True to the Law (41 page)

Finn stumbled more than stooped. He followed Rabbit when his brother crawled under Miss Morrow’s back porch. “What are we doing under here?” he asked when his heart stopped pounding.

“Hiding.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Be quiet.”

Finn clamped his mouth closed. He thought the cat might have scurried under the porch before they did, but when it didn’t claw or squeeze past them, he figured he was wrong.

“That was Mr. Phillips,” said Rabbit after a while.

“I heard him same as you. Lucky for us that we were still on the side of the house.”

“Lucky for us that he scared the cat. We might have showed ourselves.”

“I don’t reckon he can run fast. Jeez, Rabbit. Can we go? It’s cold lying here.”

“No. Not yet. Wait.”

Finn had no idea what Rabbit wanted to wait for, but he decided he could give it another minute. In a lot less time than that, Rabbit’s judgment was proved sound.

“Peeve! Mr. Peeve!”

Finn’s eyes widened as Mrs. Stillwell called for her cat. He craned his neck to get a glimpse of her on her back porch. She was holding out a lamp, and when she turned toward Miss Morrow’s house, Finn buried his face in the dirt before she saw him.

“Peeve! I know you’re out there. What did you hear? Rascals? Did you hear rascals? I sure heard you. Come on. Come back inside.” Evelyn Stillwell waited a long minute before she gave up.

Rabbit exhaled loudly when Mrs. Stillwell and her lamp disappeared inside. “I never heard anyone carry on the way she does. The way she expected Peeve to come, she must think her cat’s a dog.”

“That’s the truth.” Finn wiped dirt off his nose with his coat sleeve. “Can we crawl out now? I guess we been just about everywhere tonight. Someone catches us now, they’re bound to think that Mrs. Stillwell’s right and that we’re the rascals.”

Rabbit was philosophical. “Sometimes we are.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m kinda tired though. We’ve been to the cemetery and back, seen every dog and cat that belongs to someone and some that don’t belong to no one, and I guess we’ll have a thing or two to say to Sam tomorrow.”

“Go on. You go out first. And start thinkin’ about what we’re gonna tell Granny when she wants to know how we got so gosh darn filthy.”

Finn pulled himself forward on his elbows. “You reckon we’re
that
dirty?”

“Uh-huh.”

Finn waited until Rabbit joined him out in the open before he said, “You wanna take a peek in Miss Morrow’s windows?”

“Now why would you wanna to do that?”

“Two reasons. If we’re goin’ to be in trouble with Granny anyway, then we might as well be hanged for sheep as lamps, and Miss Morrow might—”

“It’s lambs,” Rabbit said. “Might as well be hanged for sheep as
lambs
.”

“Oh. Huh. That makes more sense.”

“What’s the second reason?”

“Miss Morrow might have her hair down. I sure would like to see that.”

* * *

Tru tossed
Triumphant Democracy
onto the sofa after Jim was gone and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She couldn’t imagine that she would sleep easily until Cobb came by so it seemed pointless to try. She pumped water into the sink, filled the kettle, then set it on the stove while she laid the fire. Afterward, she sat at the kitchen table and waited for the kettle to boil.

A rustling noise outside her kitchen window caught her ear. She was halfway out of her seat to investigate when another sound, this one a substantial creak from the other direction, made her turn her attention to the entranceway. She finished rising, skirted the table, and quickly headed to the front door. Still an arm’s length away from reaching it, she heard the creaking noise again, this time behind her.

Tru grabbed her reticule from the entry table and prepared to swing it as she spun around. “Andrew!” Heart hammering, she aborted the swing of her arm and drew it close, clutching the reticule to her chest.

Andrew Charles Mackey III descended the last three steps almost soundlessly. He did not advance on Tru. Instead, he stood at the foot of the stairs and casually rested his arm on the newel post. “You have a warped tread. Five or six steps up, I should think. It practically groans in protest of being used.”

Tru saw his lips move, knew he was speaking, but it may well have been in a foreign language for all that she understood him. What in the
world
was he going on about?

