Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

About the Author

Make sure to check out these other exciting Blue Feather Books titles:

For Mary Ann, for everything.

This is a work of fiction.  All characters, locales and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Thirty Days Hath September

Copyright © 2010 by Jamie Scarratt

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, save for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by Ann Phillips

A Blue Feather Book

Published by Blue Feather Books, Ltd.

www.bluefeatherbooks.com

ISBN: 978-1-935627-94-4

First edition: November, 2010

Printed in the United States of America and in the United Kingdom.

Acknowledgments

Thanks go to John and Alison for the Role Playing Game that was the inspiration for the characters of Red and Evadne, to Blue Feather Books for saying yes, to Emily for patiently guiding me through the process of publishing, and to Verda, for squashing my overuse of the word had.

But above all these, my profound thanks go to my partner MAC for endless loving support and tireless beta-reading, for persuading me to submit my work for publishing, for coaxing, praising, and threatening. Without her, this book would never have happened.

Chapter 1

Boston 1927

September 1: A beginning

The rain fell heavily from a rapidly darkening sky, drenching the unfortunate pedestrians as they hurried along, hats pulled down and collars turned up against the suddenly foul weather. Through a streaked, soot-grimed window of her office, Red Wolverton scowled out into the late afternoon grayness. “Ain’t that just peachy.” She thrust her hands deep into the pockets of threadbare pants and leaned against the window. Frustrated and bored to the point of violence, she slowly tapped her head against the cold glass until the rhythmic beat calmed her.

A sudden shiver ran through her. The storm that gifted the city with the current torrential downpour brought with it a distinct drop in temperature. Summer, it seemed, was truly over.

After a final glare at the falling rain, she slumped dejectedly into the worn and comfortable leather of her chair. Getting wet didn’t bother her as much as the time it would take to get dry and warm afterward. Heating her dingy apartment was never easy, even when she could afford it. Currently it wasn’t an option. Once the weather turned cold, she generally used the room as a place to dump her stuff, sleeping there only when, as now, she could find nowhere preferable. She spent the rest of her time working, or at Mickey’s gym, or in one of the local illegal drinking dens.

“Damn all chance of work now.” She kicked the underside of her desk.

As the city’s only female private investigator, Red had lost count of how many prospective clients turned up at her door only to make a rapid retreat once they discovered the owner of the Wolverton Investigation Agency was not the man they’d been expecting. Despite this, she’d always had enough work to keep her going: either from female clients who felt more comfortable dealing with another woman, even one as unconventional as she, or those few open-minded men who could look beyond the gender and appearance to the results she achieved. Unfortunately, a certain “misunderstanding” with one of her clients led to a steep falling-off in the amount of work coming to her door.

“When did I get so fucking stupid?” She gave the desk another frustrated kick. “Goddamned spoiled rich kids and their little experiments.”

Don’t get involved with a client. The rule was simple and had been hammered into her stubborn skull by her mentor, Pete Garrick, the man who’d left her the office and the money to start her own agency. That rule had been spectacularly and irrevocably broken. From the first glance, Katherine made all the moves and Red fell for her, hook, line, and sinker. Even now, she wasn’t sure whether it was the dazzling blue eyes, the silky black hair, or the gorgeous legs that went on forever. Whatever it was, it smacked her between the eyes so hard it knocked all the sense right out of her. Only when the enraged fiancé made his carefully planned appearance in the bedroom doorway did reality come crashing down upon her.

In a state of betrayed stupefaction, Red found out the woman who so casually and cruelly broke her heart was engaged to the heir of one of the richest families in Boston. The ensnaring of the notorious “Wolf,” her suddenly ex-lover coldly explained, was just a bet, an experiment and nothing more. Now the bet was won, and the deviant’s perverted presence was no longer required. She’d certainly fooled her, Red reflected bitterly, prepared to bet Katherine was still laughing her pretty little head off at out-wolfing the wolf.

Red leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes, trying to damp down her growing anger. With no clients, she had far too much time on her hands and the inactivity was slowly driving her nuts. She needed a case, any case; even a lost dog looked good at the moment. Perhaps she should kidnap a few, see if that whipped up any business. She gave a small grin at the thought, opened her eyes, and checked the time. The wall clock showed there was still a good fifteen minutes until five o’clock. She let out a sigh of frustration. Although her work hours, when she actually had any, were varied and unpredictable, a small but stubborn part of her rebelled against leaving before the clock’s hands reached that magic hour.

Five of the minutes she wasted balling up scraps of paper and attempting, without much success, to toss them into the wastebasket by the door. After a sarcastic cheer as the last crumpled ball dropped neatly in, she decided there was little point delaying her departure, especially as it didn’t look like the rain was going to ease off anytime soon.

Red pushed up out of her chair and cast a weary eye around the office. It was cluttered with files and other bits and pieces, the chaotic effect classily finished off by the half-empty mug of coffee sitting among the remains of a sandwich on her desk.

No great change there. A wry grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. She should give it a once-over in case of an early client the next day, but she couldn’t whip up the enthusiasm. Instead, all she could think of was a warm bed and the carefully concealed bourbon bottle that would chase off the worst of the fall chill. Ignoring faint pangs of conscience over the state of the room, she shrugged on her overcoat, donned her worn but beloved fedora, and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

Evadne Davenport paused at the top of the stairs and took a moment to catch her breath. She looked back down the dimly lit stairwell, wondering how she’d managed the five flights without breaking an ankle. She had expected the building’s generally unsavory conditions. The address, too near the docks to be anything other than down-at-the-heel, suggested as much. The broken elevator presented a more unpleasant discovery. The worn “Out of order” notice that hung askew on the handle to the cage-like doors suggested this was a frequent occurrence. The scarcity of working light bulbs added to the impression that the landlord wasn’t overly conscientious in his upkeep of the property, though the presence of electricity had been a pleasant surprise.

Gratified to discover how quickly she recovered from the climb, Evadne straightened her skirt and coat and moved from door to door until she found the one she was after. The words “Wolverton Investigation Agency” were neatly stenciled on the plain wood paneling. In keeping with the general shabby air, the paint was peeling slightly and Evadne made a mental note to get it repainted should her plan work out as intended.

Suddenly, she felt nervous. Once more, she glanced at the stairs. Her chauffeur would be patiently waiting for her in the LaSalle. If she appeared sooner rather than later, he would make no comment. Stop being such a coward, she berated herself. After all, what was the worst Wolverton could do—say no? “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Evadne,” she said under her breath. “Fortune favors the brave, and all that.” Resolve suitably bolstered, she adjusted her coat once more, squared her shoulders, and took a half step closer.

The door stood slightly ajar, and she could make out faint sounds of movement from inside. She raised a hand to rap a knuckle against the door but paused, undecided. The door was open after all. Shouldn’t she just enter? Ingrained good manners warred with the knowledge that the owner of the office was not likely to notice such niceties. With a faint frisson of anticipation, she abandoned the polite option and cautiously pushed open the door.

A solitary figure stood in the center of the room, back to the door. Evadne couldn’t tell whether this person, dressed in a shabby overcoat and an even shabbier fedora, was the object of her visit, or some disreputable character there for his own nefarious purposes. For a moment, she considered leaving. Then she imagined her mother-in-law’s reaction once word of her visit inevitably reached her ears. The elder Mrs. Davenport would undoubtedly disapprove. That prompted Evadne to make up her mind. Summoning up the considerable sangfroid her upbringing had provided, she cautiously addressed the as-yet-unidentified person before her.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m looking for Red Wolverton.”

The voice was refined, female, and a distinct shock. Very few people could sneak up on Red that easily; certainly no one with a cut-glass accent like that. Nor was the accent the only thing that set her nerves on edge. She’d heard more than enough from others like it, berating her for her “unnatural” ways or taunting her about how easily Katherine had taken her in. A small smile appeared on Red’s lips at the memory of the last such visit. She had sent that pinch-faced young woman packing with an inventive stream of expletives that surprised even Red.

“There ain’t no Mr. Wolverton, sweetheart, as well you know,” she drawled, not bothering to hide her disdain. “And if Katherine wants to send any more of her friends to gawp at me, you can tell her to go—” Before she could repeat the description of exactly what her ex-girlfriend could do, she was interrupted.

“My, my, what a mess. I haven’t seen a room in such a state of untidiness since my nephews came to visit.”

Startled, Red turned around. “Yeah, well,” she said, unexpectedly on the defensive, “I wasn’t expecting any visitors, what with the weather and all.” An abrupt gesture at the window emphasized her point even as she quickly revised her earlier assumption. This wasn’t one of Katharine’s hangers-on; the face was unfamiliar, and the woman didn’t have the ridiculous flamboyance of dress usually found in that particular set. Well-dressed, with stylishly coiffured dark hair finished off with a modish hat, the woman was a few inches shorter than Red’s five foot nine.

She was somewhat older than her voice suggested. Red’s practiced eye put her somewhere in her mid-thirties. A socialite if ever she’d seen one, Red thought, instinctively classifying her visitor. The woman’s face was strong-boned, striking rather than conventionally pretty, the brown eyes warm and intelligent. A quick glance at her left hand as she removed her gloves showed she was also married, or at the very least wanted to be thought so. As the dark green coat followed the gloves, a deep burgundy, immaculately tailored skirt and jacket were revealed. Nice figure, too, Red’s libido noted appreciatively; curves in all the right places.

Evadne’s initial hesitation on entering the room was swiftly overtaken by unabashed dismay. Had she believed in a single omnipotent deity, she would have been a firm proponent of the adage that cleanliness was next to godliness. What she had heard about the proprietor of the Wolverton Investigation Agency led her to expect a certain rough-and-ready charm but not this level of chaos.

To start with, she’d been able to see little of the taller figure in front of her, swathed as it was in the faded overcoat, scarf, and battered fedora. All she could make out with any clarity were annoyed green eyes the color of the winter sea. Only the warm contralto voice indicated the androgynous figure was indeed female.

After a moment, Wolverton, for it had to be her, removed the outer layers of clothing down to shirtsleeves and threw them haphazardly at the coat stand, missing badly. She gave the pile of crumpled clothing a glare, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Evadne. An unruly lock of boyishly cut hair had fallen down across Wolverton’s forehead, giving her an impish look that softened the effect of the scowl. The hair’s reddish gold color made Evadne wonder uneasily whether she also had the temper traditionally associated with redheads. Her behavior so far suggested it was a distinct possibility. The slight distortion to her nose that spoke of a previous break only added to the impression. That she was dressed like a man was noted without any great surprise; Red Wolverton’s peculiarities had been well discussed in the salons and parlors of the wealthy and influential over the last few weeks, the penchant for men’s clothing being only one of them. Evadne, however, did feel a momentary pang of dismay as she finally took in the revealed sartorial inelegance. If only she wasn’t quite so… scruffy. It looked as though the office wasn’t the only thing in need of a good sprucing up.

As if aware of the unfavorable scrutiny, Wolverton suddenly moved toward her desk. Evadne felt a twinge of unease as she spotted a worn holster and its incumbent revolver nestled snugly in the small of Wolverton’s back. Don’t be such a silly goose, she scolded herself. After all, weren’t private investigators normally armed? Why should she expect Wolverton to be any different?

Her eyes still drawn to the deadly black metal, Evadne had the feeling that, by nature, Red Wolverton would be more at home on the wrong side of the law. She was reputed to have a wild, even provocative, unconventional attitude; stubbornness to the point of arrogance; and an intense antagonism toward people in authority.

What Evadne hadn’t been prepared for was the reality of the woman’s presence: edgy, irritating, ill-mannered, and yet, despite all this, Evadne found her strangely appealing. And for all Wolverton’s bad points, there were as many in her favor. Even her numerous deprecators couldn’t deny that she was brave, clever—some would say far too clever—hardworking, honest if not always completely law-abiding, and last but not least, extremely good at her job.

Red felt the woman’s eyes on her as she retook her seat at the desk. She grinned at the visible start her unwanted visitor gave as her booted feet thudded onto the desktop, narrowly missing the sandwich remains. “Well then,” she said, trying to disguise her growing annoyance, “As you’re here what can I do for you, Mrs…?”

Raising startled eyes from the worn soles now facing her, the woman hurriedly answered, “Davenport, Mrs. Evadne Davenport.” She held out her hand.

Red stared at the hand, then up into Mrs. Davenport’s earnest face. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, but it felt too much like kicking a puppy. She half rose from her chair and clasped Mrs. Davenport’s hand. It was warm and dry, the grip stronger than Red expected.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Mrs. Davenport said, releasing her hold on Red’s hand.

“Yeah, and most of it not good I expect.” Red relaxed for the first time since Mrs. Davenport had appeared in the office. Suddenly she saw the mess around her as if through her visitor’s eyes. How could she have been such a jackass? After hiding the sandwich remains in a nearly empty drawer, she cleared the paper from one of the other two chairs in the room. With what she hoped was a suitably apologetic smile, she offered the chair to her visitor. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Davenport. Don’t know where my manners are this afternoon. Please take a seat and tell me what brought you to my office in such god-awful weather.”

After the smallest of hesitations, Mrs. Davenport sat in the chair. She gave the room another once-over, then concentrated her gaze on Red. “I came to apply for the position you advertised. I presume,” she said and gave another telltale glance around the office, “that it hasn’t yet been filled?”

“Position? What position?”

“This position.” Mrs. Davenport passed over a piece of paper. Red took it, puzzled as to what it could be. She found an advertisement neatly cut out of an edition of the Boston Herald from some months ago. Her advertisement.

“Ah. That position.” Red winced internally at the reminder of her earlier success and the decision to get some help, both abruptly curtailed. The Katherine fiasco had completely driven it out of her head. “I’m afraid I ain’t able to employ a secretary at the moment, Mrs. Davenport.” Not that she could see why someone like Mrs. Davenport would want such a position anyway.

“Ah yes.” Mrs. Davenport’s face looked grim. “Katherine Dubois. I heard about what happened.”

Here it comes, Red thought bitterly. The usual accusations that she had led the poor girl astray, taking advantage of Katherine’s innocence and perverting it with her “unnatural appetites.” Red had just started to warm to the woman in front of her; however, it looked like she was just like the rest of them after all. She was therefore surprised when, instead of the expected condemnation, Mrs. Davenport gave a sad shake of her head.

“That girl is no better than she should be and will no doubt come to a sticky end. She and that fiancé of hers surely deserve each other. You’d have to go far to find a nastier pair.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I…” Red stuttered to a halt, almost speechless at the vehemence of her visitor’s pronouncement.

“And now the heartless beast is using her influence to stop you from getting any work. I could… I could just slap her for the spitefulness of it all.” Her tone made it obvious that, to Evadne Davenport, a slap was the ultimate punishment.

Boy, she’d be so out of place in this line of work, Red thought in amusement as Mrs. Davenport almost vibrated with outrage. “I must admit it sure is nice to have someone on my side for a change, but I really ain’t in no state to employ anyone at the moment.” She paused, debating whether to voice her unease over the socialite’s suitability. “To be honest, Mrs. Davenport, I ain’t sure that—”

“You don’t have to pay me. At least, not straight away.” Mrs. Davenport’s calm, reasonable voice cut through the sentence, and Red’s argument, like a hot knife through butter. “I am a woman of means. My late husband, may he rest in peace, left me more than suitably provided for.”

“But what about kin? Kids?” Red said, even as she processed the information that Mrs. Davenport was a widow.

“No children, thank the Lord. Nasty sticky creatures.”

Mrs. Davenport’s almost comical grimace brought the smallest of smiles to Red’s face. They agreed on at least one thing, although Red delighted in making the kids she knew even stickier and nastier.

“Luckily my brother-in-law has provided all the offspring deemed necessary to protect the Davenport line,” Mrs. Davenport said, apparently oblivious to Red’s amusement, “so Geoff and I were left to our idyllic childlessness.” She paused, and a sad look appeared on her face. “Poor Geoff. It’s been nearly ten years, but I do still miss him so.” She dabbed a moist eye with an immaculate white handkerchief.

“Yeah,” Red said, feeling an unusual sympathy, “people reckon time makes things easier but it don’t, not really.” At the questioning glance her comment provoked, she was surprised to find herself adding, “Lost my ma when I was a kid, and sometimes it seems like it was yesterday.”

Increasingly uncomfortable with the other woman’s display of emotion and her own unusually frank response, Red tried once more to get her point across. “Surely, Mrs. Davenport, there’s things you can do that are more, well, suitable for a person of your obvious standing.” She stared at the sophisticatedly dressed woman.

“Davenport?” The name had seemed familiar, now she realized why. “As in one of the Boston Davenports? As in one of the richest of the Boston Brahmin?” Red’s eyes widened in unfeigned astonishment. To say Mrs. Davenport was a woman of means was like saying that the mighty Mississippi was a mere trickle. “You’re one of them Davenports?”

“Only by marriage, but yes, I am one of ‘them Davenports’ I’m afraid.” Mrs. Davenport gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Though I’m fairly sure my mother-in-law wishes I weren’t.”

Red leaned back in her chair, momentarily at a loss.

“Miss Wolverton?”

“Call me Red. Only lawyers and judges call me Miss Wolverton.” Red grinned at the single raised eyebrow her comment provoked. “Hey, if you want to rough it with me, you’ll have to get used to dealing with the lowlifes in this city, and I don’t only mean the cops and lawyers.”

Mrs. Davenport bristled. “I’m sure our fine men in blue do the best they can under trying circumstances.”

“Yeah, right, ‘course they do.” In Red’s experience, no cop came anywhere near being a fine man—in blue or any other color.

Then, to Red’s surprise, Evadne gave a grin of her own. “Of course, I completely agree with you about the lawyers. And please call me Evadne. Every time you say Mrs. Davenport I expect my mother-in-law to walk through the door, and that isn’t a comforting thought.”

Perhaps there was hope for Evadne Davenport yet. Red sat up, leaned forward, and rested her elbows on the desk. “To be honest, Evadne, I really ain’t sure you’re the sort of person I was looking for, even if I could afford the wages.”

“But I can type and take shorthand. I have a smattering of French, German, and Latin, and I’m a whiz at research.”

“Yeah, but can you punch a guy out and shoot a dollar bill at a hundred paces?”

“Can you?” Evadne’s response was even. She was apparently unruffled by the attempt to scare her off.

“Hell, yeah,” Red said, giving her best I’m-tougher-than-you look.

“Well, if you can, it really doesn’t matter if I can’t, does it?” And with that, Evadne calmly continued to list what she obviously considered her advantages. “However, what do you know of the peculiarities of polite society? Can you navigate a library in your sleep? Are you acquainted with some of the finest academics within the city’s seats of learning? Do you have recourse to an amiable”—Evadne gave a sly smile—“and honest lawyer, and a benevolent uncle who is a retired chief commissioner?”

Red sat speechless. Listening to Evadne Davenport was like being trampled by a stampeding herd of dictionaries. Before she could recover, Evadne gave a triumphant smile.

“I take it that’s a no?” A smile flickered over Evadne’s face as she delivered the final blow to Red’s weakening defenses. “It would appear that you need me, and I need you—what a team we could make.”

Red buried her head in her hands, for once completely at a loss for what to say. Staring through her fingers at the scarred and cluttered surface of her desk, she considered what her pushy applicant for secretary had said. A lot of it made sense. Moreover, she didn’t want to be paid. Not yet, anyway. Red was sure that Evadne, if allowed to give it a try, would soon realize how unsuited she was for the life. In the meantime, perhaps she’d help reopen the door to the world of the rich and well connected that the bitch-queen-from-hell had slammed in Red’s face. She took a deep breath and looked up at the expectant face in front of her. “I’ll give you to the end of the month as a trial. Then we can see whether you want to stay, and whether I think you should. And no wages. Okay?”

“That’s wonderful! You won’t regret it, I promise.” Evadne beamed. After a moment, she took another look at her surroundings. “When do you want me to start?” The unspoken—the sooner the better by the looks of this place—was left hanging in the air.

Red had the sudden suspicion that, despite Evadne’s protestations, she was, indeed, going to regret it. She had nothing in common with a socialite like Evadne Davenport. Their worlds were too different. It would be like oil and vinegar. However, she had agreed to give her a chance and she wouldn’t go back on her word. She glanced up at the clock once again. It was nearly half past five and well past the time to be setting off home with the weather as it was. “Tomorrow suit you?”

“No problem at all. Nine o’clock?”

“Nine o’clock.” Red gave a wary nod, increasingly unsure about what she’d just let herself in for.

“I’ll be here, bright and early. Good evening,” Evadne disappeared into the gloom of the corridor outside.

Red scowled as she watched her go. Exasperated by the turn of events, she rehashed the last few minutes in her head. How had she been so efficiently and skillfully outmaneuvered? Over the years, many people had tried to buy, cajole, or threaten her into doing many things, some of them even legal, but she’d never bent to their pressure. So how the hell did Mrs. Evadne Davenport manage to circumvent her defenses so skillfully?

Unable to come up with an answer, Red’s scowl faded, anger being replaced by bewilderment. Her head fell forward to hit the desk with an audible thunk. “Dear God, why me?” Every fiber in her being was screaming that this was a mistake. There had to be something more to this than met the eye. Why would a woman of Mrs. Davenport’s wealth and social standing want this job so much that she was willing to do it without pay?

Unable to make head-nor-tail of it all, Red let out a deep sigh, put on her crumpled clothing from the heap on the floor, and ventured out into the growing dark.

*   *   *

The rain was still coming down heavily and didn’t show any signs of slowing. It was pretty much the sort of luck Red was beginning to expect. Scowling at the weather’s persistent awfulness, she wrapped the scarf snugly around her neck and pulled the fedora down hard before walking into the grayness. She’d not gone more than a few paces when a voice hailed her.

“Anywhere I can take you, Red?”

Evadne Davenport’s head was sticking out of the rear window of a pristine General Motors LaSalle. “Nah, I’ll be okay,” Red said, wondering, with disbelief, if the socialite was really going to use a chauffeur to drive her to work.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Just get yourself home and remember to be here on the dot of nine.”

“See you tomorrow then, boss.” With a parting wave, Evadne ducked back into the car and drove off into the growing darkness.

Red watched the lights disappear into the night. Her gut told her Evadne was no threat. But she had been wrong before, and she wasn’t going to let herself be suckered again. She needed to find out more about her new secretary. Who exactly was she, and why had she railroaded herself into Red’s life? She had ignored Joe’s warnings before; perhaps he could stop her making an ass of herself this time. If she’d listened to him about Katherine, she’d never have ended up to her ears in her ex-lover’s vindictiveness.

When the trickle of rain off the brim of her fedora became a steady stream, Red broke out of her brooding reverie and started her journey home. The lamps reflecting off the shining streets made the night appear unusually luminous, but the lack of traffic or people was unsettling. As she trudged through the rain, head down against the freezing wind, the back of her neck began to itch, a good indication she was being followed. On the pretext of checking house numbers, she took a surreptitious look behind her at the empty street. There was no sign of anybody, but the itch remained. It was probably her damned scarf. After a final check down the rain-drenched sidewalk, she gave her neck a good scratch and continued on her way.

Six blocks later, the glowing windows of the Boston Herald building appeared through the icy rain. She searched out one in particular and was glad to find it among the welcoming yellow. It looked like Joe was still working. If Lady Luck would just let up on her personal vendetta against Red for a moment, she should be able to scrounge a coffee and thaw her feet. Remembering her strange interview with Mrs. Davenport, she gave a sly half smile. Joe was a mine of information where the upper crust was concerned. She should be able to find out something more about her new employee at the same time.

Red splashed though the rain toward the impressive entrance. Shouldering open the heavy door, she was immediately embraced by the welcoming warmth of the foyer. She let the door swing shut behind her and quickly shed her sodden overcoat.

“Howdy, Frank, lovely weather we’re having.” Her mournful greeting was aimed at the youthful looking security guard on the main desk while she shook the worst of the rain off her hat.

“Sure is, and looks set for the next few days, Pa says.”

The young man’s reply was far too cheerful, and she gave him a quick glare that had little effect as he gave her an open smile in return. She tried another stare, but his smile was infectious and she felt herself beginning to respond in kind. She must be losing her touch, a realization that left her both amused and a little annoyed. When the young man first started at the Herald, one of her glares would have him quaking in his boots. It had to be Joe’s doing. He’d obviously been undermining her reputation. Despite her cold and soggy condition, she found her foul mood draining away under the warmth of his good humor. “The famous O’Rourke weather forecasting system still working then?” she said, a grin twitching the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, don’t mock it, Wolverton, Pa’s leg is never wrong, you know.” Frank hotly defended the O’Rourke honor but without any real rancor.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, Frank.” Grinning openly now, Red finally got around to the reason for her visit. “Joe in? Saw his light was on.”

“Yeah, he’s still here. The older his kids get, the more time he spends here. Don’t know why Gina puts up with it.”

“She probably likes the peace and quiet.” Not that Joe’s spitfire of a wife couldn’t give as good as she got; Red had her suspicions about who really wore the pants in that household.

“True, Joe can talk the hind-leg off a donkey.” Frank’s grin became distinctly teasing. “I’ll give him a ring, warn him you’re on your way up.”

“Sure, give him time to hide, why don’t you?” With a final mock glare, spirits much lifted by the banter with the young security guard, Red turned and made her way to the elevator in the corner of the foyer.

Joe put down the phone, a smile on his face. It had been too long since he’d seen Red, too long and too much water under the bridge. He heard the rattle of the elevator gate and moved to meet her. He opened the door and found Red just on the other side. Immediately, before she could avoid it, he enveloped her in a huge bear hug.

“I’d recognize that irritated stomp anywhere. Red, my little wolfish trouble-magnet, it’s been too long.”

Red tried in vain to struggle out of his all-engulfing embrace. “Get off, Joe, you great softie. You know if anyone sees this, my hard-boiled reputation is shot.”

“Yeah, yeah, my tough little private-eye.” Joe playfully ruffled the rain-dampened hair, grinning as she squirmed under the affectionate gesture. If anyone else dared try such a thing, they would now be curled up on the floor wrapped around their own personal ball of pain. It was a sign of the depth of their friendship that he could get away with such a gesture without inviting bodily harm. Even with his six-foot-five height and barn-like build, he knew his limits, and with a final, bone-crushing squeeze, he released Red and ushered her into the office.

“What have you been doing with yourself, little wolf?” he asked, knowing at least part of the answer already. “Must be months since I was graced with a visit.”

A guilty look flashed across Red’s face then she gave a halfhearted shrug. “This and that, Joe. You know how it is.”

Joe did indeed know how it was. Partly out of habit, and partly, he was sure, to take her mind off the “this and that” mentioned, she gave his room a once-over. It was a mess, as usual, but he never seemed to have the time to keep it tidy. Paper was strewn over all the surfaces with the only clear spaces around a small statue of the Madonna and Child and the photograph of his family.

Red moved around the room, and Joe smiled as she automatically tucked the little statue out of sight. But there was something aimless in her attitude today, lacking her usual exasperating energy. He wondered if she would talk to him this time. He knew he was one of the very few people in Boston whom Red considered a true friend, something that Joe was both honored and a little intimidated by, but she still kept him at arm’s length where her emotions were concerned.

“Take the weight off your feet while I make coffee.” He busied himself with the coffeepot as he continued to talk. “Looks like you need warming up.”

“You got that right.” Red took a seat. “It’s damn unpleasant out there tonight.”

“Here you go.” Joe passed across a steaming mug, took a mouthful from his own, and watched Red thoughtfully. He hadn’t seen her since she’d been so brutally dumped. That he’d warned her of Katherine’s reputation didn’t make him feel any better.  

Red cupped the mug in cold hands for a few moments before taking a swig then coughed as she swallowed.

“Thought you needed something a little extra,” Joe said in cautious answer to her questioning expression.

“You weren’t wrong.” Still shivering, Red took another gulp. As the alcohol-laden coffee apparently worked its magic, she met his gaze. “So, the bottle was a gift from the family?”

Joe shifted uncomfortably. “You know how it is. Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s my rule.”

“But take the merchandise?”

“Hey, Red, that ain’t—”

As usual, she ignored his protests. “Don’t worry, Joe, if this government’s stupid enough to give bootleggers a ready-made money-making opportunity, that’s their problem. I like my drink far too much to do anything about that particular part of their business.” She took another mouthful then raised her head, concern evident in her green eyes. “Just don’t get any more involved, please. I don’t want to find your obituary in the Herald because some other family decided you’re a thorn in their side, okay?”

“Trust me, Red, I ain’t suicidal. Anyways Gina would kill me first if she found I was involved.”

Red snorted. “Yeah, she can be one hell of a scary woman.”

“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about.” His loyal defense was somewhat spoiled by the smile on his face. He couldn’t deny that Gina in full flow was something that had to be witnessed to be believed—even if her heart was usually in the right place.

“And don’t I know it. I can’t believe she ever thought there was anything going on between us, of all people.” Red shook her head, and they both found themselves grinning at the memory of the explosive, yet strangely comical confrontation between Joe and his diminutive wife that had brought up that particular piece of information.

“Yeah, well, your latest goings on have convinced her that I’m safe from your clutches.” He gave Red a sympathetic look. “What on earth did you think you were doing, little wolf? I warned you Katherine was no good. I’m surprised you still have both knee caps—her fiancé isn’t known to be the type to forgive and forget.”

Red’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, I noticed. Thanks for reminding me.”

The hurt in her voice was unmistakable. He’d suspected it was more than one of the wolf’s usual dalliances. It seemed he hadn’t been wrong. He wanted to offer her a metaphorical shoulder to cry on, but he doubted she’d accept it. She never did. Stubborn stoicism mixed with an anger that was constantly on the verge of exploding into violence was her usual state of being, even if the anger had mellowed somewhat over the years he’d known her.

Silence settled on the room. Red shifted uneasily under Joe’s sympathetic gaze. “What do you know about the Davenports, Joe? In particular, Evadne Davenport?” she asked, the question coming so far out of left field Joe wondered if he’d misheard.

“You must have a death wish.” Joe sat down heavily at his desk and looked at her in disbelief. “That’s the only explanation I can think of.” Could she really be planning on moving from one Brahmin bed to another? After all Katherine Dubois had put her through—was still putting her through. Surely not even Red was that foolhardy?

Red rolled her eyes. “No, nothing like that, believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. The message that low-down, western deviants are to keep their dirty hands off the nice Boston ladies, or else, has been received loud and clear.” Her bitterness was evident despite the lighthearted way she spoke.

“Why do you want to know about this—Evadne Davenport, was it?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve just employed her as my secretary.” The look on her face plainly indicated that she wasn’t sure she believed it herself.

“You what?” Joe burst into laughter. “You’re kidding me, right? You, of all people, are employing a Davenport? As your secretary?”

Red sat patiently until his laughter subsided. “So what can you tell me about her?”

“Well, the Davenport family, as even you must know, is one of the most respectable and wealthy of the Boston Brahmins.”

“Yeah, even an out-of-towner like me knows that much.”

“If I remember correctly, Evadne was one of the Van Deemins, another of the old families.” Joe searched through his encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s great and good. “She married Geoffrey Davenport sometime before the Great War. Poor guy bought it over there, like so many others.”

Joe paused, revisiting old memories. He’d been another of the many Americans who volunteered to fight in the hellhole known as the Western Front. As with most veterans, he didn’t talk about it much, but on occasion, usually when too drunk to care, he’d told Red about some of his experiences. He still wondered how any of them had returned sane. At other times, he wondered if they really had.

“So, a war widow, and a wealthy one at that.” Red broke the uncomfortable silence. “It don’t explain why she’d want to work for me. Anything else you can tell me?”

Joe shook himself out of the memories and returned to the business at hand. “If you’re willing to stick around for a while, I’ll have a look through the records, see what I can find.”

“No problem.” Red settled herself deeper into the well-upholstered chair. “Your office is warmer than my apartment ever is.”

“Don’t get any ideas about moving in. The bosses don’t like disreputable types hanging around and lowering the tone.” Joe looked pointedly at her.

“But they employ you, don’t they?” She gave him a mischievous grin. Leaning back, she propped her feet up on the desk. Her grin widened as Joe rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Ain’t you got something you should be doing?”

Muttering under his breath about smart-aleck private investigators, Joe said, “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” and left the office.

“Yes, Ma.”

Red’s laughing reply followed him out into the corridor. She’d probably be asleep by the time he got back; he’d never come across anybody who could fall asleep, anywhere and anytime, so quickly. “Ah, the advantages of youth.” A smile tugged at his lips as he considered what he’d just said. He was only five years older than Red, but sometimes it seemed like a whole lot more. He was a family man, with a wife and two young daughters to care for. Red was… well, Red. At least the teasing humor suggested she was finally pulling herself out of the dark mood Katherine’s actions had tumbled her into.

*   *   *

Some sixth sense woke Red a split second before hands grabbed both ankles and pulled her off the chair. It wasn’t enough warning to be of any help, however, and she landed heavily on the floor.

“Time to get what’s coming to you, pervert!”

A man’s voice, and not one she recognized. Winded by the impact, she was glad he took the time to gloat. The momentary pause gave her just enough time to see the incoming foot and brace for its impact. The kick to her ribs, though painful, wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She rolled out of the way of the next one before launching herself at the legs of her assailant, causing them both to go down in a heap.

The man crashed to the floor with a yelp of pain. “You bitch!”

Red moved to follow up on her advantage, but a flailing foot caught her in the temple. Stunned, she lost her grip on her attacker and he managed to scramble away. She tried to get to her feet, but her body wouldn’t obey her brain’s frantic instructions. She was still trying to shake the stars from her vision as he regained his feet.

“What the hell you doing to my office, Wolverton?”

The shout came from the corridor, jerking the man’s attention to the doorway. Red rose unsteadily to one knee and grabbed at him again. He pulled away, let out a snarl of frustration, and lashed out wildly with one foot. Red sprawled backward, avoiding the kick but allowing the man to dart out of the room and past a startled Joe.

Red picked herself up off the floor and met Joe’s gaze.

“What the hell are you up to this time?” Joe sounded suspicious. Not that Red could really blame him. Her reputation for starting fights wasn’t completely ill founded. She’d just about got to her feet, when her vision went gray around the edges, and she dropped back to one knee.

“You okay?” She heard concern replace Joe’s annoyance as he dumped the pile of papers in his arms onto the nearest surface and came to help.

“Lucky bastard kicked me in the head.” She fought to clear the wooziness the blow had caused. “Otherwise I’d have had the son of a bitch.” She grabbed Joe’s arm. “We got to stop him before he leaves the building.”

Apparently satisfied she wasn’t badly hurt, Joe moved to his desk. He rang down to the front desk and instructed Frank to stop anyone from leaving the building. Red slumped back down into her chair.

“So what the hell was that all about, little wolf?” Joe gave her a reproachful look. “Not another enraged husband, I hope.”

Red tried a glare, but it hurt too much. “No idea who he was.” She grimaced, annoyed at herself for being caught so flat-footed. “I was asleep. The bastard pulled me off the chair then tried to stove my ribs in with his feet.” Wincing, she gently probed the side of her throbbing head.

“Here, let me take a look.” Joe batted away her protesting hand and checked the area she’d been examining. “No cut, just a bit of a scrape. Looks like it was only a glancing blow, so you should be okay.” He patted her affectionately on the shoulder. “You up to seeing if we can find the guy?”

Red nodded and grimaced once again at the sudden stab of pain the movement produced. “Yeah, let’s go find the son of a bitch.”

It proved to be a fruitless search. No one had left by the main entrance, and they’d eventually found one of the fire doors ajar. After quizzing a mortified Frank, all they’d managed to find out was that the man was fair haired, clean shaven, well dressed, and well spoken. He said he was there to see Red. When Frank had offered to ring up, he said not to bother, that he was an old friend and he wanted to surprise her as she didn’t know he was in Boston. When Red, and then Joe, finished giving Frank a thorough dressing down, they returned to Joe’s office.

“You sure you have no idea who the guy was?” Joe asked again. Frank’s description of the man had given him some ideas, none of which he liked, but he wanted to know if Red was thinking the same way.

“Look, Joe, I told you I was asleep when the fight started, and I was concentrating more on what the bastard’s feet were doing than what he looked like.” She gave him a questioning look in return. “Surely you got a look at his face when he ran?”

“Nope, afraid not. I was too busy avoiding being mowed down.” He thought for a moment. “Frank was right about him being well dressed, though. Custom-made, I’d say.”

“Yeah, he was wearing nice shiny patents as well, not really the footwear of choice for giving someone a good kicking.”

“You reckon that’s what it was?” Joe asked. He was skeptical about that being the only reason for the man being there, or that it would have stopped at a beating.

“Yeah, and he weren’t no professional. The first kick wouldn’t have taken the skin off a rice pudding.”

“Is that so?” Joe gave a doubtful look and got a wry smile in return.

“Well, okay, it might have done that, but believe me, Joe, I’ve had beatings from the best and he weren’t one of them.”

Joe nodded in agreement with this last comment. On more than one occasion, he had to keep the peace between the local hospital and its most hostile patient after such an occurrence. “So?” He looked pointedly at Red. “We have some well-dressed, well-spoken guy, obviously not a professional thug, trying to give you a beating.” He laid his cards out on the table. “What could that possibly be related to?”

Red frowned. “You think Katherine’s spiteful attacks have become physical rather than verbal and social? I don’t know, Joe, it could be linked, but I’d have expected it before now. Why wait this long? It ain’t as if they’re the only rich types I’ve riled over the years.”

“Well, that’s the truth. You certainly have a flair for annoying people with more money than you.” That she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in doing so didn’t leave him any happier about the noses she insisted on tweaking.

“That’s only because they don’t like someone like me raking through their dirty little secrets. It comes with the territory.” Red nodded toward the pile of papers. “So, what about that lot?”

He knew she was trying to distract him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to talk her into taking more care of herself, usually without results. But she was his friend, and he wasn’t going to stop trying. For the moment, however, he resisted the urge to lecture.

“Come on, Joe, spill the beans,” she said. “What did you find out about Mrs. Evadne Davenport?”

Chapter 2

September 2:  Cleaning and confrontation

Red was in a foul mood as she limped up the stairs to her office. Sodden and chilled to the bone from her early morning hike across the drenched city, foot aching from the frustrated kick she’d given her recalcitrant Ford for failing to start for the second day, and head still pounding from last night’s set-to with her mystery assailant, she was in the mood to start a fight. With anybody. Over anything. And there wasn’t even the comfort of an illicit bottle of bourbon at the end of this trip.

Leaving a small stream of drips in her wake, she finally reached the fifth-floor landing. She stopped dead when she saw the door to her office was open and all three chairs were sitting outside. “What the hell?” She stared at the displaced furniture for a moment, trying to work out if she owed anyone enough for them to be cleaning out her office. In the end, she gave up; it didn’t really matter—whoever it was, they were going to get the short end of her already boiling temper.

Gritting her teeth and gripped by the familiar desire to hit someone, anyone, she stomped through the open door. “What the hell are you do… ing…” The sentence trailed off unfinished as, rather than the expected sleazy mugs, she saw Evadne Davenport’s face peering over the top of her desk, one dark eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Red said again, still in the mood for a fight. That eyebrow was beginning to irritate her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Evadne’s reply was infuriatingly even. Before Red could respond, she’d ducked down behind the desk once more. “Emptying my office of furniture is what it looks like to me.” Red frowned. “And how the fuck did you get in?”

“Mr. Fisk was kind enough to open the door for me.”

