Flora's Wish (19 page)

T
he kitchen was closed up tight with no one around to offer anything to eat, but that didn't keep Lucas from stepping inside, taking Miss Brimm in with him. As soon as the door closed behind them, he released his grip on her and took a step back.

“Should we be doing this?” she asked, though she had professed no qualms about following him inside. “I mean, you are supposed to be upholding the law.”

“We've already done this. Now, how about we see what's for supper?”

“Dinner,” she corrected with enough of a grin in her voice to indicate she was teasing.

“Out on the trail,” Lucas said with an exaggerated drawl as he began searching for a candle and matches, “dinner's what we had in the middle of the day, ma'am. Supper, that's the evening meal. I would think a Southern lady like yourself would know that.”

She actually laughed. “You'd be surprised at how hard it was for me to remember to properly designate the titles of meals once I went off to boarding school. I was in such trouble for it.” She paused. “Speaking of trouble, what if we're caught taking food without paying? I doubt the manager would appreciate trespassers in the kitchen.”

“This is official business, and no one said anything about not paying. I'll see the manager in the morning.”

The statement appeared to be enough to satisfy Miss Brimm's brief venture into a guilty conscience. “And I'll be sure and add a little to the hotel bill to cover whatever we take.”

“I found the matches. I'm guessing the candles must be…” Lucas reached deeper into the closet he was rummaging in and retrieved several candles. “All right, I think just one will do.” He made quick work of lighting a candle and then blew out the match and tossed it aside. “Now let's see what's on the menu for tonight.”

He moved toward the center of the room, where a bounty of bread loaves and other bakery items appeared to be awaiting the breakfast crowd. Miss Brimm remained at his side just within reach of the candle's circle of light.

“See anything edible?” she asked. “I'm so hungry right now I'm truly not picky.”

“Tonight I don't think you could be picky and find something here. However, let's see what's over there.”

Lucas aimed the candle's glow toward a stash of covered plates. Apparently, the dining room had done a good business that evening, for there wasn't much left over from the dinner menu to call it a meal.

However, he managed to find the remains of a mouthwatering platter of perfectly cooked prime rib in the warmer. To this he added a partial loaf of bread from the counter. All told, the ingredients were just enough for two decent-sized sandwiches.

She came up beside him to snatch a bite of prime rib. “Delicious,” she said before taking another. “What are you making?”

“Enough of that. Give me room to work here. I'm making sandwiches. And I am taking you at your word that you're too hungry to complain.”

“No complaints, I promise,” she said as she held up her hand.

“Good, now why don't you go look over there and see what else you can find. Don't get too far into the shadows. There's no telling what's back there.”

A brow rose. “As in?”

“As in I don't know. There could be poison to keep the rats out. Just stick to where I can see you and don't dig too deeply into any of the cabinets, all right?”

She did as he asked, wandering over to the larder where she stopped short. “Oh…my…goodness.”

Her breathless exclamation drew his attention, but only for a moment before he went back to his task. She had probably just found some crackers or fresh vegetables to go with their meal.

“Oh, this is simply divine.”

“What is it?” When she didn't immediately respond, he glanced up to see her holding what appeared to be an entire chocolate cake. “It does look good. Slice a couple of pieces and leave the rest.”

“Surely you jest,” she said with what he hoped was an exaggerated expression of horror. “What if I cut the pieces unevenly and one of us gets more than the other? Or, worse, what if they are too small and we wish we had more?” She gave him a sideways look. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

Lucas shook his head. “I see your point. Now put that down and go find a basket big enough to hold the food. If we're carrying the cake we will need something more than just our hands to get everything back upstairs. And while you're at it, you might want to figure out how to bring that whole cake with us. If you can't—”

“Oh, I can,” she interrupted.

She had no trouble fetching a basket that would work for the sandwiches, plates, and napkins. The real problem came when she tried to figure out how to escape with just enough chocolate cake so that it wouldn't be missed. Or at least that was Lucas's assumption as he watched her travel from cabinet to cabinet shaking her head and mumbling.

Miss Brimm handed him the candle and began opening cabinet doors until she let out a cry. “I've got it! It's perfect. We can put the cake in here.” Her eyes widened. “The whole thing.”

He turned around to see her walking toward him holding out an oversized silver serving dish with a domed lid of the sort used for serving large cuts of meat or whole poultry. The thought of a person of her size looking inconspicuous while carrying a contraption that large made him grin.

Then there was the idea that a woman dressed in such finery might actually make anyone believe she had a good reason for carrying a platter as if she were kitchen help. That made him laugh out loud.

“What do you think?” she asked with obvious pride despite his humor. “It's a great idea, isn't it?”

All he could manage was a shake of his head and another chuckle.

“What's so funny?” she demanded. “The entire cake will fit inside here, plus a serving knife.”

Lucas leaned against the door frame to admire the woman's ingenuity. He couldn't resist another question. “Why not put the knife in the basket?”

