Flora's Wish (4 page)

And while she'd endured no small measure of stares, the way this man watched her was different. His look was predatory.

With a mere lift of her hand, the lady's maid attending her would remove herself from her spot beneath the portico and come immediately. A gesture less subtle would alert the woman to fetch hotel security.

Knowing this, Flora decided to make a game of it. If this man was a reporter or some hired gun Father had sent, she'd have great sport in calling his bluff.

Moving slightly so she could better observe him from beneath the feathered edge of her hat, Flora sized him up as if he were just another object to paint. Broad at the shoulders and narrow at the waist, he wore the garments of a man of leisure with the catlike grace of someone ready to spring. The silver chain of his pocket watch glistened in the afternoon sun as he leaned deeper into the dappled shadows of the gazebo.

She dabbed her paintbrush into the jar of water on the table beside her and then smeared a dab of brown paint atop the green of the Crescent's south-facing gardens. If she squinted, Flora could almost convince herself the blob resembled a bowler hat. Continuing her attempt, she rinsed the brush. When she looked up again, the man was gone.

Good. Perhaps he'd lost interest. That certainly ruled out the possibility of a hired gun.

Unfortunately, she'd also lost interest in her painting. Not that she'd held any real hope of picking up the skill Mama had mastered. In fact, she was completely useless at the task.

Flora dabbed the fine hairs of the paintbrush in water until the mud-colored paint was gone and then set the brush aside. With a nod to the maid, she tossed all attempts at continuing aside along with the brush.

“Would you mind terribly having a porter come and take this away?” To her credit, the maid kept her expression neutral, though Flora couldn't help but notice that her gaze lingered a bit on the brown blob at the edge of the poorly painted garden. “I would like my writing materials, please.” She gestured toward the gazebo. “That spot over there looks like a nice place.”

As the maid hurried away, Flora tried not to think of anything but the lovely flowers and the view of the Ozarks that tumbled down the hill at the edge of the gardens. The Lord's provision had stood her in good stead until now, and He was certainly not in the business of ignoring the pleas of His children.

The north wind, heavily scented with pine and portending a spring shower, teased at the tendrils of hair that refused to remain coiled beneath her hat. Flora paused to admire the hotel, a delightful wedding cake–like structure with balconies stacked five stories high. Were she not pressed to recall her reason for attending Grandmama's taking of the waters this year, Flora might have found enjoyment in the leisurely pace of the quaint but more than comfortable resort.

Though the gazebo was of a much simpler design than the more opulent Crescent Hotel's main building, Flora preferred the secluded spot as a place to be alone with her thoughts. Or, in this case, with her letters.

Likely Father would want news of Grandmama's imminent return. He always tended to plan his trips around his mother's presence at Brimmfield. For when Grandmama was in, Father was most always out. Then there was the letter she must write to her grandmother. The one that would explain why she had taken the drastic step of marrying Will Tucker.

She would hold off writing this one until Mr. Tucker actually arrived at the hotel. And surely that would be soon. And though Flora had already written to her this morning, her sister would certainly appreciate yet another letter in the postbox detailing what she would consider Flora's great adventures. A momentary pang of regret stung as she thought of the injuries that kept Violet Brimm mostly bedridden.

“Be fearless for me,” her sister had said once. “Bring the world back to me. But most of all, be fearless. Climb to new heights.”

And so Flora had, but never without thinking of Violet. She also couldn't help thinking of Cousin Winny and his taunts…

Her thoughts were disrupted when she heard footsteps behind her. It was too soon for the maid to have returned. Flora glanced over her shoulder to see the man in the brown bowler approaching. “There's my dancing partner. Ever find someone to play chess with?” When she ignored him, he continued, “You're going to pretend you don't recognize me? Well, I believe I know you. Fatal Flora, I presume?”

Cold dread stopped any chance of response.

To acknowledge the awful name that had apparently followed her from Natchez would be to admit her irritation as well as her identity. Flora Brimm intended to do neither. Instead, her polite smile faltered only slightly as their gazes met and her heart skittered to a quick stop.

Unmistakable gray-green eyes regarded her with what she guessed was cool contempt. Was it in recollection of their last meeting?

A dark brow rose, as did one corner of his mouth. Now amusement seemed to color his handsome features.

“You
are
Flora Brimm of the Natchez Brimms, are you not?”

“Of course she is. Who, may I ask, is inquiring?” The matriarch of the Brimm clan swept across the garden path as if she owned the place. Two maids and a uniformed employee of the hotel followed at a respectable distance behind. The trio stopped at her grandmother's gesture to halt, and the nearest maid offered the elegant lady her ear trumpet.

After regally glancing over the interloper, Grandmama turned her attention to Flora as she pressed the hearing device to her ear. “Do explain what you're doing out in the afternoon sun, dear.” Her gaze lifted heavenward for only a second. “And with rain showers coming. Next thing you know, you'll be waltzing under the raindrops like some common—”

“Truly, Grandmama, you're exaggerating.” Flora paused, unable to resist another comment. “And what's wrong with dancing under the raindrops?”

“It's not done. At least not by a Brimm, of course.” Grandmama looked as if she had given the ultimate answer to all responses. Of course, in her circle, it was the ultimate response.

Some things just weren't done. At least not by Brimms.