Andrew straightened and removed his overcoat. He draped it over the newel post and then laid his bowler on top. Taking advantage of Tru’s silence, he reached inside his jacket and brought out a small envelope. “I received your note. I thought you’d like to know that Walter made the delivery on your behalf. I’ve noticed that he is conscientious in the performance of his duties, large and small.”

Tru’s hand dropped to her side. The beaded reticule hung loosely from her wrist. She finally found her voice. “Where did you come from?”

His narrow smile seemed to indicate amusement. He pointed up the stairs.

“I don’t understand. Jim went up there.”

“Jim. Yes, I heard him. Who is he?”

Distracted by her own racing thoughts, Tru answered almost absently, “A friend.”

“You have so many friends here, I’ve noticed. All of them doing your bidding. Walter. Cobb Bridger. The station agent. And now this Jim.”

“What are you doing here, Andrew?”

He shook the envelope to capture her notice with it. His gesture had the desired effect as Tru’s eyes moved from his face to what he was holding in his hand.

“I know what I wrote,” she said slowly. “The invitation is for tomorrow at the schoolhouse after the children are dismissed.”

He tucked the envelope away and made a show of examining his pocket watch. “It’s tomorrow.” He smiled and angled his head toward the parlor. “Why don’t we retire there? I know you like your spirits, and you look as if a drink would not be unwelcome.”

Tru glanced at the drinks cabinet. There was a bottle of whiskey sitting out that she could not recall leaving there. “I put the kettle on for tea. I should see to that.”

“All right. Take the lamp.” He ushered her forward. “I’ll bring the whiskey anyway.” He managed to retrieve the bottle and still only be a few steps behind her when she entered the kitchen. “You sit by the stove,” he said, holding out a chair for her. He took the lamp and set it on the china cupboard. “You’ll be warmer. Your cups?”

Tru pointed to the cabinet beside him.

Nodding, Andrew retrieved one along with a saucer and the teapot. He also placed the tea canister on the table. “There. Everything you need, I believe. Are you comfortable?”

A slight frown pulled at Tru’s eyebrows. She answered carefully. “I am not uncomfortable.”

Andrew pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “You need time to collect yourself. I understand.” He uncorked the whiskey and poured a moderate amount in her cup. He pushed it toward her. “Here. You don’t want to wait for the water to boil and the tea to steep.”

“Aren’t you going to join me?”

“No. I had a drink earlier.”

Tru tried to remember if she had seen a glass on the cabinet. “While you were waiting?”

He shook his head. “No. At the Pennyroyal.”

“But you were waiting, weren’t you? For me. In the dark.”

“For a while. Not so long. I heard you and—Jim, was it?—talking on the front porch. I realized he was going to have a look around. Rather like I did not so long ago.”

“And your response to that was to hide?”

“I came because I want to hear your answer, not answer for myself. Hiding, as lowering as it was, struck me as the better choice.” He regarded her frown. “Ah. You want to know where I was. It is fascinating that you can’t move past such an unimportant detail. Will you be amused to know that I was under your bed?”

“Nothing about you being here amuses me.”

“Have a drink. It will change your perspective.”

Tru did not touch her cup.

“No,” Andrew said, pushing the cup and saucer closer to her. “I wasn’t making a request. Have a drink.”

Tru lifted the teacup by its dainty china ear. In the brief second before she struck, her eyes telegraphed her intent.

Andrew ducked sideways and the cup and its contents sailed over his head. Some of the whiskey splashed his shoulder, but when he sat up, he showed her that he was largely unscathed. Even the cup survived. Andrew bent again to pick it up and poured twice as much whiskey into it as he had before. He calmly set the cup back in the saucer. “Drink. It will steady your nerves . . . and your aim.”

Tru raised the cup in both hands this time. The reticule dangled awkwardly from her wrist. She had forgotten about it. She drank. Before she could draw it away from her lips, Andrew reached across the table and pushed on the bottom of the cup so she was forced to take another swallow.

