Stealing Mercy (32 page)

He thought of her lying in his arms at the cottage, soft, vulnerable, had he been wrong to assume that she would willingly embrace a quiet life, a life without assaulting villains, rescuing misplaced maidens, and raiding brothels? Did she need a bump on her head to keep still?

True, he loved her fire, her unflagging intelligence, her can-do, will-do, why not, serve-it-up-with-a-pie-attitude, but could she be happy at the ranch with nothing to plot but the antics of children? He leaned back against the wall as a familiar gray haired gentleman rounded the corner.

He nodded at Mr. Muir, who returned his greeting with a leer. “Is this your charmer?” Muir said, cocking his head at the frilly beauty standing still at the end of the hall, a flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks.
Mercy
.

Trent forgot Muir, and sprinted down the hall. He caught Mercy by the wrist and tried to drag her into a room. Locked. He tried the next and hauled her inside. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d stay at Tilly’s?” He kicked the door shut and held both her arms, shaking her with each word for emphasis.

“I-” she licked her lips nervously.

He stopped and tried to muster composure. He couldn’t be distracted. “This is dangerous--haven’t you learned? Will I ever be able to trust you? This isn’t child’s play--” he halted, suddenly noticing her apparel, or lack thereof. “Although, you do seem dressed appropriately.”

Mercy pulled away from him and tugged on the slipping bodice which had obviously been sewn for someone with a more generous bosom.

“What are you wearing?”

Mercy looked down on her costume, a white frilly frock with a lace up corset, a lace tulle petticoat, and barely there pantaloons. “I think I’m Little Bo peep.”

“And I should think all the sheep will soon be following you around,” a voice spoke behind them.

Trent wheeled around and to face Steele. Trent had been so involved with Mercy, he hadn’t noticed the door opening. From the shocked, wide-eyed look on Mercy’s face, she hadn’t heard his arrival either.

“This is a private party, Steele,” Trent said, his voice like flint. He drew Mercy beneath his arm, sheltering her.

Steele slipped a pistol from a holster hiding beneath his jacket and leveled it at Mercy’s corset. “Perhaps you’d consider another arrangement, a bargain.”

“Take your sickness elsewhere,” Trent said through clenched teeth.

“Ah, but I’m never sick. And unlike some,” he met and held Mercy’s eyes, “I’ve never died. It seems your death was unsuccessful the first time. Perhaps you need my help.”

Trent reached for his own pistol secured in his waistband.

Steele flicked his head at him. “One stupid move and the girl dies.” His finger rested on the trigger. “Just think of all those lost sheep.” He pulled back and the world exploded.

Rose Arbor, Washington

The sea of cars depresses me. Shiny, hot, glistening in the sun, the chrome and mirrors sparkle. Row after row of cars. Balloons. Flags. Even a hotdog stand. It’s like a circus. And I am the clown.

Armed only with the printed out pages from Kelly Blue Book, Consumer reports and the advertisement section of the Seattle Times, I face my dragons. A group of men in sport-coats loiter near the entrance of the glass and steel showroom. Salesmen. The enemy.

It won’t be a fair fight. Car salesmen sell hundreds of cars a year. I have never bought a car. They’ve had training. Manuals. Practiced sales pitches. They’d probably taken classes and workshops on selling to susceptible widows. If they want to sell me a go-cart they’ll probably succeed. But, they wouldn’t want to sell me a go-cart. No, they’d want me to buy a giant Mercedes like Errol Michaels’.

Why think of him? I dismiss all memories of him. I’m buying a Toyota, not a Mercedes. I want this car, I mentally rehearse. Just this one in the advertisement.

“
They’ll try to up-sell you,” Lizzy had warned. “They don’t want to sell you that stripped down model.”

Heated seats? No. Moon roof? No. Built in DVD player? No. My stomach clenches with nerves when a salesman catches my eye. He oozes towards me, swaggering. He looks like Mr. Steele.

I take a deep breath. If Mercy could fight off Mr. Steele and plot the destruction of Lucky Island, then surely, I can buy a car.

“
How are you today?” the Steele-look-a-like asks. He’s squinting in the sun, but I can tell his eyes are blue. Steel blue. “Are you interested in test driving one of our new Lexus 300 models? A shipment arrived just this morning.”

“
Does it come with a hotdog?” I ask, motioning towards the stand.

He laughs, exposing his sharp teeth. “And a soda, if you’d like.”

“
I really just want this car,” I show him the advertisement and the car I’ve circled with a red sharpie.

His teeth withdraw and his smile fades. He squares his shoulders, mustering his sales-know-how. “What color would you like?”

I glance at the advertisement. “It says you only have five at this price. What colors do you have?”

He motions for me to follow and I do. “Mustard and olive green.” He sweeps his arms like Vanna White in front of the ugly cars.

I’m going to have to spend the next ten years driving something that looks like a condiment from the hotdog stand. Unless… I squint at all the other cars in the lot. There are hundreds of them. I decide that I can find one that I like that’s reasonably priced. My years at the library have prepared me for this moment. A library has thousands of books. I don’t want to read them all. It’s not hard to find the ones I want to spend my time with, it just takes some time. Maybe it’s the same with a car. Slowly, I begin to walk up and down the rows.

The Mr. Steele look-a-like trails after me like a trained dog, spouting car lingo and statistics. I stop in front of a midnight blue convertible. Looking at the sticker price, I pull out my glasses to read the fine print.

I will be victorious.

I’m paying cash.

CHAPTER 34

A dumb waiter may refer to:

A dumbwaiter a freight elevator or lift between building floors or a

lazy susan, a small rotating table used for serving food.

