Just North of Bliss (18 page)

Still, it wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess because you seem like such a
meek little lady. I didn’t expect you to have any spunk.”

She sat up straighter. “Oh?”

He didn’t know what was wrong with him
today. Instead of apologizing and rephrasing his statement, as he
should—indeed, he wanted to do—he sneered. “What’s the matter, Miss
Monroe? Trouble with your ears?”

“No, Mr. Asher,” she said after a moment or
two of glaring at him as if she’d like to squish him like a bug or
batter him with another, whole parasol. “I do not have trouble with
my ears. You, clearly, have trouble with your manners.”

Win guessed that told him. And deservedly.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Monroe. I didn’t mean to be such a
boor. When I saw Kate with those red marks on her throat and that
son of a—” He caught himself in time, and sucked in a big breath.
“Well, it was a shock.”

“Yes,” Belle said in an icy voice. “I
thought so, too, when I walked in and saw him on the process of
murdering her.”

Win shuddered. “God, it must have been
awful.”

She took an audible breath. Win wished he
hadn’t been so mean to her. The truth of the matter was that he’d
been practically flying with elation when he’d burst into Kate’s
booth. His mood had crashed and burned instantly when he’d beheld
the chaos therein, and it had been simmering in a broth of sulky
ill-usage ever since.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m really sorry. You
performed a noble deed, and you ought to get a medal, not sass from
me.” He didn’t expect her to forgive him, because she didn’t seem
the type, although what that type was, he no longer knew for
certain. Rather, he sort of expected her to give him a lecture on
polite social behavior.

She didn’t speak at all for a moment. Win
watched her surreptitiously, since he didn’t think she’d want him
to stare openly at her. She still held her hands together as if she
were trying to get them to strangle each other. She took several
deep breaths and let them out slowly, then turned her perfect,
pallid face his way. “It must have been awful for you to find
your—your friend in that condition, and for such a dreadful
reason.” She shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like
to have a father like that awful man.”

“Me, neither.” When he compared his own
father, a wealthy, jolly, benevolent, and well-respected medical
doctor, to the specimen the police had hauled away in the paddy
wagon, he could only be grateful for his own good fortune. “My
father would no more lay a hand on my sister than he would fly to
the moon.”

“Indeed.”

Win took that word to mean that she felt the
same about her own parents. “Must be tough growing up with a
drunken lout for a father. I’m glad I didn’t have to go through
that.”

“Yes.” Belle swallowed. She unclasped her
hands only long enough to brush one under her eyes.

Win wondered if she was crying. He peered at
her more closely. “Say, Miss Monroe, it will be all right. Kate’s
strong. She’s survived this long, and she’s got a good head on her
shoulders.”

“Yes. I admire her.”

“Yeah. So do I. You probably don’t know the
whole story, but that father of hers deserted the family. He was
gone more than he was there, and Kate said he mainly came home to
steal money for drink, create trouble, and beat up her mother.”

Belle gave another eloquent shudder. Win
decided he needed to take a photograph of her in that pose. He
could title it “Beauty in Distress” or something.

She didn’t glance at him. “It’s good of you
to look in on her during the day. You must care for her a great
deal.”

Eh? What was that? Win wondered if there was
some esoteric meaning hidden in Belle’s comment somewhere. He and
Kate were buddies, of a sort, and he liked her, but that was all.
He and she talked a lot together, because he wasn’t a judgmental
fellow, and Kate appreciated him for not moralizing at her or
lecturing her on how to better herself, a process she was doing
quite well on her own. She also appreciated his honestly held
opinion that she shouldn’t be held accountable for the foibles and
evil deeds of her father. “Yes,” he said uncertainly. “Well, we’re
friends, Kate and I.”

“I see.”

The doctor spoke, and both Win and Belle
turned their attention in his direction. “You’ll have a sore throat
for a few days, Miss Finney, but you’ll be all right. Here are some
lozenges for you to suck on that might ease the pain. They contain
horehound, which people often find soothing.”

“Thank you.”

Win was surprised when Belle winced at
Kate’s voice, which was soft and scrapey. He felt like doing the
same thing, but he hadn’t expected this degree of empathy from
Belle. “You’re going to be fine, Kate,” he said, hoping to
encourage the poor suffering girl. He felt mighty sorry for Kate
Finney.

