The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (16 page)

~~**~~

In the past two days we have all heard Joy, Mei-Xing,
Sarah, and Corrine tell the tale of Martha Palmer’s encounter with Miss DeWitt.
Although it was the same event, each teller provided some detail or perspective
that the others missed.

We are still marveling, Lord. Thank you for Mrs. Palmer
and for her courage. I begin to understand that such courage is birthed in the
fire of deep hardship. I thank you particularly for what Mrs. Palmer’s courage
did for Sarah and for the freedom I see on her face. O Lord, you have done
great things and you are greatly to be praised.

Just one more thing, Father. Please heal our plumbing!

—

Fang-Hua dismissed her guards and lackeys from the room.
Morgan made the observation and wondered at its purpose. Only Bao remained,
quietly subservient.

She fears witnesses to our conversation
, he thought.
He decided to probe. Gently.

“I believe he has gone after her,” Morgan said, steepling
his fingers and adopting what he hoped was a pensive and caring tone.
And
after he has tired of her, I can hope he will come for you
, he added to
himself, carefully guarding his face.

“Her? Her? Of whom do you speak?” Fang-Hua hissed. She was
seated in a tall straight-backed chair beside what he knew to be a rare
lacquered table and an equally priceless tea service.

“Why the
Little Plum Blossom
, naturally,” Morgan
replied, raising his eyebrows.

“You will not speak of her.” Fang-Hua’s tone could freeze
men’s bones and Morgan shivered even while his mind continued to process new
information. Could it be that Fang-Hua was nervous?

She left her chair and strode a few steps away. “Why would
he seek her? To kill her?”

Interesting.
Morgan was quiet for a moment, pursing
his lips. On this point he was uncertain—did Su-Chong love the girl still or
hate her with equal passion, now that he knew she’d been used by so many men?
Su-Chong was rather a mystery.

He decided to be honest.
It was so much easier to convey
honesty
.

“I am unsure,” he said, hesitating. “When he first
recognized her, he was dumbstruck. Why, apparently he believed her to
be . . .
dead
.” He let that tidbit dangle, since he knew
it was Fang-Hua who had told Su-Chong that Mei-Xing had killed herself. Hadn’t
the
Little Plum Blossom
said as much? He let it dangle because he knew
it would hint at the danger Fang-Hua herself might be in.

Fang-Hua cleared her throat, unsettled. Morgan smiled within
himself.

Outside of the room a servant soundlessly approached the
door. She knew no one else was allowed in this part of the house at present.
With care she placed her ear to the door.

“What is that to me?” Fang-Hua replied with feigned
nonchalance. “If the girl chose to fake her own death, that is on her head.”

Su-Chong and Mei-Xing’s words in the Plaza still echoed in
Morgan’s ears:

They said you were dead. That you killed yourself
.

Your mother told you this? Your mother has always been
very clever, Su-Chong. And very vindictive. When I rejected you and then you
left, she hated me.

Morgan kept the shock from his face.
She does not know! Fang-Hua
believes Su-Chong is unaware of her role in Mei-Xing’s fate. I must guard this
insight carefully and use it to my advantage.

He tapped his chin. “He may wish to take her away for
himself. Or he might seek to . . .” Morgan was thinking aloud,
musing on her behalf, “ask her questions.”

Fang-Hua stilled and deflected Morgan’s last words. “You
think my son still harbors an affection for this, this whore?” The word grated
in her throat.

Morgan shook his head in his very best regret. “I truly
cannot say, Madam Chen. But I
can
tell you where the girl is.”

The woman turned to him. “Why did you not say so earlier?”

Morgan feigned surprise. “It is why I have come all this
way, madam. When Su-Chong overpowered the men you sent to bring him home, I
knew right then,
I must tell Madam Chen where her son has gone
!” Well
played, he told himself.

“You see,” Morgan said with not a hint of guile, “he will be
seeking the girl, but I, with my many contacts in Denver, already know where
she is.

She studied him. “What is it you want?”

He cocked his head slightly and studied her in return. “I
believe it is what we
both
want, madam.”

She stared back, challenging him. Finally she smiled, and
Morgan, despite his best efforts, shivered again. “Please do tell me. What is
it that we
both
want, my dear
Reggie?
”

Morgan flushed. No one had called him that in more than 20
years. How he hated this woman, possibly more than he hated Joy Michaels!
Well,
first things first
.