Miss Brimm shook her head. “Think, Mr. McMinn. While we might not attract much attention with a basket of food and a serving dish, don't you think someone might be suspicious if they spied this?” She held a knife up so it glittered in the candlelight.

“You have a point,” he said carefully.

“A point. Oh, that's funny. Was that meant to be a pun?”

Her smile was radiant, and it almost made him grin once again in return. Almost but not quite. For the image of a woman in his custody holding a knife that could do substantial damage to his person reminded Lucas that he was a man on a mission. Part of that mission was to bring Will Tucker to justice. If this woman were to marry Tucker, and he still had his doubts, that meant she could still be considered just as guilty as her fiancé.

She pointed the oversized knife in his direction. “Look. Now I have a point. A sharp one.”

All right, enough knife humor. “Here, let me have that,” he said calmly.

Miss Brimm placed the handle of the knife in Lucas's hand without any further comment and went back to her work of searching the kitchen.

“What are you looking for now?” he asked as he set the knife on the counter beside him and then made sure he stood between it and her.

“I'm not sure, but I'm sure I'll know when I find it.” A moment later, she once again cried out in a happy exclamation. “I've got it!”

“It?” he asked, though he suspected whatever she found would be something she alone could explain the reason for.

“A tablecloth. We certainly can't sit on the ground.”

“The ground?” He paused to allow the sound of clanking metal from her search to cease. “Just where do you think we'll be eating, Miss Brimm?”

“Never mind that. I have a great idea, but I'd rather it be a surprise.”

“In my line of work, surprises are not considered a good thing.” He rested his hip against the side of the cabinet. “So why don't we just agree to disagree and say we'll take this meal back up to your hotel room, where I'll have my sandwich in the hall and you'll have yours safe and sound inside your parlor with the door closed?”

She paused only long enough to give him a look. “You do realize my grandmother could have returned by now, don't you? And she's going to wonder where we've been. It's likely she may have caused a fuss because she returned and neither her granddaughter nor the Pinkerton agent who was supposedly guarding her is in the room.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but she held up her hand to continue. “And furthermore, what do you think she'll believe happened when she sees the mess we left behind? The table was overturned and poor Cupid.” A pause. “How is that arrow wound of yours? I certainly hope you're not getting designs on me.”

“Designs on you?” he sputtered. “Be serious.”

Her laughter danced across the space between them. “You know what they say. When Cupid pulls back his bow, the lucky recipient of his arrow falls in love with the first person he or she sees. And that, you lucky man, was me.”

Had she not been so obviously taunting him, Lucas might have thought she was flirting. “Miss Brimm,” he said slowly, “I believe neither in luck nor in any silly stories about Cupid. Nor should you.”

“Oh, I don't. Not really. Though it is fun to think of that sort of thing.” She paused while leaning down to look in a cabinet. “Mama always said the Lord chose the fellow I was going to marry, and that someday He would be the one to tell me who that man was.”

“And you figure He has done that?”

“I do…at least I'm fairly certain of it. I made a particular request of the Lord and then almost instantly Will Tucker appeared. It's as if it were meant to be.”

“Meant to be,” he said under his breath. “Not likely.”

“If we borrow a pair of forks, I think we will have all we need for our dinner,” she called over her shoulder. “Oh, look. Here they are.” She held up the utensils, the tablecloth draped over her arm. “Now to assemble the getaway basket.”

Though he had his doubts, Lucas stood back and watched while she maneuvered the chocolate cake onto the platter. “The knife, please?” she said as she held her hand out toward him.

He wedged the knife partly under the dessert and covered both with the silver dome. Much as he hated to admit it, she was right. The knife fit under the cake, and the dome settled nicely atop them both.

She gave him a triumphant look. “Perfect. Now, which one do you want to carry?”

“Considering the fact you would look ridiculous carrying a platter almost as big as you are, why don't I take this and you can bring the basket?”

She looped her arm through the basket's handle and shifted it into the crook of her elbow. Giving the contents a pat, she nodded in the opposite direction from the door where they had entered.

“Come on, let's get out of here before someone comes in and wonders why we're helping ourselves to sandwiches and cake,” she said as she pressed past him.

“Where are you going?” He gestured to the kitchen door. “The exit's this way. I think if you stick close to me and we don't act like we're—”

“Really, Mr. McMinn. Just once will you trust me?” She had the audacity to set the basket down and unlock one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that marched along the southern side of the kitchen. “If you'll just follow me, I can show you a shortcut to the place I have in mind for our picnic.”

Before he could protest, she picked up the basket, blew out the candle, and disappeared out the window.

“Again with the window?” he called. “I've never met a woman who had such a propensity for using exits other than the door. And I've been a Pinkerton for almost as long as I've…”

He stepped out into an alleyway that led between the hotel and an accompanying outbuilding, likely the place where wood was stored for the atrium fireplace. Though there was enough light from the atrium here to shed a decent glow onto the path, there was no sign of Flora Brimm.