Murder on the Last Frontier (12 page)

His brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed out when he smiled. “It's not. Not entirely.”

He winked, and she laughed, the awkwardness of the last few minutes fading.

“I'll come collect you at seven thirty,” he said, putting his hat back on.

“What should I wear?” Charlotte hadn't experienced much of the town's culinary offerings and was unsure of the dress code.

A different kind of glint lit his eyes. “That burgundy gown you wore at the mayor's party the other night. You were—” He blushed, yet didn't seem embarrassed in the least. “Something like that would be a fine dress for tonight. See you at seven thirty, in the parlor.” He tugged the brim of his hat and strode back down the hall.

 

Charlotte borrowed an iron from Mrs. Sullivan and pressed the worst of the wrinkles out of a dark blue dress. The sheer long sleeves made the dress more modest than the arm-baring burgundy gown, but it was appropriate for a friendly dinner. Besides, the burgundy gown had to be laundered after all the dancing she'd done in it. She'd rather disappoint James by wearing a different dress than offend his senses with a soiled gown.

She slipped the silk over her head and smoothed it down. The slightly flared skirt fell to just above her ankles, showing the leather shoes she hoped wouldn't be ruined in the mud. The rain had eased late in the afternoon, though Mrs. Sullivan predicted the lull wouldn't last long.

A few essentials in her clutch purse, and Charlotte was ready. Well, as ready as she could be for a date, if that was what this was. But what about outerwear? Her mackinaw and hat were fine for daytime traipsing through town, but not for an evening out. Back home, she'd risk wearing a less protective garment and her cloche, knowing a taxi would be nearby. There was no such luxury here.

“Mackinaw it is,” she said, draping the practical coat over her arm. Giving in to vanity and fashion, she left her heavier hat on the hook and donned her cloche before locking the door behind her.

Mrs. Sullivan waited in the parlor. She smiled at Charlotte. “You look beautiful, dear.”

Charlotte smiled back and rested her hand over her thudding heart. Why was she so nervous? It was just dinner. “Thank you. I wish I knew what sort of restaurant we were going to.”

The landlady giggled like a schoolgirl. “You don't have much choice here, I'm afraid. Either the Windsor Hotel or The Wild Rose. The cafés and other restaurants close by six.”

Charlotte hadn't heard of The Wild Rose. Before she could ask about it, the door rattled open, and James stepped inside. He swept his hat off and smoothed his dark hair back as he shut the door. Gone was the seemingly permanent shadow of a beard. Clean-shaven cheeks emphasized his square jaw. His blue eyes assessed Charlotte, and a slow smile curved his lips.

She felt her heart flutter.

When their eyes met, he was flat-out grinning. “Hello.” He laid his hat on one of the chairs and took her coat to help her don it. “I hope you don't mind walking a little.”

Mrs. Sullivan leaned close. “The Wild Rose,” she whispered, nodding with approval.

“I don't mind,” Charlotte said, buttoning her coat.

James glanced down at her feet. “We'll avoid as much mud as we can. I'd hate to see your shoes or that fine, fine dress ruined.”

“So would I.”

They didn't say anything for several moments, just stared at each other. Heat blossomed in Charlotte's chest and up her neck to her cheeks. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was she looking at him like that?

Mrs. Sullivan cleared her throat. “No visitors after nine. The door will be locked, and I'll hear you come in.”

The gentle reminder broke their temporary paralysis.

“Of course,” Charlotte said. James picked up his hat and opened the door. “Good night, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Good night,” she called after them. “Have a lovely time.”

On the walkway, James offered Charlotte his arm. “It's a couple of blocks up the hill from here.”

They strolled up the street, greeting others taking advantage of the break in the weather to get out and about or run last-minute errands. Light spilled out of the large front window of The Wild Rose. When James opened the door for her, delectable aromas wafted out into the cool night.

Five of the seven tables in the front room were occupied by smartly dressed men and women. A man of about forty in a black suit met them at the door.

“Good evening, Deputy. Glad to see you've finally made it.”

“How could I resist after all your boasting? Will, this is Miss Charlotte Brody.”

The maître d' bowed slightly at the waist. “Nice to meet you, Miss Brody. Let me take your hats and coats.”

James helped her off with her coat, then handed both their garments to the man, giving Charlotte the opportunity to see his attire. He'd changed out of his heavy wool shirt in favor of a fitted white cotton one with a high collar and even wore a necktie. From his slicked-back hair to his black suit, waistcoat, and trousers, and down to his polished leather shoes, James Eddington appeared more the dandy than the deputy.

He faced Charlotte and caught her eying him. “I do clean up once in a while,” he said with a crooked smile. “For special occasions.”

She pinched the side of her skirt and dipped a curtsy. “I'm honored, sir.”

He folded one arm across his stomach, the other behind his back, and bowed, his blue eyes never leaving hers. “My pleasure, Miss Brody.”

There was less of a jesting air about their exchange. Or perhaps Charlotte was reading too much into his intense gaze. Deciding she was, she laughed it off and took his offered arm when Will returned to show them to their table.

Gilded pendant fixtures with crystal globes hung over each table, yet the illumination was soft enough to make the diners feel as if they were in their own little sea of light. Gold-edged china and goblets atop brilliant white table linens rivaled any settings Charlotte had seen back home. Even the dark wood of the chairs and the burgundy velvet upholstery on the seats belied The Wild Rose's location.

“This is amazing,” Charlotte said as Will held out her chair.

“Thank you,” he replied. “My wife and I have owned it for a couple of years now. We're trying to bring a little civilization to the wild frontier.” He winked at her and handed them each a menu after James sat down.

“With poached salmon and finger sandwiches?” James quipped.