She gave him a little wave and smiled.
“Thanks, Win.” A cough rattled her small frame, and she grimaced in
pain.

Win grimaced in sympathy. So did Belle.
Again, Win was surprised, although he was beginning to think he’d
underestimated Miss Belle Monroe.

The policeman said, “Thank you for your
statement, Miss Finney. If you can think of anything else that
might help us prosecute this case, please let us know.”

“I will,” Kate said in her new voice. She
popped one of the doctor’s lozenges into her mouth and sucked. They
must have tasted bad, because she grimaced again.

Win was startled when Belle surged from her
chair. “I’ll just run and get you some water, Miss Finney.”

“Thank you.” Kate gave Belle a truly
glorious smile. “Please call me Kate.”

The policeman walked over to Belle. “Just a
moment if you will, young lady. I’d like to take your statement.
Perhaps someone else can get the other young lady some water.”

Belle swallowed again. “But, I—”

Gladys interrupted, much to Win’s
appreciation. He knew he ought to offer to get Kate the water, but
he wanted to stick around and hear Belle’s side of the story. “Do
you need us, Officer? The children are restive, and perhaps we can
fetch Miss Finney some water and then ride on the Ferris wheel or
something while you interview Miss Monroe.”

“Thank you, Gladys.” Belle gave Gladys a
smile Win wished she’d given him.

“Did you see anything, ma’am?” The policeman
frowned at Gladys. Win wished he had his box camera with him so he
could take a picture of the fellow. He looked exactly like Win’s
idea of a police officer in
The Pirates of Penzance
.

“No. We came in after—after it all
happened.” Gladys gulped audibly. Amalie stood so close to her
mother that she might have been glued to her skirts, and Garrett
was staring at the doctor’s equipment as if he itched to peruse it
by hand.

“I think you can take the kiddies off then,
madam,” the policeman said, giving his version of a kindly smile,
which made him look like a benevolent walrus.

Very softly, Win began whistling “A
Policeman’s Lot is Not a Happy One,” to pass the time until he
could talk to Kate. Or Belle. Either one.

He’d originally come to Kate’s booth to show
her one of the photographs of Belle he’d taken the night before.
He’d been so excited about the plates, he’d stayed up late to
develop them. His hunch about Belle had paid off. She was
unquestionably the Perfect American Female. He’d already gone to
the
Globe
and showed H.L. May, his reporter friend, the
photo, and H.L. had agreed to write an article to accompany the
photograph. He’d told Win not to worry about what he’d write, and
that he’d connect Belle’s photograph somehow to the fair. Win had
faith in H.L., who was good at that sort of thing.

By damn, Win Asher was poised on the
threshold of worldwide photographic fame. He could hardly wait to
show everybody his genius in photographic form.

The mustachioed policeman licked the point
of his pencil. “All right, Miss Monroe, can you tell me what
happened in your own words?”

“I don’t know who else’s words I’d use,”
Belle said.

Her sharp tone jerked Win out of his
blissful contemplation of impending fame and fortune. He glanced at
her.

“Er, yes, ma’am,” the policeman said,
sounding slightly annoyed.

“I opened the door—”

“You were coming in to visit with Miss
Finney? Or were you going to partake of her services?”

Good God, Win thought, it sounds as if Belle
had been coming in for a massage or something.

Belle evidently didn’t appreciate the
policeman’s wording, either. “We—Mrs. Richmond and the children and
I—were going to have our palms read.” She shot a glance at Kate.
“For fun. We don’t really believe . . . I mean, we thought it might
be fun.”

“It’s all right, Belle,” Kate said over the
doctor’s shoulder. “I don’t believe in it, either.” She grinned her
spunky grin.

Belle smiled, and Win noticed how her huge
chocolate-brown eyes could glow when she was in the presence of
someone she liked. They’d never looked like that when she was with
him. It was something of a shock to know she liked Kate, who, by
Win’s way of thinking, was totally unlike her, when she didn’t seem
to like him, who was sort of her equal in class and upbringing.
Well, except for the North-South thing, but that was only her
problem. Win didn’t care one way or the other. He heaved a sigh in
spite of himself, then started whistling again.

