The Detective's Dilemma (2 page)

She shrugged.

“You’ve been frightened before, or you wouldn’t have told me you were going to call the police,” he persisted.

“You are actually interested in what I have to say? Does this mean you’re not just going to push me against a wall and tell me to straighten up?”

“Has someone done that to you?”

She nodded. “Twice now. If Brennan hadn’t come along, I’m worried the second one might have…”

She pushed her lips together tight. He waited for the rest but figured he knew what she was going to say. The second one would have put his hands and more on her shapely body.

“Did either of your visitors call themselves policemen?” Funny he could feel outrage at that thought, considering what he was up to.

“No. They didn’t call themselves anything. To be truthful, perhaps that second one didn’t come from the Winthrops. He knew my name, and I didn’t think I had any other enemies, so I assumed they’d sent him.”

“Do you consider the Winthrops your enemies?”

She wiped her hands again, then picked up a cloth and awkwardly dumped one of the loaves of bread out of the pan onto the large, scarred wooden table in the middle of the kitchen.

“They want my son, and if I let them take him for an afternoon, they’d try to keep him. They are indeed my enemy.”

The woman was as dramatic as the girl had been. When she grabbed a sharp knife, Walker started and reached for his nightstick that wasn’t there. She waggled the knife at him.

Ah. Not a threat but a silent question. She offered him bread.

Of course he should say no. “Yes, please.”

She cut two slices of steaming bread, put them on plates, and placed one of the plates in front of him with a dish of butter and a knife. Two stools sat on either side of the huge kitchen table.

“I should have kept my apron on,” she said as she sat on one of the stools. “I’m still learning.”

“You have obviously learned how to make good bread.” He leaned against the table rather than sit.

She gave him a quick, distracted “thanks.” Her attention seemed elsewhere.

This was the first time he’d shared food with a suspect, if that was what she could be called—but this was not a usual sort of a call for either a patrolman or detective. The bread was delicious, hot and greasy with butter, and difficult to eat with dignity. She managed it by breaking her slice into tiny pieces.

Footsteps thumped down the back steps to the basement kitchen. The outside door swung open, and a slender man walked in, carrying a box of vegetables. He stopped at the sight of them. “What’s this?” he said. He stooped to put down the box, then straightened, staring at Walker with pale gray eyes.

The newcomer looked vaguely familiar, and then more pieces clicked into place. This was the footman who’d found Miss Grace eight years earlier. The servant had begun the search even before the parents summoned the police. This guy had been out looking for hours, or so the other servants had reported.

The man appeared about five years older than Walker, so about ten years older than Miss Grace—no, she was Mrs. Winthrop now.

“Brennan, this is Officer Walker. He’s with the police.”

“He’s not in uniform. You shouldn’t let anyone in unless I’m here.” Brennan sounded nothing like a deferential servant.

“Yes, I know I shouldn’t even open the door. He knocked when I was standing in the front hall, and I thought it was Isabelle back from the park early.”

Brennan scowled. He was a pale blond man with those startlingly pale eyes and a red mouth. He seemed like the sort who was attractive to women. When he scowled, he looked like a sulky child. “Why is he still here?”

“I let him stay. He wasn’t like the others. He showed me a badge, and, really, it won’t hurt to have a good report brought back to the Winthrops.” She sounded so hopeful, Walker felt a twinge of guilt. A few minutes more and he’d spell it all out. The genteel threats would begin.

“I have to stay,” he said to them both. “Which park did your son and nurse go to?”

Her back straightened. “Why do you need to know that?”

She wasn’t going to answer that one easily, so he shifted to examine Brennan. “So you still work here?”

Brennan gave a glance at Mrs. Winthrop but didn’t speak—showing a tad of deference after all.

She explained, “A few hours a week. I don’t have the money to pay servants other than a nanny, so he has found additional employment elsewhere.”

Where had the money gone? A question for later. He kept his focus on Brennan. “But you live here?”

Another significant look passed between Mrs. Winthrop and the servant. Walker could guess why Brennan wasn’t treated like an employee. The man had a different role now—and Walker had an image of the two of them in a passionate embrace. Now wasn’t that a nuisance of a thought to have sitting in the kitchen. Although if she was as shameless as rumored his job might be easier.

Naw, pure justification. He wasn’t going to lie to make himself feel better about helping to take a kid from his mother.

“Yes,” Brennan said slowly. “I live here and lend a hand.”

“Where are the other servants?”

She hesitated before answering. “There are Brennan and Isabella now. My parents died in the influenza wave that hit two years ago.”

No wonder the widow turned to the servant for comfort. Her family dead, her in-laws after her child, and apparently no money left.

A discreet check of the time and he saw he should speed things along. He should send Brennan on his way and speak to Mrs. Winthrop alone. He picked up the bread and ate another bite.

“Suppose you tell me why the Winthrops are so worried about their grandson that they send for the police.” And not just the regular police—the ones that require a go-between and a bribe. His services were expensive, or so he assumed. He never saw the money. He popped the last bite into his mouth. “Might it have to do with you living in sin with a servant?”

Brennan growled. He actually made a noise like a dog in the back of his throat. Mrs. Winthrop looked at Walker with disgust.

“Why don’t you ask the Winthrops why they’re bullying me?” Disdain dripped from her voice.

“I haven’t actually spoken to them,” he admitted.

“Didn’t you do some sort of interview with them to take down their complaint?”

“Someone else did that. I’ve heard of the Winthrop family, of course.” He’d done some research before he’d shown up that morning.

Brennan spoke up. “I don’t believe he actually is a policeman.”

