Stealing Mercy (9 page)

Who was this girl? Where had she come from? Why was she interested in Steele’s involvement in Lucky Island?

Soon, Chloe would return. He needed to decide how much he would tell her. Chloe loved Rita with a passion. Incapable of being lukewarm, Chloe approached every situation with a gung-ho or oh-no fervor. He loved his sister, but he was glad she hadn’t yet returned from the theater. He needed to think.

Trent settled into a reading chair and poured the pearls into his hand. They twinkled and he wished they could tell him the story of how they’d traveled from Rita’s neck to Steele’s safe. Could Steele have gotten them through innocent means? He thought of the other bags of jewels and his stomach clenched. Did each pouch represent a missing girl? Maybe the jewelry belonged to Steele’s infamous dead wife, but he didn’t think so.

He had never met Claris, but he’d heard whispers. Strong, intelligent, a ruthless businesswoman, what had she ever seen in the womanizing Steele? Rumor claimed she held the purse strings and marital reins equally tight.

Trent pulled out the leather packet he stolen from Steele’s safe and flicked through the contents. All the contracts had Steele’s name, but only the later ones bore his signature. The earlier contracts had been signed with a strong, flourishing pen, unlike Steele’s sketchy scrawl. Steele had been involved in a number of business dealings over the years, but what surprised Trent the most was the identities of his cohorts. Recognizing the signature of Sheriff Calhoun, Trent realized his grandmother had been right about not going to the police.

He pulled out the purchasing contract for on the property on Lucky Island and smoothed it out. After a moment, he tossed the papers to the floor, pulled off his tie, kicked off his boots and let his head fall back against the chair. What could Mercy Faye want from Steele?

When he closed his eyes he saw her, holding that ridiculous umbrella and staring at him with eyes bright with unshed tears, pink cheeks, black hair vanishing against the night sky. In his dream she tried to tell him something, but then, like Rita, she disappeared.

*****

Because her body cried for rest, she hoped to sleep, but her still tense muscles couldn’t let loose even after she’d slipped between the cool sheets. In her mind, Mercy replayed the dialogue with Trent. She rolled over and put the pillow over her head, trying to make his mocking smile, his curving lips disappear. Heat spread through her as she relived the pressure of his hands holding hers, the feel of his body against hers.
This won’t do
, she thought, curling into a ball, tucking her legs into her gown. An involvement with Trent, a relationship with anyone, would be impossible as long as Steele remained.
Perhaps Steele is just passing through, never to return,
the hope comforted her, her tension eased and finally, her fatigue caught up with her racing mind. Determining that she only had to wait for Steele to leave, Mercy slept and dreamt of him.

Central Park. Springtime. Blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds. Dandelions, buttercups, tulips and crocus. A bear growling at the peacocks wandering past his cage.

“
The bear was visiting from Russia,” a child beside her said. “Supposedly, it can dance.”

Mercy replied, “It does little but lumber and complain.”

“
It seems unkind to allow these flocks to congregate around the bear,” Steele said.

“
He looks very well fed. I’m sure he’s not tempted by a few sheep,” Mercy replied, sizing up the animal that resembled a furry tree stump.

“
I don’t like the sheep,” the child said before moving away to watch the one-man band.

Mercy silently agreed. The sheep were the color of slushy snow and had stragglers hanging from their wool. They moved and smelled like a sluggish creek and littered the paths. She much preferred the goats; they had intelligent eyes and darted about as if they had a sense of humor, if not a sense of purpose. Humor, frankly, was a much underrated attribute and she’d begun to despair of Steele’s.

“
Temptation,” Steele murmured. “I understand temptation.”

Mercy considered him. Rich, handsome, charming, why did he set her teeth on edge? When did she realize the jitters he sent her were unpleasant? “Are you fond of mutton? Should I warn the sheep?”

He turned to her and ran a finger down her bared arm, sending a shiver across her back. “I’m fond of buttons, undone buttons in particular.”