Will laughed. “Whatever it takes. The special of the house tonight is braised pork with potatoes and garlic green beans. The razor clam soup is especially fine. I'll have Joseph take your order in a few moments.”

Will strolled back toward the front of the restaurant, stopping along the way to chat with other customers.

“Will's originally from your neck of the woods,” James said, perusing the menu as he spoke. “He was a chef in some fancy restaurant in Baltimore, but likes to talk too much to stay in the kitchen for long.”

“What brought him out here?”

“The same thing that brings most everyone to Alaska,” he said. “A chance to start over.”

That certainly applied to both Michael and herself. A clean slate. No one who knew anything about her past. There was no harm in trying again, was there?

“Is that what brought you up here?”

James raised his eyes from the printed sheet with its curling script. “I was born in Georgia. Came up here with my parents back in ninety-eight during the gold rush. At ten years old, I wasn't exactly looking to start over, but I guess they were.”

Charlotte set the menu aside and clasped her hands together at the edge of the table. “That's quite a change, especially for a young boy.”

“Not that I had a choice or a chance to state my opinion. My brothers and I did as we were told, went where we were told to go.”

Joseph arrived and took their orders, the special for both. After he departed, Charlotte and James exchanged bits and pieces about their younger years. Having grown up in a more urban setting, she was equal parts delighted and amazed at the antics James and his brothers had engaged in. She, in turn, explained that there were certain expectations for girls in her parents' social circle, even if the Brodys were more liberal in their attitudes.

“So you were a good girl, were you?” he asked.

“Well . . .” A few of her more daring actions came to mind. Like the time she and Kit snuck out while Charlotte was spending the night at the Camerons' and the two of them went for a late-night swim in the river half a mile away. James smiled and shook his head.

Joseph returned with their meals, saving Charlotte from relaying the part in which they had ducked behind a hedgerow to avoid the constable patrolling the neighborhood. The waiter asked if there was anything else they needed, then departed to attend to other diners.

Charlotte laid her napkin on her lap and waited for James to do the same so they could begin eating. The aroma of the pork and roasted potatoes was too tantalizing to resist for long. But James didn't touch the white linen cloth.

“Not going to tell me more about your midnight swim?”

“I'm sure my silly, girlish endeavors won't hold your interest, Deputy.”

He narrowed his gaze, studying her, then snapped his napkin open before laying it on his lap. “I'm sure there was never anything silly about you, Miss Brody.”

She felt a flush rise to her face. What was he doing? Flirting?

They ate in silence for several minutes, then James looked up from his plate. There was an intensity in his gaze that set her stomach a-flutter. “What?”

“Why are you here, Charlotte?” His curiosity seemed genuine, not just a way to make conversation.

She couldn't tell him the real reason, could she? So she made a joke of it instead. “Because you asked me to dinner.”

His wry grin told her he recognized what she was doing, but it didn't deter him in the least. “You've come to visit your brother, but that's not everything, is it?”

She took a sip of water, then carefully set the glass down. Delay tactics wouldn't work for long. “I'm writing a series of articles about life up here on the new frontier, particularly from the point of view of women.”

“You'll be talking to some of the gals who've been here a while then.”

Charlotte nodded. “I've had lovely conversations with Mrs. Sullivan.”

“As well as more recent arrivals, like Brigit and Marie.” There was no hint of his earlier unhappiness with her involvement. That was something. “But perhaps their activities here are a bit too delicate a topic for your readership.”

“On the contrary,” she said, indignation forming a knot of heat at the back of her neck. “I plan on writing about every aspect of living in Cordova: the good, the bad, and the delicate.”

“Think they can handle that sort of thing?”

“Women are made of sterner stuff than you think, Deputy.” Was he intentionally baiting her or just making conversation?

“If I didn't know you, even for as short a time as I have,” he said, “I would not have thought you were made of sterner stuff.” Charlotte prepared to admonish him for assuming that, as an Eastern-raised female, she was too fragile to live in any but the most controlled environments. But his next words rendered her speechless. “There's steel in you, to be sure, but also a sadness that makes me wonder who or what hurt you enough to bring you way the hell out here.”

She stared at him for several seconds. His observation cut too close. How had he known? Was her shame evident on her face? Charlotte dropped her gaze to her plate. “It's nothing like that.”

Liar. She was lying to a man whose job it was to discern the truth.

James reached toward her arm where it rested on the white-clad table, but before he could make contact, he closed his hand into a fist and moved it away. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn't pry.”

Her head came up. “You're not prying. You're making conversation. I asked you the same thing. It's only fair.”

Fair, but that didn't mean she'd tell him.

Leaving it at that, they continued their meals. Despite the unnerving accuracy of James's question, Charlotte found herself relaxing as their conversation flowed into more neutral topics. James was an avid reader and had enjoyed many of the same books as Charlotte.

After the dishes were cleared and coffee was loitered over, James paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, and rose. He held her chair out as she stood, allowing her to precede him to the front of the restaurant. There was only one other party left in the restaurant. Charlotte hadn't noticed the others departing, or whether new diners had entered. Will asked if they had enjoyed their food—they assured him they had—then retrieved their coats and hats.

James helped her don her coat and hat before putting on his own. Will held the door open and bade them both good night. The rain had picked up again, and Charlotte lifted her collar against it. Her cloche wouldn't be much protection against the rain.

As if reading her mind, James plucked the flimsy hat off her head and set his wide-brimmed hat on it, startling her as the crown dropped over her eyes. She lifted the front and blinked up at him. He smiled, his face mottled in light and shadow.

“Don't want you getting soaked through or ruining your nice hat on the way home,” he said, handing her the cloche. He threaded her arm up under his.

“What about you?” Charlotte had to keep the hat tilted up a little so it wouldn't cover her eyes again.

James shrugged. “I won't melt.”