“We, I believe both you and I, want those responsible for
ruining my life and livelihood in Denver, those responsible for imprisoning me
and
your son
. The same ones who freed the
Little Plum Blossom
and
allowed that unfortunate moment between her and Su-Chong to occur.”

“And what people are those?” she asked carefully. “And where
might we find them?”

“The first is a woman by the name of Joy Michaels,” Morgan
said. “Her do-gooder interference brought the law to bear on the house where
the
Little Plum Blossom
er, entertained her guests. Then a Pinkerton man
named O’Dell who aided in uncovering my enterprises and in arresting Su-Chong.
And of course, the
Little Plum Blossom
herself.”

“Indeed?” Fang-Hua studied him with her hooded, reptilian
eyes.

“Oh yes.”

“And where might we find these people?” Fang-Hua asked, her
voice growing soft.

“My sources have given me an address for Joy Michaels. Right
in the heart of Denver.”

“And the little whore?”

“Oh, this is the easy part. Where you find Joy Michaels, you
will find the little whore with her.”

“And what do you wish from me,
Reggie
?” she asked her
voice even softer, more seductive.

Morgan controlled himself. “I only wish for their demise as
you do. I wish nothing more. Except, of course, to leave Seattle and go about
my business in peace.”

“Indeed.” Fang-Hua lifted the priceless cup to her lips and
sipped. “Very well.”

—

Three afternoons later Grant and Joy received a telephone
call at the store.

“I shore don’ know much ’bout these here telephones,” a loud
voice on the other end said. “Some feller he’ped me figger it out an’ a nice
lady sumwheres insid ’a this thing found yer number fer me! I’m at th’ train
station. Kin ya come an’ git me?”

Excited to hear from him, they gave Flinty directions for
the trolley that would bring him to the store. Just before closing time, the
front door jangled and Flinty shuffled inside, looking about the shop in keen
interest. He carried a carpetbag and a stout walking stick.

“This here’s a mighty fine ’stablishment!” he grinned.
Little Blackie, released from the confines of the office, greeted him with
enthusiasm.

After Flinty petted and rubbed the puppy, he looked soberly
at Joy. “Yer a sight fer sore eyes, miss, an’ tha’s a fact.” He returned her
hug and then pulled back, embarrassed and swiping at his cheeks.

The store staff, with Flinty in tow, took the trolley home
and arrived at Palmer House just before dinner as usual. Flinty’s good humor
was, without a doubt, infectious. A trifle bowlegged, he clomped into the
house, set his bag and cane in a corner and immediately began re-introducing
himself.

He shook hands and grinned, peppering each person with
“Shore am glad y’all ’vited me t’ come! Won’t be no bother, I promise! Aim t’
he’p out and do m’ fair share, you’ll see!”

Breona was beside herself. “’Tis bakin’ an’ cookin’ all th’
day Marit has been!” she prattled happily. For a fact, Marit and Gretl had been
cooking up a storm since Joy had called the house to alert them to Flinty’s
arrival.

“Cain’t rightly r’call m’ last home-cooked meal!” Flinty
licked his lips in anticipation.

Just then he spied Tabitha and grinned at her. “You shore
got you sum pretty hair, Red!”

Tabitha froze. “Who told you my name was Red?”

Flinty, paying no notice to her frosty response, grabbed her
hand and pumped it vigorously. “M’ hair ain’t s’ red n’ more, but used t’ be it
were as flamin’ as yourn.”

“This is Tabitha, Flinty,” Joy said in his ear.

“Mighty pleased t’ meetcha, Miss Tabitha! My, if you ain’t a
pretty girl! Th’ wife an’ I, we had us a passel o’ boys. Why, iffin I’d had me
a girl child, I’m thinkin’ she’d look a lot like you!” He beamed at her.

Rose was certain Tabitha would have a sharp retort to
Flinty’s greeting. And perhaps all of them were a little surprised at her
reaction.

“You think so, do you?” A tiny smile pulled at the corner of
her mouth.

“Yess’m! Say, d’ya play checkers?” Flinty looked hopefully
at her.