Mercy woke in a sweat, her breathing labored and heavy. With sleep a distant and unpleasant memory, she flung back the covers and swung out of bed. The floorboards felt cold and solid against her feet. She covered the small room in ten strides. She needed answers, she had decisions to make, she had to be on solid ground.

A cheery quilt on the feather bed, a night table large enough for a book and candlestick, a wardrobe bursting with clothes, she loved her new home and she wanted to stay. She thought about Trent, and how it felt to be close to him in the warm, secluded coach. He’d foiled her plans earlier, but was there still time? She went to the window and watched a pink sunrise tinge the sky.

Six thirty am. Was it sane? Had she completely lost her mind?

Crouching, she pulled the worn knapsack out from under the bed. With shaking fingers she drew out her father’s clothes.

CHAPTER 10

A healthy breakfast will not only provide energy for the day but will also promote concentration, problem-solving skills, and eye-hand coordination.

From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

Trent had been wrong. She was good at trellis climbing. Of course, it held more risk in the breaking day, as opposed to the dark night, but Mercy moved quickly, quietly and soon landed on the second story balcony. Not Steele’s room, but close. She hunched beneath the railing so she couldn’t be seen by anyone other than a lazy Tom cat that watched through slit eyes while he took his morning bath.

Through half-open shutters on an opposite window she could see Steele standing in the middle of the hotel room. If he moved too far to the left or the right he’d be out of view. She thought about the first time she met him; he’d been as handsome as Melanie had claimed. He’d fallen for her pies, he’d said, and it had been so close to the story of her parents that she’d warmed to him immediately and made sure his pies were generously sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Now she wished she’d laced the pies with something that would have kept him in New York.

A safe lay at Steele’s feet, in kicking range. His eyes kept straying to the unmade bed where a collection of jewelry had been dumped into glittering piles on the pulled back sheets. Had he slept with them? It seemed unlikely.

His fingers tightened on his whiskey bottle as if he fought back the urge to fling it against the wall.
Who drinks before dawn?
Mercy wondered.

Wandering over to the bed, Steele scooted the jewels to sit down amongst them, and dangled the bottle between his legs. Cocking his head, he appeared to be listening to the sounds Mercy heard in the next room: a bed creaking, footsteps, a murmur and a laugh. Steele’s face flushed hot.

He answered a knock on the door with a clipped, “Yes?”

“Just checkin’, gov’nor,” a voice replied.

“Hey, Lector,” Steele called.

Lector poked his head through the door. “Sir?”

“Last night someone broke into my safe.”

Lector blanched.

Steele stood and paced towards the door and loomed over Lector. “Where were you when someone was in my room? Were you hiding in fear, or perhaps, standing their guard?”

Lector pulled at the collar of his shirt and twitched. “No one came in or out of this room, sir, I assure you.”

“I’ll need to speak to Calhoun. This arrangement isn’t working.”

Lector’s mouth turned down as he glanced into the open safe. The jewels on the bed sheets glistened in the early sun. “Don’t look to me like anything’s missing.”

“There’s a great deal missing!” Steele flung the bottle against the wall and watched it break into a shower of glass and whiskey. He bent over, picked up a large shard and came to stand at Lector’s side. Side by side, Mercy could see that Lector outweighed Steele by at least fifty pounds, but that didn’t stop Steele from pressing the glass shard against Lector’s neck. The big man didn’t flinch.

Mercy swallowed hard. She had to say something, she had to get help. She couldn’t witness a murder. When the door swung open and Steele dropped the glass shard, Mercy let out a long breath.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Orson asked. Mercy immediately realized Orson had the brains of the two party henchmen.

Steele contemplated Orson’s black eye and swollen lip and fear flashed across his face. He turned his back on his babysitters and stomped over to his cloak. “Get my guns,” he said, filling his voice with a commandeering strength that sounded false. “We’re going to Lucky Island.”