From The Recipes of Mercy Faye

The noise thundered through the house. The shaking became so violent it seemed the brothel would slip from its foundation.. Girls screamed and men bellowed as they streamed out the doors and jammed into the hall. Trent caught sight of a half naked Mr. Muir jostling through the throng, his white rear shaking with expediency. And then everything was lost in a haze of orange and yellow putrid smoke that smelled of sulfur.

Mercy used the diversion to thwack Steele’s gun hand with her staff. The gun clattered to the floor. Steele howled in pain or outrage, or perhaps both and as he stooped for the gun, Mercy brought her staff down on his head, so hard it cracked.

“Well done,” Trent said, picking up the revolver and placing his boot on Steele’s back.

Mercy brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Thanks. I’ve actually had practice.”

Trent raised an eyebrow at her and then motioned to the hall. “We’d better go before we turn to ashes.”

Mercy looked at Steele squirming beneath Trent’s boot. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“If he dies in the fire--”

Mercy shook her head. She drew closer to Trent, her features becoming clearer through the thick smoke as she approached. Touching his arm, she touched her lips to his ear. “The fire’s a ruse.”

Stunned Trent stepped back. “You did this?”

She rocked back onto her heels, looking smug. “Well, not alone.”

He grabbed her by arm, debating if he should kiss her or kill her. Steele used the distraction to roll out from under his boot. Mercy noticed and brought another strike of her staff on his head. Steele went limp.

“You’re getting rather good at that,” Trent said, placing his foot firmly on Steele’s back and pulling Mercy into his arms. She felt warm and soft, despite the acrid air, he could still smell the cinnamon that clung to her hair. She tasted and smelled of pie. “Quite scary,” he murmured, his mouth against her lips.

He stopped short of deepening the kiss when a figure materialized beside them from the smoke. “Chloe?” he choked.

What was she wearing? Someone, and he didn’t have to think too hard to know who, had wrapped her so that her waist had the same circumference as her chest. She looked like a mobile water barrel. He stared down into Mercy’s face and when he did speak, his voice broke. “You involved my sister?” He swallowed.

“Did you really think I could be left behind?” Chloe demanded. She turned her attention to Mercy. If Chloe thought it odd that Mercy would be holding her brother in a bawdy house while wearing a Little Bo Peep costume, she didn’t remark upon it. “All the girls are in the wagon and we need to leave before the others discover this is all smoke and mirrors.”

“But, what about?” Mercy jerked her head at Steele.

Chloe, perhaps for the first time, noticed the lifeless form beneath Trent’s boot. “Did you kill him?”

Mercy shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

Mercy nodded. “He’s exceptionally hard headed.”

Trent knelt beside Steele and pulled his wrists behind his back.

Mercy held up a finger. “I know just the thing. I saw them in the cupboard.” Going to the wardrobe, she pulled long lengths of linen out of a basket. She held them out with a curious look on her face before handing them to Trent. “Still, what will we do with him?”

Trent’s face tightened with concentration as he tied Steele’s wrists together. “We’ll leave him at Sherriff Calhouns. I heard he’s been looking for him.” Finished, he stood and wiped his hands as if he’d dealt with something dirty.

Chloe tugged at Mercy. “We need to leave.”

Trent wanted to argue. He wanted both girls to stay where he could see them, but he also recognized their immediate need to escape. It would take him awhile to get Steele down to the coach, so he nodded. “We’ll meet on the other side of the bridge. Be careful.”

There were so many other things he wanted to say. Be careful sounded weak and ineffectual compared to the strength of the emotions raging inside of him. He watched the two women, Mercy with her staff held aloft and Chloe with her felt hat pulled low, slip from the room and into the bedlam and smoke.

*****

Mercy and Chloe made their way down the hall in grim silence. The tide of patrons and girls swept down the front stairs, and Mercy followed them but Chloe tugged her down another hall. “Where are we going?” Mercy asked, bumping into a man trying to jump into his pants.

Chloe tightened her grip on Mercy’s wrist. “Cassie suggested the dumb waiter. It’ll take us straight to the basement.”

“But, isn’t that dangerous?” Mercy stumbled and nearly tripped over her staff.

“Not as dangerous as meeting Lady Luck. She has to be somewhere close. According to one of the girls, she’d taken to her bed about an hour ago. Supposedly she’d received a guest that had sought a private audience.”

“Steele.”

“Probably.”

Mercy considered this as they trotted down the now deserted hall. “No, that doesn’t make sense.” She halted in front of the dumb waiter and pointed at it. “And that doesn’t make sense, either.”

“Any sign of Eloise?” Chloe asked, as she grabbed the handled of the dumb waiter and wrenched it open, exposing a dark three by three cage.

Mercy shook her head. “Miles?”

“He’s completely beside himself.”

“You’ve seen him, then?”

Chloe flushed crimson pink. “Come on,” she said, dropping Mercy’s wrist and swinging a leg into the dumb waiter.

“This would have been much more difficult in skirts,” Chloe whispered. She needn’t have bothered. The back stair that led to the maid’s quarters above and the kitchen below was deserted. They could hear the press and clamor of the girls in the next hall, the snapping and sparking of the fireworks, but from Lady Luck’s private quarters, directly above their position in the back hall, they didn’t hear a thing. It’d been a miracle that they still hadn’t heard, seen or been confronted by the Madam.

“Not that this will be easy,” Mercy said, passing Chloe the rope so that she could climb in.

Chloe pushed herself into the back corner of the dumb waiter, her knees up around her ears. She held the rope high so Mercy could wedge into the tight space.

“But, it’ll be very, very fast,” Chloe said. “Especially if the rope breaks.”

Mercy closed the dumb waiter’s door, leaving a space large enough to throw out the rope. She took a deep breath. “Ready?”

Even in the semi-darkness, Mercy could see Chloe grin. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”