Red’s frown turned into a scowl. She would have a word with Fisk, later. Several words in fact. The caretaker shouldn’t be letting anyone into her office without her say so.

Evadne stood up and met Red’s scowl before depositing on the desk the dried-up sandwich remains she’d just retrieved from the drawer. “I thought the place needed a good cleaning. And you’re obviously too busy to do it, so I thought that my first task, as your new secretary, should be to get started.”

Red was annoyed at the implied criticism. Not because it was unwarranted, but after all, Evadne was supposed to be her employee. “Hey, I like my office just as it is.”

“That may indeed be the case, but do your prospective clients?” Evadne said pleasantly. “You may like living in a pigsty, but I’m sure the majority of your clients don’t feel the same.”

Red opened her mouth to reply then shut it as she considered Evadne’s words. “Good point. Well made,” she said, albeit a little reluctantly, then took another look around the room. “While you’re doing that, I’ll just pop down to the store and—” Before she could get any further, a cloth thrown with mathematical precision wrapped itself around her face.

“Oh no you don’t.” Evadne’s voice brooked no argument. “I am not doing this all by myself.”

“Hey, I’m the boss here and don’t you forget it.” Red removed the rag and let it fall to the floor, treating Evadne to her best forbidding glare. She was actually surprised. Who would have guessed Evadne had such accurate aim where it came to dust-cloths? Apparently unruffled, Evadne just raised that eyebrow again before continuing as if nothing had been said.

“Now then, you take the other end of the desk. It’ll take both of us to move it.”

And so, despite her best intentions, Red found herself gently, but firmly, steered into helping clear the office of the months of accumulated dust and dirt.

Some hours later, they both stood admiring the results of their handiwork. Red had to admit it did look better after the cleaning; even if she was sure she’d never be able to find anything ever again.

“There, that’s better, don’t you agree?” Evadne stood with hands on hips as she surveyed the room.

“Yeah, very. Don’t think my back’s quite recovered from all the furniture moving though.” Having decided dusting was not her forte, Red took on all the heavy lifting and was now regretting her machismo. She glanced at Evadne out of the corner of her eye. “Like the new hat by the way.” She indicated the flowery cloth tied turban-like over the fashionably bobbed hair. “Very chic.” She smirked and quickly dodged the wet cloth that was flicked in her direction. Retreating to safety behind her now tidy desk, she gave Evadne a stern look. “Hey, that ain’t no way to behave to your new boss. I could have your wages docked for that you know.”

“If you were actually paying me any, you could.” Evadne’s reply was reasonableness personified. “But, of course, you aren’t.” A distinctly wicked little grin appeared on her face as she advanced on Red, soggy cloth in hand.

Red took a step back and held up a warning hand. “You really don’t want to do that.” Her attempt to accompany it with the patented Wolverton glare was somewhat spoiled by the grin twitching the corner of her mouth.

A cough from the doorway brought both women up short. “Excuse me?” said a polite male voice. “Perhaps I should come back later?” They both spun around to face the darkly handsome and smartly dressed middle-aged man standing in the doorway. A faint smile played across his lips as he regarded the scene in front of him.

Red was the first to regain her composure. “Please, come in, Mr…?”

“Franklin,” the man said, entering the room. “Benjamin Franklin.” Red took his offered hand and shook it firmly. However, she couldn’t help pursing her lips at his name. It obviously didn’t go unnoticed by their visitor. “Yes, I know,” he said pleasantly, “you wouldn’t believe what it’s like having such a well-known name.”

Red indicated the chair opposite. “Please take a seat, Mr. Franklin, and tell me what’s on your mind.” She looked pointedly at Evadne, who took the hint and began making coffee at the little table by the door, which contained all the basics of office life: a kettle, cups and saucers, coffee, sugar, and milk. At least it looked like she could do that without argument. Red’s smile widened as she remembered the horseplay Franklin’s arrival had interrupted. Evadne Davenport was certainly turning out different from what she expected.

Mr. Franklin took a seat and looked searchingly at Red for a few seconds before speaking. “I take it this is the Wolverton Investigation Agency?”

Red blinked, returning abruptly to the subject at hand. “Sure is. Said Wolverton’s sitting before you.”

“Well, Miss Wol—”

“Red.” Her interruption was abrupt for a purpose. She watched her visitor carefully, looking for his reaction; it was always a good indication of whether a prospective client would be likely to stick with her or take the job elsewhere.

Franklin paused fractionally before giving a little nod of the head. “Red, I’ve been looking for someone to do a little job for me, and your record indicates you’re the one for it.”

He paused, as if waiting for some sort of response. Red gestured for him to continue as she leaned back more comfortably in her chair. A warning look from Evadne, as she brought the coffee for their visitor, stopped her from putting her boots on the desk.

“Well…” Franklin now seemed nervous and lost for words.

Must be another of those sensitive personal jobs, Red thought wearily. She knew from experience that such cases were generally easy money, but there were only so many sordid affairs and angry, tear-filled marriage breakdowns you could take before it all got far too depressing; especially as the whole subject was rather too close to home at the moment. Schooling her face to not show any of her concerns, she waited patiently for Franklin to continue.

He took a deep breath. “This may seem strange to you, Miss Wol—” He caught himself. “Red. It may seem strange, but I believe I’m being stalked, although perhaps hunted is a better term.”

“That’s really a job for the police, Mr. Franklin, not a private investigator.”

“Yes, well the problem is that I believe the thing that is stalking me is… not of this world.”

Red glanced at Evadne. A look of disbelief passed across her face as she sat taking notes.

“Exactly,” Franklin said. “You can see that if I go to the police I shall, at best, be laughed out of the station or, at worst, be institutionalized.”

Red shifted in her chair and surreptitiously confirmed that her pistol was still in its holster. Did she have a bona fide nutcase on her hands? “So, Mr. Franklin, what exactly do you mean by not of this world, and why do you think you’re being stalked by such a thing?”

Franklin visibly relaxed. “First, I don’t want you to stop this thing, or anything like that. I just need you to come up with proof of its existence that I can use to persuade the police of the truth of my claim. If you agree to do this, I’ll tell you all I know of the problem.”

Red studied the man in front of her. He didn’t look insane, but then they rarely did. The quality and cut of his clothes spoke of money. If he was a loony, he was at least a rich loony, and she really needed the work. “Okay, I’ll look into it for you.”

“Excellent, Red. I’m sure you—”

“But…” She stopped the stream of thanks. “Only on one condition: if at any point I think it’s gotten too dangerous, I’ll drop the job. You’ll pay me for the time I’ve spent, and we’ll both go our own separate ways. Deal?”

“Deal.” Franklin gave a relieved grin that made him look ten years younger. “I honestly don’t think you’ll be in any danger, but I have no wish to force you into anything against your better judgment.” With that, he described what had happened to him over the last two months.

After showing Mr. Franklin out of the office and closing the door behind him, Evadne looked at Red in utter disbelief. “Where on earth did that story come from? Is he on… drugs… do you think? And he seemed such a nice gentleman.” She sounded dismayed.

Red was less dismissive of Franklin’s story. It had, indeed, sounded pretty far-fetched, but the way he told it seemed genuine enough. He seemed sincere.

Evadne took the seat Franklin had just vacated. “You don’t believe that balderdash, do you?”

Red didn’t reply at first, still considering what Franklin had said. It sounded unlikely, but something about what he’d said rang true.

“It was so fantastical. It can’t be true.”

Evadne sounded less sure of herself now, and Red shifted her gaze to the other woman’s puzzled face. “Franklin certainly believes it, and whatever the real truth of the story, he’s definitely scared. More scared than he’d admit to, I reckon.”

“But undead creatures made of clay? It’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t think they’re technically undead.” Red’s hackles began to rise. Something faintly condescending in Evadne’s voice was setting her teeth on edge.

“Don’t be pedantic, Red. Undead, unalive, whatever—it’s just the stuff of legends.”

“And legends often have a grain of truth behind them. Surely a woman who went to Bryn Mawr and Radcliffe College knows that?”

Evadne gave her a sharp look. “So, you’ve been doing some investigating on me I see. What dirt did you manage to dig up?”

The quotation marks around the corny old dime-novel phrases were almost tangible, as was the anger in Evadne’s voice. Red met the challenging gaze without wavering. Although she instinctively liked Evadne, she still needed to know why such an obviously wealthy individual would want to work for her, especially with what she’d found out about her background. She took the bull by the horns and recited what Joe had found out for her the evening before.

“Born in eighteen ninety-two, the oldest daughter of Leo and Edith Van Deemin, you were christened Evadne Rosemary Leona Van Deemin. After an exemplary education at the Bryn Mawr School, you went on to graduate with distinction from Radcliffe College.”

Red kept her eyes fixed on Evadne’s face. Seeing nothing more than mild annoyance, she continued.

“Considered somewhat of a bluestocking, it was initially believed that you’d go on to an educational career, perhaps even at the old alma mater. Even now much of your charitable work is linked with educational foundations and includes the provision of funding toward the education of the poorest girls in the city.”

Evadne’s interruption was vehement. “Much to the annoyance of certain sections of society who believe the poor should be left to fester in poverty and ignorance.”

“Your marriage to Geoffrey Davenport in nineteen fourteen, less than a year after leaving Radcliffe, was unexpected. In fact, it’d been suggested that, despite a number of would-be suitors, you’d never marry, some of the more uncharitable suggesting you wouldn’t be able to find a man to put up with your radical views.”

“True enough. Geoff was one man in a million.”

Again there was that sad flicker in the brown eyes, but Red ignored it and plowed on. “You’ve no children. Your husband was killed in nineteen eighteen during the Great War, leaving you a very wealthy widow. It seems that Captain Davenport came very close to being put forward for a posthumous Medal of Honor, but the circumstances of the action in which he was killed couldn’t be confirmed.” The appearance of nascent tears softened her tone as she once again felt an unexpected urge to comfort. “Sounds like he was a good and brave man.”

“He was. Oh, he was.” Evadne choked out the words.

Red cringed internally. Her remaining anger vanished in the face of Evadne’s grief. Christ, what a heel I’m being. Moving around the desk, she awkwardly patted a hunched shoulder. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I have to know why on earth you, of all people, would want to work as an unpaid secretary for a bad-tempered investigator with the manners of a teamster. One who’s already managed to rile a large number of your type.”

Glad to see that Evadne seemed to have regained her composure, Red returned to her chair and looked intently into her tear-reddened eyes. “I went over and over it last night.” She didn’t add that most of her musings had been alcohol fuelled. “And I can’t see any reason for you being here unless as some sort of bet or joke or something of the sort.” With a bitter anger that surprised even her, she coldly stated her problem. “Believe me, Evadne Davenport, when I say I will not allow myself to become some rich woman’s plaything for a second time.” Red was unsurprised to see the familiar protective veil of the well-bred woman come clanging down over the hitherto open face. What did surprise her was how much she wished it hadn’t.

“I’m sorry you don’t believe me when I say I wish to work for you.” Evadne’s tone was icy, the words spat out with a precise enunciation that spoke volumes. “I have no desire of finding myself a—plaything—as you so colorfully put it, and believe me, Red Wolverton, if I were looking for one I would find someone cleaner, with better manners and, more importantly, male! A good afternoon to you.” With her parting shot neatly delivered, she gave a curt nod and swept out of the office.

Evadne didn’t slam the door shut as she left. If she had, Red’s anger would have had something to feed off, something to help override her sudden guilt. As it was, the carefully considerate closure just added to it and her anger faded as abruptly as it had arisen. “Oh, nice one, little wolf, you certainly fucked that up well and good. Just add one more riled-up Boston Brahmin to the ever-growing list, why don’t you?”

She stared sadly at the door, already regretting her outburst. Why couldn’t she have left well enough alone? Or at least waited until she got to know Evadne better. It wasn’t as if she was going to fall for the same trick again, now was it? But no, she’d gone straight in like a bull in a china shop, and now she was surrounded by the metaphorical equivalent of shattered crockery.

Wearily, she got up, trying not to look at the tidiness surrounding her and failing miserably. How did that damn woman manage to get under her skin so easily? “I need a drink. A big one. A very, very, big one.”

Chapter 3

September 3:  Morning-afters, machinations, and murder

“Come on, get up you lazy good-for-nothing, I need to be back at the bar in half an hour. I’ll be in big trouble with Barney if I’m late.”

The piercing voice was ungodly loud and unmistakably female. Red groaned as her skull tried to explode, then she pulled the blanket tightly over her head. “Leave me alone. Just want to die.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, giving her the fleeting consolation that she at least sounded as bad as she felt.

“I warn you, if you ain’t moving in the next ten seconds I’m throwing you out.” The voice was getting irritated now.

“Go away!”

“Okay, you asked for it, cowgirl.”

And with that Red was dumped on the floor in a pile of crumpled bedclothes. Blinking painfully in the bright morning sunshine, she peered at her tormentor for a moment before mulishly curling up in the bedclothes. “Okay, I’ll sleep here then.”

“Argh.” The mystery woman gave a frustrated cry. “For God’s sake, will you get up?”

Red’s tired, alcohol-befuddled brain finally processed the last minute’s conversation and woke up suddenly. “What the?” There was only one person who could call her cowgirl and get away with it. “Janet?” She glanced at her irritatingly feminine surroundings. “What was I doing in your bed?” She peered blearily up at the petite figure standing, arms akimbo, over her.

“You don’t remember? Well that sure does wonders for a girl’s ego.” Janet prodded her with a stocking-covered foot. “Come on, get up, will you, I’ve hash browns and bacon cooking.”

Even the promise of food didn’t have the normal effect, as Red was more concerned about how she’d ended up in Janet’s bed. Not that it hadn’t happened in the past, but that was before they’d come to the conclusion that they worked better as friends than lovers. Scrunching her eyes against the glare and the resultant increase in the tempo of the pounding hammer in her head, Red struggled up from the floor. Glad to find that she was at least still clad in her underclothes, she looked at the fuzzy figure with slightly better-focused eyes. “Did I… uh… well, y’know… did we… after what we decided and all.”

Janet just grinned back, letting Red stew for what she obviously considered a suitable period before giving her an answer. “Don’t worry, cowgirl, you were far too drunk to get up to anything last night—even if you’d wanted to.”

Shirt and pants were thrown in Red’s direction, and she stared at them in confusion. What exactly happened last night? And why did her pants look as if they’d been washed?

 “Come on, get dressed. Your pants should be dry enough. Reckon I managed to get the worst out.”

By now wide awake, Red was well past embarrassment and deep into mortification. “Shit, Jan, please say I didn’t throw up all over you… did I?”

“Nope. Luckily for both of us, that happened before I found you. It’s a good thing I care for you though, because I was this far”—Janet indicated a tiny distance with her forefinger and thumb—“from leaving you right there.”

“I’m right glad you didn’t.” Red’s immediate reaction was wholehearted relief, then, with trepidation, she asked, “Where, exactly, was there?”

“The john at the Lily. Thought I’d best bring you back with me to make sure you were all right.” Janet gave a sly smile. “Couldn’t have you littering the place. The customers might’ve complained.”

After struggling into shirt and pants, Red scanned the room for the rest of her clothes without any success.

“The rest of your stuff is in the kitchen. Come on through and have some breakfast.” Janet paused, pointedly considering the time. “Make that lunch.”

Janet waited until Red made short work of her food before finally voicing the question she’d wanted to ask ever since finding a blind-drunk and only semi-conscious Red earlier that morning. “Look, honey, you can tell me to go jump if you want, but what on earth drove you to get so drunk last night? I watched you all night, and I’ve never seen you down so much, so quickly.” Janet didn’t add how concerned she’d been when her inebriated ex-lover disappeared into the john and didn’t come out again.

Red stared into her mug of coffee. “I don’t know, really. Suppose it was that business with Katherine finally catching up with me.” She shifted her shoulders, as if trying to ease an uncomfortable load. “Had a stupid argument with someone yesterday. It set off all these bad feelings, and all I wanted to do was not feel anymore.” A solitary tear trickled down the side of Red’s nose and dropped into the coffee.

So the wolf finally had a taste of her own medicine, Janet thought with a touch of bitterness. It had to happen some time, and Janet had always suspected that when it did it would hit Red hard. What really surprised her was that her ex-lover actually said anything, rather than doing the usual strong and silent routine.

Janet watched Red continue to stare into the rapidly cooling coffee and decided against any further attempts at girl talk, resolving instead to deflect Red’s mind from brooding over Katherine Dubois. “So who was the someone you were talking to last night? Nice is she?”

Her efforts produced a roll of sea green eyes and the faintest of smiles. “Jeez, you and Joe are as bad as each other.”

“Soooo?” Janet wasn’t going to let the matter rest that easily.

“Look, she was just this woman I’ve employed as a secretary. You know, the job I advertised a while ago, before… her…” She trailed off into silence.

“Not surprised she had an argument with you then. You need someone with the patience of a saint.”

“Actually, I started the argument.”

That did surprise Janet. It wasn’t like Red to admit to being at fault, especially for someone she barely knew. “You what? Have you any idea how rare someone willing to work with you is?”

“Funny, funny.”

Janet’s attempts to distract her unhappy friend were not going as planned. She frowned as Red’s gaze returned to the coffee mug. There had to be more to this argument than Red was letting on. If only she could find out what it was.

After a long silence, Red suddenly glanced up at the clock then gave Janet a puzzled look. “Hey, I thought you said you had to be at the bar in half an hour. It’s been well over that already.”

“So I lied. It got you out of bed, didn’t it?”

“That and tipping me onto the floor.” Red grinned, finally responding to Janet’s attempts to cheer her up.

“I know from bitter experience how hard it is to get you up in the morning.”

“Hah. At least I ain’t up before the birds are tweeting.”

“As if you’d know what time I get up. You were usually snoring so loud the poor birdies probably couldn’t have heard themselves anyway.”

“I do not snore.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t!”

“Ain’t this fun?” Janet grinned. “Just like being a couple again.”

“But without the fun of making up afterward, sweetheart.”

“True.” Janet gave her a thorough once-over, from sleep-disheveled hair to scuffed boots. “That can be arranged if you want, honey.” She gave a seductive little smile before theatrically sniffing the air and choking exaggeratedly. “But only after you’ve had a wash.”

Red chuckled, having apparently shrugged off her black mood for the moment. “Okay, okay. I get the point. Time for the smelly old wolf to get herself home.” Having gathered up coat and hat, Red was just on the point of leaving when she quickly turned and surprised Janet with a tight hug. “Thanks, Jan,” Red whispered in her ear. “You always were my favorite ex.” Then, with the gentlest of kisses, she was gone.

After leaving Janet’s rooms, Red made a quick detour to her apartment to grab baseball boots, shorts, and a sleeveless shirt. Stuffing them and a towel into an old duffle bag, she set off down to the docks to work off some of her nervous energy by beating a punching bag into submission.

The heavy rain of the night before had cleared, and the day was almost perfect, cool but sunny. Red enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face as she walked down to the shore. Despite the lack of sleep, and the residual hangover, she felt better than she had for weeks. Perhaps she’d finally gotten Katherine out of her system.

Soon the grimy tenements changed to warehouses and industrial buildings: a mixture of brick, stone, and wood sitting haphazardly together. The familiar smell of the docks came to greet her. The underlying saltiness of the sea was all but smothered by the alien smells of oil and coal, rotting wood, and the commodities, some pleasant, some foul, that were handled there. She picked her way through the old packing cases, horseshit, oil-streaked puddles, and other dockside trash as she walked along the wharves to the old warehouse where Mickey O’Reilly had set up his gym.

Red was well known on the docks, and her progress was met by the usual variety of wolf-whistles, obscenities, and greetings. The first were ignored, the second greeted with enthusiastic surly replies, and the third acknowledged with nods and salutes. Although the docks were considered off-limits by the more respectable Boston inhabitants, Red felt more at home there than in the homes of the wealthy. She’d been making a living of sorts down here when Pete Garrick caught her trying to lift his wallet. After giving her the thrashing of her life, he’d taken her under his wing, making her his runner and general go-between. That was ten years ago, but some of the men who knew her then were still around.

After a short, but entertaining, walk, she squeezed through the badly-fitting door of O’Reilly’s gym. The inside of the gym was much more promising than the outside would have led a casual observer to believe. It contained a central ring surrounded by various punching bags, weights, and the usual paraphernalia of a boxing gym. Red had been coming here for nearly five years, having persuaded the owner to allow her to use the gym in gratitude for sorting out a problem one of his boxers had gotten himself into. Since then she’d effectively become Mickey’s de-facto legal adviser and she helped him out on a number of occasions when his “boys” got themselves on the wrong side of the law.

A number of regulars of varying ages were scattered around the place. Red greeted a few with a nod or a word then headed toward the office where she was allowed to change, the gym not being a place otherwise frequented by women. Indeed, it had been quite a struggle to get Mickey to allow her to use it in the first place, and then to prove to both him, and the other boxers, that she was to be taken seriously.

Luckily, she’d turned out to have two natural advantages when it came to the noble art. First, she appeared to have an inborn talent, no doubt helped by the number of fights she’d gotten into over the years; secondly, she was a semi-ambidextrous southpaw. The combination of the two made her a better boxer than she’d thought possible. She’d soon gotten Mickey on her side, even if a few of the die-hards didn’t approve of having a woman around.

She pushed open the ill-fitting office door and found the gym’s owner seated behind his scruffy desk. “Howdy, Mickey. Okay for me to train?” Red always asked; even the big names who used the gym would ask his permission.

The veteran boxer had to be in his sixties, but he put plenty of energy into his gym. He wouldn’t allow anyone to give any less than their best. If he felt someone wasn’t giving the respect or effort his noble art required, he was sure to show the offender he could still land a mean punch, something Red could testify to. A smile appeared on her face at the thought of the first time that happened. She’d been slacking when using a punching bag, and Mickey called her over. She’d not noticed that he’d pulled a glove on his right hand until it hit her solidly in the gut. Despite the pain, that was one of her happiest moments at the gym. It was the ultimate proof that she’d been accepted as one of his boys.

Mickey gave her an accusing glare. “Not been down for a while have you, girl? You’ll be getting soft.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Mickey. I’ve been keeping in shape.”

“So I’ve heard.” He leered grotesquely at her.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Was there no one who hadn’t heard about Katherine? She was beginning to wonder if the whole world knew. “You dirty old man, lay off the leching, will you. You know it does your poor old heart no good.”

“Ah, my girl, if only I was ten years younger.”

“You’d still be old enough to be my pa.”

Mickey mock-clutched at his chest. “Ah you wound me, so you do.” He grinned up at her.

She shook her head in feigned exasperation then grinned back. “Would you be so kind to get out of the ladies’ locker room while I change?”

“Sure, sure. I need to check that none of the boys are slacking anyway.”

Red heard the level of activity go up a notch as Mickey entered his domain. Not wanting to be further accused of slacking, she donned her gear and was hard at work on a punching bag.

As she pummeled away, her mind went over the case Franklin had brought to her. He called the creature he claimed was hunting him a golem, a creature of animated clay, and this had rung a faint bell. Red had always been interested in legends and folk tales, ever since she’d been entranced by the Indian tales she’d been brought up with as a child, much to the dislike of her bible-thumping preacher father. As a result, she’d always been willing to listen to the elders of any community and the tales they told. She was always pleasantly surprised at how willing most of them were to share their stories with her. Despite any prejudices they might have, they appreciated an avid listener, irrespective of age, gender, or whom they chose to sleep with.

Eventually she remembered the story the old rabbi had told her about the golem of Prague, and how it had nearly destroyed the people it had been created to protect. One point the rabbi stressed was that in all the stories it was said that the golem could only be created by the holiest of holy men, so how such a creature might have come to be stalking Franklin was a mystery. It was far more likely that someone was using the story of the golem to cover an ordinary crime. At least this set of con men appeared to possess a decent imagination—more than could be said of most of them.

After a good hour’s workout, Red decided to learn more about her client. She’d see what Joe could find out and then make a visit to Franklin’s house, partly to see him in his natural surroundings, and partly to see if anything could be learned as to the type of man she was dealing with, and therefore who, if anyone, was likely to want to harm him. She caught the swinging bag in gloved hands and rested her forehead against it as she remembered the argument from the day before. If she hadn’t pushed Mrs. Davenport away so rudely, she might have been able to help find out something about the man. His clothing suggested he wasn’t without a dollar or two. Although Evadne hadn’t mentioned having met him before, perhaps she had contact with those who had. Red released the bag and gave it a parting punch. No use crying over spilled milk. There was more than one way to skin a cat, and now was as good a time as any to start.

She was pulling off her gloves when Mickey came over and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“Off already, Red? You’ve barely warmed up yet.”

“Stuff to do, people to see.” She shrugged, not wanting a discussion that would inevitably come around to what she’d been doing for the last few months.

“If you can spare me a few minutes of your precious time, I’ve a young bantam who needs his feathers ruffled.” Mickey indicated a confident-looking young man of about eighteen or nineteen that she hadn’t seen before. “Young Billy’s a promising boy, but he’s had it too easy so far. As a result, he has a far greater opinion of hisself than’s right.”

Red knew where this was going. It wasn’t the first time she’d been used to spar with the lighter-weight new bloods. She wasn’t always victorious, but sheer stubbornness meant she’d put up a good enough fight to wear off some of the cockiness. There was nothing quite like being bested by a woman to bring down a brash young fighter a peg or two, and it benefited her by providing the nearest thing to a real fight she’d yet to come across off the streets. Finding out about Mr. Franklin could always wait a little while longer. She suddenly relished the prospect of a bout. “You want me to bloody his nose, do you?”

Mickey shouted across at the young boxer. “Billy! Here’s that sparring partner I was telling you about. Meet Red Wolverton, one of the best lightweights I’ve ever had the pleasure to come across.”

The young man’s mouth dropped open and then a flaming blush worked up his face. “You’re kidding me right? A girl? You want me to fight a damn girl?”

Mickey’s face became stern. “You want to stay in my gym, you fight who I say, got it?”

A few of the other boxers stopped to watch what was becoming a familiar routine. Several were probably glad that someone else had earned Mickey’s wrath.

“You want to belong to this gym, or what?” Mickey asked the still fuming Billy.

“Sure, whatever. Just don’t blame me if she gets hurt.” The youngster scowled at Mickey, clearly unhappy but apparently unwilling to defy him directly.

Noticing that bets were being taken behind Mickey’s back, Red wondered who the odds were on this time. The ability of some of them to bet on anything, up to and including how long it would take paint to dry, amazed her.

She returned her attention to her fuming opponent and gave him a mocking grin. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t mark that pretty face of yours.” Ignoring his derogatory snort, she pulled her gloves on and slipped under the ropes.

Mickey checked their head protection and that both were wearing mouth guards. Then gloves were pressed and the bout began.

Billy powered into Red. She avoided or parried his first flurry of punches and gave back a couple of jabs that, although not doing any damage, forced him back. A few more exchanges, and she knew the kid was a brawler. The punch combinations were simple and easily read; he obviously relied on the power of those punches to win a fight for him quickly. And she had to admit they were indeed powerful—her ribs already hurt from a blow she’d not completely managed to avoid. Fortunately, he was so irate at having to fight her that he wasn’t thinking about what he was doing, and his inability to overwhelm her in the first few exchanges seemed to annoy him even more.

She grinned at him through her guard, and he glared back before launching a powerful hook that, had it made contact, would have laid her out flat. This, however, was the opening she’d been waiting for. Bobbing under the reckless attack, she closed and unleashed a combination of body blows followed by an uppercut and cross. Red gave a feral grin as her opponent staggered back a step, a shocked look on his face. As his guard dropped, she followed up on the advantage and, after a feint with the left hand, delivered a right hook that knocked the young man to his knees.

Mickey quickly separated them. Red skipped back to await the fight’s continuation, wondering what he saw in the young boxer. He certainly wasn’t as good as she’d been expecting. She was even more surprised when the fight was ended at that point. Relaxing, she went to help her opponent to his feet, but he angrily pushed away her gloves and struggled out of the ring unaided. She spit out her mouth guard and rounded angrily on Mickey. “What you playing at, Mickey? He wasn’t half as good as most of the guys you put me up against. I could have really hurt the kid, and you know it.”

The old boxer had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, Red, but his da’s been bugging me to take on his boy for ages, claiming he’s the next great hope and not believing what I said about his real ability. The kid’s basically all attack and no defense. I’m sorry, but I set you up on this one.” He nodded in the direction of the office where she could see a vaguely familiar older man glaring up at them both. “I told his da to watch the fight from over there. Let’s hope both father and son now realize the true level of the kid’s boxing skills.”

A horrible sinking sensation came over Red as the vague feeling of familiarity turned into recognition. She switched her gaze to the contrite-looking trainer. “Mickey, please tell me he ain’t Garrison’s kid.”

“Don’t worry, Red. Garrison’s an old friend of mine.” He gave her a reassuring slap on the shoulder. “If he’s going to be sore, he’ll be sore at me.”

“You sure about that?” Mickey’s attempt at reassurance didn’t make her feel any better; she especially didn’t like the way the teamster union boss was looking at her. The teamsters, along with the longshoremen, all but ran the docks. To make an enemy of their leader was like dancing on a nest of rattlers.

Mickey looked a little concerned himself now. “I’ll speak to him, Red. Don’t worry.” He climbed through the ropes, ushered the still glaring man into the office, and shut the door firmly.

Red turned to leave the ring and saw the others still looking at her. “What you gawking at? Ain’t you got any work to be doing?” She slipped through the ropes, left the ring, and slumped dejectedly onto the nearest bench. As she began to remove her gloves, one of the younger boxers came over to help her. “Good job, Red,” he whispered. “That little runt’s been boasting about how good he is all morning. Glad you kicked his butt.” When Mickey exited his office, the boxer jumped up and went back to his training.

Red sat on the bench, slowly unwrapping the strapping from her hands and once again cursing her infallible ability to infuriate all the wrong people, when she became aware of being watched. She was surprised to see Garrison looking down at her, a strange smile on his face.

“Good fight, Wolverton.”

“Uh, thanks, Mr. Garrison.” Red paused. “Hope the kid’s okay.”

“He’s fine. Only his pride has been damaged.”

Still Garrison smiled; it was beginning to make her uneasy. He had a reputation as a man who was very good to his friends but ruthless with his enemies. She just hoped she wasn’t falling into the latter category. “Look, I—”

“That devious old son of a bitch told me what he did, and that you didn’t know what he was up to. I believe him about that, just as I should have believed him over the boy. Still, a father always thinks his kids are the best.”

Not all of them, Red thought, a bitter taste appearing in her mouth. Her pa felt nothing but hate and disgust for her and all she represented. She shook off the sudden melancholy memories. “No bad feelings?”

“Hell, no.” Garrison was grinning openly now, much to her relief. “And if I need some roughhousing done, now I know where to go.” With a nod that combined both acknowledgment and a hint of apology, he turned to usher his annoyed son out of the gym.

On an impulse, she called out. “Mr. Garrison?” To her surprise, he stopped and waited for her as she hurried over. “Have you heard of a guy called Benjamin Franklin?”

Garrison gave her a bemused look. “Of course I have. Every true American has.”

“No, not that Benjamin Franklin. This is one I’ve got as a client, but I ain’t heard of him before. He seems wealthy enough but—”

“But you want to find out if he’s on the level.” Garrison thought for a moment. “I think I know the man you mean. He’s involved in the import business, though I don’t know exactly what. Has a warehouse on the north end of the dock if I remember right. Can’t be doing too badly as it’s just been enlarged.”

Well, it was a start. Red thanked Garrison for the information before returning to Mickey’s office to change and work out her plan for the rest of the day.

*   *   *

After a much needed, if chilly, shower at her apartment and a change of clothes, Red headed to the Herald building. Joe wasn’t there, and she left him a note asking him to see what he could find out about Mr. Franklin. She was on the way to her office when the back of her neck started to itch once again. Wondering if her mystery assailant was back, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder while working out how she might be able to catch a glimpse of him.

At a side alley a little farther up the street, she neatly sidestepped into the opening. Nonchalantly leaning against the wall, she watched the backs of the people who went past. The first half dozen continued on without a glance in her direction, obviously intent on their own business. Then a well-dressed man strode past the entrance and glanced about quickly. He started visibly when he saw her, spun around, and hurried up the street. As he was about to turn the corner, he gave a final look back to where Red lounged against the wall. She gave him an insolent little wave, and he colored before veering sharply away and disappearing from sight.

Red’s mocking smile changed to a thoughtful frown. So, that was her mystery attacker. He certainly fitted what she remembered and what the mortified Frank had been able to recall. Well dressed and fair haired, he looked a few inches taller than she was, around six feet, but slightly built. His face had a thin, starved appearance as if he’d recently been ill. His behavior also seemed to confirm Red’s initial instinct that he was no professional: he’d reacted just the way a rank amateur would. She wasn’t sure how she missed him on that first night. “Must have been beginner’s luck.” She scowled at the building opposite, still annoyed with herself for the failure. Pushing away from the wall, she considered her next move. Now she’d recognize her foe, even if she didn’t yet have a name to go with the face.

On a sudden impulse, she decided to give her stalker a taste of his own medicine. She ran down the refuse-strewn alley and vaulted over the low fence barring the end. Cutting across the yard brought her back out onto the street her stalker had turned on. As she emerged from the yard’s entrance, she saw him crossing the street and swiftly followed.

When he got onto a streetcar heading toward the Back Bay, Red jumped onto the rear running board and hung on, much to the amusement of the young boy who was already doing the same. With a conspiratorial wink, she whispered, “Fun ain’t it?” The boy grinned back, teeth white in a dirt-smudged face. Quickly gauging the likely character of her fellow traveler, and deciding the returns would be worth the investment, she asked, “Want a dime?”

“Sure!” The boy’s face lit up at the mention of money.

“You saw the rich-looking guy that just got on?”

“The skinny one, looks kinda like a weasel?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I give you a dime, you follow him home then let me know where he goes. Deal?”

“Deal,” the boy said enthusiastically. Letting go with his right hand, he solemnly spat on the palm. Red did the same, and with a shake, the bargain was sealed and the fee exchanged. After telling the boy where the information was to be delivered, she gave a final, “Good luck,” and dropped off the back of the streetcar as it slowed on a hill.

The unplanned side-trip took her some distance away from her office, so she stopped at a diner for a quick bite to eat while considering her next step. Although her stalker was high on her personal list of things to do, she really needed to get down to sorting out Mr. Franklin’s case before dealing with her own problem. She took out her notepad and saw that her memory hadn’t been playing her false. The address Franklin gave was not too far from where she’d ended up. She left the diner without finishing the watered-down coffee or limp sandwich and made a mental note to add it to her growing list of places not to eat at again. She got on another streetcar, as a paying fare this time, and headed to the district in question.

The address Mr. Franklin gave proved to be that of a good-sized house of a classical Federal design. It made a change to actually visit such a place on legitimate business; usually her visits were of a more covert nature. The house sat well back from the street in a large garden that was going to seed. Red passed through the wrought iron gates and walked up the drive, using her own not exactly legal adventures in similar surroundings to identify those places that might allow someone to hide. Closer to the house was a large wooden building with double doors. Obviously new, its timbers were unstained by either soot or weather. There was no sign that the house had ever had a coach house, so it was most likely built to hold an automobile; a quick peek through a crack in the doors indeed showed such a tarpaulin-covered object.

Approaching the house, she saw that the ground-floor windows had solid iron grills that appeared to be recent additions to the building. A walk around the outside confirmed all the ground-floor windows were protected in the same way. The kitchen door was also unusually solid, all pointing to the conclusion that Mr. Franklin was genuine in his fear. After completing the circuit, Red saw the front door open. An old man emerged holding a shotgun pointed, somewhat shakily, straight at her.

“Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing.” Red raised her hands and took a precautionary step backward.

“What you want? Poking around the house you were. I saw you, I did.” He thrust the shotgun aggressively in her direction.

“Whoa, hey, calm down, will you?” Red was worried that the gun would go off by accident; not that it was likely to hit her or anybody near her with the way he was waving it around, but knowing her luck… “I’m here to see Mr. Franklin. This is his house, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, and what would he want with someone like you? Go on, git!”

He gestured with the gun again. Red winced and half-ducked in expectation of it going off. There was no explosion, and she began to wonder whether it was even loaded, but in this case, discretion was by far the better option. “Okay, okay. I’m going, I’m going.”

She’d already begun to back away down the drive when Mr. Franklin’s voice came from within the house.

“What is it, Jenkins?”

The old man turned to talk back through the open doorway without taking his eyes, or gun, off of Red. “Just some good-for-nothing. Caught her poking around the house.”

There was a pause. “Her?” Another pause and then Mr. Franklin was at the door. “Stand down, Jenkins. She’s the private investigator I hired.”

“That?” The venom was plain in the man’s voice. “You’ve hired that to help you? What is this world coming to?” With a grunt of displeasure, he turned and reentered the house, leaving Franklin standing in the doorway.

“Please come in, Red. I’m sorry about the reception party, but he means well.” With a gesture, he started back into the house. “Come in, come in.”

Red shook her head at the things she did to earn an honest dollar and cautiously followed Franklin through the doorway and into the gloomy interior. Inside, the house was much like the garden—good quality going slightly to seed. She wondered whether this really was his home or just some temporary residence. If he feared for his life, it would make sense to hole up somewhere outside of his normal haunts.

She followed Franklin down the hall, and he entered a room on the left. Red was just about to go in when she heard a sudden bang. Hand automatically going to her revolver, she saw Jenkins shooting home a formidable array of bolts around the front door. After exchanging a hostile glare with the human guard dog, she turned and entered the room. A quick glance showed it to be a study of sorts. Franklin was standing at a cabinet pouring out two drinks. “I would guess you to be a whisky drinker,” he said.

“Yeah sure, when I can get hold of it.” Franklin, it appeared, was not a man to be put off by the prohibition laws. That he offered her a drink without apparent worry suggested he’d either done his homework on her or had enough clout not to be too worried if she were to rat on him.

“Here.” He handed her a tumbler. “There’s water on the side table if you want.”

She sniffed the amber liquid, pleased to find it smelled like the real stuff and not the paint stripper so often passed off as whisky in most speakeasies. The hint of peat in the smell was confirmed by the first sip. “Hmm, nice. Can’t get hold of this sort of stuff for love nor money nowadays.”

Franklin seemed pleased that his whisky met with her approval. “I slip the odd one in when I can. There has to be some benefit to working in the import business.”

Red raised an eyebrow, surprised at the implications of his statement, but before she could say anything, he answered her unspoken question. “Nothing large enough to bring myself to the notice of the authorities or the mob, of course, but enough to keep me and a few friends happy.”

It looked like Garrison’s Franklin and hers were indeed one and the same. Red considered this new piece of information and decided to have a poke around the warehouse sometime soon.

Franklin indicated one of the two large, leather-covered chairs and took the other. “Any luck tracking down my golem?”

Red eased herself comfortably into the chair’s well-padded embrace before replying. “Not yet, Mr. Franklin, I actually wanted to ask you some more questions about the subject, if that’s okay?”

Franklin nodded. Red took another sip of the whisky and studied the man as she held the liquid in her mouth for a moment and savored the taste before swallowing it down. He seemed genuinely eager to answer whatever she asked, which certainly made for a change. She left him on the edge of his seat for a moment longer as she took another sip. Then she spoke.

