls to go out without a chaperone, if that is what you were about to comment on, Chief Greeley,” she said once they stood before
the fireplace. “Charlotte left the house without my knowledge and permission, after I expressly forbade her this morning to do so.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Longren,” Greeley said, slapping his gloves against his pant leg, “you clearly weren’t attentive enough. You should consider yourself extremely lucky that I happened by Fuller’s establishment and noticed Charlotte at one of the tables by the front window. Though I didn’t go so far as to reprimand Charlotte publicly, I can’t condone such licentious behavior in the girl I intend to marry.”

Hattie would’ve considered herself far luckier if he
hadn’t
happened by, but she refrained from saying so. “Rest assured I will be punishing Charlotte for disobeying my orders, as well as questioning the household staff as to how this could have happened.”

Greeley rocked back on his heels, his eyebrows arched. “Charlotte merely needs a firm hand, Mrs. Longren. I would point out that this type of behavior—as well as the obviously lax supervision in your household—argues in favor of a brief courtship. I trust you’ve thought over my request and have agreed to my suit?”

“On the contrary, Chief Greeley,” Hattie said, grinding her teeth. “I said I would give you an answer by the end of the week, and I plan to stick to that schedule. I have far too many concerns about a possible liaison between you and my sister to make such a decision in haste. Today’s lapse in judgment, though deserving of disciplinary action, does not rise to a level that would justify a precipitous decision. Our parents had the faith to leave Charlotte
in my hands. I owe it to them to consider carefully any possible change in that guardianship that might be against their express wishes.”

Greeley’s expression had hardened as she spoke. “Charlotte’s presence at Fuller’s, whether or not accompanied by her friend, was reckless and inappropriate. I must warn you that I won’t be interested in ‘soiled goods.’” Greeley pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be back at the end of the week, Mrs. Longren. In the meantime, see that you keep Charlotte’s girlish impulses properly in check.”

Hattie didn’t reply, gripping the edge of the desk so hard she felt a fingernail break.

Once Greeley was out the door, she took a moment to rein in her temper, as well as to congratulate herself for not having given in to the urge to hurl Charles’s paperweight at Greeley’s retreating back.

Chapter 8

TRUE to her promise, Jordan forced herself to stop reading an hour later and locked up, driving straight from the Historical Society to All That Jazz. On the way out the door, she’d added to her growing list of transgressions by filching several memoirs for her bedtime reading. To her way of thinking, it was better to steal what she needed now, rather than repeatedly sneak back into the building.

Of course, career burglars probably made similar rationalizations.

She
did
have another reason for taking the books, but she wasn’t yet willing to admit it, even to herself. After all, no sane, normal person would acknowledge that she now felt compelled to solve a century-old murder for a resident ghost. Right?

The light at the first intersection on the outskirts of downtown turned red, forcing her to stop. Traffic was sparse, though, and moments later, she was on her way again, leaving behind the relatively flat land next to the waterfront and climbing the hills into the residential
neighborhoods along the bluff. As she passed block after block of quaint old homes, she realized how peaceful the town seemed today in comparison to its violent past. What must it have been like to live here in the late nineteenth century? Undoubtedly for women like Hattie and Charlotte, life tended to be short, even tragic. But Jordan suspected it had also been more exciting.

Hattie had left the safety of the only home she knew and traveled across the country with a man who was in many ways a virtual stranger. What an adventure! Would Jordan have had that kind of courage? Would she have been lured by the excitement and danger? Would she have initially romanticized the marriage, as Hattie had appeared to?

She wasn’t altogether certain, but she doubted it. She
had
leapt into marriage with Ryland while still in school. (And look how
that
had turned out.) But she couldn’t deny that every chance she got, she planned her life down to the nth degree before taking the next step. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t working out so hot, either.

Okay, admittedly she’d made a few impulsive decisions lately. But once committed, she’d backed up those decisions with solid plans. So she probably wasn’t as impetuous as Hattie, nor did she have the same thirst for adventure.