The Carousel Painter (40 page)

“Tyson seems to be keeping otherwise occupied these days. The last I heard from him was while we were vacationing in the islands. He returned to assist his father with business in New York City. To date, my letters to him have gone unanswered.”

“Doesn’t that prove that there is no liaison between us? He would be in Collinsford if he’d developed any interest in me.”

She shook her head, unwilling to believe the truth. “Now that I’m home, he’s not going to come around until he believes I’ve accepted losing him.” She tilted her head to the side and curled her lip. “Surely you know his family will never approve of you.”

I couldn’t believe the jealousy and anger that raged in her terse words. “Of course they won’t. Which is all the more reason why you should believe me.”

Her eyes softened for an instant but soon returned to a hardened glare. She didn’t want to believe what I said—it was easier to blame me for Tyson’s absence. She wouldn’t face the fact that he was exactly what I’d told her—a philanderer and rogue of the worst sort.

“Mary said you would deny her claim.”

“She did? And exactly why is that?”

“She told me she called out to Tyson when she saw the two of you. He turned her way. She got an excellent view of him, but you immediately covered your face.”

“And did Tyson acknowledge her?”

“No. Once he saw her, he sped off in the carriage—but you already know that.”

I shook my head. “I’m going home. I hope you will soon realize the foolishness of these accusations and come to your senses.”

“You were supposed to be my friend,” she shouted as I walked away.

I turned and stared at her. “I am still your friend, Augusta.”

While I walked toward home, Augusta’s accusation replayed in my mind. I had met both Mary Flinchbaugh and her mother at several of the parties in Fair Oaks. They hadn’t seemed the type to spread malicious rumors. Yet who could know why people did such things. Perhaps Mary hoped to win Tyson’s affections. Many of the young socialites thought him quite a catch. If Mary could create a rift between Tyson and Augusta, it could work to her advantage.

I tried to recall the various Fair Oaks parties and whether I’d seen Mary with any particular fellow—or if I’d seen her fawning over Tyson. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember much of anything about Mary except for the hideous plum and sea green dress she’d worn one evening. She’d resembled a green-stemmed eggplant.

Lost in my own thoughts, I startled when Josef called out. He loped down the front steps to meet me. “I’ve been worried. Where have you been?”

Only now did I realize the concern I’d caused him. I’d taken off in such a hurry I’d failed to tell anyone I was leaving. “Augusta stopped by and wished to speak to me privately. We went to the park.”

He glanced over my shoulder as if he expected to see her appear. “She is still at the park?”

“No. She went home, but I wanted to walk.”

“Mr. Galloway?”

“Mr. Galloway’s health remains unchanged.” Josef’s first thought had been the same as my own. “Augusta wished to speak to me in regard to another matter—of a private nature.” I hoped he wouldn’t quiz me. “I apologize for causing you to worry.”

He smiled. “My work is now finished, but I have agreed to help Mr. Lundgren repair the trellis in the backyard. After that we can go to the park.”

I didn’t argue. By the time he finished, he’d be tired, and I had no desire to return to the park. “You go ahead. I believe I’ll work on my sketching.” The girls who’d been sitting on the porch across the street had long departed, but I worked from my outline and the memory of two young friends sharing a secret. A stab of betrayal pierced me as I recalled Augusta’s fiery words.

I didn’t have to wait long for my meeting with Detective Lawton. He appeared at lunchtime on Tuesday. Fists jammed into his pockets, he stood leaning against one of the huge old elms behind the paint shop. He tipped his hat as I strolled toward him. Hoping he came bearing good news, I offered an enthusiastic wave in return. Had he come to tell me the pawnshop owner had finally responded?

“You’ve received word from Cincinnati?”

He nodded toward the bench. “Don’t let me keep you from eating your lunch. I know you need to keep your work schedule.”

Was he giving me an opportunity for my last taste of freedom before hauling me away? Surely not. I lifted the lid from my lunch pail and removed the sandwich. I glanced at the sandwich and then at him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Thanks.” He wrinkled his nose. “I think I prefer the diner near the police station.”

I chuckled. “I won’t tell Mrs. Wilson you said that.”

He lowered himself onto the bench. “I finally got word from the owner of the pawnshop. He says he can’t be certain if the sketch is the same girl who came in with the jewelry.”

The bite of ham sandwich hit my stomach like a rock. “
Now
what?”

I despised the fact that my voice quivered. Over and over I had practiced what I would do if the detective returned with such a response. My plan had been to appear either brave or completely nonchalant. I’d done neither.

“I know you are disappointed with the news. So was I. I’d hoped to cross your name from my list of suspects.”

He had a list? It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only person he’d been investigating. “The shop owner took a great deal of time to respond. Did he say why?”

The detective shook his head. “No, but he is passing through Collinsford at the end of the week on his way to visit a relative. He offered to stop at the police station and speak with me—and you.”

“Me?” Was this a scheme to ensnare me? I didn’t know what to think. One minute I thought Detective Lawton supposed me innocent. The next I thought he believed me guilty and hoped to see me in jail. My mind whirled with possibilities as I awaited his response.

“Yes. He believes if he can see you in person, it will be easier to rule you out as the woman who pawned the jewelry.”

Rule me out? Had the shop owner said he wanted to disqualify me as a suspect, or was it the opposite? There was no need to ask. I’d already learned the detective divulged only what he wanted me to know— nothing more and nothing less.