“You say that whoever, whatever, is following you is a golem.” She watched his face carefully, looking for any sign of deceit. “From what I know of the lore around them, they can only be created by very holy men—usually rabbis. So, first question: what did you do to make an enemy of such a man that he’d go to the trouble to create one?”

Franklin shook his head in despair. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Red was getting no indication that he was lying; although that didn’t necessarily mean what he said was the truth. She questioned one inconsistency in his story. “How do you know it’s a golem if you’ve no knowledge of where it might come from?”

“Because that was what the note called it.”

“Note? What note?” Red couldn’t prevent the frustrated edge to her voice at this previously unmentioned piece of information.

“This one.” He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a creased and dirty piece of paper, and passed it across. “It was stuck under the door of my office down at the dock a month ago.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier? If I ain’t got all the facts, Mr. Franklin, I’ve damn-all chance of getting to the bottom of your problem.” Pointedly ignoring Franklin’s hurried apology, she studied the note. The paper was rough and cheap and one of the edges looked torn. The writing was strong and firm, and she guessed it was written by an educated hand, which was distinctly at odds with the actual content of the note—“golems goin ta git ya.”

She refolded the note and put it into a vest pocket. Franklin looked surprised but said nothing.

“Anything else you failed to tell me?” The sarcasm was evident in her voice. She didn’t attempt to hide her feelings. Pussyfooting around her clients led them to think they could pick and choose what they told her. It was a mistake she had to make sure he didn’t repeat.

Franklin was getting annoyed now. “Look, I said I was sorry about the note. Recent events drove it right out of my head.”

Red said nothing. Her point had been made; she hoped he would take it to heart. She let him stew a moment longer before changing the subject. “See you’ve put in some security measures.” She nodded at the bars over the study window. “But if it really is a golem I can’t see them being of any use. The creatures are supposed to be massively strong.”

“I know.” Franklin looked strained and, for the first time, afraid. “But I needed to do something, even if it may prove to be of little use.”

Red sought to reassure him. He might be in danger, but getting worked up about having some supernatural bogeyman after his blood wouldn’t help either of them. “Mr. Franklin, I have to say from my experience that it’s likely someone’s using the story of the golem toward a criminal end.”

Still, he looked doubtful.

“You came to me because I’ve gained a certain reputation for being able to solve cases that appear to have a supernatural cause, didn’t you?” Franklin nodded, his face schoolboy-like in its earnestness. Red mentally rolled her eyes; sometimes that reputation could be more hindrance than help. “As such, I must tell you I’ve yet to come across anything that didn’t turn out to have a completely down-to-earth explanation.”

Except for that one time, she thought, but there was no way she was going to tell Franklin about that. Anyway, she wasn’t totally convinced that what she thought happened had really happened. The cold light of day made it seem more like a weird dream.

Franklin shook his head stubbornly. “But you don’t understand. I’ve seen it. Eight feet tall with glowing eyes and steps that shake the very ground.” His dark eyes were wide.

Red took in his pronouncement. Then her surprise quickly changed to anger. “Where?”

“What?” His reply was confused, his mind apparently still fixed in the past.

“Where’d you see it?” Did he think she was a mind reader as well?

“On… on the docks near… near my warehouse.”

“And that was the only time?” Red leaned forward in the chair and met his wavering gaze. “Come on, Franklin, what else have you forgotten to tell me?”

Franklin’s jaw clenched. After a moment’s silent face-off, he sighed. “You’re right, I should have mentioned it.”

Red nodded her acceptance of his apology. Her point had been made. Relaxing back in the chair, she took another mouthful of the whisky. Once it had burned its way to her stomach, she repeated her question. “Was that the only time you saw the golem?”

He took a moment before replying. “I’ve heard it and seen traces, footsteps and the like, but that was the only time I’ve actually seen it, in the flesh as it were.” He gave a weak smile at the pun, but when he spoke again, his voice was strained. “Once was enough, believe me.” Looking unsteady, he took a gulp from his drink.

Red thought it sounded as if someone was trying to scare the man into some action or the other. “Have you considered just leaving the city, going somewhere else?”

“I have. In fact I had a very generous offer for the business not long before this started but… My grandfather built the business from scratch after fleeing the pogroms. I would feel I was betraying him if I allowed myself to be chased out and lose the business he and my father worked so hard to build.”

That might explain why whoever it was had picked on the golem idea. Red bit back the angry retort that had been her first reaction to this latest information. Dressing Franklin down any further probably wasn’t going to do any good.

This was the first thing that made any real sense. A Jewish monster for a Jewish target. And she’d be willing to bet that Franklin wasn’t the name his grandfather had arrived in the country with either. Not that she could fault him for that. Hadn’t she done much the same and for reasons that weren’t so very different? The offer to buy out the business also added weight to her gut feeling about the case. If she was right, it was a simple, if imaginative, variation on the tried and trusted technique of scaring someone into selling. “Any more offers?” she asked.

“Yes, the same people, just this morning as it happens.” A look of understanding came over Franklin’s face. “You think someone is using the golem to scare me into selling?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Red didn’t add that she was becoming more and more skeptical about the existence of any golem. It sounded like someone had rigged something impressive near Franklin’s warehouse and had since been using more subtle means to build on that impression. And it seemed to be working just fine, she thought, annoyed at the businessman’s gullibility. She sat back in her chair and studied Franklin’s worried face. It didn’t take long to come to the realization that she needed proof of the golem’s nonexistence as much for Franklin’s peace of mind as to provide the evidence for him to take to the police. “This golem you saw, can you tell me exactly where that was?”

Franklin looked at her. He was trying to work out why he’d hired her, Red thought, and no doubt regretting his decision. He probably felt intimidated; he certainly wouldn’t be the first male client who felt that way, but when the choice was that or being patronized to death she would go for the former every time. If he could get over that, it would be more than worth the effort. Her results proved that.

If only that bitch Katherine wasn’t screwing her over quite so royally. Her jaw tensed briefly, and she took another calming sip of the whisky. Fortunately, she didn’t get anymore time to brood as Franklin finally came to his decision. “I’ll draw you a map, I’m not going back there in case it’s waiting for me.”

*   *   *

Evadne stared at the sheet of blank paper. She had started the letter half a dozen times, her previous attempts now crumpled balls in the wastebasket. Part of her problem was she wasn’t certain why she was trying to write it in the first place.

“Dear Red,”

She stopped, pen nib hovering over the paper. Only two words this time before the block hit her. With each attempt, the number had decreased and it was now both ridiculous and puzzling. With a sigh, she set it back down, pushed away from the desk, and moved to stare out the window. Why did she feel the need to apologize? After all, it was Red who accused her of having ulterior and distinctly underhanded motives for being there. A completely untrue allegation at that. It wasn’t so much that Red had checked her out; she’d expected that, but she was furious at Red for what she had implied. Not for the suggestion that she would want to have a relationship with another woman, but that she would use such underhanded methods to achieve it.

“I suppose I can’t really blame her for being suspicious. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.” After Katherine’s Machiavellian manipulations, Red was bound to be on her guard about anyone else trying to bamboozle her. Of course, without that, Evadne would probably never have heard of Red. It was also part of the reason she had applied for the job. Social guilt, always a big part of her makeup, was why she gave both time and money to a large number of philanthropic causes. That Katherine could use the power of her money and reputation to try to destroy Red’s livelihood pulled hard on that guilt, and Evadne felt she couldn’t stand by and let the Dubois retinue do what they pleased.

Evadne gave a wry smile. Whom was she trying to fool? If she wanted to help Red, she could find more effective ways than by becoming her secretary. Her choice of means to help Red wasn’t completely selfless. She had to admit the possibility of adventure, something to take her away from the monotony of her life, drew her. Ever since the war, a small part of her railed against the comfortable safety that surrounded her. That, as much as righting the wrongs done, had been her reason for wanting the position. And all she got out of it was a day’s cleaning and a verbal dressing down that, although not earned, she could understand.

Still, Red didn’t need to be quite so rude about it. Her smile widened at the absurdity of it all: fancy Wolverton thinking she’d be interested in her like that? She couldn’t think of anyone less likely on so many levels.

A gentle cough brought her attention back into the room, and she faced the opened door. “Yes, Maria?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but Mrs. Travis is here.”

Evadne frowned. She hadn’t heard the doorbell. A glance at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece showed that Agnes Travis was early, but then again she always was. It looked like the letter was going to have to wait a little longer.

“Show her into the sitting room, would you, and bring us some tea. I don’t expect the others will be long.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what have I told you about the ma’am business?”

Maria gave a shrug. “It’s only right. At least when you have guests.”

Evadne didn’t bother to reply. The elderly Latina had been her housekeeper ever since she and Geoff had moved into the house. She eventually persuaded her to drop the ma’am most of the time, but if someone else was in the house, it returned like the proverbial bad penny.

As Maria left the room, the doorbell rang. Evadne gave a sigh. This was the worst part of being philanthropic—the interminable committee meetings. Through the half-open door, she heard the blustering tones of the Reverend William Price.

“‘Once more unto the breach.’” Evadne squared her shoulders, checked her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace, and headed into the entrance hall. “Reverend Price, so good of you to come.”

*   *   *

A muttering and scowling Jenkins let Red out of the house, and she started on a check of the grounds. Franklin said he’d heard the golem near the house, and with a rough idea of where he’d thought the sound came from, Red was giving the area a thorough going-over.

Away from the house and drive, the undergrowth was thicker and less well kept and, in some places, quite difficult to get through. As expected, she found none of the signs that would indicate the passage of the sort of creature Franklin described. Such a large being wouldn’t have been hindered by the undergrowth but would have left a very recognizable trail even after a number of days.

Eventually, a hundred yards from the house, she did find slight signs of intruders and a faint trail through the undergrowth that led to the boundary wall. The wall, built of brick and formidably high, didn’t appear to be easily climbable; however, upon investigation, she found that some of the bricks were removable and the holes left provided excellent hand- and footholds.

With the bricks taken out, she scaled the wall and peered into an even more overgrown garden. There was a cleared area in the undergrowth at the base of the wall and a more definite cleared path heading in the direction of a building just visible through the trees.

After a moment’s consideration, as she weighed the likelihood of being seen against the urge to find out who had been prowling around Franklin’s garden, Red hauled herself over the top of the wall and dropped down into the garden. She’d passed the gates to this house on her way to Franklin’s, and from what she remembered, they’d been padlocked. The addition of the Keep Out sign threatening trespassers with being shot made it clear this was not a house that welcomed visitors. If it was in any way linked to what was happening to Franklin, then the threat was unlikely to be an idle one.

Red moved along the path, senses alert for any indication of guards or traps. Cigarette butts and candy wrappers littering the ground gave clear signs of human traffic. Whoever used this path obviously didn’t fear being discovered, unlike on the other side of the wall where care had been taken to keep evidence of their presence to a minimum.

Her exploration brought her to the edge of the thick undergrowth. From there she could get a better look at the building she’d spied from the top of the wall. It was similar in design to that of Franklin’s, though more run down.

It also had impressive-looking security in common with its neighbor. The first-floor windows had external shutters that appeared to be metallic rather than the usual wood, and there was a barred gate in addition to the sturdy-looking back door. Hunkering down in a large, straggling bush a little way from the path, but with a view of both path and house, she settled down to begin her observation.

After about an hour, with no sign of life from the house, Red unfolded herself from her position on the ground. She stretched each leg to loosen stiff joints and made her way around the edge of the undergrowth, eventually reaching the stable, which was the closest outbuilding to the house. A quick glance showed the stable was empty. From the undisturbed layer of dust and old straw on the cobbled floor, it looked like it had been that way for some time. This side of the house was obviously the service part of the building; the walls were plain brick and what windows it had were small and securely shuttered—the ground floor with metal shutters, the upper floor with wooden ones.

After a quick final check that no one was in sight, Red ran across the open ground to the wall of the house. Crouching down with her back to the brickwork near one of the barricaded windows, she listened for any sign of life. Hearing nothing, she carefully edged up the wall until she could peer through a slight gap in the shutters. The room inside was very dark; what little light came in through the windows was just enough to make the shapes of furniture visible. It appeared the house was, or had recently been, lived in to some extent. How it was being used now was a question she wasn’t going to be able to answer by just peering in through windows.

Keeping low and close to the wall, she continued around to the back door. She was just about to try picking the formidable looking lock when the sound of voices from the other side of the house alerted her. Quickly but quietly, she retreated into the cover of the undergrowth. The source of the voices became visible as two men walked around the corner of the house and up to the door. One of the men, tall and strongly if leanly built, carried a silver-tipped cane, and he rapped it against the door in what appeared to be a specific pattern. After a short while, he replied to what must have been a question from within the house, the door opened, and the two men entered. A third man, presumably the doorkeeper, took a quick glance outside before closing the door behind them.

Red sat back on her haunches and considered what she’d seen. The cautious attitude of the doorkeeper and the excessive security were more than enough to convince her that someone in the house was up to something shifty, if not downright illegal. Whether it was connected to Franklin’s golem was another question altogether.

She glanced at her pocket watch. It would soon be dark; high time to get out of the unfamiliar grounds while she could still see where she was going.

She retreated into the undergrowth and made her way back to the wall. There were handholds on this side as well, and she clambered over, being sure to replace the bricks on the other side as close as possible to how she found them.

With the light fading rapidly, there wasn’t much point continuing her search on Franklin’s side. She headed back toward the gateway and took the streetcar home.

On the way, she mulled over what she’d learned. It seemed pretty clear that someone was trying to scare Franklin into selling; that the golem idea was being used to play on his fears; and that they, whoever they were, were holed up in the house next door. A crooked smile lifted the corner of her mouth. At last, she had something to take her mind off the last few disastrous months. If she solved this case, Franklin might put the word out among his peers. It wouldn’t repair the damage done by Katherine, but it would be a step in the right direction.

After a crowded streetcar trip, Red finally reached her office. It had been a long day, and her body strongly complained about not being allowed to recover properly from the previous day’s activities. She slumped into her chair and wasted a long few minutes just staring at the ceiling before she forced herself into something approaching action.

She’d just started checking her meager but bill-heavy mail when she heard steps outside the office. It was late for someone to drop by on a whim. With the memory of the attack at Joe’s office still fresh in her mind, as well as on her body, Red drew her revolver and placed it on her lap. The handle turned and the door opened slowly. She held her breath, only to let it out explosively. “Jeez, Jan, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She glared at her savior of the previous evening as the small woman sauntered into the office.

Janet gave her an amused look, clearly unfazed by the greeting. “Someone’s jumpy this evening. Who’ve you been upsetting this time?”

“Why do you always assume I’ve been upsetting someone?” Red saw the smirk forming on Janet’s lips and gave up on the argument. She was tired, hungry, and had a damp butt from spending too much time lurking in bushes. Now she just wanted a bath and a drink, not necessarily in that order. She waited for Janet to explain her presence, but Janet just stood there, the irritating grin still on her face. Eventually, Red could take it no more. “What do you want?”

“Is that anyway to talk to your favorite ex?” Red should have realized that Janet wouldn’t be put off by the growling. She was far too used to her moods. “I’ve come to take you away from all this,” Janet said and waved her arms dramatically to include the office. Then her face turned serious. “And I wondered if you might like to talk.”

Red pressed her lips together. What was it with Janet and talking? Didn’t she know it was one of the things that led to them going their separate ways?

Janet sighed melodramatically. “Old strong, silent, and stupid is back, huh? And here I was thinking I might actually be able to help.”

Janet was obviously determined that Red not be left to repeat the previous night’s excesses. It wasn’t something Red particularly liked doing either, especially the morning after, but she wasn’t some kid to need babysitting. Still, a friendly, attractive face to look at would be nice.

“Or, if not to talk, then at the least as a drinking companion?”

Red tried her best glare, but Janet continued to present her most winning and charming smile.

“No strings attached.”

It was the final blow to Red’s already weakened defenses. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. You win, dammit.” She stood up, replaced her revolver in its holster, and collected her hat and coat from their usual heap on the floor. Janet was right; she did need taking out of herself. She’d been avoiding the Lily, avoiding her few friends, avoiding the sympathy they would have offered. The place reminded her too much of Katherine. Red still wasn’t sure why she’d gone to the speakeasy last night rather than just go home and drink her way into oblivion. Perhaps a small part of her subconscious was trying to keep her in one piece after all. Or perhaps, a cynical afterthought prompted, it was just because the speakeasy was closer.

As she met Janet’s friendly, open gaze, Red wondered, not for the first time, what she had done to deserve this woman’s enduring friendship. Janet had more than enough reasons to have washed her hands of her. Not that Janet hadn’t made Red’s life hell at times; though she probably deserved every moment—well, most of them, anyway.

Her heart felt lighter as she moved past Janet to open the door. Caught by a sudden mischievous impulse, she gave a florid but distinctly mocking bow. “Where to, my lady?”

*   *   *

Red picked her way through the Gilded Lily’s clientele to the bar, the particular precision of her movement an indication that she’d made this trip a good many times already. She ordered another whisky, leaned against the bar, and looked over the room, watching the comings and goings with the amiable curiosity of the happily drunk. As usual, it was a varied bunch in the ramshackle old basement. The Lily may not have been the most glamorous of speakeasies, or even a provider of particularly good alcohol, but it was welcoming to those whom the rest of Boston society considered strange, weird, or just plain criminal. Lily, for whom the place was named, was a prime example. A dockworker by trade, Lily found that by opening this little joint with its specialist niche, she was free to dress and behave as she wanted, without threat of, or actual, physical violence or arrest.

Red watched Lily, looking great in an extravagantly beaded dress, doing the rounds of the tables and flirting with all and sundry. That she was six foot four and built like the dockworker she’d once been didn’t stop her from looking incredibly glamorous. The additional ability to lay out with one straight punch anyone who caused trouble didn’t hurt either. Indeed, Red could personally testify to the fact that Lily had a punch that could fell a horse. She had never been foolish enough to start a fight in Lily’s again.

An attractive blonde sashaying across the room caught Red’s attention. Distracted by her lustful thoughts, it took her a while before she became aware of the fidgeting presence at her side. A well-dressed older man, the respectable tradesman type, was repeatedly glancing at her then looking away. She turned squarely to face the man and gazed at him questioningly. Finally he spoke.

“You’re Wolverton?”

She gave a brief nod and returned to her survey of the room.

“I just wanted to warn you…” He trailed off.

“About what?” Red was only half listening. The blonde was giving her a look that promised the chance of an interesting evening. And she was used to being warned off; it was just another part of the job.

“There’s… a man… after you, he…” He hesitated and looked around nervously. “Be careful, Wolverton. He’s been twisted and now hates you with a vengeance. You escaped him at the Herald, but I don’t believe he’ll stop until you’re dead.”

Her attention suddenly caught, Red grabbed the man’s arm. “What’s his name? Tell me.”

“I can’t. He has powerful friends. I can’t.” The man slipped out of her grip and was off before Red could stop him. He was halfway across the room before she could get her brain organized enough to follow. By the time she reached the door, she’d lost sight of him altogether. “Fuck!” She punched the wall in her frustration.

“You okay, Red?”

Lily’s mellow voice came from behind Red as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. “That guy I was talking to...” Red gestured into the darkness of the night. “Any idea who he is?”

“You know I don’t gossip about my customers.”

“This is important, Lily. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.” She was almost pleading. Lily obviously knew who the man was, and to be so close to a definite lead was plain frustrating.

Lily shook her head. “Sorry, girl, you ain’t getting nothing from these lips.”

“Fine, I’ll find out myself.” Red gave Lily a resentful glare before stomping back to the bar to retrieve her whisky. She was furious with herself for letting the man get away and almost as angry with Lily for not telling her what she wanted to know. What had the man been going to tell her before he changed his mind, and who the hell was he anyway?

Janet saw the exchange with the unknown man then the way Red followed him, or tried to follow him. The punch to the wall made her wince. Although the whisky would dull the pain for the moment, Janet would almost certainly have Red’s grazed knuckles to tend later. The conversation with Lily obviously hadn’t gone Red’s way. The scowl on her face as she headed back to their table showed that all Janet’s efforts to loosen her up had been wiped away by whatever just happened.

Red gracelessly plonked herself down and knocked back her whisky in one gulp. Janet could see the anger building and how Red was struggling to keep it under control.

When Janet had arrived at the office earlier, she had noticed the revolver. Now she wondered what could have got Red so jumpy. And just what had been going on in her head as she stood for that long moment looking at Janet so intently. One way or another, Janet was determined that tonight she would find out exactly what was going on.

She took a moment to study Red. There were dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and she seemed paler and thinner, lacking the barely contained energy that was so much a part of her charm. She ached to reach out, to hold her, but she doubted that would be a good idea for either of them. It had been a long time before Janet had been able to see, let alone touch, Red without setting off all sorts of conflicting emotions. There was still a raw, unhealed spot in her heart; one she doubted would ever go away completely.

While intellectually she understood Red’s reasons for breaking up, had even half-agreed with some of them, her emotions were still unstable. The morning’s embrace had sent them skittering like spooked horses once again. It had taken hours to recover her equilibrium, and the rest of the day to pluck up the courage to offer the sympathetic ear. Persuading Red to go to the Lily had been the first step in her plan; now all she needed to do was get her to open up and expand on what she had let slip over her coffee. Of course, there’d be a cold snap in hell before that happened; however, Janet had never refused a challenge before and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. Mentally girding her loins, she attempted to find out what was winding Red up, hoping to release some of the pressure at the same time. “Come on, cowgirl, tell me what’s eating you.” Red’s scowl deepened. Not a good sign. “Please?”

Red let out an explosive sigh. “Someone attacked me the day before yesterday at the Herald.”

Janet was surprised. Despite Red’s job, she knew an attack in such a public place was extremely unusual.

“That guy was warning me, telling me that the attacker wants to kill me.”

“What? Are you serious?”

A look confirmed that Red was, indeed, serious. “He also appeared to know who the man was. Dammit!” Red slammed her fist against the tabletop. “I should never have let him slip my grasp like that.”

Janet leaned over the table and laid a comforting hand over the clenched fist. As her gaze met Red’s, she was shocked to see a glimpse of something she’d never seen before. Fear? No, not fear. No, it was something more subtle than that. It took a moment before the word came to her, surprising her in its unexpectedness. Vulnerability. That was what she saw in Red’s eyes.

“You okay, cowgirl?” she asked. The withdrawal of the hand and the breaking of the gaze answered her succinctly enough. “Stay with me tonight, honey?” Her question was tentative, but she really didn’t like the thought of Red being alone in such a mood, especially after last night’s excesses. And, if she was honest, she desperately wanted to be with her. Although Red seemed happy with the change in their relationship, and Janet had come to accept it, she still missed the physicality of their lovemaking. Last night, as disgustingly drunk as Red was, Janet still craved the feel of her strong body against her, on her, in her. Emotions only recently brought under control began fighting to be free again as she watched Red’s face register surprise, which quickly shifted into welcome lust.

“Stay with you?” Red leered and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “As in, stay with you?”

Janet laughed, relieved by the familiar mercurial mood shift. “Yes, stay with me, you disgusting old lech.”

“What about our agreement?”

“To hell with the agreement.” Janet took one larger hand in her own and pulled Red upright. “Come on, honey, let’s go take your mind off things, shall we?”

Red grinned roguishly. “Well, sweetheart, you always could manage that.”

Janet laughed again, a full-throated, lusty laugh, as they made their way to the door arm in arm, provoking wolf whistles and ribald comments from some at the tables as they passed.

They climbed the rough wooden stairs that led to the speakeasy’s unprepossessing entrance, hand in hand, Red leading the way. She glanced back and grinned at Janet. Any doubts that may have tugged at her heart were ruthlessly squashed. Janet wanted this; Red wanted this; what could possibly go wrong? As they went through the door into the alleyway, Janet stopped, pulling on her hand. Red saw the smoldering look in the dark eyes, took Janet in her arms, and drew her close for a quick but passionate kiss. When Janet tightened her embrace, Red backed away. “Not here, Jan.”

“There’s no one around, honey.” Janet tried to pull Red close once again and for a moment, fueled by alcohol and her growing arousal, Red responded. Then a noise from farther up the alley made her move instinctively to put herself between whatever was out there and Janet. She peered into the darkness, looking for the source of the sound. There was a movement among the shadows, a sudden glint of moonlight on metal. She reached for her revolver but before her hand could close around the handle, she was shoved roughly to one side. She crashed to the ground as the harsh crack of a pistol shot echoed through the alley.

She rolled as she hit the cobblestones, but the impact drove the air from her lungs. She recovered enough to pull her revolver and take a shot at the familiar shape fleeing down the alley before he disappeared from sight. Cursing under her breath, she holstered the Smith and Wesson. “Too damn close.” She turned, only to see to her horror that Janet was slumped in a heap against the wall.

She knelt by Janet’s side, disoriented by the speed at which everything had changed. “Christ, no.” Her voice was an anguished whisper as the dark stain blossoming over Janet’s chest confirmed her worst fears. With a muffled sob, she tried in vain to staunch the wound with her bare hands. As the immediate panic eased, she pulled out the tail of her shirt and tore off a piece. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help? Red’s mind whirled; surely, someone must have heard the shot.

She ripped open Janet’s dress and pressed the wadded material against the wound as she shouted for help. Holding the makeshift bandage in place, Red lifted Janet so that she lay between her legs, head and shoulders cradled in her arms. As she continued in her struggle to stem the flow of blood, Red felt a heart-wrenching jolt of grief. She was going to lose this particular fight, and with it, the woman who, she was only now realizing, meant so very, very much to her.

“Help her, you bastards,” she shouted, anger and despair making her voice break and crack as she looked at the closed door they had just exited. “For fuck’s sake, help her!” Still, the door remained firmly shut, and Red felt a rush of impotent fury.

The slightest of sounds made her look down, and her heart jumped in short-lived relief as Janet’s eyelids flickered open. The dark eyes looked black in the dim light, full of pain and confusion. Eventually they seemed to find a focus in Red’s tear-filled eyes.

“You’re crying?” Janet whispered.

Unable to speak, Red could only nod her reply.

“So, I need to get shot to see you cry?” Janet gave a weak smile. For a second, neither woman spoke, then Janet coughed and blood appeared in the corner of her mouth. She licked at it. “Bad ain’t it?” Still Red said nothing, she couldn’t speak the words. In mute despair she just stared down into Janet’s face. “It’s funny.” Janet coughed wetly once more. “Always thought it’d be the other way around.” She smiled weakly up at Red’s tear-stained face.

“Why’d you do it?” Red nearly choked on the words. “I ain’t worth this.” With a sob she could no longer contain, she lowered her head so that her forehead rested against Janet’s.

“You were always worth it, my love,” Janet whispered.

Red felt Janet’s hand playing weakly with her hair. She shook her head in mute and helpless denial of the truth. Janet couldn’t leave her. She couldn’t! “Don’t die,” Red whispered. “Please, don’t die.”

It was a hopeless plea. With a final exhale, Janet relaxed and her hand fell limply to the ground. Only then did Red truly weep, rocking back and forth as she cradled the lifeless body in her arms.

After what seemed like an eternity, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Voices, ones she thought she should recognize, spoke to her but she didn’t hear their words. All she could focus on was that Janet was dead because of her. Then there were more gentle touches, unreal, dreamlike, and for a second she felt herself responding, relaxing, reaching for the comfort the friendly hands promised. Then she felt others trying to lift Janet off her, and she struck out desperately, no longer hearing the sympathetic voices in her grief. On she fought, defending Janet’s body against the now formless shapes, until, her last contact with Janet gone, her mind fled, finding refuge in unconsciousness.

Bruised and battered, Lily got the three others, who’d helped pry the incoherent and violently struggling Red away from Janet’s body, to take the now thankfully unconscious woman to Lily’s office. Lily followed them down and took a moment to check that Marty was well into the task of removing all trace of alcohol from the scene; then she entered her office and telephoned the police. As she waited for the operator to put her through, she studied Red, wondering what happened. They hadn’t heard anything. The noise in the bar had been enough to deaden any sound. It was only when someone else left that anyone realized there’d been an attack.

A tear pricked her eye, but she hurriedly wiped it away as her call was finally answered. After passing on the details as she knew them, she gave Red a final sympathetic look then headed out of the office. The bar had rapidly emptied of those who had no desire to be recognized by the police. The few who remained, too curious or too obstinate to be worried, drank their replacement nonalcoholic drinks and talked quietly among themselves. With a final glance around to reassure herself everything was in hand, she headed back up to the alleyway to wait.

It was a surprisingly short wait. The Gilded Lily was well known and frequently raided, and Lily imagined there couldn’t have been much else going on for there to be such a speedy response. However, it was blindingly obvious, from the moment of their arrival, that the police were antagonistic about who and what they were dealing with. They listened unsympathetically to her explanation, and then whisked Janet’s body off to the morgue with unseemly haste and a distinct lack of respect. It was as plain as the nose on Lily’s face that, to these men, there was only one thing lower than a black woman, and that was a black lesbian. The accompanying search of the area was so cursory as to be downright negligent, and it was apparent that the officer in charge came to his conclusion about the murder before he even arrived. Sure enough, he was soon explaining loudly, and with undisguised disgust, about the perverted lovers’ quarrel that led these abominations to break yet another God-given law.

While these foul-mouthed accusations were being tossed about, Lily noticed one young policeman didn’t seem comfortable with his colleague’s behavior. His face showed evident distress at what was going on, and with a pleading look and a slight gesture of his head, he indicated that Lily walk off to one side. With a slight nod in return, she moved into the shadows that a corner of the alley provided and waited for him to join her. She didn’t have to wait long.

“I’m so sorry about this, Lily.”

Lily looked at the man more carefully. Recognition dawned as she looked past the uniform and saw the individual behind it. As she opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted.

“Shush, please don’t say anything,” he pleaded. “My life won’t be worth a cent if they find out.”

Lily whispered urgently back, “But you need to help her, Paul. You know Red. I’ve seen you playing pool with her.”

“Being beaten by her would be nearer the truth, but yeah, I know Red, and I can’t see her doing anything like this. Anyway the evidence is all wrong.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder, but no one seemed to have noticed their furtive conversation. He quickly continued. “McKinley is so blind to his prejudices he can’t see anything else. However we found this.” He held out a handkerchief in which was nestled a flattened bullet. “It was near the wall where they were found, and I would bet a month’s pay that this little baby is from a 9 mm automatic, and not the .45 revolver Red carries.”

“Please do what you can.” Lily gave a quick glance at the bloodstained alleyway before adding sorrowfully. “I don’t think she’s going to be in any state to help herself.”

“I’ll do my damnedest,” Paul said. “I’m pretty sure McKinley’s going to arrest her, but I’ll try to make sure there aren’t any accidents between here and the cell.” Lily gave Paul’s arm the slightest of squeezes in thanks, and he headed back toward the other officers.

His prediction was proven true as the clatter of horses’ hooves and iron-rimmed wheels announced the arrival of a paddy wagon. Two officers, Lily was relieved to see that one of them was Paul, were sent inside. The wagon barely came to a halt when they reappeared. The second officer had Red’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. The moment the wagon’s doors opened, Paul nimbly leaped inside and caught her upper body as she was dumped in. He lowered Red to the floor, more gently than had been the obvious intention of his fellow officer, and his care provoked some amused comments about wasting his efforts on a murdering dyke. Then the door was closed and locked on Paul and his unconscious charge. The driver clicked his tongue and encouraged his horses on.

Lily watched the wagon leave, and the remaining officers soon followed. She shivered as her adrenaline rapidly drained away. She felt the near freezing temperature and quickly returned to the warmth of her speakeasy. She wondered what else she could do to help.

Chapter 4

September 4:  Joe to the rescue

Joe entered the lobby of the Herald building to find he already had a visitor despite the early hour; a Mr. Smith, according to Frank. Joe knew all about the Mr. Smiths of the world; a lot of his best stories came from their ranks, and he wondered what this one had to tell him. Only one man sat in the small waiting room. This particular Mr. Smith was slightly smaller than Joe and seemed to be trying to take up the least space possible. Joe strode across and, with a welcoming look, offered his hand.

“Mr. Smith, I presume?” He just managed to avoid the verbal quotation marks around the surname.

Mr. Smith took the hand in a firm grip. “And you must be Joe Martelli. Red has often spoken of you.” A brief, genuine smile appeared on the man’s face. “Some of it was even complimentary.”

“Sounds like Red.” Joe chuckled, then, noticed the way Smith’s face quickly clouded over. “What can I do for you?”

“Can we go somewhere private?”

“Sure.” Turning to the security guard, he said, “I’m taking Mr. Smith up to my office, Frank, if you could sign him in for me.” He led his visitor to the elevator, noticing as he did that the man moved with a strange, almost feminine, grace.

They entered his office, and Joe indicated the visitor’s chair while taking his own. “Please sit down, Mr. Smith, and tell me what I can do for you.”

Smith ignored the offered seat. “My name really is Smith. However, I’m usually known as Lily.”

Joe’s brow furrowed “Lily?” The name was so unexpected as to be momentarily confusing. There was a brief pause, while he re-aligned his thoughts; then, still not certain he’d heard the name right, he hazarded a guess. “As in the owner of ‘The Gilded Lily’?”

“The very same. I’m risking a lot coming to you like this, Mr. Martelli, but Red trusts you and right now she needs all the help she can get.”

Joe felt a sudden surge of irritation. “What’s she done thi—”

“Mr. Martelli, Red’s in trouble, big trouble. They’ve arrested her for murder.”

*   *   *

It wasn’t the first time Joe had visited Red in jail. She was, after all, the sort of person the authorities didn’t approve of, an impression she did little to alter. It was, however, the first time he hadn’t found out about it via an expletive-laden phone call from Red herself. That in itself had been worrying. What Smith told him of the circumstances of Janet’s murder only added to his growing concern. He’d scribbled a note to his lawyer that gave a brief summary of what he knew so far and where Red was being held. Smith volunteered to deliver the note, and Joe set off for the station.

He had been at the stationhouse for well over an hour, and the dingy, foul-smelling room he’d been directed to was doing little for his temper. Despite frequent returns to the front desk, the morose desk sergeant had been stubbornly tight-lipped and Joe was still none the wiser as to what happened. Nor had there been any sign of the lawyer, without whom it was increasingly obvious he wasn’t going to get anywhere. He sat on the hard bench, head in his hands. Why wasn’t Red asking to see him? Without such a request, he’d no legal right to speak to her. He had hoped that the power of the press might eventually get him some information, but it seemed less and less likely.

The sound of the outer door opening made him look up expectantly. It wasn’t the lawyer he’d been hoping for; instead, a couple of policemen hustled a violently swearing drunk past the entrance to the waiting room and on in the direction of the holding cells. With a sigh, Joe rose from his uncomfortable seat and made his way to the desk once again.

He was still trying, without any luck, to persuade the disagreeable sergeant to pull out his proverbial thumb, when a young officer approached him.

“Mr. Martelli?”

“About goddamned time.” Joe gave him an irate stare, frustrated by his lack of progress.

“If you would come with me.”

Joe felt relieved that someone was finally taking him seriously. Calmer now, he followed the officer into a small interview room where at least the smell, if not the décor, was more bearable.

The officer closed the door and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Martelli, I’ve just come on duty. If I’d known you were here, I’d have come in earlier.”

Joe was puzzled by the officer’s demeanor; it wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but he nodded an acknowledgement to the apology.

“My name’s Paul Henson,” the officer said. “You could say I’m also a friend of Red’s.” He sat at the table across from Joe.

“Can I see Red? How is she?”

“She’s not well, not well at all, I’m afraid.”

“She’s been hurt? Why isn’t she in the hospital?” Joe rose angrily from the seat he’d just taken. That Henson’s voice had shown genuine concern was of little consolation.

“Whoa, calm down.” Henson raised his hands in a calming gesture. “She hasn’t been hurt physically.” Henson’s eyes met Joe’s for a second, and it seemed to him that the young man was weighing truth against caution before apparently deciding it was the truth that was needed. “Not much anyway.”

Joe glared at Henson, wishing he would stop beating about the bush and just tell him what was going on. “What do you mean, not much?”

“I’ve done my best, Mr. Martelli, but I’m only one man. I’m afraid she’s suffered some minor accidents since getting here. A number of the men here have long memories, and Red does have an unfortunate capacity for infuriating people.” He snorted. “Half the precinct believes I’m carrying a torch for her because of the way I’ve been keeping an eye on her, and half of them keep warning me that I’m wasting my time. If only they knew—”

“What’s wrong with her then?”

With only the slightest of disapproving frowns at the interruption, Henson returned to his original topic. “Anyway, as I was saying, it’s not her physical health that’s the problem—they daren’t do anything too damaging. It’s what’s going on up here,” he said and tapped the side of his head, “that has me seriously concerned.”

“Go on.” Joe sat back down as his legs developed a shake.

Henson leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “It seems to be some sort of mental shock, but they won’t get a psychiatrist to see her. That bastard McKinley claims she’s bluffing to cover what she’s done, and no one dares challenge it.”

“What about you?” Joe said. “You claim you’re her friend, why haven’t you done anything?”

“If I get on McKinley’s wrong side, I won’t be able to help her at all.” Henson met Joe’s angry stare for a long moment until Joe gave a reluctant nod, accepting the truth of his words.

“What we need is someone higher up on our side,” Henson said. “Lily told me you were a reporter. Do you know someone who might help?”

Joe considered the question. He did indeed have a number of contacts on the force, but the majority would almost certainly be unwilling to help. As Henson had so succinctly put it, Red had a talent for infuriating people, usually people in authority. “I think so,” he said, hoping that was indeed the case. “Can I see her now?”

Henson looked dubious. “I’m not sure. You’re not family or her lawyer, and she hasn’t asked to see you.”

Joe’s frustration finally boiled over. Leaning forward, he grabbed the front of Henson’s jacket. “For Christ’s sake, you’ve said yourself she’s not in any state to ask. If it hadn’t been for Lily, I wouldn’t even know she was here.” He spat the words into Henson’s face, worry for Red robbing him of his usual easy demeanor.

Henson’s jaw clenched, but he calmly returned the angry gaze until Joe dropped his eyes and released the clothing. After straightening his mauled uniform with studied dignity, Henson turned to leave. Opening the door, he looked back at a now contrite Joe. “I’ll do what I can, that’s all I can promise.” Then he was gone, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Joe ran shaky, ink-stained fingers through his hair, furious with himself for getting angry with the young cop who was obviously trying his best to help. Alienating Red’s only friend at the station wasn’t going to help one little bit. He got up abruptly, moved to stare out the grimy window, and wondered how Red was going to get out of this mess. Despite his earlier words, he was afraid there wasn’t much he could do.

*   *   *

Evadne heard the unmistakable sound of gravel crunching under a horse’s hooves as a carriage turned onto her drive. She drove the bamboo cane into the soil with a frustrated sigh. She’d been hoping to have the morning to herself for some uninterrupted work preparing the garden for winter. Although she had a gardener come in once a week to keep the grass tidy and to do some of the heavier work, Evadne prided herself in doing a lot herself, and not just the decorative gardening practiced by most of her peers. The carriage came to a halt, and she heard the slam of a door. It wouldn’t be long before she found out who it was, but for the moment, she returned to her staking.

“Ma’am?”

Evadne ignored Maria until she finished tying up the sagging rose. Then she straightened. “Who is it, Maria?”

“Mr. Porthwaite.”

