Josiah's Treasure (26 page)

“Well . . .” Lottie’s brows puckered, a momentary concession that the “one thing to be done” was not universally accepted in the Samuelson household. “Papa agreed.”

“I can’t leave this house unguarded, an open invitation to this burglar and anyone else with a mind to pilfer the contents.” Sarah returned to the inventory she’d been conducting before Lottie interrupted. The list of pictures available to sell wasn’t long enough. The empty spaces on the parlor wall where the paintings she’d sold to Mr. Grant once hung were as glaring as coffee stains on a white tablecloth. There’d be more spaces soon if Mr. Winston continued to evade his commitment. “Besides, Officer Hanson was very confident this morning that they have caught the culprit. You don’t need to worry.”

“I have lived in San Francisco most of my life, Sarah. When it comes to the police and their assurances, I need to worry. But I see you insist on being stubborn, so I will relent. For now.”

Sarah smiled at her. “You are a dear and I love you.”

“I have more news,” Lottie said as she peered over Sarah’s shoulder, clucking about the itemized tally in Sarah’s hands: one watercolor of the conservatory at Golden Gate Park; a charcoal sketch of a schooner in the docks; two small oils of the rose garden. Seagulls at the wharf. A rainy day along Market Street. All of them painted when Sarah had enjoyed more time to pursue her art and, in retrospect, a great deal fewer concerns. “At least you have not included your portrait of Mr. Cady.”

“Josiah goes with me wherever I may end up.” Sarah glanced at the painting in the corner, overdraped by its black crape. She would never leave him behind. “Back to your news. What is it?”

Lottie’s gaze was steady and very serious; there would be no liking the direction this conversation was headed. “We had Mr. Winston for company yesterday. He and his wife came for tea and managed to stay all the way through supper. He wanted to talk to Papa about the studio.”

“He hasn’t deposited his funds into my account as we’d ar-ranged.”
Sarah folded shut her notebook. “I take it I won’t be happy to find out why.”

“Mr. Winston has heard that, in two weeks, a real estate agent intends to put this house up for auction.”

“He doesn’t even own it yet!” She laughed, but not because she felt an ounce of humor. “He slept on my porch like some guardian angel and all the while intends to sell the house the minute he has possession of it. And it’s clear he presumes he’s going to get possession of it. Leaving me on the curb.”

Lottie screwed up her face. “Are we talking about Daniel Cady sleeping on your porch?”

“I don’t want to talk about that. All I’ll say is he’s a deceiving liar and I bought his pretense of concern.” Sarah threw her notebook and pencil onto the nearest table. The pencil rolled off the edge and Rufus shot out from behind the settee to bat it around. At least the cat remained happy and playful.
Drat Daniel Cady. Drat him.
“I suppose your father was forced to explain to Mr. Winston who Daniel Cady is and what he’s after?”

Lottie nodded grimly. “Papa tried to assure him that our backers could save us, that you had planned our finances very carefully, but Mr. Winston did not want to listen.”

“The lithograph press . . . it’s set to arrive in an hour.” She frowned at Lottie. “This is ridiculous. Mr. Winston’s qualms will
cause
the business to fail, especially if he succeeds in convincing the others to withdraw their offers of support too.”

“Papa explained that to him, as well.”

“What a mess we’re in, Lottie.” All because Daniel Cady decided to turn up.

“Perhaps this will help. I have money to pay the balance on the press.” As proof, Lottie opened her beaded reticule and withdrew a small roll of bills.

“Don’t tell me you sold any of your jewelry to finance our shop.”

The dollars returned to the depths of Lottie’s purse. “I shall remain quiet, in that case.”

“We both can’t continue to sell all of our possessions as a solution to our financial problems.”

“I have not given up on Mr. Winston, for ‘tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope’,” Lottie responded, quoting the Bible. “He and his wife have been invited to my birthday luncheon, and I have more tricks up my sleeve.”