Belle cleared her throat and resumed her
explanation of events. “Anyhow, we were going to have our palms
read. I left the others and opened the door first, because—” She
stopped speaking all at once and appeared puzzled.

“Yes, ma’am?” the policeman said
encouragingly.

“I don’t know. I just felt—well, I had a—a
premonition that something wasn’t quite right.” She lifted her arms
in a gesture of befuddlement. “I can’t explain it.”

“I can,” came Kate’s voice again.

Belle lifted her head, which had been bowed,
so that she could study her clamped hands as far as Win could tell,
and stared at Kate. “You can?”

“My father gives off bad karma.” Again, Kate
gave the room one of her cocky grins. The bruises on her throat
were purpling, and Win wished he could do something for her. She’d
never let him; she was too damned proud. “That’s what Madame
Esmeralda calls it, anyway: Karma. If you’ve got any sort of
sensitivity at all, you can feel the badness before you see him. I
felt it before he came in here and throttled me.”

Belle gave a delicate shudder. “I guess
that’s it, then. Karma.” She said the word as if she’d never heard
it before. Neither had Win.

The policeman gazed first at Kate, then at
Belle, then at Kate, and then at Belle again. He cleared his
throat. “I see.” After licking the point of his pencil once more,
he scribbled for what seemed like a very long time in his small
notebook, murmuring, “A bad feeling.”

“Yes,” said Belle in a firm voice. “It was
definitely a feeling that something was wrong.” She glanced again
at Kate. “Bad— Fiddle. I can’t remember the word. What was it you
called it?”

“Karma.”

“Karma. Yes. That was it, all right.”

“What’s karma?” Win asked.

“I don’t know.” Belle shrugged. “Whatever it
is, it was bad. Wrong. I sensed something wasn’t right in the
booth.”

“And you were right,” muttered Kate. “Thank
God you came in when you did. Armed with that umbrella.”

“Parasol,” Belle murmured absently.

Kate waved a hand in a dismissive gesture
and didn’t respond.

The policeman finished interviewing Belle
shortly after that, and the doctor finished with Kate. He gave her
a small bottle of laudanum for pain, but Kate thrust it aside as if
she were afraid of it. Win knew the reason for her reluctance to
take the drug. Where Kate grew up, people abused all sorts of
things other people used medicinally.

Madame Esmeralda blew in right before the
policemen and the doctor left. She was a real whirlwind of a
female, and Win hadn’t yet been able to figure out if she was
really a Gypsy, or if she only portrayed one to the hilt.

Belle rose upon the fortune-teller’s
entrance and said, “Well, I hope you’ll be better in a day or two,
Kate. I’d better find the Richmonds now.”

Kate rushed over to her and threw her arms
around her in an embrace Win could tell Belle found both unexpected
and slightly embarrassing. “I can’t thank you enough, Belle. If it
weren’t for you, I’d probably be dead right now, and God alone
knows what would happen to my poor mother.”

“Er, I was happy to help,” Belle said in a
slightly smothered-sounding voice. Win could tell she wasn’t
accustomed to spontaneous displays of gratitude.

“Any time you and your friends want to get
your palms read, just pop on over.” Kate released Belle, much to
the lady’s relief.

“Not today,” Madame Esmeralda intoned.
Either she believed her own publicity, or her voice was naturally
mystical. Or unnaturally. “Today, Kate will rest.”

“Good idea,” said Win, tired of being left
out.

“Well . . .” Kate herself didn’t seem so
enthusiastic about taking a rest, but she was finally persuaded to
do so. When Belle pointed out that her mother would appreciate
having her home for the rest of the day, Kate acceded to Madame’s
wishes.

Kate, Belle, and Win left the booth together
and proceeded toward the Columbian Exposition’s main gate. Kate
carried her crystal ball in a calico sack. “Got to take it home and
wash it off,” she said as if cleansing a crystal ball of her
father’s blood were an everyday occurrence for her.

Belle shuddered.

When they reached the gate, Win dug into his
trouser pockets for a two-bit piece and handed it to Kate. “Here,”
he said. “Take a cab home. You’ve been through enough today without
having to walk a mile.”