Evadne gave a small groan, not amused to see the flicker of a grin pass over Maria’s face. “It isn’t funny, Maria,” she said, giving her a disapproving look. “And what did I tell you about the ma’am business.”

Maria gave another of her eloquently unrepentant shrugs, and her smile widened perceptibly.

Evadne sighed. “What does he want?”

“He said he needed to speak to you on a matter of importance.”

Evadne wiped her hands on the cloth hanging out of the back pocket of her khaki pants. Propriety said she should change. Common courtesy said she should wash her hands. For a moment, she dithered, but courtesy, if not propriety won the day. “Tell him I shall be with him in a few minutes.” Not even Henry Porthwaite could drive her to abandon the good manners that were so deeply ingrained in her very being.

Maria nodded and turned to leave.

“He’s in the study, I presume.”

“Where else”—Maria’s voice came through the empty doorway—“ma’am.”

Evadne caught the chuckle that followed Maria’s parting remark, and found herself smiling in response. Then she remembered her unwanted visitor. After returning to the house, she made a small detour into the laundry room to wash her hands, check her hair to see if it was presentable, and divest herself of her galoshes. These she replaced with a pair of slippers that failed completely to go with her army pants and warm but aging pullover. Still, if Porthwaite insisted on arriving unannounced without a telephone call to warn her of his visit, then he’d have to take her as he found her. Of course, the fact that he was a pompous old misogynist had nothing to do with Evadne’s uncharacteristic lack of decorum. She sighed again. And it had been such a nice day, too.

Moving through the house to her study, she wondered what the matter of importance was. She suspected he would be making a mountain out of a molehill. Still, he was an influential patron with a thriving shipping business, and she really shouldn’t aggravate him more than necessary. She forced a welcoming expression onto her face and pushed open the door. “Good afternoon, Henry. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

There was a moment’s silence as Henry Porthwaite took in Evadne’s unconventional garb. She ignored the disapproving look he gave her. “So, what can I do for you, Henry? Maria mentioned a matter of importance?”

After one more glance at the britches, Henry gave her a smugly condescending look. “Ah, yes. I didn’t believe a word of it, of course, but I thought I should let you know.”

He paused and Evadne obligingly followed his unspoken prompt. “What should I know?”

“What they’re saying about you.”

Evadne bristled. What was it this time? She forced herself to smile. “And what is that?”

Henry frowned. Clearly not the reaction he’d expected; not that it bothered her one bit. “There are rumors that you’ve been… associating with that Wolverton woman.” He grimaced, as if Red’s existence brought him a sour taste.

Evadne bit back on her angry retort, and took a second to damp down her annoyance. What to do now? Should she admit the truth? For a moment, she vacillated. After all, there had been no response to her letter of apology, so it seemed highly unlikely she would be associating with Red any further. To her surprise, the thought brought a tug of disappointment with it. She put her reaction to one side to consider later and returned to the problem at hand. A half truth would have to do. She didn’t want to go into the reasons she had applied for the secretary job; it would lead nowhere nice.

“If, by association, they mean I visited her office, then yes, that is indeed the case.” And how, her mind added, did anyone find out? Unless it was Franklin? “Who, may I ask, told you of this?”

Henry looked a little uncertain. “A business acquaintance of mine heard from a friend that you had been seen there.”

“As indeed I was.” How much did he know? “I needed someone to do some work—”

“And you asked that woman?” Henry’s face turned an indignant shade of red. “After what she did to Katherine?”

Evadne clenched her jaw, but kept herself under control. “You know we don’t see eye to eye about Katherine Dubois.” She ignored his snort of agreement. “If you really want to know why I was there, it was because I wanted to get her side of the story.” This at least, was partly true.

“And I hope you didn’t believe a word that invert said.” He looked worried now. “You can’t trust people like that. I know you always think the best of people.”

Not all people. Evadne just managed to stifle the acerbic retort. Certainly not men like you, you pompous old windbag.

He carried on. “I did some checking on her. Did you know she disguised herself as a boy when she first came here?” He gave a laugh that held no amusement. “Not that you can really tell the difference now, or so they say.”

Yes, you could, as soon as Red spoke, Evadne thought irritably, unable to imagine anyone mistaking that warm contralto voice for anything other than a woman’s. Blanking out the continuing list of misdemeanors, most of which she already knew about, she found herself wondering whether Red sang. What a Cherubino she could make. Or, even better, Orlofsky. The amateur operatic ensemble of which she had been a stalwart for many years was still going strong. She was just speculating as to whether or not Red would be able to do a Russian accent, and then from there trying to decide what Red’s actual accent was—not Bostonian certainly, nor New England, from the Midwest perhaps—when the absurdity of what she was doing dawned on her.

She wondered at the twisted paths of her meandering mind. She seriously doubted Red would have any interest in opera. What seemed increasingly certain was that she had no interest in renewing their acquaintance at all.

Evadne suddenly realized that Henry had stopped and was looking at her, obviously expecting a response. Quickly she went over the last few minutes of the one-sided conversation that her mind had been listening to without really hearing. Ah, yes, he had been warning her against seeing Red again. Well, at least there was no problem there.

“Don’t worry, Henry, I sincerely doubt I shall be seeing Red Wolverton again.”

He stared at her and eventually gave an abrupt nod. “Good.” He stood. “I shall be glad to tell my colleague that he was mistaken, that you’ve not been employed as some sort of… secretary.”

Evadne kept her face passive. Of course, she had known this could happen. If she were still in Red’s employ, she would have brazened it out. So why wasn’t she telling Henry the truth? Did it really matter what Red had said to her? But, before she could change her mind and tell Henry what really happened, he had made his farewells and left the room, shouting for Maria to let him out.

Evadne sank into the nearest chesterfield. She felt like she betrayed herself by not telling Henry the whole truth. Was it really worth the easier life her half truth had earned her?

“Damn!”

The single, emphatic curse word was a good indication of how off balance the exchange had left her. She stared up at the elegant plaster ceiling. She hadn’t liked Henry much before; now she thoroughly detested him and his nasty little prejudices. She sat forward to hold her head in her hands. The brief burst of enthusiasm that her acceptance by Red had brought on had waned. The feeling of being crushed by her mundane, if comfortable, existence began to weigh her down again. Even her charitable work was losing its appeal. The good she did was more than outweighed by the arrogant and small-minded people she had to deal with; people like Henry Porthwaite.

“I need to get out of here for a while,” she said, “Get well away from people like him.”

The sound of the door opening made her look up. Maria entered with a tea tray.

“Here we go, chica.” Maria gave her a smile. “Thought you might like a pot of tea. And I made some cookies for you, fresh today.”

Evadne picked up one of the cookies and bit into it. “Hmmm,” she murmured her approval. “Thank you, Maria.”

Maria frowned. “You look worn out.”

Evadne gave a weak smile. “I feel it.”

“You need some fresh air and exercise,” Maria said. “And I don’t mean slaving over that garden of yours.”

“I agree, but where? I could hire a horse, ride in the park perhaps, but I would hardly call that fresh air.”

Maria looked thoughtful. “What about that horse place of yours?”

It took a few moments for Evadne to realize what Maria was referring to. When her father died, her mother had been left the majority of the estate and Evadne was given a small but productive stud farm. It had been left in the care of her father’s trusted manager, and from all reports, he was doing a fine job running it. She’d only been there once, immediately after her father’s death. It had been too full of his memory for her to return, and over the years, she’d all but forgotten of its existence other than a couple of lines in her monthly accounts.

More than fifteen years had passed since that visit. She wasn’t even sure the same man was still in charge, though she was fairly certain she would have been involved in any change of manager. Perhaps it was time to lay that particular ghost to rest. It would certainly allow her time for both fresh air and exercise. Of course, she would have to come home for the soirée the Van Volks were holding to welcome their son Edgar back. He had returned earlier that week from his trip to Europe, and Evadne looked forward to hearing of his travels. In the meantime, she could at least get a few days away.

“I like that idea,” Evadne said. “I’ll do that.”

“Good. I shall make sure you’re packed. James can take you there tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Maria. What would I do without you?”

Maria gave her a Cheshire cat smile and left the room, no doubt already working out what Evadne was going to need.

*   *   *

Red sat at the table in another of the interview rooms. Her hands, cuffed, bruised, and scabbed, lay listlessly in front of her. She hadn’t moved a muscle as the two men entered and gave no indication she was aware of their arrival. Joe looked at Henson, surprised and concerned by her state even though Henson had tried to warn him.

“Told you she was bad,” Henson said, keeping his voice low. “Why don’t you try speaking to her, see if you can get anything out of her?”

Joe was unnerved by what he was seeing. She wasn’t the Red he was used to. He moved to the chair opposite her as Henson took station by the door. The chair looked barely strong enough for his large frame, and he lowered himself onto it with trepidation. Relieved to find it was apparently up to its task, he turned his attention to Red. He was dismayed by her lack of reaction. He’d hoped, even expected, that his familiar presence would cause some sort of response, but there was nothing—no recognition, no interest, nothing.

“Hiya, little wolf. Gotten yourself in a fine mess I see.” Joe tried his usual teasing banter, but it felt so false when confronted by a Red he barely recognized that he soon trailed to a halt. He gave Henson a worried glance and received a sympathetic look in return but nothing more. Henson had already told him he’d tried everything he could think of.

Joe studied Red more closely. There was a cut above her right eye, and the other had the first signs of what promised to be an impressive shiner; results, he concluded, of the accidents she’d been having. The physical damage wasn’t unusual. What he found so unsettling was the lack of life in the blankly staring eyes. Normally they mirrored her quicksilver moods: sparkling mischievously one moment, flashing with anger the next. This unfocused dullness was something completely new.

Dear Mary, Mother of God, what’s happened to you, little wolf? He knew from Lily how Red had been found holding Janet’s dead body. Anger and sadness surged through him at the thought of such a beautiful soul being taken so violently. He’d liked the bubbly, upbeat young Negro woman, had been thankful for the way he’d seen her rein in Red’s more self-destructive traits.

What he’d also seen, although Red apparently hadn’t, was the depth of love in the lovely dark eyes. At the time, he’d wondered if the wandering wolf had finally found her mate. They’d lived together a record-breaking sixteen months, apparently happily, and Joe had been surprised beyond words when he heard of the change in their relationship. Even now he wondered why it happened, why Red—and he was sure it had been Red—suggested it and even more so why Janet agreed to it. Now, looking into the dull green eyes, he wondered if he’d misjudged the level of her reciprocation of Janet’s feelings and whether Red had even been aware of it herself.

Joe leaned back against the hard wooden chair. He felt completely out of his depth. He watched the emotionless face, hoping for some sign and wondering how she might be helped. Henson was right; they really needed to get a head-doctor to see her. It would certainly be ironic if she ended up being helped by a doctor, with the way she felt about them.

If Red couldn’t be persuaded to say something about what happened, then the lawyer would have little chance of breaking whatever the police put forward as evidence. Perhaps Joe needed to try a different approach, one that appealed to her sense of self-preservation.

“Red, you need to help me here, girl. They’re trying to fit you up with Janet’s—” He stopped as the dull eyes suddenly moved to stare into his own. Then a slight sound made him look down, and he saw the battered hands were clenched into fists. He looked quickly at Henson, who looked as surprised as Joe felt, then turned back to the stare. “Red? What happened?”

“Bastard shot Jan.” Her voice was quiet and cracked from the lack of use, but the vehemence of the tone was unmistakable.

“Who?”

“My fault,” she whispered. Her stare dropped to the table where her damaged hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. “Should have listened… all my fault.”

“Red? Red, look at me.” When there was no response, Joe tentatively placed a hand under the downcast face and lifted it up. As he met her blank stare, he saw the focus had gone, the momentary contact lost.

Joe removed his hand, and Red’s head dropped again. He sat back in his chair, distraught at her condition and his inability to get though to her for more than a fleeting moment.

“That’s more than anyone has gotten so far,” Henson said, “but if she keeps saying it was her fault when McKinley’s around, it’s only going to get a lot worse.”

Then Joe remembered something. “What about that slug Lily said you found?” he asked. “Hasn’t that proved it wasn’t her gun?”

“The ballistics boys say they can’t be sure what gun it came from.” The tone of Henson’s reply suggested he didn’t believe a word of it.

Joe looked at him questioningly. “Friends of McKinley are they?” Henson’s lack of reply answered the question succinctly enough.

An idea suddenly hit Joe. It was about time he looked up his old army buddy, Andy, see how he was doing. The gloom of his helplessness lifted. Looked like he might be able to help after all.

Chapter 5

September 10: A funeral and a fight

As Joe had hoped, the city’s leading ballistic expert was able to state categorically that the bullet that killed Janet couldn’t have come from Red’s gun. Luckily for her, the expert in question had served in France with Joe and was more than willing to help out an old army buddy. When this was added to the description of the earlier attack at the Herald, and some expert fast-talking from her lawyer, Red was released.

For the first few days after the charges were dropped, she stayed at Joe’s house. Although now responding to what was going on around her, Red had sunk into a state of such apathy that there was no way on earth Joe was going to leave her on her own. Her appearance in the kitchen on the fourth day, smartly dressed in the dark suit usually reserved for court appearances, was therefore completely unexpected.

“Why the monkey suit?” Joe asked as casually as he could, using the nickname for the much-disliked outfit in an attempt to keep his interest apparently minimal.

Red’s pale brows drew together into a frown. “Jan’s funeral.”

“It’s today?” Joe said, unable to disguise his surprise. “How do you know?” He hadn’t even heard a rumor of the date, so how Red had come to know when it was, God alone knew.

“It’s today,” Red said flatly, but offered nothing further. She took a seat at the table and picked halfheartedly at the breakfast Gina placed in front of her.

Joe exchanged a concerned look with Gina. He knew she was as worried as he was about the state of Red’s mind. With a slight tip of the head, she gestured for him to join her outside and left the kitchen. After a glance at Red, he rose from the table, placed his dirty plate near the sink, and followed Gina.

“She can’t go,” Gina said as soon as the door was closed. “It’ll kill her.”

Joe was less sure that the effect would be negative. Sometimes a funeral helped to draw to a close the period of intense grief that followed a loved one’s death. Gina was lucky in that, never having gone through such a loss. “I’m not so sure. It may actually help, you know.”

Gina’s dusky face showed her doubt and obvious concern. The two women may have had an adversarial relationship, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about Red. Joe’s concerns ran as deep, but he knew that the human spirit could survive the unimaginable, if not unmarked, then at least relatively intact. He just had to see her through the dark times. “We can’t really stop her if she wants to go, can we, my love?”

“I suppose not,” Gina said, but her brown eyes showed her fear as to what might happen. A compromise was needed, and if Joe was honest, it would make him feel happier, too.

“I’ll offer to take her,” he said. “At least that way I can keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.” Like finding a bridge to throw herself off. He wasn’t sure suicide wasn’t an option Red might take to get rid of her guilt.

*   *   *

Red walked slowly toward the small, whitewashed clapboard chapel, her back ramrod straight. Each step was a battle. The desire to turn and run increased the closer she got. Conflicting guilts warred within her. She had no right to be there. Janet would still be alive if it wasn’t for her, but not attending this final goodbye would be a betrayal in its own right.

Red stopped at the doorway and took a full, shuddering breath. She reached down deep for the courage to cross the threshold. There was no going back; she owed Janet this much at the very least. Slowly letting out the breath, she stepped into the dimly lit space. Her arrival earned glares from the ushers on either side of the door, but they made no move to throw her out. She quietly took a seat in the empty back row.

There had to be nearly forty people in the small chapel, ranging from venerable old age to babes-in-arms. It appeared most, if not all, of Janet’s extended family came to pay their final respects. This was no great surprise. Janet had been truly loved by her large family.

However, it hadn’t been long into their relationship before Red learned that, despite this love, they’d never been able to understand, or accept, the life Janet led.

During the eulogy, the pastor, one of Janet’s many uncles, spotted and then recognized Red’s out-of-place figure at the back of his congregation and launched into a diatribe on the evils of an unnatural life and those who preyed on innocents like his late niece. The fact that these words were delivered over the heads of his congregation caused some of them to look back toward her, some in puzzlement, others turning overtly hostile as they spotted her. Only one face, a masculine version of Janet’s own, had given her a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement before giving his attention once more to the fire and brimstone pronouncements.

Unable to take anymore of the vitriol aimed in her direction, Red retreated into the surrounding graveyard and moved to stand a little distance from the open grave. A faint spattering of rain from the overcast sky seemed to match her mood as conflicting emotions roiled around inside her. Grief and anger, love and hate, but most prominent and growing stronger with every passing moment was the soul-numbing feeling of guilt. Why was she still alive when Janet was dead? She wasn’t worth the price Janet had paid.

Janet had been so much better than Red. She deserved to live, to love, to find someone to love her back, properly, as she deserved, instead of wasting her love. Melancholy thoughts swirled around inside Red’s mind, eventually returning to something she’d been told so many years and so many miles ago. Pa was right. I ain’t worth the air I breathe.

Movement from the chapel door put a stop to her brooding for the moment. Borne on the shoulders of father and uncles, the coffin, with its accompanying mourners, was brought from the whitewashed building and carried toward the waiting hole. As the black-clad crowd shuffled into position around the grave, Janet’s brother hurried up the slight slope toward Red.

She gruffly acknowledged Janet’s twin. “Got your note.”

“Weren’t sure you’d come,” Jason said. “Not sure it was a good idea me telling you either. There’s a lot of bad feeling against you.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Seeing the glares Jason was getting, she nodded in their direction. “You’d best get back there. Talking with me ain’t going to do you any favors.”

“Janet would have wanted you here.” With a nod, Jason returned to the disapproving bosom of his family as the interment began.

When the gathering began to disperse from around the grave, a single tear escaped Red’s eye and rolled down her cheek. She lowered her face to wipe away the rebellious wetness with the heel of her hand, and more swiftly followed. For the first time since the shooting, she allowed the silent tears to flow freely.

“How dare you come here!”

The sudden words, full of grief and anger, jolted Red out of her reverie. Taken up by her own sorrow, she hadn’t noticed she was no longer alone. She raised her head and found herself eye to eye with the furious and tear-stained face of Janet’s mother.

“How dare you bring your blasphemous presence here to sully my daughter’s final farewell.”

Red was vaguely aware of others gathering around her, but she ignored her instinct to run as the older woman continued her verbal onslaught.

“It’s all your fault she’s dead,” Mrs. Baker yelled in Red’s unflinching face. “Pervert! Murderer!”

Guilt-ridden, Red silently agreed with the distraught woman. It had indeed been her fault. “I’m sorry.” She choked out the words in a barely audible whisper. “I loved Jan. I—” Before she could explain any further, a stinging slap jerked her head sideways.

“Don’t you say her name. Don’t you dare say you loved her. You don’t know what love is, you sick, unnatural monstrosity.” Nearly incoherent with grief and anger, Mrs. Baker collapsed into the supporting arms of her female relatives. As they led the sobbing woman away, they whispered vehemently amongst themselves and cast fierce looks toward Red.

Suddenly, she was pushed hard in the back and stumbled forward. Someone else pushed her roughly sideways, and she began to fall only to be halted by a strong black hand. Before she could recover her balance, a fist connected with her gut and she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air. The pain seemed to clear some of the fog around her mind. Now she could hear the increasingly violent curses and taunts. The small group around her was venting its sorrow and anger on her as the only available scapegoat, and she felt no desire to stop them. Janet’s death had indeed been her fault. What did it matter what happened to her now? When a foot connected with her ribs, only instinct curled her up against the assault she was doing nothing to prevent.

“Leave her alone!”

The voice cut through the hostile mutterings, but Red didn’t move. She no longer cared what happened to her.

“Fuck off!”

With that single angry response, Red felt the hostility shift toward the intruder. She opened her eyes and saw Joe’s large figure push through the half dozen men that still surrounded her. Then a punch was thrown that knocked him to his knees.

As she watched her friend attacked for trying to protect her, Red felt her grief and guilt turn into anger. With the anger came a sudden blinding hatred for those attacking her, seeing in their faces the face of the man who killed Janet. With a roar of grief and hate, she uncoiled from her fetal position and flung herself at the backs of the men now facing Joe. She took three down into a heap on the ground with her. A heady mixture of adrenaline and hate coursed though her body and drowned her earlier resignation. She regained her feet and delivered a textbook left cross into the nearest stunned face. With detachment, she noticed the way the man’s eyes rolled up before he dropped unconscious to the ground. “Glass jaw,” she said derisively before ducking under a wild haymaker of a hook that came whistling in from her right. Squaring up to her next opponent, she did a quick head count. One down, five to go. With a feral smile, she let the rage claim her.

When Red had insisted on being allowed to go to the service alone, Joe reluctantly agreed to remain in the automobile. As she walked up the path, she made an even stranger sight than usual with her uncovered reddish gold hair and pale complexion standing out in stark contrast to the dark hair and faces of the rest of the mourners. Joe still had no idea how she’d found out about the funeral. About the only fact he’d managed to glean from his nearly mute passenger during the half-hour drive was that it was supposed to be family only. Stubborn even in grief, she wasn’t going to let that stop her from going and paying her last respects. As she’d bitterly, even guiltily explained, it was the one thing she could do right.

As promised, Joe watched the interment from his vehicle. When the service finished, he saw Red wipe her face, head bowed, as a small group separated from the dispersing crowd and headed for her solitary figure. He’d done nothing as the older woman screamed in Red’s unflinching face, but at the slap and, more especially, Red’s lack of response, he’d opened the door and strode swiftly in their direction. As the first blow landed, his stride became a run. He pushed his way toward the huddled figure when a punch hit him. He’d barely shaken off the effects of the blow when three of his attackers suddenly fell forward into a heap, on top of which was an unmistakable, redheaded figure.

“And about damn time, too,” Joe said to the world in general as an enormous rush of relief washed over him. A fighting mad Red was a great improvement on the unresponsive lump he had glimpsed through the group of men. With an odd feeling of pride, he watched her rise from the pile of humanity and throw a vicious left into the face of the man who’d just hit him. Her comment about the glass jaw almost made him laugh out loud, it was so like the old Red. Then she launched a ferocious, if typically reckless, attack on the two men still standing. The men she’d knocked over earlier were struggling to their feet, and Joe intercepted two of them. He ducked an inexpertly aimed punch and put in a solid blow to his attacker’s gut, sending him winded and gasping onto the scuffed grass. The second man soon followed him to the ground; Joe’s combination of jab and cross knocked him out cold. Without an opponent, he glanced toward Red, unsurprised to find she was taking on all three remaining men at the same time.

“Keep your guard up!” His shouted warning was too late. The tallest of the three attackers hit Red solidly on the jaw. Joe winced as her head snapped back and she stumbled back a step. Before he could help, they followed up on their advantage. Another man tried a swinging roundhouse, but to Joe’s relief, Red blocked it and snapped back a vicious jab to the man’s eye. With a yelp of pain, he staggered and ran straight into Joe. Joe grabbed him by the front of his jacket, punched the man’s other eye, and sent him on his way with a kick to the backside.

Joe saw Red dodge a punch from the third man but only by a whisker. The distraction was enough for the taller, and obviously more competent, fighter to get in a blow that spun Red around and forced her onto one knee. As Joe hurried to Red’s aid, the man kicked at her head. She managed to block the incoming foot and rose to her feet once more, a grin of anticipation on her face.

Joe caught a glimpse of blood welling from Red’s cut eyebrow and split lip. He grabbed the nearest man’s shoulder, spun him around, and knocked him senseless before he had a chance to react. Red, manic smile still in place, was exchanging blow for blow with her larger opponent. Her opponent gave a quick glance around. It was only for a fleeting moment, but it was long enough for Red to get in a decisive blow. As the man fell to his knees, Joe wasn’t surprised to see her follow up with her feet. He’d have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see the anger in her, an anger that she needed to release if she was ever to recover; however, this was definitely not the way for her to go about it.

“Red, leave him. Let’s get out of here.”

She couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him. Joe took stock of the situation. Their fallen opponents were beginning to stir, and the man who’d run could be back with help at any moment.

He grabbed Red’s shoulder and yanked her away. She spun around, fist raised. For a moment, he thought he was going to be on the receiving end of her rage. Thankfully, all he got was a furious glare. With an animal-like snarl, Red turned back to the man on the ground.

“Red! For Christ’s sake, let’s get the hell out of here.” There was no letup in her attack. If he didn’t stop her, she would kick her opponent into a bloody pulp. Fervently hoping that she’d still recognize him as friend not foe, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. He winced at the pull in his back and wondered briefly when Red had gotten so heavy.

“Let go, you big bastard.” Red struggled to break his grip. “Let me go!”

Ignoring her pleas and his muscles’ complaints, Joe carted her bodily out of the graveyard. As he reached the street, his struggling burden suddenly relaxed. He set Red on her feet and stepped cautiously back, unsure what her reaction would be. To his surprise, her battered, bleeding face looked more alive than it had since Janet’s death.

“Good fight.” Red gave a bloody smile and winced as her split lip stretched. Gingerly, she felt the cuts on her face then grimaced as she flexed her left hand. Joe winced sympathetically. Red’s knuckles were bleeding badly, and he’d be amazed if she’d gotten away without breaking a bone or two. She gave a snort. “Must be getting old.” Then her face turned serious. “I didn’t mean to get you dragged in like that, Joe. Knew it wouldn’t be nice, but I never expected a fight.”

He almost asked why she hadn’t fought back to start with, why she hadn’t done anything until he’d been attacked, but the haunted glance toward the dark patch of earth that marked Janet’s last resting place and the flash of raw grief in the bruised face cut off the question even as it formed on his lips. A movement over her shoulder drew his attention to the angry crowd heading in their direction. Time for a strategic withdrawal. He pushed Red into the vehicle, and they beat a hasty retreat.

Chapter 6

September 11: Concern, cat burglary, and coincidence

When Joe dragged his aching body down the stairs the following morning, he found Red dressed, packed, and ready to go. Apparently, the violence at the funeral had brought her out of her apathetic state, and she was insisting she was well enough to return to her own apartment.

“For Christ’s sake, Martelli, I’m not a kid. I can look after myself,” she shouted, storming around the room.

“You’ve been through hell, girl. Why not stay here for a little while longer?”

She stopped abruptly and stared at him with unconcealed irritation. “Look, I’m fine, honest. You don’t need to worry about me throwing myself off a bridge or anything.”

He studied the scowling, battered face. It certainly appeared that she was back to normal, which he found disturbing in itself—going from a state of near breakdown to normal so quickly couldn’t be healthy. Somehow, Red had rebuilt the walls between her emotions and the world outside; walls that the heartbreak of the Dubois affair weakened, and the guilt and sorrow over Janet’s death brought crashing down.

Joe fingered the piece of paper he’d been carrying around in his pocket for the last few days and wondered, not for the first time, what he should do. Shortly after the police had released Red, Lily came around to his house to see her. Unfortunately, Red had just fallen into a drug-assisted sleep and Joe refused point-blank to let her be disturbed. Obviously distressed at finding the previously cocksure Red still in such a bad state, Lily had quickly scribbled something onto the scrap of paper now in Joe’s pocket. She gave it to him with the instruction to pass it on as soon as Red was well enough.

Joe wasn’t at all sure she was well enough. However, there was always the chance she might find out about the note anyway, and he didn’t want to think what reaction that would provoke. Joe took what he fervently hoped was the lesser of two evils and offered her the folded note. “Lily asked me to give this to you once you were well enough.”

Red took the paper without a word. She read its sparse contents, and her reaction was both immediate and troubling. Joe’s heart dropped as he saw the flat, hate-filled look come over her face as her body tensed. She met his eyes for the briefest of moments before crumpling up the paper in a clenched fist. With no further word, she picked up her bag, went out the door, and slammed it behind her.

“Oh, Red, Red, Red,” Joe whispered with a sad shake of his head. His heart went out to her. He hoped she’d be all right and feared she wouldn’t. Raising his eyes skyward, Joe sent up a silent prayer. Dear Lord, please stop her from finding the revenge she seeks. He had seen in the trenches what hatred could do to the soul. He fervently hoped God was listening, but he feared he’d just glimpsed in Red’s eyes the first signs of the emotion he’d seen destroy so many good men in France.

*   *   *

Red entered her apartment and slammed the door behind her. Cold as ever, the room now had a damp, unlived-in feel that did nothing for her black mood. With a curse, she flung her bag into a corner and fell onto her unmade bed. Lying on her back, she stared blankly at the flaking ceiling. In her mind’s eye, she could see Janet’s fallen body huddled against the wall while the sound of the shot echoed endlessly in her head. Janet died protecting her. Red had no doubt she’d been the intended victim, no doubt that Janet must have seen the man raise his gun to fire. Her reaction saved Red but caused her own death. Red should never have let them dawdle in the alley like that, shouldn’t have dulled her senses with alcohol, shouldn’t even have gone there with Janet in the first place. Now Janet was dead, and it was her fault. Her father had never felt anything but contempt for her; now she wondered if he’d been right. What use was she? She hadn’t done anything to prevent the attack or to help Janet afterward.

Powerless to prevent herself, she went over the moments before the shooting yet again. She should have been more alert to the possibility of attack. If she had, Janet would still be alive. Overwhelmed by the certainty that she’d failed Janet, Red rolled over onto her stomach and fiercely hugged a pillow that soon became damp with silent tears as she cried herself to sleep.

After dark, she finally woke from her exhausted sleep. She staggered to the basin and splashed her face with ice-cold water. Standing motionless, she leaned on the basin, head bowed. She stared sightlessly at the bowl as the water trickled down her face and mingled with new tears.

Her mind drifted back to the day before and the confrontation with Janet’s mother. Mrs. Baker had been right; Janet’s death was her fault. But letting herself get killed wasn’t going to help. As she and Joe left the graveyard, her guilt-driven self-hate refocused onto an external target. She couldn’t bring Janet back, so there was only one thing she could do to make things right—kill the bastard who murdered her.

That determination had waned, swamped by remorse and shame. But now the anger that was both her bane and blessing burned through her guilt and strengthened her resolve. Janet’s killer was going to die. It didn’t matter what it cost. Having regained her purpose, Red forced herself into something resembling action. She grabbed a towel and roughly dried her face, but her resolution crumbled once again. Perched on the end of the bed, she struggled against the mind-numbing apathy that threatened to overwhelm her. Finally, she shook her head violently, as if to physically dislodge the paralyzing inertia, and reached into the pocket of her pants.

She withdrew the crumpled piece of paper Joe had given her and studied it again. It didn’t say much, just a name and address, which she assumed was that of the man who’d spoken to her in Lily’s. The address, in one of the Back Bay’s wealthiest areas, still puzzled her. Although the man had seemed respectable, he hadn’t appeared wealthy. Anyway, people from that area of the city didn’t lower themselves by visiting places like the Lily even if they shared the same inclinations.

With this concrete reminder of her one definite lead, Red’s apathy fled before a renewed sense of purpose. She would find the man from the Lily, find out what he knew, then she would kill Janet’s murderer.

She went to her single bureau, and hunted in one untidy drawer after another until she dug out a flashlight and a full box of ammunition. From her bag, she pulled out her revolver. With practiced ease, she broke it open and neatly slotted a shell into each of the six chambers. She spun the cylinder once, slipped the revolver into its holster, and put the box of ammunition into her jacket pocket. She returned to the bag, brought out her boot knife, and strapped it in place. After a final look around the room she didn’t expect to see again, she set out to claim her vengeance.

*   *   *

If Red had thought Franklin’s house impressive, it was nothing to the one she was now scouting out. However, the well-polished brass nameplate on the stone gate pillar didn’t match the name on the note. So, if Lily’s information was indeed correct, it would appear that Mr. Peter Smart was not the owner of this house. Reconsidering her first idea of the man, she decided that, rather than a tradesman, he could perhaps be a high-ranking servant, maybe a butler. That could explain his presence at this address.

She made her way toward the house, skirting the edge of the drive and keeping to the deeper darkness under the trees lining it. Although nearly two in the morning, there were definite signs of activity in the ground-floor rooms at the front of the house. Red moved to the back of the property and found a number of large, well-kept, and neatly parked automobiles that confirmed the Van Volks had visitors. A flash of light from the back door caused her to shrink farther into the sheltering darkness. A man in a peaked cap sauntered over to lean on the hood of one of the vehicles. A brief flame flashed as he lit a cigarette.

Red considered her next move. Her common sense screamed at her to get the hell out of there, but the desire for revenge shouted even louder. After a while, the man tossed the butt to the gravel, ground it under his heel, and headed back into the house.

Red stayed put, watching for signs of activity. One of the rear ground-floor windows was lit up, and occasionally she could see a figure move around inside. All the other windows were dark. She approached the house, avoiding the direct line of sight with the lit window. She moved along the wall and peeped over the ledge. She observed a number of men in chauffeur uniforms and one man in tails, whom she recognized as the man who’d approached her at the Lily. It appeared her guess as to Mr. Smart’s profession was correct. From the loosened collars and unbuttoned jackets, it didn’t look as if they were expecting to be called for anytime soon.

Crouching down in the protective darkness, she considered her odds. Perhaps if she got inside and waited for the other men to leave, she would have a chance of getting Smart alone. She had no doubt she would be able to get him to tell what he knew, one way or another. Having decided on her plan of action, she made her way along the back wall to the farthest of the darkened windows.

Peering through the unshuttered opening, she could see the room appeared to be unoccupied. Knowing it was foolish, but not giving a damn, Red used her boot knife to force the latch on the sash and pushed it up enough to slip into the room. She carefully closed the window and crouched down against the whitewashed wall to take stock of her surroundings. It appeared to be a storeroom of some sort. Shelves covered the walls, and various crates were stacked to one side. She moved to the door, pressed an ear to the panel, and listened intently. When there was no sound from the other side, she eased the door open enough to peer into the dark corridor and tried to work out the layout of the interior. Muffled sounds of voices and the occasional peal of laughter came from the front of the house. Whatever was going on at the front was still in full swing. Glad someone’s having a good time, she thought bitterly, annoyed by the amount of people up and about at this time of night. Not that she could do anything about it.

Resigned to having to settle down and wait, she was about to close the door when a previously unnoticed voice emerged clearly from the general hubbub. The hair on the back of her neck suddenly rose, and her heart raced. She was sure she’d just heard her attacker’s voice coming from the front of the house. The guilt flooded back, overwhelming her. All she could think of was Janet dying in her arms, her lifeblood on her hands. Sound cut out so that all she could hear was a rushing noise in her ears. And that voice. He was there? Red couldn’t quite believe it, but the voice was unmistakable. Hate flared suddenly, hot and sharp. Revolver drawn, she headed toward the voice intent on one thing—revenge.

After a few steps, Red paused to listen. No sign her presence had been detected, but she couldn’t hear her attacker’s voice anymore. She was strung as tight as a garrotter’s wire, and only sheer force of will kept her from screaming out in rage. What if he’d left? What if he got away before she could get to him? The urge to rush forward without caution was almost unbearable. Red gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain in control as she moved out into the main hallway of the house. In front of her was the large front door with a pair of slightly smaller ones to either side. In the darkness of the hall, edges of light could be seen coming from under two of the doors, one to the far right and one to the near left. Listening intently, she heard the voice again, coming from the room farthest away. Red tiptoed closer.

“It’s all right, Laura. I know where it is.”

Red spun to face the door she’d just passed. Her heart hammered violently in her chest. An elegantly clad, dark-haired woman backed out and shut the door. Red stepped back and looked around for somewhere to hide but found none. Trapped, she watched the woman turn, brown eyes widening in surprise. Red blinked and warring instincts fought for control. Then her eyes narrowed and her resolve returned.

Staring at the woman she still instinctively liked, Red hardened her heart. Evadne Davenport was one of them; blood was thicker than water after all. Only one thing mattered now—that Janet’s murder was avenged. Not even Evadne could stop her from achieving that goal.

Evadne stared in shock at the disheveled, gun-wielding intruder. She drew in breath to shout, but the warning died in her throat. Recovering from the surprise of Red’s uninvited presence, she noticed with concern the bruised, cut face and the sunken, feverishly bright eyes; eyes that were staring at her. She took a step forward and stopped abruptly as a gun was brought up to point directly at her. Quickly raising her hands, Evadne took an involuntary step backward, stunned by the implications of the action.

“Red, what on earth are you doing here?” Evadne’s whispered question broke the oppressive silence.

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t move. Don’t do anything.” Red kept the revolver pointed at Evadne as she fumbled for the handle of the door behind her.

Evadne barely noticed the coarse language. She had heard far worse. Nor was it the first time she’d had a gun pointed in her direction, although she’d never expected to repeat the experience in such genteel surroundings. What she did notice was the way the gun trembled as a wild-eyed Red grew paler by the second. She’d seen similar symptoms before as men had gone into shock. Then her heart sank as she realized that the look in those green eyes was also part of the same memories. It was the look she’d seen in men who’d lost so much they no longer cared for their own lives in the overwhelming desire to have revenge on the enemy. Men, more often no more than boys, who were soon dead as a result of that desire.

How Red had changed so much in a week, Evadne couldn’t comprehend. Gone was the infuriating but strangely endearing woman she’d met in the agency office. In her place stood a pale, disturbingly intense creature that exuded raw violence and barely controlled rage. Fear began to replace shock as Evadne remembered some of the more lurid stories about Red’s violent nature, ones she’d dismissed as exaggeration but now suspected might have more truth in them than she would wish.

Despite the growing urge to run, something about the look in Red’s eyes kept her from turning away. Swallowing nervously, she stood her ground, deciding to wait Red out. She didn’t have long to wait. The gun barrel was weaving through the air. Fearing an imminent collapse, Evadne took a step toward the suddenly swaying figure and caught both gun and body as Red lost consciousness.

She lowered Red carefully to the floor and removed the ammunition from the revolver. She placed both in her evening reticule, thankful she’d chosen one large enough to accommodate the bulky gun without being too obvious. The easy part dealt with, she now considered what should be done about the much larger problem of Red herself. It wouldn’t be long before someone came out of one of the rooms and found them; she had to get Red out of there and quickly.

*   *   *

As the LaSalle sped through the streets, Evadne sat in the rear seat with Red’s upper torso cradled in her lap. She stared at the back of her chauffeur’s graying head, safe in the knowledge that he would say nothing of the night’s activities. How would she have coped over the years without her chauffeur-cum-general-factotum’s cheerful willingness to assist in her schemes? James had barely raised an eyebrow when summoned to help remove a peculiarly dressed and unconscious woman from a house she’d obviously no right to be in. Even Evadne’s request that it be done without witnesses had only produced a mildly amused look. He’d carried Red out to the automobile, while Evadne had taken a hurried farewell on the pretext of a sudden headache.

She recalled poignantly how James had taught a younger Evadne to drive well enough to do her bit as one of the many unsung heroines of the Great War, risking life and limb by driving ambulances between the frontline casualty stations and the base hospitals. It was a mixed blessing. It hadn’t all been unremitting horror, but some of what she saw still haunted her dreams. Sometimes she would start awake in the middle of the night, disoriented by the visceral images, the smells fresh in her nostrils.

She shook off the unsettling memories and looked down into Red’s pale, drawn face. She wondered once again what could have led Red to be in the Van Volks’s house so obviously hell-bent on doing someone harm. Even more puzzling was why she hadn’t just screamed the place down on coming face-to-face with the gun-toting trespasser. Perhaps it was that, despite all she’d heard, she didn’t think Red was capable of such behavior. Perhaps, even more so, it was that look. The memory of those wild, haunted eyes caused her stomach to roil uneasily. Evadne’s jaw tightened in determination. She might not have been able to help those men in France, but perhaps, just perhaps, she could help this woman in Boston.