Sarah cocked an eyebrow at Lottie. “Perhaps you could work your tricks upon the despicable Daniel Cady and his equally despicable real estate agent.”

“You were supposed to be the one charming him.”

Clearly, the impetuous kiss she’d given him hadn’t softened his heart.

“I have apparently failed.” Sarah untied her apron and threw it after the notebook. The ribbon ties dangled over the table edge, giving Rufus another toy to bat. “Lottie, I need you to attend to the delivery of the lithograph press today. Because I mean to speak to Mr. Cady. He has a few actions to answer for.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve set the house up for auction in two weeks, before you even own it?”

Daniel stood at the door to his hotel room, one hand on the knob, the other gripping his straight razor. When he’d heard the knock, he’d anticipated finding one of the chambermaids outside with a fresh pile of towels. Not an indignant Sarah Whittier.

“Miss Whittier, it’s not even eleven in the morning. Couldn’t this have waited until later?” A dollop of shaving foam dripped off his razor onto the carpet. “And been discussed in a better location than my hotel room?”

Sarah blushed and glanced up and down the empty hallway. The elevator rattled on its ascent from the ground floor, but it glided upward without anyone disembarking on his floor. “I had no way of knowing if—or when—you’d come down to the public lounge, Mr. Cady, and I wanted to talk to you urgently.”

“Might I finish shaving while you’re talking?”

“I’m not coming in,” she said, peeking past his shoulder at the room. As he’d told her, he’d taken one of the smallest in the hotel, so if she’d been expecting a lavish sitting room or a private attached bathroom, she would be disappointed.

“You can stand and query me from the doorway, then,” he answered, leaving the door open and stepping over to the small shaving station he’d set up on the dressing table. His sisters stared at him from their tintype alongside the washbasin, somewhat reprovingly, it seemed.

“They have a barber in this hotel, I believe.” Sarah’s face was reflected in the mirror atop the dressing table, and he could see her fleeting, amused smile.

“I find giving myself a shave relaxing.”

“And free.”

“No need to spend money on an occupation I enjoy.” He’d had to learn frugality, these past years, when doctor’s bills and growing girls hadn’t come cheap. He wasn’t about to change his habits overnight. And after pawning his watch to buy her water-color of the Seal Rocks, along with some dolls for his sisters, he didn’t mind saving the cost.

His gaze flicked to the painting, lying where he’d set it on the bed, the paper partially unwrapped. If she noticed it, she’d have more questions than why he hadn’t told her that Sinclair’s real estate agent friend had set up a house auction.

“The barber might have asked embarrassing questions, anyway.” Sarah was studying him with unconcealed fascination, observing every motion of the blade, even as he swished it through the basin of warm water. She had to have seen Josiah shave, maybe even shaved him herself.

Daniel became acutely aware he was standing there in his shirt-sleeves and stockinged feet, collar undone and hair tousled from a hasty comb-through. A domestic scene normally only shared by husband and wife. One far too intimate for the two of them.

He hastily dragged the razor under his jaw, nicking his skin and drawing a bead of blood.

She didn’t notice. “For instance, he might have asked why you needed a shave so late in the morning.”

Daniel daubed at the blood with the corner of a towel. “Maybe he’d assume I’m a late riser.”

“He certainly wouldn’t assume it was because you’d spent the evening sleeping on my porch.”

Daniel wet the towel and wiped residual shaving foam from his chin. “Ah Mong told you.”

“He didn’t mean to.” Her eyes tracked him as he buttoned up his shirt and threw on his vest. He found her scrutiny unsettling, and if he thought about why he found it unsettling, he would have to admit how much he was attracted to her. “There wasn’t any need for you to stand as guard last night, Mr. Cady, and you certainly won’t need to repeat the act. The police came by the house this morning to tell me they’ve caught the culprit and thrown him in jail.”

“And you believe them?”

“You sound just like Lottie.”

He crossed the room, rejoining her at the door, feeling more comfortable now that he was, minus a pair of shoes, fully dressed. “If you’re satisfied with your safety, then I’ll have to be too.”