Mercy slumped against the wall when the men left the room. Now what? She was stuck on the balcony. While she’d watched Steele and his goons, the sun had risen. Dim morning light was preferable to bright early sun for trellis climbing. She waited a few more minutes, crept along a ledge and then climbed into the empty room.

After that, it was a short walk down the deserted hall and eventually up Lily hill. She met only an occasional squirrel and a few cats. She wondered what had caused Steele to wake so early. Sleep eludes the guilty, she supposed, sweet is the peace of the pure in heart.

Then she practically snorted, remembering her own insomnia. She paused at the gate and watched her aunt’s house for signs of life. The windows were dark. She hated lying to her aunt. When she thought about how her aunt had welcomed her into her home, gave her work, sewed her clothes, no questions asked, Mercy’s heart welled with gratitude and affection.

Tilly had left New York years before to follow a seafaring husband, a handsome man with schooner called Running Ruby and a home in Seattle. Bradley Malcolm had brought Tilly gold from Alaska, two Chinamen from San Francisco, and cocoa beans from South America. But one day, the Ruby didn’t return from a voyage and neither had Bradley. Tilly had used the gold to buy sewing machines. The Asians, Lee and Young Lee, helped set up a dry goods store. The cocoa beans, wrapped in gunny sack bags, sat in the store’s basement.

Mercy slipped through the front door. Tilly’s snores rumbled through the house like a noisy wind. Mercy gently closed the front door, clicked the lock and stole up the stairs. A snore started and then stopped. And then resumed again. Mercy stopped shy of her bedroom door. The skin pricking sensation of being watched tickled the back of her neck. Her heart skipped a beat; she could feel her pulse skittering. Slowly, she turned.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a red slipper climb the attic stairs and slide out of sight.

*****

Mercy jumped every time the bell jingled. Between customers, she found herself staring out the window, watching each passing pedestrian for Trent’s familiar hulk. She hoped that Eloise, who knew him as well as every other eligible man in town, would come in so that she could ask her about him and not raise her aunt’s foolhardy, matchmaking hopes. She could go to the Penny Store where Eloise worked, but that meant risking seeing Miles and potentially missing Trent.

Around noon, Mercy gave the counter top another swipe with the dust rag before retreating to the backroom where she found Tilly pinning a pattern to a swatch of blue heavy cotton. Almost hidden between the bolts of fabric and stacks of crates containing the completed work shirts hummed two sewing machines manned by Lee and Young Lee. Their dark heads bent over the machines and their fingers flew along the cloth as their feet beat out a rhythm that spurred the machines to life.

Neither of the men looked up when she entered, but Tilly’s broad face lit with a welcoming smile. Her strawberry blond hair, a halo of frizz, had the unfortunate effect of making her head look as round as pumpkin. Her ruddy coloring and cushy girth furthered the comparison.

“Auntie,” Mercy said, adopting her most casual tone. “Are you acquainted with the Michaels family?”

Tilly took the pins out of her mouth, smiled and wagged her finger at Mercy. “I knew it. He kept coming in, asking about you. Why, before you showed up he’d never purchased more than a hankie from us, and then suddenly, we’re getting orders.”

Mercy ran her fingers along a bolt of blue surge fabric and averted her eyes from her aunt’s scrutiny. “Auntie, I’m sure he just discovered the high quality --”

“Oh you silly prat, don’t you think I’ve eyes in my head and ears under my hair?” Tilly chortled, causing the floor to slightly bounce with her mirth. Lee and Young Lee looked up when Tilly raised her voice, but their feet or hands never stopped working. “I saw you in his coach last night and so did about fifty other people!”

And had all of them rushed in to tell her aunt? Mercy had seen a handful of customers pass through the store, and her aunt hadn’t left her perch behind the machine, so how did she acquire gossip? She was like a sponge that could extract and soak up water from the air -- a gossip sponge that was able to float through the sky and hear what was on everyone’s lips and then translate it into her own story. Tilly had been so valiant in sending Trent away before, but now that she thought -- wait? What did she think?