Chapter 7

September 12:  Evadne takes charge

Red emerged from the darkness to feel a pleasant warmth on her face. For a moment, she just enjoyed the soothing sensation until her curiosity prompted further action. Blinking to clear gritty and gummed up eyes, she completed the journey into the waking world. Sunshine fell across her face, explaining the warmth she’d felt, and she squinted against the brightness. After a moment more, she tried to sit up. It was a futile effort. Her muscles screamed in outrage, and she slumped back onto the bed in defeat. She felt like she’d been run over by a freight train, or maybe six. A growing sense of panic settled over her. She must be in a hospital again. She was about to attempt once more to sit up when her common sense pointed out that no hospital had a ceiling like the ornate one currently above her head.

Moving more carefully this time, she turned painfully onto one side. She looked toward the source of the sunlight and saw a large sash window framed by heavy, blue and cream, brocade curtains. Below the window stood a tasteful, and no doubt expensive, dressing table and matching chair. Checking out the large double bed she was in, she found its linen to be of an equal quality, as was the man’s nightshirt she was wearing.

Lying again on her back, she stared sightlessly at the ceiling and tried to remember how she got there, wherever there was. She couldn’t remember anything much of the last week or so.

Then, in a crushing wave of grief and guilt, the memory of Janet’s death came flooding back along with the picture that seemed to be branded into her mind—Janet’s body slumped at the foot of the wall, her blouse already stained crimson, dark eyes open and accusing. And it had all been her fault. I’m sorry, Jan, so fucking sorry. Instinctively, she curled up into a protective ball, attempting in vain to keep the memories at bay.

Evadne carefully opened the door and peered inside. She’d seen no sign of life from the room so far, but she made her regular checks nevertheless. With mixed emotions, she saw Red curled up in a fetal position, her hunched shoulders shaking with silent tears. Evadne couldn’t help but wonder how such a strong woman had gotten into such a wretched state. She moved to the side of the bed and laid a hand on one trembling shoulder. Instantly, all movement stopped. Evadne felt tension radiating though the linen of the nightshirt. As still as death, Red nevertheless seemed ready to bolt at a second’s notice.

“Red?” Evadne spoke quietly, as she would to a spooked horse. “It’s me. Evadne Davenport. You remember, your underpaid ex-secretary?” The attempt at humor sounded flat even to her ears. “I… I found you last night and brought you home. You’re safe here.”

“Safe? No one’s safe.” Red’s voice was so quiet that Evadne almost missed the bitter words.

She moved around to the other side of the bed and knelt down so she was at a level with the pain-filled eyes. “What’s happened, Red?” she asked gently. “What were you doing at the Van Volks’s last night?”

Red’s brow furrowed. “Can’t remember… just remember… Jan… dead.” More tears flowed, and Red buried her face in the pillow.

Evadne sat back on her heels, not quite sure what to do next. The doctor she’d called in confirmed that, other than the obvious superficial injuries and a lack of sleep and nourishment, Red had nothing physically wrong with her. He explained that, in his opinion, the young lady was suffering from some sort of mental strain. Evadne smiled at the memory of the doctor’s completely unsuitable epithet. He also suggested that she be taken to a sanatorium to recover. Evadne declined that without a second thought. Later, after he left, she realized how out of character her refusal had been.

Never the nurturing type, during the war she had discovered a hitherto unsuspected protective side to her nature. It seemed that this enigmatic woman was causing those feelings to resurface. The look she’d seen in Red’s eyes in that dark entrance hall still haunted her. As she watched the way the silent tears racked Red’s body, her resolve hardened. She would not let Red go the way of those young men in France. Come hell or high water, she would get her through this in one piece.

But how? First she needed to find out what caused this sudden change. She cast her mind back over the events of the previous night, searching for any clues, any indication as to why Red had been there. As with every other attempt, she came up with nothing other than the obvious. Red broke into the house, apparently intent on harming someone. As uncomfortable as her conclusion was, she couldn’t come up with any other reason why Red was on the verge of entering an occupied room, gun in hand.

Evadne stood and stretched her back as she straightened. Was there anyone else who might be able to help? A name suddenly popped into her head. Joe Martelli. Of course. He was the only person she could remember Red speaking of with any warmth. During the cleaning of the office, she’d found an extremely dusty Madonna and Child tucked away behind some books. Finding it so apparently out of character, she’d asked whether it was to be kept.

Red had somewhat shamefacedly explained that it was a gift from Joe. “To keep her out of trouble.” And, although she hadn’t the heart to throw it away, there was no way she was going to have it “spying on her all the goddamn time.”

Evadne slipped out of the room and hurried down to her study. She wrote a brief note that summarized what had happened and requested Mr. Martelli to call on her as soon as was convenient. It took a little longer to locate James, but soon her missive was on its way. James had strict instructions to deliver it to the reporter in person and wait for an answer.

Evadne couldn’t do much more until she heard from Mr. Martelli. Her eyes fell on the portrait that hung over the fireplace. What would Geoff have thought of her taking in a tatterdemalion creature like Red Wolverton? She gave a wistful half smile as she imagined his gray eyes lighting up with devilish glee at the suggestion. “What an excellent idea. That will most certainly upset Mama.” Even after ten years, she could still imagine his laughing voice.

James returned from delivering her note with the newspaperman in tow. The moment Mr. Martelli stepped through the front door, he insisted on seeing Red. Evadne took him upstairs. Red was sleeping fitfully, and Mr. Martelli hovered uncertainly at her side for a few minutes before he indicated they should leave. In those few moments, Evadne had seen the deep concern in his face. They retired to her study and spent the afternoon exchanging what they knew and discussing what should be done next. Afterward, Mr. Martelli was driven back to the Herald offices, having agreed that Red should stay with Evadne for the time being. Evadne stood in the open front doorway and watched her automobile disappear down the drive one more time.

She was thoughtful as she reentered the house. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it with a small sigh. What Mr. Martelli told her about the death of Red’s ex-lover brought back painful memories of when she’d been told about Geoff’s death. The leader of her ambulance section suggested she return home, or at least take some leave, but Evadne insisted she carry on with her job. She didn’t need to go back to a home and family that didn’t have any concept of what she was experiencing. Instead she’d found comfort in continuing to help the many nameless soldiers she transported to safety. Later she came to realize her ambulance work helped salve the feelings of guilt, irrational as they might have been, she’d felt at not being able to help Geoff. Now she was beginning to think that not being with him when he’d been killed was a blessing in disguise. Would she, could she, have survived if he’d died in her arms? She pushed away from the door and climbed the staircase to join the latest battle in a war she thought she’d been done with nine years ago, the war against death and despair.

Chapter 8

September 14: Progress and promises

Evadne looked across the room at dull eyes that still would not meet her own. She stifled a sigh and resisted the urge to rub her temples. It was an uphill struggle, but at least Red was now eating properly, if unenthusiastically. However, she was still worryingly withdrawn. Despite Evadne’s best attempts, it appeared that Red had lost all interest in the world. Nor had Evadne managed to find out exactly why Red had been at the Van Volks’s. Mr. Martelli told her about the attack at the Herald office and what he knew about what followed, including the note with the Van Volks’s address. Evadne had recognized the name on the note as that of their butler. Even then, Smart would have been at the back of the house, presumably where Red had come from. If she was after him, why was she about to enter the dining room where the gentlemen had remained? Unless Smart had been summoned there? Perhaps that was it.

Whatever the exact reason, it was frighteningly clear, from the look she’d seen in those eyes, that had it not been for their fortunate meeting, Red would almost certainly be facing a murder charge and revenge would have claimed two more victims. At least she’d been able to prevent that.

Evadne got up from the chair and went to the side of the bed. “Do you mind if I sit here?” She indicated the edge of the bed.

“If you want.”

Red’s reply was indifferent and barely audible, but it was better than nothing. Evadne sat on the disarrayed bedclothes, resisting the urge to straighten them. Red often woke from thrashing around in the grips of one nightmare or another. She also talked in her sleep; or, more often than not, pleaded. From these unconscious revelations, Evadne discovered that the shooting wasn’t the only thing to haunt her dreams. Red’s father seemed as much to blame.

This revelation reminded Evadne once again how little she knew about the woman she’d taken in. Had it really been a wise thing to do? She knew most of her well-meaning friends would be scandalized, even shocked, to hear what she’d done. They would advise her to be rid of Red as soon as possible. Indeed, that was one of the reasons she hadn’t told anybody about her guest.

She sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, uncomfortably aware of Red’s unnatural stillness. Eventually she summoned up the courage to broach what she knew was going to be a painful subject. Taking the bull by the horns, she said, “Red, I know this sounds trite, but it’s not your fault that Miss Baker—”

“Janet,” Red said. “Her name is—was—Janet.”

Evadne paused. The correction was unexpected but not unwelcome. “That Janet was killed.”

“It should have been me,” Red said and angrily thumped her chest. “Fucking bastard should have shot me!” She was shouting now, a wild look in her eyes. “Should have been me,” she repeated with another thump. “Me!” Again, another thump.

Evadne tried to catch the flailing arm. “Don’t, Red, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Red pulled her arm free of Evadne’s grasp and faced her for the first time since she’d regained consciousness. For a split second, their eyes met. Evadne’s chest tightened at the rawness of the pain she saw. There was a moment’s utter stillness, then Red threw herself down onto Evadne’s lap and clutched at her with seemingly ferocious desperation.

Shocked, Evadne stared down at the head pillowed on her thigh. Red’s face was turned into the arm wrapped around Evadne’s legs, hiding it from view. Evadne was at a loss what to do. Then the fierceness of the hold began to make itself painfully apparent. Her instinctive reaction was to remove the clinging arms. Before she could move, she realized Red was crying again, not the silent tears that she’d seen so far, but great wrenching, heaving sobs.

Evadne rested one hand gently on a nightshirt-clad shoulder, and with the other, she gently stroked the reddish gold hair, surprised at how fine and silky it felt.

As she sat there, trying to bring comfort to yet another wounded soul, Evadne felt an eerie sense of familiarity. She might be far away in both time and space from the mud and blood of Flanders, but for a fleeting second, she was back there again, the sounds and the smells that her memory supplied vividly contrasting with the genteel surroundings.

Gradually the sobbing lessened, and Evadne slowly withdrew from the haunting memories. With prosaic reality reasserting itself, she wondered what the tears and… whatever… were doing to her new dress, but then the thought fled her mind as fast as it came. The devil take the dress! It was a distinctly uncharacteristic thought; Evadne was always very mindful of her clothing. Yet the feel of Red’s arms around her seemed somehow right.

Suddenly disconcerted, she shrugged off the inappropriate thought. After all, she reasoned, it had been years since she’d held or been held by anyone. This was just her starved body’s reaction to the embrace.

Soon the tears stopped, and Red released her death grip. She sat back up and drew the sleeve of the nightshirt roughly across her tear-stained face. After a moment, she looked at Evadne’s lap then up at her face.

“Think I’ve mussed up your dress.” She gave Evadne a little smile.

The comment was so in line with what Evadne had been thinking that she couldn’t resist smiling as well. It was also the first thing that she considered the old Red would have said. “So I noticed.” Relieved by the appearance of a flicker of humor, she was unable to resist some gentle teasing. “You’re lucky I have a lady who does my laundry, so you won’t be obliged to rectify the damage yourself.”

“Yeah, well, if you knew my laundry skills you wouldn’t let me anywhere near any of your clothing anyway,” Red responded in kind. Then, without warning, her face clouded over and her eyes lost their focus.

“Red?”

The haunted eyes refocused on Evadne’s face.

“Red, I am so sorry about what happened to your… friend.” For all her apparent open-mindedness, Evadne still had problems with mentioning female homosexuality. Red stared at her as if trying to gauge the sincerity of her words. With a little shake of her head that could have been either denial or disbelief, her focus faded once more.

“Red, you can’t let this destroy you. There was nothing you could have done.”

Green eyes locked with brown, the pain and anger in them almost too much for Evadne to bear. Nevertheless, she held the gaze, willing Red to see that she was there to help, not harm. With a vehement shake of the head, Red broke the contact. “No, I should have seen him, stopped him…” The angry shouting of earlier was replaced by a shuddering whisper. “I should have done something.”

Evadne didn’t repeat her statement. It would do little good, at least not now. She found herself marveling at a human being’s capacity for stupidity. Why did apparently sane and logical people so often insist on taking the blame for events they had no control over? She knew from bitter experience how easy it was to blame oneself for a loved one’s death, however illogical the reasons. Her one comfort was that Red now talked in coherent phrases, a big improvement from the last few days.

“Red, look at me.” She was surprised when the instruction was actually obeyed. It took a moment before she rallied enough to continue. “It wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of the man who pulled the trigger.”

“Fucking bastard!” The retort was explosive. “I’ll kill him when I get my hands on him.”

Uh-oh. Concerned she had just made things worse, Evadne tried to reason with the suddenly vengeful woman. “And get yourself a one-way trip to the gallows? I thought you had more sense than that.”

“Only if they catch me.”

Evadne asked the question that had been troubling her ever since finding Red in her friend’s home. “And just who is this man you’re going to kill without detection?”

“Dunno.” Red’s frustrated admission was a barely audible growl. “I know what he looks like, but I still don’t know his damn name. But he was in that house, in that room. I would have got him if—”

“If you hadn’t keeled over in a dead faint.” Before Red could draw breath to interrupt, Evadne plowed on. “And if I hadn’t whisked you away to safety, you would have ended up arrested for housebreaking at the very least.”

“But you must know who he is.” Red ignored Evadne’s last comment. “You were at the house with him.”

“I don’t know all the people at these soirées,” Evadne said huffily, although, truth be told, she had known all the people in the house that night, by name at least. “Why don’t you tell me what this man of yours looks like?”

“Early twenties, average height, skinny, blond hair, sort of weasely looking.”

Evadne looked at Red in surprise. The description did match one man who had been at the Van Volks’s that evening—their son Edgar. But why on earth would he try to kill Red? It made no sense at all. The timing did fit though. Edgar returned from abroad just before the first attack, around the time that the Katherine Dubois scandal had been the latest cause célèbre amongst the Boston elite. But Edgar? It was just plain ridiculous.

Red had clearly seen the recognition in her eyes. “Well?” she said, “Who is he?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” Instinctively, Evadne hedged. “It’s not a very definite description.”

“What do you want for Christ’s sake, his inside leg measurement?”

She had wanted the old Red back, Evadne considered wryly. She should really be more careful what she wished for.

Red threw back the bedclothes, half fell out of the bed, and began an unsteady search of the room.

“What are you looking for?” Evadne asked softly, not wanting to upset her unwilling patient any more than she already had.

“My damn clothes.”

“Well, you won’t find them here.” Evadne’s reply was as mild as her question had been.

Red glared at her. “Then where the hell are they?”

Dear God and his little tiny fishes, Evadne thought as stormy green eyes bored into her own, she can certainly be one scary woman. Suddenly, perversely, she was struck with the ridiculousness of the picture Red made, dressed as she was in one of Geoff’s overlarge nightshirts. As Red continued to stare at her, hands aggressively on hips, Evadne tried to stifle the giggles, to no avail.

“What’s so funny?” Red said, glaring at the sniggering woman.

“You.” Evadne’s giggling turned into full-blown laughter. “If only you could see yourself.”

Glancing down, Red had to admit she was hardly the most impressive of sights. Looking back at Evadne’s laughing face, she felt a small smile appear on her lips. The tension broken, Red gave up on her clothing hunt. She slumped onto the foot of the bed and looked questioningly at the still chuckling Evadne. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“I think I do.”

Red stood up, only to be stopped as Evadne grasped her nearest wrist. “Wait, Red, please.”

Red frowned at the hand restraining her, then at the concern on Evadne’s face. Slowly, she retook her seat on the bed. Her eyes fixed on Evadne’s face, and she waited for her to continue.

“There was a man there who fits your description.”

Red felt a flare of triumphant fury. She knew she’d been right. Now she just needed to find out his name. Before she could say anything, Evadne continued.

“But I can’t see why he would want to kill you. He’s been out of Boston for the last six months and…” She hesitated, as if searching for the words. “He is… he’s like you.”

Red barely heard the last few words, so fixated was she on the fact that Evadne did know who the man was. It took a few moments before the words filtered though. She frowned in confusion, not understanding what Evadne meant. “He’s a private investigator?”

Evadne shook her head. “No, like you. You know… that way inclined.”

“So?” Red was totally lost now.

Evadne rolled her eyes, further straining Red’s patience. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you were the victim of someone’s hatred and bigotry. That whoever attacked you is after you because of what you are rather than who you are.”

Red finally understood what Evadne was getting at. It wasn’t the first time she provoked that sort of feeling in people.

“So don’t you think it odd that someone like him would feel like that?” Evadne said.

“But I was so sure he was there,” Red whispered. She stared blankly at the wall in front of her as she processed this piece of information. After a moment, she looked at Evadne. “Can I see this man, just to be sure? If I can see him, I’ll know.” Her face hardened and her jaw clenched as she tried to control the anger that welled up in her. “That bastard’s face is burned into my memory.”

Evadne didn’t answer her at first. Red could see the flicker of thoughts in her eyes as she studied her. She fought the urge to demand the man’s name.

“Well?”

“All right,” Evadne said briskly, “I’ll arrange it, but you must promise to do exactly what I tell you and no more.” Red immediately began to protest, but she was swiftly overridden. “You must promise, or the deal is off.”

Red abruptly stood up. She balled her hands into fists and moved to the wall by the fireplace. Rage was bubbling in her chest, tearing at the back of her throat, and threatening to burst out in an uncontrollable rush of violence. If she didn’t release it soon, she was sure she would explode. She needed to hit something so badly it was almost a physical ache. Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge; a tiny practical part of her mind pointed out that denting the plaster wall wouldn’t impress her hostess.

Fortunately, Red didn’t unleash the punch. Resting her forehead against the wall, she waited until her anger began to dissolve, as if leached away by the cool plaster. She had no choice but to agree to Evadne’s conditions. And she would not break her word. If there was one thing she wouldn’t do, it was that. But why would Evadne believe her? Most of her peers wouldn’t trust her any farther than they could throw her.

She turned around and leaned against the wall. Evadne remained sitting on the end of the bed, and Red studied her for some indication of what she was thinking but saw little that helped. “You really think my word is worth anything?” The tone of her question was bitterly self-deprecating even to her own ears, but she needed to know the answer before she could make the promise. She met Evadne’s steady gaze. “Well?”

“I do. My Brahmin blood is screaming at me not to be so foolish, but yes, I do.”

Red had expected Evadne to avoid an answer, to beat around the bush, to avoid an outright no. That she came straight out like that puzzled Red. She tipped her head to one side and tried to work out whether Evadne was being completely honest with her. Her face held no sign that she was being anything but truthful. “You do?” Red asked, now so totally bewildered that her final question was almost blurted out. “Why?”

Evadne shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest notion why, but against all reason, I have to say I do.”

Red could only shake her head in amazement. “You are the strangest woman, Evadne Davenport.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, if ever I heard it,” Evadne said in a teasing tone. “But stop trying to distract me—do you promise to do what I say or not?”

Red tensed. For a second, she had forgotten what had happened, why she was there. After the smallest of pauses, she said, “I promise.” Then, with an intensity that caused a flicker of alarm to pass across Evadne’s face, she added, “On Janet’s grave, I promise.”

*   *   *

The next day, not having been officially dismissed from her position, Evadne took it upon herself to keep the business going as best she could while Red was incapacitated. She arranged to pay the various bills, discovered her own unopened letter of apology, and found the scrap of paper she was now holding. Along with the Van Volks’s address were the words: “Followed him to this place and waited a bit but didn’t see him come out again. Hope I earned the dime.” It was signed “Chuck.”

After Evadne returned home, she placed the paper on the desktop and leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. Was this a strange coincidence, or was it another piece of evidence against Edgar Van Volk? If so, dare she bring him and Red together? She considered her options, but in the end, the decision was easy. She had said she would do it, so do it she must. What she could do was arrange things in such a way as to minimize the possibility of anyone getting hurt. After a few more moments, she had the beginnings of a plan. She drew out a sheet of notepaper and began to write. When she finished her missives, she summoned James.

Just as James left to deliver the letters, Evadne heard footsteps coming down the staircase. Earlier that morning, Red had badgered her into returning her clothes, and it seemed she’d finally decided it was time to make her appearance. Red made her slightly unsteady way down the stairs. Evadne itched to help, but she realized her assistance wouldn’t be appreciated.

“Good to see you up and about,” she said cheerfully.

“Would have been earlier if you’d let me have my clothes back.”

Evadne didn’t dignify the protest with a reply. Even if she had given the clothes back earlier, Red wouldn’t have been able to do anything with them. Today, however, she’d recovered enough in both body and mind to be allowed up. Therefore, the freshly laundered and pressed clothes had been returned. Evadne did, however, retain the boots and gun. She didn’t want Red to get any ideas about leaving the house quite yet and especially not armed.

As if reading her thoughts, Red scowled. “I’m getting cold feet you know.” She wiggled a sock-covered foot. “What did you do with my boots?”

“I can lend you some house shoes if you like, though they might be a tad on the large side.” If Red wanted something to wear in the house, it was going to be a pair of Geoff’s house shoes or nothing.

Red’s eyes narrowed. “Never mind, I’ll cope. But if I come down with pneumonia, you’ll know who to blame.”

Evadne adroitly changed the subject. “Come through to the sitting room. I want to talk to you about meeting Edgar.”

Red stopped her slow descent and looked intently at Evadne. “When?”

“Not until you’re well enough.”

“I am well enough. I’m up and about, ain’t I?”

“I should have said not until I think you’re well enough.” For a moment, she thought Red would argue the point again. When, instead, she meekly nodded her agreement, Evadne was more than a little suspicious. She was gripped by the sudden premonition that the relative peace of the previous few days wasn’t going to last. It certainly appeared that Red was getting better; she assuredly was getting more devious.

They went into the sitting room, and once settled, Evadne apprised Red of her trip to the office. She handed Red the scrap of paper she’d found. After reading the note, and a muttered, “Good kid,” Red looked hard at Evadne. “So what more do you need?”

“It’s all circumstantial. You must realize that?”

“And he’s one of your friends, so of course he couldn’t kill anyone.”

“Well, hardly a—”

“And of course he’s rich and a member of this stinking city’s so-called elite, so no one’s going to do anything about it anyway. Have enough money in this damn burg, and you can get away with murder. Literally.”

“Someone in this room has a real class prejudice, and it isn’t me.” Evadne stopped, eyes wide, as she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

Stormy green eyes stared at her for a second before Red started angrily pacing. Evadne watched with growing alarm, given Red’s already weakened state.

“I’m sorry, Red, I didn’t—” Evadne tried to repair her faux pas only to be interrupted before she could complete the apology.

“No. You’re probably right. I ain’t ever been particularly fond of your type.”

Evadne let the “your type” pass. She didn’t want to set Red off again, not when she appeared to be calming down.

“But after that damned Katherine Dubois, and now this son of a bitch—and I’m damn sure whoever he turns out to be, he’s one of you—can you really blame me if I don’t like your type very much?” The bitterness in Red’s voice was unmistakable.

“Perhaps not,” Evadne said testily. She’d had enough of the “your type” comments now. Especially given what she had done for Red. “But don’t forget that my type stopped you from ending up in jail for housebreaking and has looked after you, fed you, and put up with your tantrums ever since.”

Red stopped pacing and stood looking at the fire, her back firmly toward Evadne. “Didn’t ask for the help.” Her muttered words were barely audible but nonetheless vehement.

“That may be the case, Red Wolverton, but I gave it, and gave it freely.” Staring at Red’s back, Evadne continued her tirade in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “And although I don’t expect you to be gushing gratitude, I think it should prove that not all of my type—as you so charmingly put it—are self-serving snobs oblivious to the state of their fellow man.”

“Don’t see you living in some rat-infested tenement.” Red didn’t turn around, but her voice lacked the conviction of her earlier statements.

“And what good would I be able to do there?” Evadne asked more calmly, sensing the change. “From here I can and do try my utmost to help.”

Finally moving from her position in front of the fire, Red flopped down into the big leather-covered chair directly opposite Evadne.

They sat there in uncomfortable silence, Evadne ramrod straight, Red hunched over with her head in her hands, as the carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked away seconds then minutes. Finally, a much calmer Red broke the silence. Without lifting her head, she quietly asked, “Evadne?”

“Yes?” Evadne said, hoping this wasn’t going to be the start of round two.

“When can I have my boots back?”

Evadne sighed. This was probably as close to an apology as Red would get. “When you’re well enough to need them.”

“And my revolver?” Red’s resigned tone suggested she already knew the answer to that one as well.

“Same as the boots,” Evadne said, unable to stop herself from giving a small smile at Red’s decidedly hangdog manner.

Red lowered one hand from her forehead and stared at it as it shook noticeably. Evadne studied the hand as it occasionally clenched and unclenched. Battered and scarred, yet strong and capable looking, it occurred to Evadne that it was a perfect microcosm of Red herself.

Eventually Red met Evadne’s gaze with a look that held both challenge and plea. “You were going to tell me about meeting… him.”

Briefly, Evadne reconsidered the wisdom of what she was planning. Their small spat had obviously been physically hard on Red. If Edgar was Janet’s killer, any confrontation with him would be much worse, physically and emotionally. However, it didn’t take long for her to decide that not confronting him was probably the greater evil. Evadne took a deep breath and began to explain her stratagem for meeting with and, if necessary, dealing with Edgar Van Volk.

*   *   *

The creature stood in a dark corner of the warehouse, screened by a barrier of crates, still as the statue it could be mistaken for. He stood there many hours each day, conserving his slowly returning energy. He had been nearly dead by the time his rescuer released him from the rock prison that held him outside of time for so many thousands of years. The young she-ape that heard his mind-calls and freed him had the sort of mind he found easy to bend to his will, a mind old beyond its years and with a lust for power tempered by a hatred of her own kind.

He learned of the cruelty she loved, of the killing of those that begat her, of the wealth she acquired and abused. Silently and slyly, she had been causing misery throughout this collection of ape-dwellings she called Boston. The creature considered her enjoyment of hurting others unfortunate, a weakness that could deflect her from the true path. He had no problem with destruction when required, but believed it a necessity, not a pleasure. Still, the she-ape proved useful. She discovered who owned the land that held the jewel, and she provided this warehouse as close to it as possible.

She and her associate with the white eyes were capable servants, but he needed more than these two and their pitiful minions to serve him. These two had wealth and a modicum of intelligence, but the creature could see the pettiness of their minds. In time, with his power fully restored, he would find worthier subjects to bend to his will, to serve him, to fight, to control this world for him.

The creature moved, enjoying the freedom his limbs had not known for so long. Each day he could move farther. During the first days, he overtaxed himself almost to exhaustion as frustration overwhelmed caution. The night he saw the jewel’s current possessor, he almost drained himself completely. But the effort had been in vain. The stubborn he-ape would not sell, and he could not take the jewel by force without losing its power forever. Without it, he would never be restored to his rightful place.

He stretched, tested the muscles in his back and arms, and felt the strength returning. The power that would restore him to full glory called out to him. So close, so close. Yet it remained firmly out of his grasp.

Through a small window, he stared into the darkness toward where the jewel beckoned, damaged but recovering just as he was. His frustration grew, but he remained still and silent. From the she-ape’s mind, he learned how the apes now infested this world, having multiplied almost beyond imagination. He also knew he was alone, the last of his kind on this planet, his people all but forgotten. For a moment, he wondered what had happened to the rest. Had they returned to the stars, or like him, fallen afoul of the treachery of those they had tried to help? In his weakened state, he was vulnerable to the destructiveness they had developed. Once his power was restored, destroying such devices of death would be one of his first tasks. War would not exist in his world.

Noise caught his attention. Far off as yet but getting closer. The door of the warehouse opened, and he saw figures silhouetted against the slightly lighter opening.

“You can leave Straker with me.”

He recognized the voice as that of his servant, the he-ape with white-colored eyes. Where the she-ape was filled with hate and cruelty, he was as cold as the ice his eyes so resembled. He fitted the creature’s plans far better than the she-ape, but the creature was aware of their hierarchy and he was not yet in a position where challenging the she-ape’s tenuous rule was necessary or desirable.

“Okay, Mr. Vlamyr, the little bastard’s all yours.” The second figure left and closed the door. A third, struggling he-ape, bound and gagged, was dragged to stand before him. He nodded in response to the unspoken question, and the gag was removed.

“What the hell are you doing?” the he-ape shouted at Vlamyr, his voice tinged with fear. His face was thin, with watery, pale blue eyes that darted from his captor to his surroundings. He reminded the creature of the rats that infested the building, sharing his lonely vigil. The he-ape hadn’t yet spotted his alien presence.

“I have friends in high places, you know. They’ll come looking for you, and then you’ll be sorry.” The he-ape looked furtively around even as the complaints and threats continued. Then the beady blue eyes met his red-eyed gaze.

“What the fuck’s that?” Fear sent the wheedling voice an octave higher as the captive made a frantic attempt to break the grasp that held him. “Let me the fuck go, you bastard.”

“Stop,” the creature commanded. The rat-like he-ape fell limp in the restraining arms, a look of stark terror on his face.

“My lord.” White-eyes spoke reverently, his oddly colored eyes downcast. “I found this man at the house, snooping around. I thought you would want to deal with him.”

“Who is he?”

“An investigator hired by Franklin. His name is Straker.”

“You said the jewel-holder hired the she-ape Wolverton.” The creature’s voice betrayed his irritation, an irritation that came as much from his own frustration as his servants’ failures. “You said she was no longer an obstacle.”

“My lord.”

He could hear the fear in his servant’s voice. These apes, at least, knew to show him the reverence he was due.

“Wolverton is indeed no longer a problem,” his servant said quickly, “although we didn’t have the pleasure of dealing with her personally. But Franklin is a stubborn man; he won’t sell as easily as we had hoped.”

The creature stared down at the terrified prisoner. “What do you know?”

“I…” The he-ape licked fright-dried lips, “I don’t know—” He stopped and sudden realization appeared on his face. “Fuck me, the yid was right. You’re the golem, ain’t you?” The pitch of his voice rose again, earning him a shaking. He fell into stunned silence. The creature probed his mind, an easy task but not a pleasant experience. He could not read minds at will; if he had that ability he would never have been tricked into giving up the jewel, but he could sense surface thoughts and emotions, especially in a mind as simple and open as this he-ape. Fear was the main impression, but also hatred and a whining self-pity. He waited for the he-ape to speak.

“I can help you if you want,” he finally said, his attitude shifting into servility as he gave an uneasy smile. “I only picked up the Franklin job to rattle that bitch Wolverton’s chains. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.” His face twisted into an evil grin. “Want Franklin bumped off? I can do that, no problem.”

“You would betray your master?”

“Hell, yeah.” The he-ape relaxed noticeably. “If the price was right, I’d sell you my grandma.”

His gaze flickered in sudden alarm as he apparently realized his mistake. But it was too late. The creature’s fist caught the cringing he-ape in the side of the head, shattering his skull and tearing him out of white-eye’s restraining hands.

“So die all betrayers.” He stared balefully at the slumped form, the he-ape’s face now a bloody, brain-spattered mess. He felt no remorse, no guilt, only disgust at the cowardly, disloyal behavior. Were these apes simply born to deceive? Could he trust any of them?

“My lord?”

He looked at his servant and saw no sign of horror or even regret at his actions. He spoke again, hesitantly. “If I may make a suggestion, my lord?” At his nod of acquiescence, he continued. “Perhaps Franklin needs a bigger incentive to sell.” He gestured at the crumpled heap. “Perhaps that can be of use to us after all.”

The creature stared at the white-eyed he-ape for a moment. “I approve of your suggestion, my servant. Let the jewel-holder understand what can happen to those who oppose me. Do it.”

The body was dragged out of the warehouse, a crimson streak showing the path it had taken. The flare of anger and the destruction of the rat-faced he-ape had drained him; now he needed to rest once more. He moved back into the darkness, settled into a position of perfect balance, and locked his joints. His eyes closed in rest. Soon, he thought with longing and joy, soon I will be truly free.

Chapter 9

September 18:  Domestication and drama

Evadne woke with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Today they would find out whether Edgar Van Volk was the man who killed Janet Baker. She found it hard to believe that the young man she’d known for so long would do such a thing; although he’d changed during his time abroad, being more withdrawn and colder than she remembered. Still, it all seemed too fantastic, even with the circumstantial evidence arrayed against him.

What concerned her more was that, even if it was Edgar, she suspected the law couldn’t or wouldn’t want to do much about it. It would be Red’s word against his as to what happened outside the Lily. But Red hadn’t seen the shooter’s face, even though she was positive it was the same man who attacked her at the Herald and she’d later spotted following her. Although neither Red nor Joe got a good look at the attacker at the Herald, the security guard who’d let him up could probably identify him, but even that was circumstantial.

Finally, as much as it pained her to admit it, Red’s angry words about it being possible to get away with murder if you had enough money held a grain of truth. It would be hard to get the conviction of one of the Boston elite on such weak evidence and on such a serious charge as murder. Money and prestige could easily be used to tip the scales of justice, especially when the dead victim was a black woman and the live one had a less-than-helpful reputation.

If Edgar was indeed the murderer, she could only hope that what she’d arranged with her uncle and his lawyer would work. If they could provoke enough of a reaction out of Edgar, they would be able to use the power of a Brahmin name to Red’s advantage for a change.

The insistent, noisy promptings from her empty stomach broke through her musings. She pulled on her dressing gown and padded down the stairs toward the kitchen. The smells wafting up the stairs told her that Maria was already well into preparing breakfast. The morning cooking smells had changed dramatically over the last few days as Red, now up and about, suborned Maria into providing the sort of grease-laden monstrosities that Red thrived on. Although Evadne managed to wrench back control over the later meals, it appeared that Red and Maria had come to some sort of devilish pact over breakfast. Evadne took a deep breath and acknowledged that the aroma of frying bacon drifting her way was wonderful, even if she was sure it was no good for any of them.

Red was already in the kitchen, dressed and ready for what she obviously considered the only real meal of the day. What was new was that Maria had found a use for her. As Maria did battle with a huge saucepan full of bacon, Red was hard at work beating eggs for the mandatory pile of scrambled eggs. The scene was so domestic, and so in contrast to her concerns over the coming day, that she just leaned against the doorframe and watched. Maria noticed her first.

“Ah there you are, chica. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to get up at all this morning.”

She smiled in response to Maria’s teasing greeting. Red, she noticed, had stopped her beating as soon as Maria spoke. Now, after giving Evadne a quick sideways glance, Red resumed her task, though a new stiffness in her posture clearly showed her discomfort. Evadne’s smile widened. She didn’t imagine that Red was often caught in such an uncompromisingly domestic situation. It certainly seemed that Red Wolverton was now truly under Maria’s small thumb. When Red glanced up from busily thrashing the eggs and scowled in her direction, it made her smile the more. That in turn caused Red to shake her head and mutter something under her breath. Evadne didn’t catch the words, but from Maria’s tsk-tsking it had probably been profane, crude, or possibly both.

Red put the bowl down on the table with a thud. “Eggs are done,” she said, more than a little ungraciously.

“Gracias, little one.”

Little one. Evadne couldn’t hide her amusement at this most unsuitable of epithets. Red was at least six inches taller than Maria, but soon after they met, Red was christened “little one,” and to her evident mortification and Evadne’s amusement, the name stuck. Red scowled as if daring her to comment. She just lifted a teasing eyebrow in return before finally replying to Maria’s earlier greeting. “It’s not even nine, Maria, hardly the middle of the day.”

“When you’ve been up since well before six, it is.”

There was no heat in Maria’s words but, although Evadne smiled at the teasing, deep inside she felt recurring guilt. Maria had to get up early in order to feed and get all her boys to work and feed and settle her husband before she could come to work here. As a result, Evadne made sure that Maria was extremely well paid. She also allowed two weeks paid holiday, something unheard of for domestic staff and for which she was considered foolishly softhearted.

Nor did she begrudge those days when the youngest Montoya, now a strapping eighteen year old, would turn up at the door with an apologetic note from his mother explaining that her husband was having one of his bad days and would it be all right for her to come in later. She couldn’t count the number of times that well-meaning friends advised her she wouldn’t get the work out of her staff if she was too soft on them, that they would try to take advantage of her. Although graciously accepting such advice, she ignored it all. If they couldn’t see that by treating your employees well you were more likely to get loyalty rather than abuse in return, that was their loss not hers. However, if she did find someone was abusing her generosity, they soon learned that Evadne Davenport was no pushover and they were out of a job.

Her musings were interrupted by Maria asking her to get the plates out of the warming oven and set the table while she finished off the scrambled eggs. Just as she was putting on the oven gloves, the back door opened and James entered the kitchen, wiping his hands on an oily cloth.

“Just in time, Jacobo, as usual,” Maria said without looking up from the eggs. “Get those filthy hands of yours washed, and breakfast will be on the table.”

James went into the scullery to do as instructed, while Evadne opened the oven and withdrew the warm plates. As she placed them on the table, she wondered what her in-laws and acquaintances would make of one of the Boston Davenports sitting down at a kitchen table to eat breakfast with her cook, her chauffeur, and other undesirables, probably the politest description any of them would come up with for the notorious Red Wolverton. An apoplexy would ensue, at the very least.

After they’d finished breakfast, which had been extremely tasty, she volunteered them all to help with the washing up. James managed to make a swift escape under the pretence of still having work to do on the automobile. She couldn’t really force him to help, and he already did more than was strictly his responsibility around the house. Red, however, wasn’t going to get away so easily. If Maria could persuade her to help with the cooking, there was no reason why a little light washing up would be beyond her capabilities.

“I’ll just go… clean my gun, or something,” Red said.

“Oh no you won’t,” Evadne said, “and you can’t clean that filthy thing anyway.”

“Could if you’d tell me where it is.”

“That isn’t going to happen, Red, not until you’re well enough.” Before Red could once again insist she was indeed well enough, Evadne forestalled her. “Anyway, if you’re well enough for that, you’re well enough for this.”

Red opened her mouth a few times, probably attempting to come up with another excuse. Evadne glared at her, daring her to try to get out of helping.

“I really ain’t good at that sort of thing,” Red said eventually and with distinct bad grace. “Things tend to get broken when I’m anywhere near them.”

“Is that a threat, Red Wolverton?”

Red grinned. “Nope, just getting my excuses in first, so you can’t blame me if there’s breakages.”

Evadne gave her a stern look then, with a quick laugh, threw her the drying cloth. “You dry, I’ll wash.”

And they did. They even managed to get through them all without a single accident. While Maria put away the last of the pots and Red slouched in a chair, watching, Evadne headed back upstairs to prepare.

She took a great deal of care in choosing her wardrobe for the coming meeting. Knowing the conservatism of some of her visitors, and the fact that the presence of the notorious Red Wolverton would probably have one or two of them doubting her sanity, she decided on a well-fitting, obviously expensive yet not overly flamboyant, day dress. The accompanying jewelry was chosen to be discreet: small diamond earrings and a classic cameo brooch were all she added to her ever-present wedding ring.