After a moment, he withdrew his hand. “Better?”

Tru nodded faintly.

“Good. You required some Dutch courage, I believe.” He sat back and folded his hands on the table in front him. “I’d like to hear your answer.”

Tru stared at him. She could hear the water in the teakettle behind her begin to boil.

“Leave it,” he said as she started to rise. “You can see to it in a moment.”

Tru slipped her reticule’s black cord off her wrist. “May I show you something?”

Andrew shrugged. “If you would like.”

Tru loosened the drawstring around the neck of the reticule. She opened it and withdrew Charlotte Mackey’s brooch. She did not hand it to him. Instead, she turned her bag inside out and laid the brooch against the black silk lining to display the stones to their best advantage.

He glanced at the brooch and then at her. “Yes?”

“Don’t you recognize it? It’s your grandmother’s brooch.”

“I could hardly mistake it for anything else.”

Andrew’s response to the brooch puzzled Tru. The flash of interest she saw in his dark eyes was absent in his voice. “I thought you might be curious as to how I came to have it.”

“Since Grandmother rarely failed to remind us that you were responsible for finding it after the fire, I imagine she wanted you to have it.”

“She did.”

“Well? So she gave it to you. Did you think I would begrudge you that piece? I don’t.” He reached across the table for it, but she pulled on the drawstring and the bag and brooch slid toward her. Andrew’s fingers curled around nothing and he withdrew his hand. “You see, it supports my long-held contention that you exercised extraordinary influence over Grandmother during the last years of her life.”

Tru frowned. “But you just said that you imagined she wanted me to have the brooch.”

“I did say that. To you. I am not going to repeat it to anyone else, and I will certainly deny having said it at all.”

“I don’t understand, Andrew.” She watched him shake his head slowly as though he were disappointed in her.

“No, you don’t, do you? But let’s have your answer first. There’s that business to settle before we will discuss the other.”

Her eyes widened slightly. She palmed the brooch. “My answer is no, and I will never believe that you are surprised to hear it.” She waited for him to say something, but he remained quiet for a long moment, his eyes dark with thought, even a trifle sad.

“Surprised?” he said finally. “No. I don’t suppose that I am. But I was hopeful. For a while I was hopeful. I don’t know what I think about it now. There are so many considerations. May I see the brooch?”

Tru raised her hand as he reached out with his. Her thumb flicked the fragile clasp. She felt it fall open as Andrew’s hand slipped under hers. With no hint or hesitation, Tru slammed the brooch down so the clasp’s sharp pin pierced the flesh of Andrew’s palm.

He howled in pain. Tru vaulted out of her chair. She grabbed the kettle, careless of the steam and the hot handle, and threw it blindly in his direction as she charged for the door. He saw it coming and threw up an arm. The kettle tipped, splashed some of its scalding water on his hands and neck, but most of its contents stayed inside until it bounced on the floor and lost its lid. Swearing, he pulled the brooch’s stickpin out of his palm and launched himself at Tru. His arms swept the air but got nothing of her.

Tru knew she couldn’t hope to get the locked door open before he reached her. She didn’t try. Her goal was the shotgun rack. Her hands closed over where the shotgun should have been before her eyes registered the fact that it wasn’t there.

“I took it,” Andrew said evenly. He stood on the edge of the kitchen and the rear entryway absently rubbing his injured palm with the thumb of his other hand. “As a precaution. It seems I was right to do so. Hard liquor. Guns. You
have
changed, Gertrude, and not in ways that I could have embraced if you were going to be my wife. Come. Back to the table. I’ll pour you another drink.”

Tru hesitated, but when he stepped back to let her pass, she went. Her only thought in doing so was that if she were injured struggling with him now, she would be less able to defend herself later. She returned to the table, righted her chair, and sat. Aware of a slight trembling in her hands, she set them firmly in her lap. Her chin came up. Regarding him with what she hoped was more defiance than fear, she asked, “Now what?”