“You don’t object, do you?” His brow furrowed. My hesitation seemed to place him on the alert. “If you’re concerned about missing work, I’ll schedule our meeting during the evening hours.”

“After work would be best.” I stared at the ham sandwich, my appetite gone after only one bite. Placing the sandwich on my napkin, I carefully surrounded the uneaten remnants between the folds. Mrs. Wilson would scold when she discovered how little I’d eaten. No doubt she’d insist upon feeling my forehead and sending me to bed. At the moment, the woman’s tender care would be a welcome respite from the detective and his determined stance.

Detective Lawton pushed up from the bench and nodded toward my lunch. “You better hurry and eat or you’ll be mighty hungry before day’s end.” He plopped his straw hat atop his bald head and glanced toward the carousel factory. “I’ll send a message about our meeting once Mr. Charleston arrives.”

“Mr. Charleston is the shop owner?”

“That’s right. Charleston and Sons.” He fixed his gaze on me. Maybe he expected some sign of recognition when he uttered the name. If so, he’d been disappointed. I’d never heard of Mr. Charleston, or his sons, or their pawnshop. And I’d certainly never set foot in Cincinnati. At least this meeting should remove my name from Detective Lawton’s list. But instead of elation that I would soon be vindicated, I trudged back to the factory feeling a sense of defeat. Each step in this process seemed to lead to another. Would it never end?

CHAPTER
29

W
hen I stepped outside the factory Friday afternoon, Detective Lawton was waiting across the street. He waved me forward, and I heaved a sigh of relief, thankful that Josef wasn’t by my side. I’d been disgruntled earlier in the afternoon when he’d mentioned remaining late to finish his paper work. Now I was grateful, for the detective’s presence wouldn’t require an explanation.

After glancing over my shoulder to make certain Josef hadn’t wandered to the door in order to bid me farewell, I darted between two carriages and across the street. Somehow I managed to remain upright while skidding to a rather unladylike halt in front of the detective. “Mr. Charleston has arrived?” Clutching one hand to my bodice, I panted for breath.

He tipped his straw hat and grinned. “That was quite a run. If I had to give chase, I believe you could lose me.”

“I do hope that won’t be necessary,” I said.

A hint of admiration shone in his eyes. “Agreed. Mr. Charleston is waiting for us at the police station. Are you free to come with me right now?”

It seemed all was working out. Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren were to join friends for supper, and Josef and I had agreed we would fend for ourselves this evening. I murmured my agreement, and the detective immediately hailed a carriage. We made the journey mostly in silence, although the detective did mention the dry weather and the need for rain several times. I didn’t know if the silence bothered him, or if he was genuinely worried about his wife’s failing crop of garden vegetables. I tended to think it was the latter, since he peered heavenward when we arrived at the station and said, “Our green beans could sure use some rain.”

“Is that a prayer or a comment?” I asked as he assisted me down from the carriage.

“A little of both, but I think the good Lord already knows we need the rain,” he said with a grin. He lightly grasped my elbow and guided me toward the entrance we’d used on my previous visit. “Let’s use the side door.”

Within minutes we were in the same room where my portrait had been sketched. Mr. Charleston wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I had envisioned a sleazy sort of man with greasy hair, beady eyes, and disheveled clothing. Instead, I was introduced to a refined gentleman who could rival any of Mr. Galloway’s associates. Mr. Charleston possessed a commanding presence that seemed to fill the small room.

He muffled a faint chuckle as we were introduced. “You were expecting someone less respectable?”

I didn’t know if he was attempting to trick me into admitting I’d previously seen him, but perhaps he had truly observed my surprise. The fact that he’d so easily detected my inner thoughts both embarrassed and disturbed me. There was no use denying the obvious. I gave a firm nod.

He squinted his eyes and drew a circle in the air with his index finger. “Please turn for me,” he said. “Slowly.” Mr. Charleston made it clear that he wasn’t afraid to take command. And it seemed the detective had acquiesced power to the shop owner. Once I’d completed my pirouette, Mr. Charleston said, “Please step to the other side of the room.” I edged around the table and faced him. “No. Turn sideways.” I did as he commanded while still attempting to see if he was sending signals to the detective. He sighed and dropped into one of the chairs. “I don’t think this is the woman, but I can’t be absolutely certain until I hear her speak.”

The detective dipped forward and rested his palms on the table. “Say something for the man, Miss Brouwer.”

I arched my brows. What did one say to a man attempting to identify you as a criminal? I didn’t wonder for long.

Mr. Charleston once again took command. “I’d like you to ask me if I’d be interested in purchasing a valuable necklace.”

The detective signaled for me to comply.

“Would you be interested in purchasing a valuable necklace?” I said as naturally as possible.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not her. The woman I dealt with had a deep, raspy voice with a southern accent.”

The detective slapped his palm on the table. I don’t know who was more startled: Mr. Charleston or me. “I wish you would have mentioned her voice earlier. I could have confirmed that Miss Brouwer doesn’t have a southern accent or a deep voice.”

The shop owner shrugged. “Still, it’s probably better to verify in person, don’t you think? Criminals are always disguising themselves in various ways—or so I’ve been told.”

The detective merely grunted.

Mr. Charleston didn’t appear to notice the detective’s irritation. He tapped his fingertip on the table. “Yes. She had a very distinctive voice. I made note of it both times she came into the shop.”