She was greeted by an appreciative wolf whistle as she descended the staircase, swiftly followed by the sound of a slap and a surprised yelp. Reaching the foot of the stairs, she found Red in a heated argument with Maria.

Momentarily worried that they were having a serious falling out, she was relieved to see that Maria had a distinctly wicked twinkle in her eye and Red appeared more embarrassed than angry. She relaxed. “Now, now, you two, what’s this all about?” she asked, growing increasingly amused by the unlikely scene playing out before her.

A scowling Red turned to face her while pointing a finger at Maria. “She slapped me on the butt, like some kid.”

“You deserved it. Whistling at a lady is not polite.”

No mention of the fact that Red, a woman, was whistling at another woman, Evadne noted, her respect for Maria growing yet more.

“But, but… you spanked me. I ain’t been spanked like that since Ma died.”

“No doubt explaining why you have such bad manners, little one.”

“Indeed, little one, it sounds like ya need yawer manners larnin’,” Evadne drawled in her best southern belle accent.

Under attack from two fronts, and clearly at a loss what to do about it, Red apparently decided retreat was the better option. She stomped, in as much as it was possible to stomp in stocking feet, back into the kitchen.

Evadne looked at Maria, who was now grinning openly. “You really spanked her?” she asked in amusement that bordered on astonishment.

“Oh yes, chica,” Maria said, the smile fading a little. “I meant what I said about it being no way to treat a lady. You are most definitely a lady, unlike the little one there, who has the heart of a rogue.”

“You didn’t find it strange she would do that? Whistle at another woman, I mean?”

Maria shrugged her bird-like shoulders. “The good Lord made all of us in His image, so if He made the little one and those like her, who am I to disapprove, whatever some so-called Christians might try to tell us.”

Before Maria could react, Evadne swept her into an impulsive hug. “Bless you, Maria. What would I do without you?”

Maria briefly returned the hug before she disengaged herself. “Starve and flounder about in muck and unwashed laundry no doubt.” She smiled, then her face turned serious. “But don’t you worry, chica. You have me and I have you.”

After a parting pat to Evadne’s cheek, Maria followed Red back into the kitchen. Evadne watched the door close behind Maria and wondered again how she had ever been so lucky as to have Maria Montoya in her life. Then the sound of the clock chiming the half hour reminded her she had tasks that needed completing before her guests arrived, and she headed for the study.

*   *   *

Evadne didn’t think she’d ever been this nervous before. Not even on her first day as an ambulance driver in Belgium—then she’d been scared, she’d have been stupid not to be, but strangely nerveless.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Edgar should be arriving any minute. In an attempt to lessen her anxiety, she went over her plan again. All her invitees were in place: Uncle Charles, an ex-commissioner of police, sat comfortably in the large leather chair. Mr. Scrivens, her uncle’s lawyer, was standing to one side of the fireplace and James to the other. Sitting quietly on the window seat were Maria’s two eldest sons, there to provide extra muscle if the need arose.

Evadne glanced at her uncle, seeing disapproval in his look. She knew his opinion of what he called deviants, but she also knew his dedication to the law and to justice. He would do what was correct, despite any personal feelings. Scrivens would be even less sympathetic to Red’s problem, but he was there because he’d been paid, and paid well. Maria’s two sons and James willingly agreed to assist, as had Joe Martelli, who was in the adjoining room trying to calm a jittery Red.

The doorbell rang, and Maria answered it. For what seemed like ages, they waited, and then Maria showed Edgar into the sitting room. Evadne studied him intently as he took in the unusual array of people in the room.

“What is this all about, Evadne?” he asked, frowning a little. “You said it was something important.”

She could hear the puzzlement in his voice; she also caught a muffled exclamation from the room next door. Edgar also heard the noise and looked toward the door, then back at her, his perplexity plain on his face.

“Thank you for coming, Edgar.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray her nerves. “I have someone staying with me that I thought you might like to meet.”

This was Joe’s cue to bring Red in, and all eyes turned to the door as it opened and she stepped through. She was closely followed by Joe who was lightly holding one of her arms, though Evadne wasn’t sure whether it was in support or restraint.

Red saw Edgar immediately. Evadne’s heart sank as the expressions on both faces changed instantly. There could be no doubt from their reactions that Red was quite correct about the identity of her assailant. Red’s face went hard and flat but other than the clenching of jaw and fists she did nothing, though Joe’s restraining grip on her arm visibly tightened. Edgar’s reaction was far more extreme: his face went pale then livid with apparent anger and loathing. He swung to face Evadne.

“You have that abomination staying in this house with you? How can you stand it, unless—” Now he focused on the object of his obvious hatred. “Bitch, have you perverted another one of us? First Katherine and now Evadne?”

As he continued to rail against Red, Evadne was glad to see the Montoyas move up silently behind him. She was also aware that James stepped protectively closer to her.

Red’s lip curled into a sneer. “Believe me, Edgar,” she said and almost spat his name, “Katherine managed that without any help from me. As for Evadne, she’s my employee and that’s all.”

Evadne felt a slight pang at this cold dismissal of her part in Red’s life, but any small concern about that was quickly overshadowed.

“I’ll kill you this time, you bitch!” With a scream of pure rage, Edgar launched himself at Red. So swift was his attack that he landed his first punch before Red had a chance to react.

As Red went down, the room erupted in chaos. Joe roared like the bear he resembled and bodily lifted the slightly built Edgar. He threw him across the room, directly into the path of the Montoya brothers. They, with James’s assistance and some rather overenthusiastic use of boots and fists, had him quickly subdued.

Evadne managed only a single step toward Red when Uncle Charles’s commanding voice called for calm. Soon the room was quiet again. Only Edgar’s sobbing breaths and Red’s groans broke the silence.

Evadne moved closer to where Joe, having got rid of Edgar, now bent over a semiconscious Red.

“Is she going to be all right?” Evadne asked.

Joe gave a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. He hit her head, thickest part of her. She’ll be fine.”

“I heard that, Martelli,” Red said muzzily. Ignoring Joe’s offer of help, she struggled to her feet and immediately searched out Edgar’s prone form.

Evadne turned to Scrivens. He was watching with an unpleasant smile; however, at her frown he quickly took up his part in the plan.

“Mr. Van Volk?”

Edgar looked up sullenly from his position on the floor. Evadne noticed, with some satisfaction, that one of his eyes was already blackening.

Scrivens said, “Mr. Van Volk, I’ve been instructed to tell you that what has happened here will go no farther.”

Edgar seemed surprised by this and cast a sly look in Red’s direction. Scrivens soon dashed any hopes he might have had as he laid out Edgar’s fate in a coldly precise voice.

“What has happened will be written down and witnessed by those present. Should there be any indication that you are planning any further attack on Miss Wolverton, Mr. Van Deemin will forward that document to his ex-colleagues at the police department and you can be sure the results will not be pleasant.”

Evadne held her breath. Would Edgar accept this? Legally they were on very uncertain ground, but she hoped he wouldn’t realize it. Thankfully, the sullen and defeated look seemed to indicate he’d taken Scrivens’s statement at face value. As she felt relief wash over her, Scrivens tied up the one-sided arrangement.

“Mr. Van Deemin and I will accompany you to your parents after we have finished here. We shall suggest”—Scrivens’s tone made it perfectly clear this would be no suggestion—“that they arrange your speedy departure from the city, preferably to some far distant part of the Van Volk business empire where your talents can be properly utilized without fear of distraction. Now I will retire to the study to write up the documents for us all to witness.” He gave Evadne and her uncle a brief nod and left the room.

An odd noise came from Red’s direction. Evadne saw her staring fixedly down at Edgar, all side effects of the blow having apparently vanished. She was also growling, actually, physically growling. Joe had a firm grip on her arms. Only his considerable strength restrained her from attacking, as she clearly wanted to.

Dear Lord, Evadne thought guiltily, Red’s self-control must be at its limits with Edgar just lying there. Why had she left him in the room to remind Red of what had happened? How could she have been so inconsiderate? Quickly she turned to James as he stood over a subdued Edgar.

“James,” she said, her voice crisply businesslike despite the unease building in the pit of her stomach, “would you and the other two gentlemen be so good as to move Mr. Van Volk to my automobile to await his return home?”

With a respectful, “Yes, ma’am,” that was only a little spoiled by the amused glint in James’s eye, he and the Montoya brothers bundled Edgar out of the room.

Red stopped the ominous growling. Looking over her shoulder at Joe’s concerned face, she gave a wry half smile. “You can let go now, Joe, I’ll behave myself.”

With Edgar out of the way and Red calmer, Evadne felt her queasiness begin to ease. Turning to her Uncle Charles, she said, “I must say I’m shocked. I find Edgar’s behavior hard to believe. He was always such a nice boy. That trip abroad seems to have changed him out of all recognition.”

“Abroad?” Uncle Charles said. “Who told you that? He didn’t go abroad. God no! His parents sent him to a sanitarium. A little way south somewhere I think it was.”

“A sanitarium? I didn’t realize he was ill,” she said, perplexed by this apparently contradictory story. “Laura told me he was spending six months in Europe.”

“Not that kind of sanitarium.” He sounded embarrassed, and she noticed him glance at Red before continuing. “It was where they treat… where they cure… deviants like him.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Red’s gaze swing abruptly in their direction, but when she turned to face the expected anger, she was astonished to see fear and loathing on Red’s face instead.

“He was at one of those places?” Red’s voice was a horrified whisper. “Poor bastard. No wonder he’s in such a fucking mess.”

Before Evadne could find out exactly what Red meant, Uncle Charles snapped his fingers. ‘“The Wilkinson Sanitarium, that was the name.”

Red flinched as if physically struck and got as pale as a sheet. For a fleeting second, Evadne thought Red was going to collapse, but with a visible effort, Red pulled herself together. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met before Red abruptly broke the contact. Evadne glimpsed the haunted look, and her chest tightened in sympathy.

“I… I need to lie down for a while,” Red said and all but ran from the room.

*   *   *

Red threw herself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her jaw ached from Edgar’s punch but was only bruised, not broken. What was worse than the pain was that he’d managed to get the blow in. She’d been concentrating so much on not throwing herself at the man’s throat that she didn’t see the telltale signs until too late. Even now, she could feel the rage begin to struggle for control once again. She tightened her jaw then winced at the pain the action produced.

She forced the anger to the back of her mind, and her body finally shrugged off the tension that had been with her all day. As her muscles relaxed, her eyes lost their focus and her thoughts drifted. Her mind traveled back nearly ten years to the nineteen days she spent at the Wilkinson Sanitarium, days she’d tried so very hard to forget.

She’d never found out where her father got the money; he probably raided the church funds, she privately thought. He had forcibly sent her halfway across the country to be cured of her abominable depraved perversions—as he’d put it. Unable to beat his physically stronger daughter, he instead resorted to having her committed to that foul place to be cured.

Their clumsy and barbaric methods only firmed her stubborn resolve to be as she felt was right. Within three weeks, she’d escaped, knocking out two warders and fleeing both doctors and family. She’d not seen her father since, which as far as she was concerned was a damned good thing. If she did ever come face-to-face with him, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from beating the hypocritical son of a bitch to within an inch of his life for what he’d done to her.

A wave of sadness swept over her, and she brought an arm up to lie over burning eyes, hiding the moisture she could feel forming there. “I miss you though, little brother.” Jed would be eighteen by now, and she probably wouldn’t recognize him if they did ever meet again. Being a boy, and what society considered normal, Jed had suffered less from her father’s anger, though he’d never been allowed to forget that his birth killed their mother. Her death had also removed the small amount of protection she’d been able to give her headstrong daughter.

Red felt no ill will toward Jed. All her hate was for her preacher father who’d done nothing to help her mother even when it became plain, even to Red’s youthful, inexperienced eyes, that the birth was going dreadfully wrong. Despite pleas from both wife and daughter, he’d not called for the doctor and only reluctantly agreed to summon the local midwife. Nine-year-old Red had run the two miles to fetch her. All her father had done was curse his wife for daring to vex him and pray to a God who ignored his pious pleading.

Now Edgar’s life had been ruined by his parents’ stupidity as well. The doctors had done such a fine job of curing him that he was now a murderous homophobe, this apparently being preferable to loving people of the same sex.

Red found that she no longer hated Janet’s killer. She would never forgive him, but now she felt more pity than anything else. Instead, her hatred was firmly directed at the doctors who damaged him. When she’d escaped that hellish place, all those years ago, she’d never wanted to see its walls again, had done her best to remove its very existence from her mind. She should have done something about it at the time, she thought guiltily, then Janet would still be alive.

It was too late to save Edgar or Janet, but not to prevent others from suffering the same fate. “I’ll put an end to it,” she said with fierce determination. “Let me be damned if I don’t.” With her decision made, she felt as though an invisible weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Exhausted by the physical and emotional strain of her confrontation with Janet’s murderer, she drifted off into a deep and trouble-free sleep.

Sometime later, she awoke with a pounding headache and a general feeling of having been knocked over by a steamroller. It took a moment’s scrabbling in the dark before she found the bedside lamp and turned it on. It took some moments more for the memories of the earlier nastiness and the decision that had followed to work their way through her throbbing skull. It had to be tonight, she decided, now or never.

She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. With a groan, she pushed herself upright and gave the room an automatic once-over as she did. Her face broke into a grin as she spotted the heaped plate of sandwiches and a large glass of milk on the dressing table. “God bless you, Maria Montoya,” she said between mouthfuls as she wolfed it all. Feeling much more human, and with the headache now just a nagging nuisance, she took out her pocket watch. It was a few minutes before midnight; she was surprised to find she’d slept for nearly ten hours. At least everyone was likely to be in bed by now. “The witching hour.” Red gave a wry smile as she tucked the watch back into a vest pocket. “Ain’t that fitting.”

She gathered her flashlight, lock-pick, and matches and put on her overcoat and hat. That just left her boots and revolver. She opened the door to her room and found the landing in almost total darkness, just the barest hint of moonlight giving a sense of shape to the space around her. She crept down the stairs toward the morning room. The house was as quiet, and nearly as dark, as the grave, but she knew the place well enough now to be able to get around with just the aid of the dim light. Kneeling in front of the sewing machine cabinet, she pulled the flashlight out of her pocket, turned it on, and shielded the light with her body. Carefully, she opened the cabinet and removed the boots and revolver from where they sat on top of the iron trestle, covered by a selection of particularly gross floral material. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She was impressed with how sneaky Evadne’s chosen hiding place had been. However, she hadn’t reckoned with Red’s stubborn streak. It had taken days of methodical searching, but Red eventually tracked them down. She flicked off the flashlight, put it into a pocket, and slipped the holster onto her belt to settle as a familiar weight in the small of her back. That done, and with the cabinet closed, she picked up her boots and padded her way softly through the hall.

In the kitchen, she put on her boots, lifted two keys from a hook, and quietly opened the back door. She slipped outside and moved, wraithlike, toward the garage. Once there, she unlocked the padlock and wedged open the big double doors. She went inside and turned on her flashlight to light her way into the deeper darkness of the old carriage shed.

She entered the LaSalle and inserted the ignition key. After setting the gas valve, the timing lever, and the throttle lever, she turned and pulled out the choke. She pushed in the clutch with her left foot and pushed the starter button with her right foot. When the engine coughed to life, she closed the choke, backed off on the throttle lever, and pushed the timing lever all the way down. She put the car in gear, eased the clutch out, and put her foot on the accelerator.

She guided the car out of the garage and gave a final glance toward the house. Evadne would probably never forgive her for what she was doing. At best, she’d be kicked out of her cushy residence. Much more likely was that she’d be arrested on the spot when she returned. But what had to be done, had to be done.

She headed off down the drive. Stopping at the gates, she felt a mixture of regret combined with sheer relief at being out of the house. With all thoughts of the past or future put aside, she reveled in the simple joy of being in control of such a fine machine. With a wild grin, she gunned the engine, the roar shattering the silence of the night. She released both brake and clutch, skidded out onto the street and, accompanied by a squeal of tires, tore off into the night heading south.

Chapter 10

September 19:  Evadne is seriously displeased

Early that morning, James came to Evadne with the news that her automobile was missing. Some instinct restrained her from calling the police immediately. They went out to the converted coach house that held her LaSalle, or rather the empty space where it should have been.

The doors had been carefully wedged open, and she removed the restraint from the left-hand door so that it swung shut. There were no signs of forced entry, but then she really didn’t expect to find any; instead, she found the padlock hanging open, the key still in place. She removed the key, tossed it up and down in her hand, and frowned up at the curtained windows of the room Red was using.

She left James to secure the empty garage and went back into the house. Her suspicions grew by the second with Red’s noticeable absence from the kitchen while Maria was already well into the breakfast marathon.

Maria raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, chica? You look fit to burst.”

“I swear to God, I’m going to give her such a—” Evadne reined in her tirade, paused for a moment as she regained her composure, and asked, “Have you seen Red this morning?”

“No, and she’s usually here without fail every morning.” Maria’s voice showed both concern and puzzlement. “Is the little one all right?”

“If that thieving, ill-mannered ruffian has done what I think she’s done, she most certainly will not be all right when I get my hands on her.” Evadne’s composure slipped once more, and she swept out of the kitchen.

At Red’s bedroom, she knuckled the door curtly. Without waiting for an answer, she opened it. The room was as empty as she’d expected, even if a quashed flame of hope had wished it to be otherwise. She turned on her heels and hurried down the stairs and into the morning room, where a quick check of the sewing machine cabinet confirmed her fears. Red found the hiding place and left, stealing James’s beloved LaSalle in the process.

Evadne sat down heavily in the nearest chair and stared at the empty cabinet. How could Red do such a thing, after everything she’d done to help her? Tears of disappointment, fringed with anger, started up in her eyes. She wiped them quickly away as Maria appeared in the doorway.

“What is wrong, chica mia?”

“She’s gone, and she’s taken my automobile,” Evadne said, annoyed at herself for feeling more upset than angry.

“Has she gone after Mr. Edgar, do you think?”

Evadne looked up at Maria in astonishment. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, but it was the obvious explanation. Now fear fought with anger for control of her emotions. Would Red go after Edgar again? A flutter of panic set up in her chest as she remembered the vengeance-driven Red she’d found at the Van Volks’s, but then her words following the naming of the sanitarium came to the fore. There had been only sympathy for Edgar in her voice.

“No.” Evadne shook her head, as much to convince herself as Maria. “I don’t think that’s it.” But if not that, then what? Sure that Red wasn’t after Edgar, her confusion as to the actual reason reasserted itself, along with her annoyance. If Red really wanted to leave, she could have. Evadne wouldn’t have stopped her, but there was certainly no reason for her to steal the automobile. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder as Maria moved to stand beside her.

“Why then, do you think?” Maria asked.

“Why does that wretch do anything?” Evadne’s righteous anger had built up a good head of steam once again. “I take her in, I look after her, feed her, and put up with her revolting fried foods, I hasten to add.” Abruptly she stood and paced the room. “I try to help. I even manage to get Edgar off her back, but do I get any thanks? Oh no, not the tiniest word of thanks. She doesn’t even seem to realize how much I’ve put my reputation at stake by having her in my house.”

“Since when have you worried about your reputation so much?” Maria said, not unkindly. It was still a rebuke, albeit a mild one, even if Evadne did choose to ignore it.

“And now, now she steals my darned automobile!” Evadne delivered the final proof of Red’s iniquity. “I should call the police and report it right now.”

“So why don’t you?” Maria asked calmly.

“I… I… well… she…” Uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Evadne let out a most unladylike howl of frustration. “Arrgh!” She went to the window and stared toward the empty coach house. Why hadn’t she called the police? It was the correct thing to do, after all. Then why didn’t she? It wasn’t as if Red didn’t deserve it, running out on her like some thief in the night.

Her anger returned at the thought of Red’s duplicity, and she met Maria’s concerned gaze. “I may not hand her over to the police, but I promise you, Maria, that ill-mannered, pig-headed, thieving, irritating scoundrel will suffer so much when I get my hands on her...” She swept out of the room with as much affronted dignity as her Brahmin upbringing could summon, determined that Red’s selfishness was not going to reduce her to tears, at least not until she reached the privacy of her own bedroom.

It was early evening before Evadne heard an automobile coming up the drive. A number of times that day she’d come close to calling the police; once she’d even got as far as dialing the number but put the telephone down as soon as it had been answered. In between the abortive calls, she’d been planning in some detail exactly what she would say to Red, if and when she returned.

She placed the book she’d been failing to read for the last two hours on the occasional table and moved to the window. The LaSalle, looking filthy but otherwise thankfully intact, drove around the house to stop in front of the coach house. Not even pausing to put on a coat against the falling rain and biting wind, she rushed out through the back door and advanced on the disheveled figure getting stiffly out of the driver’s door.

“Red Wolverton, what in heaven’s name did you think you were doing taking my automobile like that?” Her tirade stopped in astonishment as Red’s knees buckled and she flopped down onto the wet grass.

“That’s getting annoying.” The exasperated tone of her words was contradicted by the speed with which she moved to kneel at Red’s side. “Don’t think collapsing on me is going to get you out of this, Wolverton, because it most certainly will not.” Even as she berated the unconscious Red, she was rolling her onto her back. Quickly checking pulse and breathing, she was relieved to find both to be normal.

Evadne looked down into the pale, grimy face and only just resisted the overwhelming impulse to slap the infuriating woman back into consciousness. As the urge began to fade, she noticed that one of the filthy hands was roughly bandaged and that Red stank of, she sniffed again, smoke, yes it was definitely smoke. Red absolutely reeked of smoke.

She shivered, suddenly aware of the rain soaking through her clothes and dribbling down her neck. Rising to her feet, she looked down sternly at the unconscious form before giving the nearest leg a poke with the toe of her shoe. “What trouble have you been causing, Wolverton?” She gave another poke with her toe, a little harder this time. She was still furious at Red for leaving as she had and even more so for having denied her the chance to deliver the well-prepared lecture she’d been planning. The little jabs were pettily vindictive, she knew, but they were certainly making her feel a whole lot better.

“What do we do with her, madam?”

James’s voice brought her back to the problem at hand. He stood on the other side of Red’s unconscious body, his face grim. “Try beating some sense into her?” she said, only half-jokingly.

For a second, James’s face got even grimmer then he gave a brief humorless laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

After considering various options, some of which were almost certainly illegal, Evadne made her decision. She felt she was being too lenient, but with good conscience, she couldn’t see anything else she could do. “Oh, take her up to her room. She’ll only make the place look untidy if we leave her lying around out here.”

*   *   *

Red regained consciousness slowly. After a moment, she realized she was sprawled across the bed that had been hers for the last week. That was a surprise in itself. She could remember driving between the gate pillars to Evadne’s house, but nothing more. Damn, she hoped she didn’t crash into anything.

Suddenly, she shivered. She’d been stripped down to undershirt and drawers. Her left hand also stung like hell and both throat and nose were sore from the effect of the smoke she’d inhaled. Not bad, all things considered, she mused. Her relief was short-lived. She started coughing and curled up at the violence of the attack. She groaned as abused muscles complained at the activity.

“Here, little one, drink this.”

The gentle voice startled her. Jumping off the bed, she was halfway to the door before she registered who’d spoken.

“Jeez, Maria,” she said and flopped back onto the bed, “you scared me half to death.” She gave Maria a little smile and took the offered honey-laden tea. She sipped it slowly, feeling it smooth out the roughness in her throat. Once the mug was finished, she handed it back with a gruff thanks. However, Maria didn’t leave as she expected; instead, she stood there and gave her a stern look.

“Evadne very angry?” Red finally asked in a contrite tone.

“Oh yes, little one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry.” The corner of Maria’s mouth turned up into the tiniest of smirks. “If you find some bruising on your left thigh, you’ll see how annoyed she was.”

Red gently felt the area in question, and indeed, it did feel bruised. That could have happened earlier of course, but the continuing smirk told otherwise. “She kicked me?” Red looked at Maria in bewilderment. “I was out cold, and she kicked me?” Who would have thought she could be bedraggled, bone-tired, and freezing, yet have to fight back hysterical giggles. Here she was, wanted for arson, probably for attempted murder, and most likely theft, and the oh-so-proper Evadne Davenport had quite literally been kicking her while she was down.

“I’m sure she’ll regret it, eventually, but can you really blame her?” Maria asked, stern once more. “You have abused her charity when she has done nothing but try to help you, a woman she barely knows. And you throw it all back in her face by stealing her property and sneaking off in the middle of the night like the thief it would appear you are. I can’t honestly see what reason you could give for such behavior.”

“Maria, I—”

Her attempt to explain was cut short with a single withering look. “I believe, I hope, you thought you had to do whatever it is you have done. Nevertheless, there is absolutely no excuse for having behaved so badly. If you were still a child, I would put you over my knee and give you the spanking of your life.” Maria paused and waited until Red lifted her gaze from the floor to meet hers. “But you are not a child, and so I hope you take what is coming to you like an adult.”

Red nodded somberly. She hadn’t expected any less. She was surprised she hadn’t been thrown off the property already. “I understand, Maria. I’ll pack my stuff and go.”

“You’ll stay right where you are, Red Wolverton.”

To Red’s, and apparently Maria’s, surprise, Evadne appeared in the open doorway. She looked absolutely furious, and Red could only meet her glare for the briefest of moments before lowering her head to stare at her bare feet. Instinctively, she reached down to rub at her bruised thigh. Seeing Evadne like this, she could believe the normally ladylike Evadne could indeed have kicked her when she was down.

“You stink, Wolverton.”

When she looked up in astonishment at this unladylike declaration, Evadne said, “Go and take a bath right this minute.” With an evil little smirk, Evadne added in a voice that dripped insincerity, “I do so apologize, but with your unheralded arrival we have not had time to heat the water. I’m afraid your bath will have to be a cold one.”

With that, she turned and left, followed by Maria. Red stared at the closed door. That had been unexpected in more ways than one. She was surprised she wasn’t being dragged handcuffed out of the house by a couple of cops unable to believe their good luck. She grinned in sudden relief and slumped back down onto the bed. She wasn’t sure it wasn’t some sort of bizarre dream, and that the cops weren’t suddenly going to appear out of the wardrobe. She frowned as she caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Lifting an arm, she made a closer inspection and pulled a face. If she could smell herself, she must really stink. It was definitely time for that bath. She just hoped Evadne was wrong about the water.

Unfortunately, the bath turned out to be as cold as Evadne said it would be, but Red gritted her teeth and bore with it long enough to get herself smelling less as if she’d been smoked. She’d even washed her hair, knowing that would have trapped the stink more than anything. She clambered out of the cold bath and was thankful that the room at least was warm. The cast iron radiator threw out so much heat it was too hot to touch.

She took a large towel from where it had been warming and rubbed herself dry, then sat on the edge of the tub to take stock of her injuries. Other than a few scrapes and small bruises, the only real noteworthy injuries were the cut to her palm and the Evadne-induced bruise on her thigh. Her pale skin had always shown bruises easily, but even so, the blue-blackness of the patch on her leg was impressive. “Way to go, Evadne. Didn’t think you had it in you.” The mark was a sobering indication of exactly how badly she’d upset her. Although she had expected anger, a small part of her had hoped Evadne would understand. “Yeah, right, little wolf. How’s she going to understand when you don’t tell her anything?”

At least she hadn’t been turned over to the cops, or kicked out on her ass, though both were still distinct possibilities. So why on earth was she still here, calmly taking an unpleasant bath? If she had any of the sense she was born with, she’d take off and hide for a while. She had enough contacts on the seedier side of the city to do just that. Once any immediate heat was off, she could skip town. And where would she go? There wasn’t anywhere for her to run to, and she really couldn’t face the prospect of starting up in another town. Perhaps she should just give herself up and do her time. At least then she wouldn’t need to think or decide anything for a good long time.

A twinge from her palm took her mind away from her uncertain future to study her painful present. Before getting into the bath, she’d taken off the bloodstained handkerchief that she’d used as a makeshift bandage. The cut was no longer bleeding, and she was able to make a closer investigation. It ran in a long ragged line from the heel of her hand up toward the base of the middle finger but, thankfully, didn’t appear to be too deep.

She was debating whether she dare ask for a proper dressing when there was a gentle rap on the door. The noise brought her head up; she was instantly suspicious. Still, it had sounded far too polite to be the cops. “Yeah?” she answered warily. “Who is it?”

*   *   *

Sometime later, Red, now wearing a fresh set of clothing, made her way back toward the stairs, ready to face whatever decision Evadne had come to regarding her fate. When she reached the landing, she was surprised to see Joe standing beside Evadne in the hallway, both of them looking up at her with a matching mix of concern and anger on their faces.

“What have I done now?” Her grumbled complaint was halfhearted. It was an automatic reaction—she had little doubt that her nocturnal misdeeds had been discovered.

“That’s a very good question.” Joe’s voice was calm but his disapproval was evident in every movement as he handed her the latest edition of the Herald. He tapped his finger on a column headed “Respected Sanitarium Burns Down. Arson Suspected.”

Red scanned the headline. The news was out already. She hadn’t really expected it to be any other way. “So, a sanitarium burns down.” She gave a half shrug. “It happens.”

“Even though it just happens to be the one that Edgar Van Volk was sent to?” Joe said. Concern began to outweigh the suspicion in his face.

“And you just happen to have turned up hurt, exhausted, and reeking of smoke after being gone all night, and most of the day?” Evadne added sternly.

Red looked from one troubled face to the other. She tried to think up a defense, even though she doubted it would cut any slack. Joe certainly knew her well enough to realize what her cagey non-answers meant. Opening her mouth to speak, she was caught by another violent coughing fit. She collapsed to sit on the bottom stair, her head lowered. It took a moment before the coughing eased, certainly long enough to set off her aching muscles again and drain her tiny reserve of strength. Now she was so damned tired she didn’t have the energy to deny what she’d done. Hell, she could barely summon up the energy to stand.

The coughing finally subsided, and after a couple of deep breaths, she raised her head to meet their stern gazes. “Give me a hand up, Joe,” she said wearily.

Joe took her hand after a heartbeat’s hesitation and pulled her to her feet. She felt a sudden wave of dizziness and nearly lost her balance. Thankful to Joe for steadying her, she was less pleased by the question that followed.

“So what god-awful stupidity have you been up to this time, little wolf?”

“Can I get a seat somewhere?” Red looked from Joe to Evadne. “Then I’ll tell you, okay?”

“You had better,” Evadne said. “It’s the least you should do.”

*   *   *

Evadne led them into the sitting room where she and Joe took a seat and Red flopped into the leather armchair. Evadne studied her while waiting for her to speak, but despite Red’s words in the hall, no explanation was forthcoming. Red remained slumped back in the chair’s embrace, staring up at the ceiling. Evadne could feel her patience evaporating as her worry increased. What had Red been up to? Had she really been responsible for the destruction of the sanitarium as the evidence, and Red’s evasive nonreply, suggested? The flutter of anxiety in her chest suddenly increased at the thought that Red could well be arrested. Her concern wasn’t for herself, or for the reputation that her so-called friends seemed to be so worried about. It was instead for the woman she had taken in, a woman who was as utterly fascinating as she had originally hoped but more exasperating than she’d ever expected.

Suddenly, Red straightened up and looked calmly at them. “You’re right,” she said steadily, almost proudly. “I torched the damn place. Should have done it years ago. Then maybe…”

Don’t go there, Evadne thought with sudden concern. The last thing she wanted was for Red to start blaming herself for Janet’s death again.

“Why on earth did you do it, little wolf?” Joe asked. Evadne could hear little in the way of accusation in his voice; he seemed more puzzled than anything. “Dammit, girl, if anyone had died it could have got you the rope. You ain’t stupid. You must have known that.”

While Evadne’s thoughts had been along the same lines, she’d picked up on something Joe missed, something that might help in explaining Red’s actions. “You sound as though you knew about the place before Uncle Charles mentioned it.”

“Oh yeah.” Red’s upper lip curled. “I knew about the place all right. I spent a long time trying to forget about it. I just wish I’d had the balls to burn it down sooner.”

“But how?” Evadne asked.

“You can’t guess?” Red gave a snort. “Pa put me there, the bastard, just like your friends did with their kid. Didn’t work on me though. I got out, escaped. That’s how I ended up in Boston. Didn’t you ever wonder how I ended up here, Joe?” She gave him a challenging stare. “It was thanks to Pa and his fucking doctor friends, may they all rot in their own private hell. They got me sent there against my will.” She stood up now and paced around the room like a caged animal. “The sadistic bastards tried all their vicious little tricks on me.”

Evadne looked at Joe in shock and saw the same emotion reflected in his face. “I… she never told me any of this,” he said in answer to Evadne’s unspoken question.

“You bet I didn’t,” Red said. “I’d spent fuck knows how long trying to forget. No one knew, not even Janet.” Slumping back down into the comfortably worn leather, she started an apparently in-depth study of her hands. As she turned them back and forth, Evadne noticed that the mucky bit of cloth had been replaced with a neatly tied bandage that only seemed to highlight the current pallor of the skin. Suddenly the hands clenched tight. Evadne looked up to meet the rebellious glare that seemed to be the only thing keeping an obviously exhausted Red upright.

“Well?” Red asked harshly. “Gonna call the cops now? I’m sure they’ll be lining up once they find out they got me dead to rights.” She glared at them.

An awkward silence settled over the room. Evadne was at a loss as to what to do. Her naturally law-abiding character was at loggerheads with the unforeseen and oddly protective feeling Red was stirring in her heart. Joe finally broke the silence with a nervous clearing of the throat.

“Well…” He cleared his throat again. “There were no fatalities or injuries from the fire. In fact, there were reports that a mysterious young man helped some of the patients escape the building.”

Red returned his gaze impassively, then gave a small sigh and wary nod. “Yeah, I set the alarm off so everyone could get out before I set the fire. As I was leaving, I realized the fucking warders had left some of the poor bastards locked in their rooms.” A small, self-mocking smile touched her lips. “Couldn’t leave them to burn, could I? Weren’t them I wanted to suffer.”

“Is that how you got that?” Evadne indicated the bandaged hand.

“Yeah. Made a goddamn mess of breaking a window. Damn greenhorn would have done a better job. Got them all out, though, and then skedaddled out of there as fast as my legs and your auto could carry me.”

Evadne looked Red in the eye. The internal argument was still in full force; at the moment, long ingrained habit was winning. “We really should hand you over to the police.” She saw Red’s jaw tighten, but otherwise there was no response, no attempt to escape or even to defend herself.

Now it was Evadne’s turn to stand up and pace. She walked to the window and gazed out intently over her neat, well-kept garden as if she could find the answer there. “Every rational fiber in me is screaming, ‘Hand her over to the police. She’s broken the law, and she deserves the penalty.’”

She turned away from the window and looked with concern at Red. “Then I think of poor Edgar, and what you’ve just told us, and I find I can’t agree with what was done to you, either.” She threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “I can hear my forebears rolling in their graves just at the idea of what is being contemplated here.” Heaving a deep sigh, she returned to her seat and gazed intently into troubled green eyes. “I won’t say or do anything to harm you, Red, and as long as it doesn’t mean actually perjuring myself, I’ll do the best I can to protect and help you should it be needed.”

She watched Red for a reaction. If she hadn’t been looking, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the slight relaxing of the tension in Red’s shoulders. That could have been from relief, but the dropping of her eyes was a subtle indication of defeat that caused Evadne a twinge of concern. “However—” Before she could finish, Joe interrupted her.

“Mrs. Davenport… Evadne… Could I have a private word with you?”

Puzzled, she nevertheless nodded her agreement. They went out into the hall and left Red still slumped in the armchair.

“Please don’t throw her out,” Joe said as soon as the door closed behind them.

“But—”

“I know she’s a jumbo-sized pain in the ass, and you have every right to throw her out with a good dressing down, but she was doing so much better here than with me. If she goes back to that stinking apartment of hers as she is now, I’m afraid of what sort of state she’ll end up in.”

Joe paused, clearly waiting for a response. When Evadne didn’t reply, he continued. “She won’t admit it, but I think she likes it here. From the little I know about her, she’s never had a real family life, not since she was a youngster anyway. I think that’s what you and Maria, and even James, are providing somehow—the sort of support she’d thought she could never have.” Joe came to a halt and gave an embarrassed-looking smile. “Of course I could be completely wrong, and if she heard what I said, she’d cuss me to hell and back for saying it. But I sometimes think I know her better than she knows herself.” Joe’s brown eyes did a fine impersonation of a woebegone puppy.

She stared over his shoulder, slowly digesting what he’d said and contemplating her own feelings. She’d visited the apartment in question to fetch some spare clothes and other necessities early on in Red’s stay. She had to agree with Joe’s summing up of its likely effect on Red’s volatile emotions. She took Joe’s word on his inability to help Red. She had to admit she’d been proud of how well Red was progressing—at least until yesterday’s meeting with Edgar had started things spiraling out of control again. However, when it came down to it, it wasn’t just her decision to make. There were others in the house for whom Red’s continuing presence would be just as much of a burden, if not more so.

“Joe, would you be so good as to go and sit with Red?” As he moved in the direction of the room where Red waited, Evadne went toward the kitchen.

*   *   *

Red was fidgeting like a cat on hot bricks. It had been a good half hour since Joe returned from pleading on her behalf, and she’d grown increasingly restless as the time passed. From the looks she was getting, Joe was beginning to find the perpetual motion annoying. She gave him a roguish grin, trying to get a rise out of him, but to no avail. Only when she started fiddling with the bandage on her hand, did he finally snap. “Oh, leave it alone. It won’t heal if you keep poking it like that.”

“Yeah, like you know all about doctoring.” Deliberately ignoring his advice, she continued to pick at the increasingly grubby bandage. Her tiredness had gone, replaced by nervous energy. Now she felt like a tightly wound spring about to explode into uncontrolled action at any moment. If Evadne didn’t return soon, she probably would.

“Shit, Red, stop that, will you?” Joe crossed the distance between them and grabbed for her unbandaged hand.

She jumped up and snatched her hand away. Her anger swiftly turned to mischievousness as she nimbly moved behind the large chair and once more began fiddling with the bandage. “Stop me, if you can.” She gave an impish grin.

Joe lunged at her, but missed. He dropped into the nearest chair. “So be it, little wolf. You want blood poisoning, go ahead and muss up that nicely done dressing.” As she reappeared in his line of vision, he added, “Who did it by the way? Far too tidy to have been you.”

“Hah, hah, I’m sure.” Red pulled a face. “Maria did it. Says having a family of sons means you can’t help but get good at it.”

Red perched on the arm of the chair. The horseplay had taken the edge off the pent-up energy, and she felt more like herself than for what seemed an eternity. A lot of this was because she wasn’t going to be handed over to the authorities, something she had resigned herself to the moment she had decided to return the automobile rather than dump it somewhere and run. The entrance of a somber looking Evadne soon brought her back down to earth, and she stood up quickly to accept her fate.

“I’ll get my stuff,” Red said and moved toward the door.

“Wait.”

Evadne held out an arm and blocked her exit. Red looked at her, a little apprehensive. Did Evadne change her mind and call the police after all?

“Please sit down, Red. You aren’t going anywhere right now.”

Red backed off a few steps and plopped in the nearest chair. Her gaze didn’t leave Evadne’s face. She wasn’t sure whether the last part of the sentence boded good or ill. Knowing her luck, it would be the latter.

“Red, your friend Joe made a fine plea for you to remain here, but when my mind is made up, it’s not that easy to change.”