Tabitha smiled a little more. “I believe Mr. Wheatley has
schooled us fairly well.”

Flinty rubbed his hands together in anticipation and grinned
again. “Shore is good t’ be wi’ y’all. Jest what th’ doctor ordered, I’m thinkin’!”

Rose was shocked when Tabitha grinned back.

—

Fang-Hua closed and rested her eyes. Her plans to bring
Su-Chong home had failed. Her husband, Wei Lin Chen, knew that their son had
escaped from jail—he read the newspapers after all—but he did not know her part
in the escape. It was best that she kept her role in it from him. As she must
keep other things from him.

Her husband must not know that Mei-Xing was alive. He must
not find out Fang-Hua had arranged Mei-Xing’s “suicide.” He must never discover
that his wife had schemed to send Mei-Xing into a life of sexual slavery. Those
things must never be known by him.

But what if Su-Chong found Mei-Xing again? Would the girl
tell him of Bao’s lies and how he had sent her to Denver—not into a loving, new
family—but into the horror of forced prostitution? And would Su-Chong trace the
scheme back to his mother?

Fang-Hua’s eyes narrowed.
It was entirely the girl’s
fault, of course. From the very beginning, her fault!

Just now she had taken the necessary steps to eliminate the
little harlot. Discreet and capable men were already on their way to this Denver city.

They would find and take the girl. No one would ever see her
again. It would be as if she truly had killed herself. No one in Seattle would know or believe otherwise.

Then she would not need to eliminate her husband’s nephew,
Bao, to keep her secrets safe. And his loyalty was assured—that is, if he
wished his wife and coming child to remain in good health.

She did not care about the others—this Joy Michaels and the
Pinkerton man Morgan wished to be eliminated. They posed no threat to her, only
to Morgan.

Fang-Hua sneered when she thought of Morgan.
Dear Reggie
.
She had allowed him to leave Seattle feeling safe in his going. He would create
a new identity for himself in another city and think himself secure in it.

Of course, she was having him followed. If she desired to
see him again, it would be quite simple to arrange.

She thought everything through once more and her mouth
tightened into a confident smirk. Yes, she had thought of everything.

Once the girl disappeared, so would the danger to herself.

—

O’Dell was in Baltimore. He and local Pinkerton men had
rescued an infant boy only the day before.

The boy’s nanny and her boyfriend had cooked up the kidnapping
and ransom scheme. When the boy disappeared, the nanny had sworn to
investigators that she had been attacked and the boy taken while she was
unconscious. The investigators had bought it.

When the ransom was paid and the boy was not returned, they summoned
the Pinkertons who, in turn, placed a telephone call to the Chicago office
demanding that they dispatch O’Dell. By the time he arrived, the boy had been
missing six days.

O’Dell re-questioned the nanny. She was beginning to crack
from the strain. Apparently, her boyfriend was supposed to have returned the
baby boy as soon as the ransom was paid. Then she was to have given two weeks’
notice and joined her lover later in Atlantic City.

Instead, the boyfriend had taken the money and left her
behind. Worse, he had possibly abandoned or killed the five-month-old infant.

O’Dell, knowing the difference between genuine grief and
guilt-induced panic, pressed the woman hard. Finally she broke.

O’Dell and the local police tracked the boyfriend and the
money north to New York. One of his men suffered a gunshot wound to his chest
during the takedown, and it had been touch and go for him, but they had gotten
the kidnapper and most of the money. The boyfriend confessed to leaving the
baby at a convent outside of Philadelphia on his way to New York.

The next morning, in a fine Baltimore hotel paid for by the
grateful parents of the recovered baby, O’Dell was enjoying the rare sweetness
of a happily concluded case. Leaned far back in an easy chair, his feet up on a
coffee table, and surrounded by thick cigar smoke, he had nothing to do but
savor the moment.

His partner in recovering the child, a local Pinkerton
agent, lounged in a nearby chair catching up on the news. His face was hidden
behind a stale copy of the
Baltimore Sun
.

“Say, what was the name o’ the mug you collared over near Denver?” Rourke asked.

“Hmm? Morgan. Dean Morgan,” O’Dell replied.
Yet another
difficult case brought to a successful conclusion
, he reflected
contentedly.