“You can’t be worried about my safety, Mr. Cady. You were worried about the contents of the house. The house you seem to expect to own.” She pulled in a deep breath and clutched her reticule closer to her waist. It had the effect of making her look prim and righteously angry. “The one you’ve hired a real estate agent to put up for auction in two weeks.”

“I didn’t hire him. My lawyer did.” As if that were a defense.

“You knew, though, didn’t you?” she accused. “And didn’t warn me. I had to find out through Lottie, who found out from one of our backers. Or I should say, probably former backer. He was alarmed by the news and is dithering on whether or not to
advance us the money he promised. If more people decide to withdraw their support, the shop is as good as doomed.”

“What if I offered you a thousand dollars to make up for it? I would like to invest in the studio.” She hadn’t believed his offer last time and he doubted she would now. But he watched her face for her reaction, because his brief experience with her had taught him she hadn’t learned to guard her expressions well, and he’d learn as certainly as a finger held aloft which way the wind blew.

Sarah narrowed her gaze. “You’re teasing me about wanting to invest. Just like you did the other day when we returned from Tar Flat. I’m not even certain I’d accept money from you if you were sincere, Mr. Cady, because it feels like a bribe.”

“You tried to bribe me, as I recall. Only seems fair I return the favor.”

She flushed and looked away, finding something interesting to examine on the hotel carpeting.

“If you’ve decided money from me would be tainted, Miss Whittier,” he said, “then we don’t have much else to talk about. I’m sorry, I should have told you about the auction. The time never seemed right. But you had to suspect it would happen. That house appears to be the bulk of Josiah’s estate. If I don’t sell it—”

“You don’t get your money,” she interjected, saving him from stating the obvious. “You could have had the courtesy to wait to engage a real estate agent until after the probate hearing was concluded, though.” Scowling, she stepped back from the doorway. “I’m going to the shop. The lithograph press is being delivered today and I want to be there when it arrives. I’m not giving up on my studio until I can’t find two pennies to rub together and my landlord runs me off.”

She had set her jaw with its typical stubborn tilt. “I wouldn’t expect you to do anything else, Miss Whittier.” She was obstinate and strong and he rather liked her that way.
Watch it, Daniel.

“At least one of us is predictable, Mr. Cady.”

He inclined his head in concession to her point. “By the way, if Miss Tobin is at work today, tell her I’ve bought some dolls.”

“Why?”

“She’ll understand.”

Brow crinkled in confusion, Sarah turned to go. “Good day, Mr. Cady. And I won’t ask why you have my painting of Seal Rocks lying on your bed. I don’t have the time to try to figure that out too.”

T
he two men grunted as they wrestled the hulking iron base of the lithograph press through the side door of the shop, sweat streaming down their faces. With a concerted heave, they cleared the threshold and clomped across the floor, Cora dashing ahead of them to indicate where to place the machine.

Lottie smiled over at Sarah, who had just arrived at the shop. “You should have seen when they unloaded the stones. They were startled by how heavy they were and nearly dropped one.”

“Have there been any problems?” Sarah peered into the store. She thought she might see Anne, but only Cora and the two men from the artists’ supply company appeared to be inside.

“No, but they are not finished unloading the wagon yet.” Lottie considered the wagon parked at the curb, its draft horse nosing the contents of a bag strapped to its head. “Not much left to mishandle, though.”

“Thank goodness.”

Lottie removed the chunk of broken cobblestone propping the door open and tossed it into the gutter. “Did Mr. Cady defend the planned auction of the house?”

“Not in the least.” He hadn’t even appeared apologetic. Although maybe she hadn’t exactly noticed what he’d been feeling, as distracted as she’d been by the sight of him with his shirt unbuttoned down his chest, his hair damp from an attempt to tame it, a dab of shaving foam clinging to his ear. “He made
another joke about investing in the shop and then told me to tell Minnie he’d bought some dolls. The man is confusing and infuriating.”