Red’s heart sank. Glancing at Joe she saw a similar hangdog expression on his face. This didn’t look good. And why did Evadne have to be enjoying it so much?

“Anyway,” Evadne said, “I had to check with both Maria and James as they have to put up with you as much as I do.” Her gaze fixed on Red and pinned her in place. Red fought the urge to squirm. Whatever Evadne decided, she would take it on the chin.

“James, by the way, hasn’t forgiven you for what you did to his beloved automobile.”

Evadne paused to make sure she had their full attention. She needn’t have bothered; Red was all ears and apprehension already. “As it happens, we were all of the same opinion.” A smile appeared on Evadne’s face. “And we’ve decided that, for the good of all Boston, you’d better continue to stay here until you’re fully recovered.”

A stunned silence settled on the room. Red stared at Evadne as she tried to decide whether this was some sort of cruel joke, some form of petty revenge. Hadn’t kicking her leg black-and-blue been enough?

“That is, assuming you want to stay?” Evadne asked, her voice now tinged with hesitancy.

“Why?” Red said. “I don’t understand. Why would you want me to stay?”

“To repeat something I said earlier: I haven’t the foggiest notion, but apparently, against all reason, I do.”

Chapter 11

September 26:  Partings and a present

Evadne was surprised at how easily Red fit into the household routine. Red spent a good part of the time either sleeping or eating; she needed a lot of both while she recovered, but the rest she spent with Maria and James as well as with her. What Red could have in common with Maria, other than the best way to fry food, Evadne couldn’t fathom, but Red spent a lot of time cloistered in the kitchen with her. Evadne had eventually asked. Maria hadn’t provided an answer, but had brushed aside her concerns that she was being put out with an airy wave of one hand. “I like her, chica, even if she is a pequeña diablilla.”

The time spent with James was more understandable. Once he got over his annoyance at the borrowing of his pride and joy, they’d soon discovered a mutual interest in tinkering with machinery. As a result, Red spent hours helping him tune and re-tune the engine until Evadne found it hard to believe it could be improved any further.

Evadne used the time to get to know her intriguing house-guest-cum-employer better. It was a frustrating task, though she hadn’t really expected anything less. She’d managed to coax out of Red that her mother was dead, a fact Evadne belatedly remembered had been mentioned at their first meeting, and that Red apparently didn’t know or care whether her father was or not. Except for Red’s internment in the sanitarium, that was about all she’d learned of Red’s life before arriving in Boston.

She was obviously neither willing nor happy to talk about her childhood or much else about her life. Nor had Evadne found out Red’s given name, something that had been niggling Evadne since they first met. Nothing at the office hinted at anything but Red, nor had Joe been a help.

Evadne finally had to go to the source. At first obliquely, then directly, she’d tried to extract the information, to no avail. Her only victory was the tacit admission that Red really wasn’t her given name.

Curiously, given her problems with pretty much every other major topic, the one subject Evadne had expected to be the hardest to get an answer on had actually been one of the easiest.

They were comfortably ensconced in the sitting room, she with an illicit sherry, Red with the usual medicinal whisky, when a specific curiosity finally got the better of Evadne’s innate sense of propriety.

“Red, can I ask you something, um, personal?”

“You can ask. Won’t promise an answer though.”

“Why do you dress like that, and why”—Evadne felt her cheeks begin to burn but stubbornly continued with the question—“do you love women rather than men?”

An amused look appeared on Red’s face, and she answered the last question with one of her own. “Why does anyone love who they love?” Obviously not expecting an answer, she continued. “It’s just the way I am, Evadne. I could no more sleep with a man than breathe under water.”

“Why, don’t you like them?”

Red subjected her to a searching look whose intensity soon began to make Evadne feel uncomfortable. She mentally added the question to the growing list of off-limit topics. She was just about to move on to something less problematic when she got her answer.

“No, it ain’t that I don’t like them... just not like that.” Red gave a snort of laughter. “I mean, Joe’s a damn good friend, but he’s like a brother to me. The idea of sleeping with him, or any other guy, is damn unpleasant and downright creepy.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “Gina—that’s Joe’s wife—thought there was something going on between us, you know? Took ages to persuade her otherwise. Wasn’t really until all that shit with Katherine…” Red’s face suddenly darkened, and her grip on the whisky glass tightened noticeably.

Hastily, Evadne shifted the conversation onto what she hoped was a safer topic. “So what about the clothes?”

Red looked down at the usual drab combination of pants, shirt, and vest. “I don’t know. Dresses just seem wrong. Ma told me the first thing I asked for was a pair of pants.”

The mention of her mother caused Red to clam up again, but she had provided an interesting insight into her character.

Despite Red’s reticence, Evadne picked up other tidbits of information as Red’s strength increasingly returned and she spent more time up and around. What Evadne learned wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to whet her appetite for more. Unfortunately, she doubted there would be many more opportunities, at least not like this.

In the last day or so, Evadne noticed the first signs of jail fever. Red was in the best of health physically, and even emotionally she seemed normal. Evadne corrected herself: at least as normal as she could remember Red being. The question now was how to broach the subject without causing offense. She didn’t want Red to think she was being got rid of, but neither did she want her feeling she had to stay if she wanted to leave.

In the end, it was Red who raised the subject. They were eating lunch, and Evadne noticed that Red was more unenthusiastic over the vegetables than usual. She prodded and pushed them around the plate with her fork. Eventually, she stopped harassing the peas and raised her head to meet Evadne’s mildly disapproving gaze.

“Evadne?” Red sounded hesitant.

“Yes?” While Evadne wasn’t surprised that a question was forthcoming—the pea molestation had been warning enough on that score—she was a little concerned as to what the hesitancy heralded. Last time it was due to the destruction, albeit accidental, of a fortunately not that expensive vase, thanks to Red’s curiosity about Evadne’s maternal grandfather’s cavalry saber. That particular blade was back where it belonged on the wall, and there had been no more impromptu weaponry testing, at least not that she was aware of.

“I’ve been thinking it’s about time I went back to my apartment.”

So, she’d been right about the jail fever, Evadne thought. “If that’s what you want, Red, it’s fine by me.” She smiled, relieved it had been nothing worse.

“I thought it might be,” Red said in a slightly odd tone of voice. “My stuff’s all packed, so I’ll go today, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. You don’t have to ask my permission. I’ll get James to drive you over.”

“Uh, right.” Red looked a bit confused now. “Suppose my first task will be getting the business back up and running.” She paused, not meeting Evadne’s eyes. “The job’s still there if you want it, you know?” The question sounded hesitant.

“I suspect I know the running of your office better than you do by now, Red,” Evadne teased gently, “so I’d better help keep things on the straight and narrow for you, hadn’t I?”

“You’re right there, true enough.” Evadne saw a definite hint of relief in Red’s eyes. Before she could even consider what that meant, Red got up from the table and headed out of the room. “I’ll just get my stuff, then I’ll be off.” And she was gone.

Evadne was astounded. Just like that, she was going, no warning, no preamble and, she noticed in annoyance, not even a thank-you. “Red Wolverton, you’re one self-centered little beast at times.” After a moment’s further glaring at the shut door, she roused herself into action. If Red wanted to go now, then she wasn’t going to hinder her; she would get James to drive her home. “Even if she is an ungrateful brat.”

It took Evadne no time at all to find James. The garage doors stood open with the LaSalle half-pulled-out to give better light. The hood was up and an overall-clad figure bent over it, apparently engrossed in the contents. He must have heard her footsteps on the gravel, as he straightened and turned to face her.

“Yes, madam?”

“I hope all that time hasn’t been wasted,” she said.

“Of course not, madam.” James’s easy reply betrayed no reaction to her abrupt tone, only the slight twitch of one eyebrow. Immediately, all her annoyance fled and she let out a small sigh. “Sorry, James.”

“Problems, madam?”

“Only a redheaded private investigator.”

“Ah, a big one then.”

Evadne gave a small grin. “That she is. Fortunately, she has decided to leave us, so would you make the automobile ready, please?”

“Now?” For a moment, there was genuine surprise on James’s face, but it soon relaxed into the neutral expression of the professional servant. “At once, my lady.”

The “my lady” made Evadne frown. James only ever used it as a tacit expression of disapproval. But before she could rally enough to say anything, he had closed the hood and was heading back toward the house to change, leaving Evadne kicking her heels in growing consternation. She had no reason to snap at James; it hadn’t been his fault. Yet Red’s abrupt departure had upset her. Why, she couldn’t fathom. It would be nice to have the house return to tidy, quiet, normality. Still, Evadne admitted, she would miss Red.

Her brooding was broken by the sound of James’s return. Leaving him to his duties, she headed back toward the house. She was about halfway there when Red appeared at the kitchen door accompanied by Maria. They talked for a moment, though Evadne was too far away to hear what was said, then Maria suddenly gave Red a huge hug. Red stood stock-still for a moment then hesitantly returned the embrace.

A smile tugged at Evadne’s lips as she watched them. The mismatched pair had become close in the two weeks Red had been there; the hug was proof of that. If there was one thing Evadne had learned about her houseguest, it was Red’s unwillingness to touch—an unwillingness that seemed vastly at odds with her reputation as something of a lothario.

Maria suddenly pulled away and rushed back into the house as if her best pan were on fire. Evadne could see the puzzled expression on Red’s face as she looked back toward the closed kitchen door. Red’s frown changed into a broad grin as she saw Evadne. Red slung her duffle bag nonchalantly over one shoulder and sauntered over to where Evadne waited. “James getting Bess?”

Evadne rolled her eyes that these two overgrown children had given a piece of machinery a name. “Yes, he’s fetching the automobile.”

Red put her bag on the ground and rummaged about inside until she drew out a small, neatly wrapped parcel.

“Uh,” she said and hesitated. “This is for you.”

Evadne took the gift, bemused by what it could mean.

“In appreciation for everything you’ve done for me,” Red added hastily.

“Don’t worry, Red, I didn’t think it was a love token.” The words hadn’t really meant to be teasing, though they certainly came out that way, even a little flirtatious. She was about to apologize when, to her amazement, a rush of color spread up from the open collar of Red’s shirt.

My, my, doesn’t the big bad wolf look cute when she blushes. Evadne got a glimpse of what, if the rumors were anything like the truth, attracted so many women to the strange rag-tag bag-of-contradictions that was Red Wolverton. She showed an unexpected vulnerability that seemed at odds with the roguish charm she’d employed to all and sundry in order to make up for her highly illegal foray into the night.

Putting aside these revelations for later examination, Evadne was relieved that Red appeared to have regained her composure even if there was still a trace of pink in her cheeks. Evadne refrained from commenting on the blush and turned her attention to the gift. She unwrapped the little parcel, both intrigued and a trifle wary as to what Red thought suitable as an offering. She gave a startled intake of breath as the contents of the box were revealed. A quick glance at Red showed she was nervously running one hand through her hair, the other thrust deep into a pants pocket. Evadne carefully took out the brooch from where it nestled in tissue paper. It was a beautiful piece, exquisitely wrought in gold and emerald. The design looked vaguely Celtic, with tiny green gems picking out the letter E. It didn’t appear to be new; if not an actual antique, it was at least a few decades old. Evadne looked at Red, who had given up turning her hair into a bird’s nest and was now studying her boots with an unlikely degree of fascination. “I don’t know what to say,” Evadne finally said.

Red looked up. “You do like it?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“It’s beautiful, but…” Evadne paused. How did she ask where it came from without making it sound like an accusation?

“It was my ma’s,” Red said quietly. “Her name was Elizabeth.” She ran a finger gently over the emeralds; the gesture was surprisingly tender, and Evadne found she had a sudden lump in her throat.

“E for Elizabeth, you see,” Red said. “She gave it to me just before she died. It’d been a gift from her pa and was the only thing she could rightly call hers.” She gave a sudden derisive laugh. “Pa went loco when he couldn’t find it in her things, but I’d hidden it safely away by then. Hid it in my Bible, cut a hole in the pages. The bastard never thought of looking in there, and it was the one thing I was sure he wouldn’t take from me. Didn’t even find it when they dragged me off to that place.”

Evadne was stunned. How could she take it? How could Red bear to give it? “Red, I can’t take this. You should keep it.”

“Why? I ain’t never gonna wear it, am I? And I ain’t gonna have kin I can pass it on to.” Red gave her a lopsided grin and the melancholy moment passed as though it had never been. “Anyways, I ain’t found anyone with the right initial I’ve wanted to give it to until now, so you’re the lucky E.”

“If you’re sure?” Evadne still hesitated. It was too much. What if—

“I’m sure.”

“If you ever want it…” Still she vacillated. How could Red give her such a precious gift?

“For Christ’s sake, woman.” Red scowled at her, though she could see no real anger in her expression. “It’s yours. I’m giving it to you. Just take it. Please.”

And I thought she was being ungrateful. With that guilty thought, Evadne threw her arms around Red in an enthusiastic embrace.

“What’s this, Hug-the-Wolf day?” Red grumbled good-naturedly into Evadne’s ear. “First Maria, now you. I’ll be lucky to escape without broken ribs at this rate.”

The sound of the LaSalle’s engine roaring into life came from the direction of the garage. Evadne released the hug, but remained lightly holding Red’s upper arms as she looked earnestly into the green eyes. “Thank you so very much for the brooch, Red. I shall treasure it always.”

Red relaxed noticeably and gave one of those rare straight-from-the-heart smiles that completely changed her face, making her look younger and much less cynical. “Just don’t be late at the office. I don’t hold with slackers, you know.”

Evadne was still rolling her eyes at this last comment when Red suddenly took her free hand and, with a flawlessly gallant bow, brushed the back of it with her lips. Before she could even think how to respond, Red had straightened up and let go of her hand. “Thank you for everything, Evadne Davenport.” With a final mischievous grin, Red headed toward the approaching vehicle. She tossed her bag into the backseat and clambered into the front beside James. Then, with a parting wave, Red was off. Evadne gave an amused shake of the head at the memory of the audacious parting courtesy and walked slowly toward her now oddly quiet house.

*   *   *

Red was in the office well before nine the next morning. She hadn’t slept well. Her mind was too full of the memory of that parting embrace, the feel of Evadne’s arms around her, her body so close. It reminded her forcibly of the attraction she’d felt at that first meeting, an attraction that had returned along with her health. She’d been careful to keep her distance, physically at least, not sure how Evadne would take any indication that Red had such feelings. But despite her best efforts to avoid temptation, she’d had it thrust upon her. As Evadne had hugged her, she’d found her arms lifting to return the embrace, unable to resist making the most of the opportunity. After all, it wasn’t likely to happen again.

She sighed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be turning into a complete mushball and then where would her hard-earned wolfish reputation be? Pining for the unobtainable would only lead to unpleasantness. She’d learned that lesson young, and she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

Nor was she planning on jumping into any more Brahmin beds. Not that she’d lump Evadne in with Katherine. Evadne was far too classy for that, but Red didn’t need any more unpleasantness from that quarter. Suitably warned, she took a bite out of the hot dog that was today’s breakfast.

Right on the dot of nine, the slight creaking of door hinges heralded Evadne’s arrival. Red caught the flicker of surprise that passed over Evadne’s face before returning to her study of that morning’s Herald, the half-eaten hot dog still in one hand.

Bet she weren’t expecting me to be in already. Red wasn’t quite sure whether to be amused or annoyed by that but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After a moment to allow Evadne to take in the scene before her, Red looked up. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Red.” Evadne’s reply was bright, her smile genuine. After a thorough inspection of the office, she carefully removed her coat and hat and added them to the coatrack. Red fought the urge to grin and bent her head to study the paper once again. She watched through her fringe of hair as Evadne rummaged through her bag and brought out a clean dust cloth.

Red’s fight with the grin was lost as Evadne started to dust. She’d had a private bet with herself as to whether her tidy socialite-secretary would show up with cleaning cloth in hand, and it appeared that she’d won. With a barely stifled yawn, she left Evadne to her dusting and went back to her reading.

Turning over another page, she scanned the closely set newsprint. She found little, if anything, of interest in the paper, certainly nothing that was of any use to her. Then she noticed a small article on the continuing investigation into the suspicious death of one J. Straker, Private Investigator. Red had known Jake and hadn’t liked the man one little bit, but curious about the fate of a fellow investigator, she continued to read the rest of the article. After the usual preamble, the writer reminded his readers how the unfortunate Mr. Straker had been found with his head smashed almost flat on the grounds of… She fumbled for her notebook and checked the address in the paper against the one she’d written. Yes, the man was killed on the grounds of Franklin’s house. Sitting back, she whistled softly through her teeth. At Evadne’s questioning look, she indicated the article. Evadne’s puzzled expression showed that it meant nothing to her. Red leaned forward and tapped the relevant piece of the article with a forefinger. “That address. It’s where Franklin lives.”

“The golem man?”

“Yeah, I went out there before—” She stopped and her throat tightened. Get a grip, wolf, for fuck’s sake. Can’t have you blubbering at the drop of a hat like this. Pulling herself together with effort, she finished the sentence in a calmer voice. “Before things happened.”

Evadne glanced at her, compassion in her eyes, before returning, much to Red’s relief, to reading the article. “He hired someone else, do you think?”

Red watched the small frown appear on Evadne’s brow as she considered the implications of what the paper said. Too damn cute, Red thought idly, before being struck by a sudden pang of guilt that she should even be thinking of such things with Janet barely cold in her grave. Returning to the current problem and away from her memories of Janet and her current guilt-ridden attraction to Evadne, she gave a brief nod. “Maybe. I think we need to go visit Mr. Franklin to see whether we’re still to consider ourselves in his employ, or not.”

“I get to go as well?” Evadne’s question was giddily enthusiastic, bringing a welcome smile to Red’s lips.

“Sure do, partner.” Red retrieved her hat and overcoat from their usual heap and headed for the door. “You’ll have to rough it on a streetcar though. I left my temperamental bucket of bolts at the apartment.”

“I haven’t been on a streetcar in years. It’ll be a nice change.”

Red, pragmatist through and through, snorted. “Yeah, if you insist.” Never before had she thought of describing riding a streetcar as nice. She rammed the fedora on her head and threw the overcoat over one shoulder. She indicated Evadne should go first, followed her out into the hallway, and locked the door. That done, she headed down onto the street, an excited Evadne firmly in tow.

After a crowded journey, through which Evadne chatted with everyone within earshot, enjoying herself thoroughly while Red had clearly been trying to pretend she wasn’t there, they alighted at the nearest stop to Franklin’s address and started on the short walk.

“This used to be a lovely neighborhood before everyone moved out to the Back Bay,” Evadne said in a wistful tone. “It looks a bit shabby now.”

Red grunted, clearly only half listening to what she was saying, a habit Evadne found more than a little irritating. She was about to voice her annoyance when Red suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. Red unceremoniously pushed her past rusted iron gates and into the bushes along an overgrown driveway.

“Wait here and be quiet,” Red said abruptly before heading back through the gateway.

Not knowing how else to respond, Evadne did as she was told. Part of her was fuming at the rude manhandling, and the rest was intrigued by what had caused it. She didn’t have long to wonder at the reason before Red reappeared in the gateway and signaled for her to come out.

“What was that all about?” Evadne whispered, her annoyance seeping into her voice.

“Just some people I don’t want to see us,” Red said curtly. She constantly glanced down the street in the direction they’d been going.

Evadne gave her a long stare. “And are you going to enlighten me as to who it was that caused me to be manhandled into the bushes?”

A roguish look flickered across Red’s face. Before she could voice the ribald reply she’d clearly been planning, Evadne stopped her with a withering look. “Tell you later. Come on, they’ve gone.”

Evadne glared at Red. She obviously wasn’t getting anything more in way of an explanation, so she picked her way out of the overgrown greenery and joined Red on the sidewalk. “You certainly know how to show a girl a good time, Wolverton,” she said under her breath as she dislodged dead leaves from her hair.

Red pointed down the street. “Come on, not far now. Then you get to meet old Jenkins. I’m sure the two of you will get on like a house on fire.”

Red’s words proved truer than she’d anticipated, if not quite in the way she’d imagined. As they walked up the drive, the door of the house opened. Jenkins emerged, shotgun in hand, and cursed the air blue. Red was startled when Evadne responded to this unprepossessing welcome by walking calmly up to the old man as if the gun didn’t exist and greeting him warmly in a voice that Red swore had gone up several social notches.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Jenkins. So nice to know that Mr. Franklin has such a dedicated man looking after his protection.”

Evadne’s approach caught Jenkins completely flat-footed.

“Ah… uh…” The old retainer floundered for a second and readjusted the shotgun so that it pointed at Red, abruptly wiping the grin off her face.

After giving her a warning glare, Jenkins turned to grace Evadne with a gappy smile. “Nice of you to say so, ma’am. Young ‘uns don’t understand what proper service is these days. It’s all me, me, me, and no respect for their betters.” He gave Red a pointed sneer.

“You’ve been with Mr. Franklin a long time, Mr. Jenkins?” Evadne asked with apparently genuine interest.

“Aye. Ever since he were a boy. Always been with the Franklins, ma’am, and plan to keep it that way whatever other folks say.”

“Other folks?”

“Them that say he don’t need to keep an old geezer like me around the place, that he should hire some proper protection.”

When he threw yet another accusing look in Red’s direction, she stepped forward and her anger outweighed caution. “Hey, I never—” Her attempt to deny the accusation was cut short as Jenkins jerked the shotgun at her. Fuming silently, she backed off a pace and held her hands out in a calming fashion. Glancing back at Evadne, she saw the faintest of smiles flicker across her face. Her stomach sank. Evadne was up to something, she was sure of it. And from that smile, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it.

She took a half step forward and opened her mouth. Before she could say anything, Evadne gave her a half-warning, half-pleading look then turned back to Jenkins.

“Don’t mind my assistant, Mr. Jenkins.” Evadne’s gaze flicked briefly to Red. Despite her unease over what Evadne was doing, Red restricted her reaction to a scowl. There wasn’t much else she could do at the moment. “She is all very well for when things get rough,” Evadne said, “but I can tell you’re a man who requires a more civilized approach.”

Red stayed obediently, if unhappily, quiet. She had to admit it looked like Evadne’s ploy was working. If Jenkins had been a dog, he’d be on his back wanting his belly rubbed. As long as she didn’t overdo it. Even Jenkins couldn’t be that stupid. In her opinion, Evadne was piling on the charm to excess, but Jenkins appeared not to realize he was being played.

“Is Mr. Franklin at home?” Evadne treated the older man to yet another dazzling smile. “I was hoping I would be able to have a little chat with him, if that is at all possible?”

“Yes, he’s here, ma’am. If you’d like to come in, I’ll see if he’s available.”

He opened the door and indicated that Evadne could enter. However, his gun never wavered from Red. She glanced from the baleful single-eyed stare of the shotgun’s muzzle up to an equally hostile glare from Jenkins. Her anger was building by the second, and Red realized she was grinding her teeth in frustration. The old buzzard was doing it deliberately, baiting her, obviously looking for an excuse to shoot her. And she hadn’t done anything to earn his apparent hatred.

Her hand moved slowly to the revolver in the small of her back. He knew who she was, had even had his employer tell him she was okay, but still he was messing with her. And there was no way she was letting Evadne in there by herself. Of course, shooting at his trusted old manservant wouldn’t put her high in Franklin’s estimation.

As if feeling her frustrated apprehension, Evadne turned in the doorway and smiled at Jenkins. “I trust my assistant can accompany me, Mr. Jenkins?” Although phrased as a question, her tone left no doubt that it was not one. Jenkins acquiesced without complaint, although he gave Red a dark look as she approached. “I’m watching you, Wolverton,” he said, as she passed where he stood guard in the doorway.

Red waited for Jenkins to close the door and make his slow way toward the study before facing an obviously amused Evadne. “Assistant?” she said under her breath.

“It seemed like the right approach, and it worked, didn’t it?” Evadne replied out of the corner of her mouth while they waited for Jenkins’s return.

“Yeah, but…” Red fumbled with her anger. It wasn’t really Evadne’s fault; she’d dealt with the situation with remarkable skill.

“What is the problem?”

“Dammit, Evadne. Do you think I enjoy having a shotgun in my face?”

“Really?” Evadne feigned surprise. “I thought you were a tough ol’ PI.” The feigned look turned into a wicked little grin. “It wasn’t loaded, Red. You can see the rim of the cartridge in those models, and there wasn’t one there. Do you really think I would have let him continue like that if I thought there was any real danger?”

Red stared at her in astonishment. She was quite right about the cartridge, Red realized, but how the hell did someone like Evadne Davenport know such a thing? And why the fuck did she leave her in the dark like that? If this was revenge for the bushes, she wasn’t amused. Not trusting herself to speak, she ground her teeth, jaw muscle twitching, and said nothing.

As they waited in silence, Red’s anger slowly dissipated into grudging admiration. She looked across to where Evadne had ensconced herself in a chair. Evadne met Red’s gaze and gave a small but distinctly smug smile. Damn but you’re a sly one, Evadne Davenport.

All further thoughts were put on hold as Jenkins reappeared. “Mr. Franklin will see you,” he informed Evadne and gave Red another scowl before he returned to his usual post.

With a little bow, Red indicated the way with a flourish. “After you, boss lady.”

Evadne gave a gracious little smile in reply and moved past Red toward the open doorway. Red followed and wondered what Evadne was going to surprise her with next.

Mr. Franklin rose to greet them as they entered the room. “Please take a seat, Red, and… it is Mrs. Davenport, isn’t it?”

“Evadne Davenport, yes. Please call me Evadne.” At least the mystery of how Porthwaite found out about her presence at Red’s office was solved. Though she doubted there had been any malice in Franklin’s actions.

“Please take a seat,” Franklin said.

Evadne politely took a seat, while Red leaned against the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Franklin sat behind the desk and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I can guess why you’re here,” he said, his tone apologetic. “You have no doubt heard that I had employed the late Mr. Straker, but when I heard Red was…” He paused, as if trying to find the right words. “Shall we say, incapacitated?” He looked over Evadne’s shoulder toward the door, and she turned in time to see Red give a nod in agreement. Apparently reassured, Franklin resumed his explanation. “I had to find someone else to take on the task.”

“We quite understand the difficulty you were in, Mr. Franklin,” Evadne said, “although some official notice would have been welcome. However, we’re here to see whether you wish us to continue with the case in light of Mr. Straker’s unfortunate demise.”

“The Herald said he was found here, head squashed flat,” Red said. “That true?”

Franklin swallowed a couple of times, and then nodded, looking a little green around the gills.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Evadne asked more gently than Red’s abrupt and distinctly unsympathetic questioning.

He swallowed a couple more times before continuing. “Yes, I found him. It was horrible, horrible.” He took a large gulp from the tumbler on his desk, and his hand shook noticeably.

“Can you show us where?”

Red’s interruption was almost brutal in its callousness, and Evadne glared reproachfully at her. The look Red gave in return challenged her to argue.

“Yes, of course I can.” Franklin interrupted the silent confrontation. “Sorry about that. It was not, as I’m sure you can imagine, a very pretty sight.”

Red’s next words were apparently more sympathetic, if not very tactful. “Yeah, must have been blood and brains all over the place.”

Once again, Evadne stared at Red. Again, the answering look was unrepentant. When Evadne turned back to apologize for the crassness, she was surprised to see that, instead of the sick look she’d been expecting, Franklin simply looked puzzled.

“Actually, now that you mention it, there wasn’t. There should have been, but there wasn’t.”

Feeling like she was at a tennis match, Evadne swiveled in her seat again. Red nodded slightly at Franklin’s words, apparently satisfied with what he’d said, though Evadne couldn’t see why.

Red unfolded her arms, straightened up, and finally showed some of the sympathy Evadne had been expecting. “Just tell me where it happened, Mr. Franklin, I’ve a good idea of the layout of the grounds. Reckon I can find the place without you having to go there again, if you’d rather not.”

As they moved across the overgrown lawn and out of earshot of the ever-watchful Jenkins, Evadne’s reproachful looks turned into words. “You did that deliberately didn’t you? I thought the poor man was going to be sick the way you were going on.”   

“Told you this job ain’t always fun and games,” Red said. “Had to find out what he’d seen. I really don’t want to be trying to get that sort of detail from the cops, things being as they are.”

Understanding dawned on Evadne’s face. “I see. But I still think you shouldn’t have been so brutal in getting the information.”

Red ignored her. After a few more paces, she stopped and studied the ground. They were close to the increasingly indistinct junction between long grass and overgrown borders, and although it had been some days since Straker’s body had been found, there were still visible signs of the passing of many feet. She gave a grunt of satisfaction, pleased she’d found the site so easily. “This is the place.”

The area was as disturbed as she’d feared. “Won’t find anything much here.” She scowled down at the scuffed ground, frustration making her voice harsh. “Damn flatfoots have had their size thirteens all over the place.” She knelt and brushed a hand though the flattened grass.

“What are you looking for?” Evadne asked. “I thought you said you wouldn’t find anything here?”

“Just want to check something,” Red said absently, her attention still fixed on the ground. Fortunately, the rain that had been threatening for the last week had not yet fallen, and after a few minutes, she found a patch of soil stained darker than the surrounding ground, the dark rust color of old blood.

“Found whatever it is you’re looking for?”

Red wasn’t at all put out by Evadne’s acerbic tone. She explained what she had, indeed, found. “This’ll be where his head, or what was left of it, was lying. There’s still some trace of blood.” She widened her search and hoped something might be left that hadn’t been trampled out of existence. A short and unsuccessful while later, she sat back on her heels. “Definitely not as much as there should be.” Glancing up, she was surprised to see Evadne looking thoughtful but not squeamish. “You okay with this?”

“This? What this?”

“Blood? Bodies?” Was Evadne being deliberately dense just to annoy her?

“Oh, that. No, it doesn’t bother me, not after the war.”

“The war?” Red was now thoroughly bewildered. What would a socialite like Evadne know of the war?

“Looks like the great detective missed something in her investigation of me.”

Red stood up and wiped her earth-stained hands on the seat of her pants. “What are you talking about?”

“My joining the volunteer ambulance service.”

Was it Red’s imagination or did Evadne’s voice have a markedly triumphant tone?

“So, as you can no doubt imagine, blood and bodies are not new to me.”

Red was bowled over by this revelation. She’d heard of the women volunteers that served on the Western Front, but never, ever, had she thought Evadne would be one of them.

“So there’s no need to protect my delicate sensitivities on that account,” Evadne said, apparently unaware of the effect her pronouncement was having.

Red’s surprise was rapidly turning into sullen resentment. She was off-balance, and she didn’t like it one little bit. Not one little bit at all. “Good,” she snapped. She looked away and forced herself to study the garden while she waited for her calmness to return.

She was still thinking about the surprising information when she heard a slight noise from over to the left. Listening intently, she could just make out the sound of stealthy movement in the undergrowth. She turned back to Evadne. “You heeled?” she whispered.

“What?”

“Are you packing?” Red rolled her eyes at Evadne’s puzzled look. “Do you have a gun with you?”

Evadne shook her head then whispered back, “Why?”

Red rolled her eyes again. “God save me from goddamned amateurs,” she muttered under her breath. She would just have to go alone; it was probably better anyway. Evadne might have been up to driving ambulances but this was a different ball game altogether. “Stay here.” Ignoring Evadne’s look of exasperation, Red began picking her way through the undergrowth in the direction the noises had come from.

She was approaching the nearest part of the boundary wall, the part that allowed access to the neighboring property. If her theory was right, it was also where Straker’s dead body had been brought over. Staring at the wall, she frowned. There was something not quite right. Then it hit her; some of the bricks were out. Someone came over the wall and could still be in the garden. Whoever it was might have been the source of the noise she’d heard earlier

As she backed away, the sound of a twig cracking behind her made her spin around. She reached for the revolver nestled in the small of her back and the .45 was out and pointing at a surprised face. When Red’s mind registered the identity of the scared brown eyes looking down the barrel of the Smith and Wesson, she grabbed Evadne’s arm and yanked her into the undergrowth.

“Shit, Evadne!” Red’s voice was hoarse from the effort of keeping her voice low as she struggled with the shock of coming within a hairsbreadth of pulling the trigger. Her shock was rapidly turning into gut-churning fury. “What do you think you’re doing? I nearly blew your fucking head off!”

“I’m sorry, but I just…” Evadne took a shaky breath. Then her eyes flashed with anger, though she kept her voice to a whisper. “If you leave me behind like some child with nary an explanation—”

The sound of voices jerked Red out of her anger and back to the imminent threat. Before Evadne could finish, Red pushed her roughly down onto her back and deeper into the undergrowth. Evadne’s eyes opened wider as Red moved to lie across her upper body.

“What do you—”

Red’s hand muffled Evadne’s voice, and she stared at Red in silent fury. When she tried to struggle, Red shifted to whisper harshly into her ear, “Stop and listen.” This time Evadne did as she was told. Red let out a small sigh of relief and returned her concentration to their surroundings.

The voices were nearer now, and Red strained to hear what they were saying. There were only two voices, both male. Although she couldn’t make out the words, nothing in their tone indicated they’d been heard. However, they were still coming in their direction. She and Evadne weren’t out of the woods yet.

Cautiously, Red removed her hand. She held a finger to her lips, asking for silence. When Evadne nodded her understanding, Red spread her overcoat over as much of them as she could without drawing attention then lowered her head down beside Evadne’s. She was impressed when Evadne had the presence of mind to turn her face toward Red’s and under the brim of her fedora, effectively hiding the paleness of her upturned face. Nearly nose to nose with Evadne, Red could clearly see apprehension in her eyes but no sign of panic. Reassured that she understood the situation, Red concentrated on what she could hear.

The men’s voices came closer while the women lay, still as death, in the undergrowth. In the heavy silence, Red could feel Evadne’s heart pounding and the tension in the body she was holding down.

Too damned close. Red cursed herself soundly for her carelessness. How had she let them get so close before hearing them? But she knew the answer. Her anger at Evadne had allowed it, driven partially by her own shock at how close Evadne had been able to get, but mostly by how close Red had come to shooting her. Blaming herself stopped as she began to make out words, and instead she focused on what the men were saying.

“The boss will kill you when he finds out, you know?” The first voice came from less than five yards away. It sounded like an older man, his accent rough.

“He don’t need to know, does he?” The second was younger, scared, and vaguely familiar.

“He won’t hear it from me, Billy, but if he finds out any other way, you’re on your own, kid.”

“It must’ve fallen out around here when we hauled the stiff over,” the younger voice continued. “Maybe we could look again.”

Evadne stiffened, and Red gripped the handle of her revolver more tightly with a sweaty hand.

“Nah, kid, we got to go. I’m sure I saw Wolverton earlier, poking her nose in where it ain’t wanted. If she, or anyone else, sees us, and the boss finds out, we’ll be in deep shit. If we ain’t found it, no one else is likely to either.”

The sound of faint scuffles and grunts of effort led Red to risk raising her head. She could see the wall through the bushes that shielded them from the intruders’ sight. The men were atop the wall; the older of the two was holding the back of the other’s pants as he hung, almost upside down, against the inner edge of the wall and replaced the missing bricks. Then, with a grunt, he pulled the younger man up and they both slid from sight. Soft thuds followed as they hit the ground on the other side.

Red waited until she was sure the men were well out of earshot before releasing her hold on Evadne. As Evadne scrambled to her feet, Red rolled onto her back with a relieved sigh. That was too close for comfort, especially with only one of them armed.

Staring thoughtfully up at the glowering sky, she considered the men’s presence in Franklin’s garden. The older of the two she knew both by sight and reputation, neither of which was particularly pleasant. Fingers Raynard was a thug for hire with a nickname that had nothing to do with dexterity and much more to do with his fondness for breaking other peoples’. His presence was additional confirmation that whatever was going on had more to do with the local lowlife than anything supernatural.

The glimpse she’d got of the younger man’s face as he’d been pulled up was a surprise. She’d last seen him scowling at her over his shoulder as his doting father had hustled him out of Mickey’s gym. What could Billy Garrison’s involvement mean? Was Garrison senior involved, and if he was, what in hell’s name was she going to do about it?

She was well aware that not all the teamsters’ activities were legal; she’d even been involved in some of them when she was younger. Nor were they against permanently removing opposition if needed. But the more she thought about it, the more the golem business didn’t seem to fit their usual methods. It looked like Garrison junior was branching out on his own.

“Planning on staying down there all day?”

Evadne’s brusque question cut through her musings. Evadne was slowly turning in a circle as she tried in vain to dislodge the vegetation still clinging to her back. Deciding to put her out of her misery, Red got to her feet. “Turn around.”

“What?” Evadne asked, her voice tinged with apprehension.

“What do you think I’m going to do? Push you into the bushes?”

“You’ve already done that twice.”

“So I have.” With a widening grin, Red grasped a shoulder and spun Evadne around. She knocked off the remaining leaves and twigs then turned her back.

“There, all done.” She couldn’t help smirking at Evadne’s flustered expression. She hadn’t known Evadne very long, but she suspected that seeing the unflappable Mrs. Davenport so bewildered was pretty unusual.

“Uh, thank you.”

For a moment, Red wondered what it was Billy had lost. She even considered looking for it herself. But with no idea what it was, and given the two men hadn’t been able to find it, there didn’t seem to be much point. No, her next task was to find out who had the house next door. Maybe Franklin had an idea. She hadn’t the chance to ask him after her first visit. She’d do it right now.

“Come on, I need to have another word with Franklin.” Red set off toward Franklin’s house. What was the best way to raise the subject without spooking him any more?

*   *   *

Red disappeared around the corner of the house, apparently oblivious to the fact she wasn’t being followed. Only then did Evadne wince. Satisfied she was alone, she rolled up the sleeve of her jacket and stared at the bruises already starting to appear on her arm—finger-shaped bruises from a grip that had been so fierce she nearly cried out at the pain. She probably would have if she hadn’t already been scared nearly witless by suddenly coming nose to muzzle with a gun. The fury in Red’s face had been quite terrifying, not helped by the way her sea green eyes had changed to stormy gray.

When Evadne was so roughly pushed to the ground, she’d briefly feared for her life. She’d struggled to push the larger and, as she realized with an unexpected rush of fear, much stronger Red off her. Confused, and more than a little scared at what Red was doing, the many dire warnings of what those sort of women were supposed to be like had echoed bell-like and unwanted in her head.

That fear disappeared as soon as she’d heard the men’s voices and realized what Red was doing. Still, it left her unsettled and uncertain. She rolled down the sleeve and glanced in the direction Red had just stalked off in. What was she thinking of in associating with someone with such violence in her? Was it possible that, as her detractors had often suggested, she was indeed going a little bit insane?

Gently rubbing her sore forearm, she contemplated the extremes of Red’s character. There was a physical strength she’d never seen before in a woman and a reputation for reckless courage that she could well believe. Yet beneath the physical presence, quick temper, and mercurial charm, lurked both a vulnerability Red fought to disguise and a violence she struggled to contain, and the contrast intrigued Evadne. That desire to understand, she realized in a sudden flash of self-awareness, was why she wasn’t contemplating severing the nascent friendship. In much the same way, her initial desire to understand how a woman could survive in the male-dominated field of private investigation had been one of the reasons she’d applied for the job of secretary in the first place. Of course, that it almost certainly annoyed her beloved in-laws into a permanent state of apoplexy probably helped.

Satisfied she was where she wanted to be, and despite what her mother-in-law might claim, she hadn’t gone completely mad, Evadne moved to where the two men had been standing. After a final thoughtful look toward the house, she began to search.