Flora made a note to dance in the rain at her earliest opportunity. Not to show Grandmama, but to take one item off the list of things that just weren't done by Brimms.

“As for you, young man.” Grandmama focused again on the stranger. “We offer no alms to the poor, but if you'll leave your name with Isabella…” She motioned for the nearest maid to move forward. “I'll be happy to have a box meal sent down.”

If the man found Millicent Brimm the least bit off-putting, he did not show it. Rather, he tipped his hat and walked away without so much as a word of explanation or an expression of thanks. He did, however, give Flora a look that promised they would meet again.

The prospect did not entirely disappoint.

“Grandmama,” Flora chided softly as she turned her back on the stranger. “He could very well be one of the guests here. He's certainly dressed well enough.”

“Darling, breeding tells, and that was no gentleman.” Her grandmother lifted an iron-gray brow. “You don't know this man, do you?”

“No, of course not.”

Her grandmother linked arms with Flora. “And yet he knew your name.” She paused just long enough to make her point. “Curious.”

Of course he knew her name. She was the legendary Fatal Flora, the bride who had lost four fiancés to their untimely graves. All of Natchez knew that, so why not total strangers as well? He also knew she had an ability to navigate heights, decent skill on the ballroom floor, and an interest in finding Will Tucker.

Flora swallowed down a response and allowed her grandmother to lead her up the path toward the hotel. The girl she'd sent for her writing materials met them at the door to the lobby.

“I'm so sorry, Miss Flora. There was a problem with the elevator, so I was forced to take the stairs, and then—”

“Put those away,” Grandmama said to the poor, out-of-breath maid. “She has no need of them now. We'll be taking tea here on the veranda.” She turned to the fellow in hotel livery and said, “Do hurry. The rest of you may leave.”

As the servants scurried away, Flora glanced back over her shoulder at the expanse of green and the Leatherwood Valley beyond. The man in the bowler hat was nowhere in sight.

It did not escape her notice, though, that somewhere out there was a strange man who knew her as Fatal Flora. A man who could ruin everything with Mr. Tucker.

That is, if Mr. Tucker ever saw fit to arrive for his wedding.

Lucas had been summarily dismissed by a woman three times his age—and offered alms for the poor as well. Not his best afternoon.

He took his wounded pride off into the shadows on the far side of the property and watched as the ladies and their entourage made their way up the steps to the veranda. The spark in Flora Brimm's eyes had dimmed immediately upon the arrival of the woman his research indicated was Millicent Augusta Meriwether Brimm of the Natchez Brimms and the Atlanta Meriwethers.

The idea that Mrs. Brimm might be in on the scheme Tucker had going was impossible. It was rumored she had caused more than one fellow to be placed in political office in Mississippi, not counting her own husband, who had been elevated from a law career to a state senator before the war. No one with that sort of power did business with criminals.

Not personally, anyway.

Lucas knew this not only from his years as a Pinkerton agent, but also from his own experience as the grandson of a man who was used to getting his own way. He leaned back against a tree trunk and reached for his handkerchief. The day was warm for May and getting warmer.

Watching Miss Brimm didn't help. Something about the woman made him hot under the collar. Especially when he recollected how she felt in his arms as they danced, and the way the moonlight washed over her features on the ledge.

He reached for his watch to confirm the time, and then he nodded to the security man he'd hired to keep tabs on Miss Brimm. At present the fellow wore the livery of the Crescent Hotel. Just yesterday he'd been wearing a Eureka Springs deputy's uniform and badge.

Lucas decided his next move was to head toward town and his meeting with the local sheriff. After the pleasantries were exchanged, he got down to the business at hand.

“I appreciate the loan of your best man, sir, but after today I'll not be needing him.”

“Is that so?” The sheriff, a man of sufficient size and trigger speed to incite fear in those who came across his wrath, shook his head. “I like to cooperate with the Pinks when they ask. Seems a bit odd they sent you all the way down here without letting me know first, though.”

Lucas paused only a moment. “You have a con man here, Sheriff, and if I'm right, he's using a woman with money to get him close to the wealthy guests at the Crescent. No offense, but we can't be certain who else he's using.”

“Including me,” the lawman said with a chuckle.

A warm breeze blew in from the lone window, bringing with it the scent of the local livery stable. Not an altogether pleasant aroma, especially in the tight confines of the office.

“Are you satisfied I'm not playing nice with the crooks?” the sheriff asked with a small smile.

“I am.”

Lucas's assurance had come in the form of a coded telegram from Kyle Russell, the one man inside the agency he could trust. But with the assurance had come a warning to wrap up the matter quickly and quietly and hightail it out of Eureka Springs before anyone got wind of the fact he was there. No explanation as to why.

The older man shifted positions and gestured for Lucas to take the chair across from him. “What can I do for you, Agent McMinn?”

Lucas decided to get straight to the point. “I need you to arrest a Mr. Will Tucker.”

“On what grounds?”

“I thought I would leave that to you,” Lucas said carefully. “As long as he's locked up before sundown, I really don't care.”

A full minute went by with nothing but some serious staring to show for it. Finally, the sheriff leaned back in his chair. “I'm not in the habit of arresting a man without cause, McMinn, even when it's the Pinkertons doing the asking.” He paused. “Or is it just you doin' the asking?”