“He is.” Mrs. Winthrop sounded resigned. “I remember him. He’s one of the ones who showed up during that incident. That day years ago when you found me?”

Another fast look at each other. A new suspicion dawned. Something had happened that day she’d vanished and her parents had summoned the police. Walker bet it had nothing to do with the boy she’d been found with and a lot to do with this servant. A lot of secrets lay between them.

Walker said, “That’s right. That’s a mighty impressive memory you have, Mrs. Winthrop.”

“It was a mighty memorable day.”

Police are supposed to appear omnipotent. On the other hand police aren’t supposed to interfere in private family matters. Damn the assignment; he’d allow his curiosity to show. “What actually happened that day?”

She shrugged. “Misunderstandings.”

He wasn’t going to get any more of an answer unless he pushed, and he didn’t want to take the trouble. Besides, she’d had a great deal of practice prevaricating about that day.

“Did you have any trouble afterwards? I take it you married the man you were caught with?”

“At the time, I thought the whole thing horrible, but it really was for the best.” She beamed at Brennan as if sharing a pleasant secret—or reassuring him.

Walker grunted. This kind of prying wasn’t his purpose today, and it would be best to get going on the talk about the child. He didn’t have a lot of time left.

“My parents and the Winthrops arranged my marriage to James that very day,” she went on, surprising him. “I thought we’d never suit, but I was wrong. I loved him.”

Interesting—and even more interesting that she volunteered the fact. From the moment he’d entered, he could see by the gutted house that this lady was no longer wealthy. He suspected she’d guard her privacy. He knew her type and they considered restraint to be a form of dignity and a person suddenly poor had nothing much left but dignity.

She continued, “We had a good marriage, and he gave me Peter.”

“Your son.” This gave him a way to get back to business. “A boy with grandparents who miss him and wish to see him.”

Julianna should have slammed the door on his face, but when she’d opened the door, she had vaguely recognized the man on her doorstep. One of her partners from a long-ago debutante ball? A neighbor she might have seen while walking Peter?

She shouldn’t have allowed him in, but at least he seemed less awful than the other representatives sent by the Winthrops, the unpleasant insinuating lawyer and the sneering brute. She decided she’d address this call, since her letters were ignored. She’d answer his questions and hope he’d give an honest report to her late husband’s family.

Those stern words about Peter’s grandparents made it clear the detective wasn’t her ally. Something knowing in his sharp gaze told her that he’d heard a lot of stories he considered lies and piffle. Her stomach went queasy at the thought of the coming confrontation, and she wished she hadn’t eaten anything.

“We ought to go into another room. The drawing room is still furnished.” She turned and strode out of the kitchen without bothering to see if he followed. Brennan would herd him along if he should attempt to wander. She felt a surge of pleasure as she walked up the steps. On occasion, being able to drop her old role of hostess and polite young matron almost made up for the rest.

But he followed, so there was no need for anyone to nip at his heels.

This policeman seemed larger than her vague memory of him. He must have been quite young back then, almost a decade ago. She remembered his face and not just the uniform he’d worn, because that day eight years ago, he had given her a smile that wasn’t leering—or so she’d hoped and prayed at the time. She’d been desperate for a friendly face and stared back at him. He’d turned slightly red and looked away, and she’d thought how odd that a policeman could be embarrassed.

He might be wearing finer clothes today, but now his expression more resembled what she’d expect an officer of the law to wear: stony calm, impervious to emotion. Or perhaps he looked bored. Not a lawyer after all and she should have noticed his tanned face gave him the appearance of a man who spent time outside. His dark hair looked rumpled, a lock slid over his forehead, so he didn’t use oil.

They settled in chairs on either side of the empty fireplace, as if they planned to share a cozy cup of coffee and chat. He’d had bread, and she wasn’t going to offer more.

“I assume your job has changed since you last visited our house?” she asked. “You call yourself a detective, and that’s more important than a patrolman, I suppose?”

He nodded.

“Why on earth would the police send a detective to sort out some trivial business? Ought you be out solving real crimes? Murders? Burglaries?”

His brown eyes shifted from her face to the marble mantel and back to her face—a fast glance—the only sign of discomfort he’d shown. “The abduction of a young child is considered serious enough.”

She had to take a long slow breath before answering. But her voice still sounded rough with anger. “Hardly an abduction. I am Peter’s mother. Please tell the Winthrops I am tired of their threats—”

He interrupted. “What sort of threats? You haven’t told me what their other agents promised to do. ”

“The Winthrops have said they’d declare me an unfit mother, a hysterical female.” She tried to say the next part as calmly as possible. “When they said that they’d declare me a—a deviant, I told them to go ahead. If they did that, I’d confess that Peter was not James’s son. Their complaint about me would only lend credence to my confession—and get them out of our lives.”

Walker blinked but otherwise showed no sign of surprise. “Was your husband the baby’s father?” he asked.

“Yes, of course he was,” she said. “But if it’s necessary later, I’ll deny I said that to you. I’ll act the part of an unfaithful wife if I have to.”

His mouth tightened, and she wondered if he was hiding amusement or disgust. A difficult man to read. Maybe her vague memory of his open face had been wrong.

Silence fell. She wasn’t going to speak, and braced herself for his next words, most likely something about her tarnished reputation. He’d probably hector her, pushing to find the identity of Peter’s “real father.” She’d imagined all sorts of intrusive questions as she’d prepared herself to take this path.

He shifted in his chair, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees—the first time he’d adopted a pose that was less than gentlemanly. “Why would you go to such lengths? You’d take steps that would blight your son’s life by labeling him a bastard, simply to keep him from visiting his grandparents.”