Chapter 12

How had they ended up arguing again? Red shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She tried without much luck to compose her thoughts while Evadne paced angrily around the office. Was it really worth the aggravation of having each and every one of her damned decisions challenged? She’d never had to justify her actions like this when she worked alone.

“We should tell him!” Evadne said.

“I’ve already said we don’t have to, and unless someone has repainted the sign, it still says Wolverton Investigation Agency on the door.”

Evadne stopped her pacing just long enough to throw a withering glance. “But he should be told. It’s his house, his life.”

“And then?” Red asked, her voice flat.

“What ‘and then’?”

“What do you think he’ll do then?”

“Move to somewhere safer, obviously.”

“Do you know you’re beautiful when you’re angry?” Red graced Evadne with an appreciative look. Unfortunately, her flirtatious attempt to distract Evadne backfired spectacularly. The feelings she’d been trying to squash suddenly fought back with a vengeance. Evadne did look quite stunning, with her hair attractively disheveled and dark eyes flashing with anger.

Frantically trying to get a grip on her rebellious emotions, Red struggled to get her mind back on a train of thought that wasn’t one track and dirty. Pull yourself together, Wolverton. No getting the hots for your secretary now. It ain’t gonna to happen. She stomped down hard on her wayward thoughts.

Evadne stopped dead at Red’s words. She stared openmouthed at Red for a moment before her jaw snapped shut and her eyes narrowed. “And do you know that you are quite annoying at all times?”

“Yup, sure do.” Red gave a roguish grin.

Evadne stalked over to the desk and swatted Red’s booted feet off the scarred surface. Placing her hands in the vacated space, she leaned forward. “Don’t flirt with me, Red Wolverton. It isn’t going to work.”

A disarming smile on her lips, Red leaned forward as well until the two were almost nose to nose. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“And don’t think the application of the infamous Wolverton charm is going to pacify me either.”

Red was busted, well and truly. She closed her eyes in resignation. There was no easy way out of this particular corner. Opening her eyes again, she looked steadily at Evadne. She was going to have to explain her reasons, no matter how much habit argued against it. “You want to know why I don’t think Franklin should be told?”

“Yes, I think you owe your secretary that courtesy,” Evadne replied sarcastically.

Neglecting to mention that it was a courtesy few in such positions ever got, Red held up one hand and began to count off the reasons with the other.

“One, I sincerely doubt anywhere in this city is safe for him.” Before the point could be argued, she continued.

“Two, we now know how they’re getting access.”

“Three, they don’t know that we know.”

“Four, we can use this knowledge to our advantage. We ain’t got enough information, and we ain’t got any proof as to the who-and-why behind it all. That proof I reckon we can get either from that house or Franklin’s warehouse.”

Noticing that Evadne’s brows were now drawn together in thought rather than anger, Red added the closing argument. “So do you suggest we tell Franklin what little we’ve found so that he either moves elsewhere or tries to stop access to the garden?” She gave a derisive snort. “Any benefit from that would be short-lived, and the possible bad effects are huge.”

Red leaned forward, warming to her argument. “We’d be left with no idea of how these men will make their next approach. They might change their plans completely, give up on the persuasion malarkey, and settle for bumping off Franklin and buying what they want off his heirs or estate.” She saw a flicker of concern in Evadne’s eyes and immediately pressed her advantage. “Do you really want to put Franklin in more danger than he’s already in?”

Evadne sat down in her chair, her brow furrowed in thought. Red could almost see her chagrin as she realized she couldn’t find fault in her arguments. “All right, we play it your way.” Well, almost no fault. “However, I strongly suggest we try to enlist Mr. Franklin’s help and not leave him completely in the dark.” When Red didn’t immediately reply, she said, “Please, Red. Surely you can see it’s only fair for the poor man to know what’s going on.”

Red met those pleading brown eyes and was lost. She was such a sucker for the puppy-dog look, she groused to herself. “Okay, you win, but if he hightails it out of there when we tell him, we drop the case there and then, no arguments.”

“No arguments.”

“But first, I want to take a look at that warehouse of his.”

“But Franklin?” Evadne asked in puzzlement and more than a trace of irritation. “I thought we—”

“You tell him. I’ve some things I want to check out first. Meet you at the warehouse later.”

“Where is—”

“Franklin can tell you.” Red’s grin was of Cheshire cat proportions. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to work for me.”

Evadne gave her an exasperated stare, but she soon capitulated. She lifted her coat and hat from the coatrack and donned them. “What time are we meeting?”

Red hadn’t really considered an exact time. “About ten, I reckon.”

“Ten?” Evadne’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “In the evening?”

“Yeah. Why? You scared of the dark?”

“No. The dark doesn’t scare me.” Evadne’s reply was somber, taking the wind out of Red’s sails. “Not anymore.”

Red remembered what Evadne had told her that morning, and her teasing reply stuck in her throat. There was an awkward pause as Evadne looked uncomfortable, and Red wished the words unsaid. “I want to take a look around without any official interference,” she explained. “Get a key from Franklin if you’re worried that we’ll be doing something illegal.”

*   *   *

Red was slouched in the doorway of the warehouse, idly running a coin through her fingers, when she spotted a figure headed in her direction. She tucked the coin in a vest pocket and straightened, giving a small grin as she realized it was Evadne. Taking advantage of the relative darkness, Red allowed herself the luxury of checking her out as she approached.

Evadne came toward her with effortless grace, her trim figure moving easily over the rough cobbles in a way that made Red feel big and clumsy. It took a moment before she realized Evadne was wearing pants, which was certainly a first. They showed her figure nicely, not something Red was going to complain about. Drawn by the almost hypnotic sway of Evadne’s pants-clad hips as she walked, it took a moment before Red noticed the anxious way Evadne was looking around her. Red kicked herself for not considering that Evadne might be uncomfortable at being on the docks at that time of night. She moved forward to meet her.

“You okay?”

“A little uneasy. But I suppose I’m just going to have to get used to sneaking around places like this if I’m to work with you.”

Red winced. “Dammit, I should never have left you to get here on your own. The docks ain’t no place for a woman.”

“It’s all right, Red.” Evadne cut through the near apology. “I’m a big girl. I can look after myself. Anyway, you’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Red gave Evadne her best wolfish grin. “But most of the lowlifes around here know to steer clear of me.”

Her reply got the eye-rolling she’d been aiming for. Satisfied that she’d taken Evadne’s mind off her surroundings, Red returned to the subject in hand. “Did you get the key?” When this received a single raised eyebrow, she answered it with another grin and a one-shouldered shrug. “Thought I’d best not bust Franklin’s lock, seeing as he’s paying us and all. The night watchman might not like it much either.”

“Good idea.” Evadne took the key out of her pocket and offered it to Red. “After you.”

Red took the key. A quick look showed no one around, and she opened the door. Ushering Evadne inside, she took a final glance at the night-shrouded docks then closed the door.

In the deeper darkness of the unlit warehouse, she dug around inside her overcoat for her flashlight. Before she could find it, there was a click and a beam of light cut through the darkness. Evadne had thought to bring one of her own, Red noted approvingly.

Red finally located her own flashlight, pulled it out, but didn’t switch it on. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she realized there was a square of lesser darkness over to one side. A window, probably in a door from its size. That would be the night watchman’s office, she decided. They were often kept in near-darkness to preserve the watchman’s night sight should he need to quickly venture out into the unlit warehouse proper. She was surprised their arrival hadn’t been challenged, unless, of course, he was out on his rounds. She turned on her flashlight and led the way to the office. Inside, she found a small room lit by a hurricane lantern turned down to the point that it barely gave off any light. The room looked normal, yet something didn’t feel right.

“Didn’t you say there would be a watchman of some sort?” Evadne echoed Red’s concern.

“He’s probably on his rounds.” Red loosened her revolver in its holster. “Come on, let’s see if we can track him down.”

She led the way into the depths of the warehouse. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Evadne’s flashlight beam sweeping over the stacked crates.

“Mr. Franklin does seem to be doing well from the number of crates.” Evadne stopped and gave a faint and very unladylike whistle of astonishment. “Look at this label. A Louis Quinze desk—that’s not the sort of thing many people can afford.”

“Yeah, he’s doing well.” Red came back to stand by Evadne as she scanned more of the labels. “Checked up on him at the dock office when you went back to see Franklin. Imports high quality merchandise then sends it all over the state, sometimes even farther afield.”

“So he would be a good target for someone who wished to take over the business?”

Red nodded. “High quality merchandise and good reputation could be used to slip in even more lucrative goods without all that red tape.”

“And someone is using this golem idea to scare him into selling.”

“Sure looks that way.”

“Why does Franklin believe it really is a golem?”

“He claims to have seen it. I reckon someone rigged something.”

Evadne smiled teasingly. “Backpedaling a bit there aren’t we, Red? What happened to ‘legends having a grain of truth behind them’?”

“Hey, I never said I thought it was a golem,” Red said, not quite able to stop a defensive edge creeping into her voice. “Just that he believed it and the possibility shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand.”

“You can’t really believe supernatural beings like the golem exist.”

Red gave her an angry glare, and her hackles rose at the condescending edge she heard in Evadne’s voice. “Don’t dismiss it that easily.” Red abruptly turned away and returned to her exploration of the warehouse.

“My, my, we are touchy, aren’t we?”

Red ignored Evadne’s teasing comment and purposefully moved deeper into the darkness. Her surprise at the watchman’s absence was rapidly turning into unease. Something was very wrong; she could almost smell it in the air. As she entered a less cluttered area, the beam of light swept over a huddled shape on the floor. Although instinct pulled her forward, she took a moment to check the area around her before kneeling by the shape’s side. A man in his late fifties lay with one outstretched arm that ended in a stump. He had to be the missing watchman.

Red carefully turned him over and met his unseeing gaze. She drew in a sharp intake of breath as she took in the mind-numbing look of fear on his face, given an extra gruesomeness by the light of her flashlight. It took a moment to rein in her visceral response. She never wanted to see that expression again. She was checking for the pulse when she heard footsteps behind her and a light flashed over them.

“Red?” Evadne hurried closer and turned the beam onto the face of the body on the floor. “Dear Lord!”

Red glanced up at Evadne, glad to see that despite the immediate shock she had been quite truthful in her comments about being okay with bodies. Evadne stared calmly down at the dead watchman, curiosity mixing with sadness.

“What happened to him?”

“Don’t know. There’s no sign of an injury. I would say it was just his time if it weren’t for that look on his face.”

“Looks like something scared him, quite literally, to death.” Evadne bent down and closed the lids over staring blue eyes then looked at Red. “What now? Call the police?”

There was no way Red was going to involve the police unless it was absolutely necessary. Perhaps Franklin would be a suitable alternative. Then she froze. Something had moved in the darkness over Evadne’s shoulder. There was a window there, she now saw, and there again, movement. She was sure of it. Someone was watching them.

”Red?”

She barely registered Evadne’s voice before she was up and running. She ran as swiftly as the dark and cluttered warehouse allowed, exploded out of the doorway, and pelted down the narrow alleyway that separated Franklin’s warehouse from the one next door. She came to a halt outside the window and looked around for whoever had caught her eye, but there was no one in sight. “Fuck!” She turned her attention to the ground. Her flashlight played rapidly over the dirty flagstone as she looked for some sign of whoever had been there. “Dammit, there was someone here, I know it!”

“Care to share?” Evadne asked testily as she arrived, panting slightly. “If you’re going to run out on me like that, an explanation would be nice.”

“What?” Red frowned up at her then gave a brief apologetic grin. “Yeah, right. This having an assistant is going to take some getting used to.” She gestured for Evadne to come closer. “Thought I saw someone through the window.” She looked around again, grimacing in frustration. “No obvious signs out here though.”

Red continued to scan the ground. Evadne moved away from her, apparently doing her own search.

“Red?”

Evadne was standing by a doorway into the neighboring warehouse, one Red wasn’t going to admit she hadn’t noticed before. “What’d you find?”

“The door’s open. Shouldn’t it be locked?”

“Yeah.” Red ran the flashlight beam over the door and surrounding walls. No indication of who the building belonged to. Could whoever she’d seen have ducked in there? Turning the light on Evadne’s face, she gave a wicked little grin. “Shall we take a look-see?”

“Isn’t that—”

“Illegal? Hell, yeah.” As she pushed open the door, Red smiled at the muttered complaints but was reassured to find Evadne following her.

“If you get me arrested, Wolverton,” Evadne whispered close to her ear, “you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

Red’s grin widened, but she remained quiet, listening. She stuck out a hand and stopped Evadne. “Put your light out.” After a click, only Red’s light remained, and she flicked down the red lens over it. In the more subtle light, she waited for their eyes to adjust. “Keep close.”

The diffused light showed the warehouse was almost completely empty except for a few crates and boxes lying along one side and a big pile in a far corner. Keeping close to the wall, Red led the way farther into the darkness.

“So Wolverton’s back on the case, is she?”

The man’s voice, Fingers’s she thought, came from the far side accompanied by the sound of a door closing. Suddenly, parts of the warehouse became lit. It seemed this warehouse, unlike Franklin’s, had electric lighting installed. Unfortunately, it included the area they were in.

Red grabbed Evadne and pulled her behind some crates. Feeling the tension in the arm she held, she gave Evadne a quick, concerned glance. A shaky smile and small nod reassured her that Evadne wasn’t about to do anything they would both regret, and Red returned her attention to the new arrivals.

“That’s what I heard. And you reckoned you saw her go into Franklin’s house yesterday.”

That was Billy’s voice, she was sure. So this place was linked to Franklin’s problem. Their presence here would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.

“Yeah, I did. Dammit, Mr. Vlamyr ain’t going to be happy about this.”

“When is that freak ever happy about anything?” Billy made a faint sound of disgust. “And that girl gives me the creeps—don’t she ever talk?”

“Watch your tongue. They’re paying us, don’t forget.”

They were moving closer, and Red backed toward the door, making sure she kept Evadne behind her. Suddenly, Evadne stopped. Red turned to glare at her, then saw why she’d stopped—they had run out of cover. The final distance to the door was well lit; any attempt to leave without being seen would almost certainly fail. She risked a peek over the crates that hid them. The two men were getting closer, apparently headed for a small office in one corner. She hunkered down by Evadne’s side. “When I’ve got their attention, go back to Franklin’s warehouse. Lock the door. You’d best call the cops. Tell them about the watchman. Tell Franklin, too.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll meet you back at the warehouse once I’ve lost these bozos.” Red saw doubt and a little fear in Evadne’s brown eyes. She laid a hand on her arm and gave a squeeze. “Trust me on this, Evadne. This is what I’m good at.” She waited until she got a nod. “Atta girl.”

Moving back along the screen of crates, Red soon reached the other end. With a brief look and a wave back at Evadne, she rose from her hiding place and ran as quietly as she could for the second door.

She was shocked to find the door locked. She glanced back over her shoulder. The two men hadn’t yet spotted her. Relieved that Lady Luck didn’t appear to be completely out to get her, she considered the best way to get the door open. She didn’t want to use her gun to break the lock; she wanted the men to chase her, not go to ground. With an unhappy grunt at the bruises she was about to earn, she shouldered the door. The lock gave but didn’t break. Shouts from behind her showed she definitely got the men’s attention. Adrenaline flowed in earnest as she threw herself at the door once more. It crashed open and she fell through, sprawling onto hands and knees. Her overcoat was grabbed as she scrambled to her feet, and she was dragged back through the doorway.

“Got you, Wolverton,” Billy said. “Now we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”

Red kicked back hard, and a grunt of pain showed she made contact. She squirmed in the grip, shed the coat, and turned to swing a wild roundhouse. The swing didn’t hit anything, but it did give her a bit of space.

Then she noticed Evadne was still by the door, indecision clear on her face. “For fuck’s sake, get out of here,” she shouted. Evadne took a step only to hesitate. As Billy turned to see what she was shouting at, Red launched a ferocious left cross, putting all her anger into the blow. Unfortunately, the momentary distraction gave Fingers an opening, and as her fist hit Billy’s jaw, another landed hard in her gut. She collapsed to the ground, wheezing. Fingers kicked hard at her head, but she deflected the blow. She winced as his steel toe cap made glancing contact with her forearm. While he was still off balance, she hooked his legs out from under him and he hit the floor with a curse.

Red struggled to her feet and shouted once more with what little breath she had left for Evadne to run. Ignoring the pain from her hands and stomach, she snapped a kick at Billy and made contact just above his knee. As he yelped and stumbled out of reach, Red stole another glance that showed Evadne had finally gone. Fighting against the rage coursing through her that urged her to stay and fight, Red turned and ran. She pounded through the yard outside and out through the gates. She turned away from Franklin’s warehouse and headed up the dimly lit docks. The voices behind her showed the chase was on.

Behind the barrier of crates, in the darkest corner of the warehouse, red eyes glowed with interest. The creature had recently returned from his own foray into the world outside when the two she-apes entered the building. Their audacity caused a brief flicker of annoyance; however, the feel of the anger burning hot and bright had caught his attention. There was something tantalizingly familiar to the darkness he sensed within the she-ape with hair the color of red gold, the one the other apes called Wolverton, something that intrigued him. He concentrated, searching until he found the mind he was after.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I have a task for you, my child. I wish to know what this Wolverton knows. Bring her to me.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“Alive,” he said, recognizing the blood lust in his servant’s mind. “But if she resists, do what must be done to control her. Once I have finished with her, I will leave you to dispose of her as you so desire.”

*   *   *

Evadne glanced at her watch once more. Nearly an hour had passed since she’d reached the safety of Franklin’s warehouse, and she was increasingly worried about Red. The police and Franklin had arrived and were dealing with the unfortunate watchman.

Evadne said nothing of what happened in the nearby warehouse. The police wouldn’t look too kindly upon trespassing. She still felt guilty for leaving Red, despite being told to do so. After a final argument with herself about the wrongs and rights of doing as she’d been instructed, her instinct to check that Red was all right prevailed. Grasping the heavy flashlight, her only weapon, she left the warehouse and headed in the direction she thought Red had run. She hadn’t gone far when a splashing from the bay caught her attention. She walked to the edge of the dock and peered into the dark water. A familiar, if muted, voice cursing the air blue caught her attention, and she whispered into the gloom.

“Red, is that you?”

“Who the fuck do you think it is, Moby Dick?”

Evadne turned on her flashlight, searched the edge of the dock, and soon found what she was after. “There’s a ladder to your left,” she said to Red. Hearing the grunt of acknowledgement, Evadne headed for the ladder and lit the way as Red hauled herself out of the water and up onto the dock’s wooden planking.

As Red stood in a spreading puddle of water, Evadne’s relief warred with amusement. “You’re soaked.” She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor that accompanied Red. “And you stink.”

“Marvelous observational work, Sherlock,” Red said with a distinctly evil glare.

Evadne fought back an urge to grin. Once her face was schooled into a more sympathetic expression, she asked, “What happened, Red? How did you end up in the bay?”

“Yeah, well.” Red pulled a wry face. “The bastards were more persistent than I’d expected, so I slipped off a wharf into the water. Once they’d given up, I worked my way back here.”

Suddenly, Evadne noticed Red was shivering, and her lips were tinged a worrying shade of blue. Immediately concern replaced amusement. “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.” When her comment didn’t receive the expected flirtatious response, she realized Red had to be feeling truly miserable. She took off her heavy coat and draped it over Red’s shoulders, hoping it would help keep out the night’s biting wind. “The police and Mr. Franklin are at the warehouse, but I didn’t tell them about our little escapade in the warehouse.”

“Good decision.” Red sneezed and pulled the coat tighter around her.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere dry and warm.” Evadne ushered the violently shivering Red toward the LaSalle. The police and Franklin would just have to wait.

Chapter 13

September 28:  Housebreaking

Despite Red’s misgivings, it turned out that Franklin was more than willing to remain at the house and, as he put it, be the cheese in this particular rattrap. She’d surveyed the changes to his house with approval as Franklin showed her what Evadne had suggested. A small spy-hole had been worked through one of the second-floor shutters facing the crossing point of the wall outside. Jenkins’s main watch post was moved from the front door to the new spy-hole, that being the most likely spot from which any hostile approach would come.

Satisfied with the preparations, and that Evadne had made sure Franklin and Jenkins were fully apprised of the situation, Red turned her attention to gaining access to the neighboring house. Later she wanted to get a second look at that warehouse; the presence of Fingers and Billy made it pretty clear that it was being used by whoever was trying to scare Franklin. She also had the gut feeling that the watchman’s death was in some way linked. First, however, she wanted a look in the house; she suspected they’d find more there than at the nearly empty warehouse. But, for the moment, she and Evadne were closeted in Franklin’s study with some more of his illicit whisky and a rough map of the neighboring grounds.

“Are you sure about this?” Red asked for the umpteenth time, glancing across to where Evadne sat studying the map. Red really hadn’t expected her to join in the nocturnal visit, especially after the previous night’s fun-and-games. She was still of two minds about the wisdom of taking such an inexperienced assistant with her. On the plus side, she did have personal experience as to how quietly Evadne could move and that she wasn’t likely to panic. Moreover, without knowing how many might be in the house, the offer of backup couldn’t really be turned down. She didn’t think Franklin would be a good idea and didn’t trust Jenkins farther than she could throw him.

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Evadne said once more. “You need someone to watch your back, and I don’t think anyone else is going to offer.”

“I reckon you’re right there. Jenkins would as soon give me up as help me out.”

That subject dealt with, Red returned to the map she’d drawn. “Getting up to the house should be easy enough. There’s plenty of cover. It’s getting in that’s going to be difficult.” She went over the difficulties aloud as much for her own benefit as for Evadne’s. Talking out a problem somehow seemed to make it more tangible. “All the shutters at ground level are metal and lockable, much like Franklin’s, and the back door has a formidable lock. Not sure I’ll be able to pick it.”

“You can pick locks?”

Red looked up to meet Evadne’s glare. “How’d you think we were going to get in, use a key?”

Evadne’s eyes widened and she rushed from the room. “What the hell?” Red muttered. “It ain’t like I said I was going to shoot someone.”

A few moments later, Evadne returned, clutching her handbag. She dumped its contents on the table and rummaged feverishly through the bits and pieces. “Ah-ha, here it is.” She withdrew a large, new-looking key. “I think this just might help.”

Red looked from the key, to Evadne’s triumphant face, then back to the key. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“By the wall. After you left, I thought I’d see if I could find whatever it was that young man lost and, well I’ve always been good at finding things, so… I… um…” She trailed to a halt as Red’s reaction moved rapidly from surprise to anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Red said. “For fuck’s sake, Evadne, were you going to leave it until we were at the damn door before you told me?”

“I’m sorry.” Evadne winced, clearly unsettled by the anger in Red’s voice. “I wasn’t sure it was that important, and then our, um, discussion about Mr. Franklin drove it clear out—”

Evadne’s attempted explanation stumbled to a halt as Red abruptly turned her back and stalked away. Her fists clenched in an overwhelming desire to hit something, anything. Calm down, Wolverton. She fought against the rising rage. Calm down, idiot. It ain’t as if it was deliberate. Slowly the rage began to drain away only to be replaced by fear at the realization of how close to unleashing her anger she’d just come. Up until Janet’s murder, she’d always been able to control it, use it when she needed it, like at the warehouse. But it was becoming increasingly unmanageable, and she was afraid it would lead her to do something she’d seriously regret.

It took another minute for Red to control her feelings. Finally turning to face Evadne, she drew a trembling hand through her hair and brushed back the unruly lock that had fallen down over her eyes. She was relieved to see that Evadne was looking at her with concern rather than the fear she’d seen in the garden the day before and only belatedly recognized. “So now that we have the key”—she picked up on the earlier interrupted conversation—“let’s hope they haven’t changed the lock.”

*   *   *

Red checked her revolver, spun the chamber once, and replaced it in her holster. She took a moment to settle it more comfortably in the small of her back. With her overcoat lost in the fracas in the warehouse, she wore a heavy wool pea jacket, warmer and more practical for the evening’s excursion. It also had the distinct advantage of allowing easier access to her revolver than her overcoat did, something she definitely wanted tonight.

The sound of the door opening made her look up. After the previous evening, Evadne’s practical pants, sweater, and coat, were no longer unexpected. What did surprise Red was the army issue belt and holster Evadne was carrying, from which she drew a battered automatic pistol. She was even more surprised when Evadne deftly dropped out the magazine, loaded the shells, and replaced the magazine. She chambered a round, let down the hammer, and replaced the pistol, safety catch firmly in place, back into the holster.

Only after strapping on the belt and adjusting the holster so it sat comfortably on her hip did Evadne look at Red.

“After last night, I thought I should be ‘heeled’ as you so colorfully put it,” she said.

“Yeah.” Although taken aback by Evadne’s familiarity with the workings of the 1911 Colt automatic, Red rallied enough to give a genuine grin of approval. “Nice shooting iron. Not quite what I expected though.”

“A relic of the war,” Evadne said. “I have to warn you that I’m competent enough not to shoot my own foot off, but I’m certainly no Annie Oakley.”

“Who is?” Red said. “Never seen anyone who could shoot quite like Annie. She did teach me a few tricks though. I’ll have to show you one day.”

Evadne looked astounded. “You knew Annie Oakley?”

“Did some work for her when she was in Boston a few years back. An incredible woman even if she was in her sixties.” Red gave a sly smile as she gently teased Evadne.

Staring at her through slitted eyes, Evadne rose to the bait. “You didn’t.”

Red’s smile turned into a smirk as she put Evadne out of her misery. “Nah, as I said, she was in her sixties by then. Anyway she didn’t go for girls, and despite what you mighta heard, I don’t poach.” Wistfully, she added, “Never seen quite such a devoted couple as her and Frank.”

Evadne frowned. “But what—”

Red cut in before the question could be completed. “And Katherine never told me she was engaged, if that’s what you’re about to ask—kept that a nice little secret until lover boy turned up on the doorstep and threatened to kick me into the middle of next week.” To her surprise, Red found herself smirking at the previously painful memory. “He really didn’t expect me to bloody his nose instead.”

Evadne rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m ready. Shall we start? Once you’ve finished gloating over breaking someone’s nose, of course.”

Red chuckled at the teasing. “Yeah, come on, let’s go see what we can dig up.”

*   *   *

Red peered over the top of the wall into the undergrowth beyond. With it looking clear, she climbed the last rungs of the ladder and straddled the wall while Evadne followed her up. Soon the two were facing each other, the ladder between them. With a nod from Red, they drew the ladder up and let it down the other side. Evadne clambered down and blended into the darkness of the bushes.

With one more look around from her vantage point, Red hauled the ladder back up and lowered it down to where Franklin was waiting, with Jenkins sullenly riding shotgun. After some argument, it was decided they shouldn’t return this way. Leaving the ladder there was too much of a risk, and using the same section of wall as their opponents was also dismissed, except as a last resort. Instead, their plan was to leave via the main gate.

With the ladder safely in Franklin’s hands and on its way back to his house, Red slid around until she was hanging down the side of the wall. She let herself drop and landed with a soft thud. Crouching on the ground, she had the sudden feeling she was being watched. Carefully, she checked for any sign that they’d been spotted. Eventually satisfied that they had passed unnoticed, yet unable to shake the feeling of being watched, she scooted over to where Evadne was waiting.

“Everything all right?” Evadne whispered.

“Yeah, just feels like we’re being watched,” Red said, distracted by the way the hair on the back of her neck seemed determined to stand on end.

“Perhaps it’s those that are making you feel that way.” Evadne pointed to the corner where the boundary walls met. On the surface of each, just visible in the moonlight, were painted some strange symbols. “They look vaguely eyelike to me, don’t you think?”

Red gazed at the symbols. Evadne was right, they did look eyelike and they were giving her the creeps, not a feeling she was used to and certainly not one she liked. “Come on, let’s get to the house. The less time we hang around here the better.” She moved away from the eerie painted eyes as fast as caution allowed.

They soon reached the cleared area around the house, apparently unseen despite the watched feeling Red couldn’t shake. Trying her best to ignore it, she led the way to where the wall of the house was closest to the undergrowth. After a pause to check for signs of life, they hurried across to hunker at the foot of the wall. With still no indication that their arrival had been spotted, Red moved around to the back door. She peered through the shutters to check each room as she passed, but all of them looked dark and empty.

Once at the doorway, she picked the padlock that secured the steel gate and opened it. Then she signaled for Evadne to try her key on the door itself. It slid into the keyhole and turned smoothly. Red beckoned Evadne behind her, drew her revolver, and eased the door open. Peeking through the gap, she saw that the hallway beyond was empty. Despite this, the impression of being watched was getting stronger by the second. She was getting an increasingly bad feeling about the whole enterprise.

Unable to find a reason for the unease, she overrode her instincts, slipped inside, and signaled for Evadne to wait by the door as previously agreed. This decision had been the cause of yet another argument, although that time she’d thankfully managed to keep control of her temper. Evadne wanted to go into the house, too, in case Red needed help, but Red had insisted it was more important for Evadne to protect the way out and be able to get assistance if needed. Red’s main reason for having Evadne hang back was to make sure she had the best chance of getting away if things went badly. Red had enough guilt on her shoulders without adding another death to the list. In the end, Red won, but only by threatening to leave Evadne behind and have Franklin make sure she didn’t follow. It was dirty, but then her life was dirty and Evadne needed to understand that.

The sense of foreboding hung around Red like an oppressive, invisible fog as she inched down the hallway toward where they expected the study would be. Her senses strained for any sign of life. The overpowering notion of being watched was almost unbearable. Her shoulder blades itched as if expecting a knife between them at any moment; the skin on the back of her neck crawled in eerie anticipation. Then, just as she reached the doorway, the feeling suddenly disappeared.

Pausing for a moment, she drew a shuddering, relieved breath and tried to calm her jangling nerves. She put her ear to the door and listened for any sign of activity. Hearing nothing, she carefully turned the handle and pushed. The room beyond was dark and seemed as quiet as the grave, almost too quiet. Shaking off the suspicious thought as being a result of her earlier jitters, she slipped through the doorway.

Just as she crossed the threshold, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. In a blinding flash, the lights in the room came on. Before she could react, both her arms were grabbed and the revolver wrenched from her hand. Dazzled by the sudden brightness and taken aback by the appearance of her assailants, it took a second before she recovered enough to react. Bringing her left elbow back hard, she made contact with whoever was holding that arm, causing an abrupt exhalation of breath. As the grip on her left arm relaxed, she tore it free and threw a punch at her other captor’s head. Ignoring the pain in her hand as it made contact with what felt satisfactorily like a nose, she pulled her right arm free, too.

With her eyes rapidly adjusting to the light, she turned back to the man on her left. He was on his knees, bent double, and gasping for air. She was just about to deliver a rabbit punch when she felt cold metal press against the side of her neck.

“Ah, ah, Wolverton, no more of that, please. Leave the poor gentleman alone,” a male voice whispered in her ear. Then, as if to make sure she knew exactly what it was that had just been placed against her neck, he added, “Unless, of course, you want your neck ventilated.” As she lowered her raised fist, the voice continued. “Very sensible. Now turn around, very, very, slowly.”

Red did as she was instructed, and the cold metal left her neck. Now she was face-to-face with the muzzle of her own gun, held just far enough away for her to realize that any attempt to get it would be suicidal. Reining in her growing anger, she lifted her eyes from the gun to the person holding it. It was the tall man she’d seen on that first visit, the one she presumed to be the Mr. Vlamyr referred to last night. Meeting his coldly glittering eyes, she felt a sudden shiver run down her spine. His irises were so pale as to be almost white, adding an unworldly quality to his thin face.

Red heard, rather than saw, the man she’d winded get up from the floor and approach from behind. The other man, who she recognized as Fingers, was still cradling his rapidly bleeding nose and swearing under his breath. She felt a churning in her gut. Her immediate future almost certainly included a multitude of broken fingers, at the very least. Expecting the man behind her would want revenge as well, she tensed her body. Her expectation was obviously not shared by the man in front of her. Those strangely colored eyes flickered in alarm just as the punch landed in her right kidney. The pain dropped her to her knees with a groan.

“Stop it!” Vlamyr said sharply. “We don’t want any suspicious marks on her body.” Red’s relief that broken fingers probably counted as suspicious didn’t last as Vlamyr’s voice took on a cruelly mocking edge. “Once we’ve taken you to see the master, we’ll arrange a nice little suicide for you.” He snickered nastily. “Poor little Wolverton just couldn’t take the death of her sweet little nigger girl and took the coward’s way out.”

At the sneering mention of Janet, Red erupted into furious motion. Heedless of the consequences, she launched herself from her kneeling position into the arm holding the gun. She knocked her tormentor to the floor and managed to land a couple of solid punches before there was a sudden presence in her mind.

“Stop!”

The command whipped across her consciousness. She collapsed off Vlamyr and pressed her hands to her temples. She’d never felt anything like the searing pain of the sudden, violent intrusion. All she wanted to do was curl up and die. Then she remembered the taunting words, and her anger broke through the pain.

She lifted her gaze and caught a glimpse of a slight female figure sitting calmly in the corner. Gritting her teeth, she fought against the crippling presence in her head, vaguely aware that the men seemed to be looking to the girl for their orders. Instinctively identifying her as being somehow the source of the pain, Red tried in vain to move toward her. But even her rage was not enough to win this battle. Her consciousness slipped from her like sand through her fingers. Her final sight, as the struggle was lost and she fell into blackness, was of the girl’s malicious-looking smile and the comb held in her hand, strands of reddish gold hair still stuck in its teeth.

*   *   *

Red came to and discovered she’d been tied to a chair. Her hands and feet were tightly bound. They’d removed her coat, and it also felt like they’d found the knife in the boot sheath. Not that she could have reached it anyway. She looked around and spotted it sitting with her revolver and fedora on top of the desk at the other side of the room. She was mildly surprised to find she wasn’t gagged but then realized any shouting while in the house would be a waste of effort. She strained against the ropes, but only rubbed some skin off her wrists and confirmed her original assessment as to how well she’d been tied up. Despite the obvious futility of her efforts, her ingrained stubbornness wasn’t going to let her give up that easily and she pulled at the ropes again.

“It won’t work you know.”

Red looked for the source of the voice then realized with a shudder that the words hadn’t been spoken aloud. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” The voice came again, taunting in its softness.

“That. Putting damn words into my head like that,” Red said. Where was the girl?

“Such anger, such violence. Why do you continue to help a society that despises you so?”

“Get out of my fucking head!” Red shouted. Fear mingled with the fury in her voice.

“Why not join with us? Fight those that hate and fear any who are not like them.”

“Get out, get out.” Red strained against the ropes, desperate to escape the taunting words.

“If you joined us, you could see the man who killed your lover, who murdered poor sweet Janet.”

Red stopped. Her breath came in heaving pants that were as much due to sorrow as anger.

“Such a fine young woman,” the mental voice said, “yet you let her get killed. You failed her as you’ve failed Franklin, as you fail everyone.”

Red slumped forward, and her chin rested on her chest. She had failed. She’d failed as a daughter, failed as a lover, failed as a friend, and now she was failing at the one thing she’d thought she was good at—being a private investigator.

Then, deep in the pit of her gut a flame of resistance flickered into life as anger fought back against the shame and guilt. Her father had failed her, and Edgar had shot Janet. She hadn’t failed them, and she’d be damned if she was going to fail now. The anger flared, bright and strong, and cut through the despair as she fought the ropes.

“You can’t escape, you know.”

“Get out of my fucking head, you bitch!” Red shouted into the empty room.

“Such defiance.” The voice laughed at her. “Such futility.”

“Get out! Get out!” Red’s shouts were almost incoherent, the struggle to escape her bonds so violent that the chair tipped over sideways. She was unable to break the fall, and her head hit the bare wooden floor with a resounding crack. Pain that had nothing to do with the blow to her head flared once more, as laughter echoed around her skull.

Red awoke still lying on the floor. She blinked groggily as her memory caught up with the pain. She wriggled, trying without much success to ease the ache in her shoulders.

“Awake again. Oh goody.”

Red flinched as if struck. Even though bound, she tried to crawl away but succeeded only in sending a fresh flash of pain down her arms and up her neck. Her head didn’t feel too peachy either. She moaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping. She could feel the wood of the floor against her cheek and smell the faint traces of polish.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up.” The voice prodded mercilessly at her mind. “I expected more from you.”

Red braced herself and twisted her upper body. It cost her another gut-churning burst of pain, but now she was angled to look up rather than down. The girl sat on the floor only a few feet from Red’s face.

Despite the girl’s youthful appearance, a malevolence about her made her seem much older. Her face should have been beautiful, almost doll-like in its perfection, but it made Red’s skin crawl. Long blonde hair fell around her face, and eyes the color of the summer sky looked curiously down at her. A small boy might give a butterfly that look just before pulling off its wings, calculating and completely without compassion.

“Comfortable?” The rosebud lips twisted into a sneer.

“Fuck you,” Red said. It wasn’t much of a comeback, but it was all she could manage. Her gaze was once more drawn to the comb the girl still held. There was something familiar—

“Yes, it’s yours.”

Red gritted her teeth and bit back on her initial angry reply. Instead she spat out a single word.

“How?”

“It was in the coat you so kindly left at my warehouse.”

Red shut her eyes. Her head was throbbing, though she wasn’t sure whether that was from head-butting the floor or the girl’s invasive presence.

“Oh, that isn’t pain.”

Red’s eyes shot open to meet the girl’s sadistic grin.

“This is pain.”

White-hot fire stabbed between her eyes, through to the back of her skull. Then it rushed upward as if to blow off the top of her head. She screamed once, then the pain was gone. Her stomach suddenly heaved, and she threw up. Lying in her own vomit, she barely heard the girl’s next words.

“One more time, for luck.”

When Red came to again, she still lay on the floor, the acrid smell of vomit in her nose and tickling the back of her throat.

“Awake again.”

She almost threw up there and then. It was going to happen again. The pain. There was nothing she could do to stop it. And for the first time since she had pleaded for her mother’s life, she begged.

“Please,” she said, her voice little more than a whimper. “No more. Please.”

“Why must you fight us? All this pain, for what? Help us and we will help you.”

No. The single thought was all the defiance Red could still muster.

“There is no escape. Just more pain.”

Death. Red slumped, and only the ropes kept her in place. They bit into her wrists and pulled at her shoulder joints, but she no longer cared. That was nothing compared to the memory of the pain in her head.

“Only if I allow it. Join us.” The girl’s voice was wheedling, plucking at the shredded remains of Red’s will. “Join us and you will be free again.”

No. Only sheer bloody-minded stubbornness kept her from accepting.

“Join us.”

Get out! Red’s anger returned and fed the small seed of defiance.

“Join us or die.”

“Get out,” Red said, her voice barely audible but getting stronger. “Get out!”

Another stab of pain forced a groan from deep in her chest. She felt tears of anger and humiliation mixing with those of pain. “Get out! Get out!” she continued to chant as if her words could keep the pain at bay. As she lay there with fire burning in her head, a pair of shoes moved across her pain-glazed view and she was hauled upright.

“Leave her be, Clara.” Vlamyr’s voice came from beside her. The pain in her shoulders began to ease a little, but not the pain in her head. “If she carries on like that, her wrists are going to be rubbed raw, and how is that going to fit with the suicide theory? You’re also going to wear yourself out if you carry on hurting her like that. And if you fry her brain, how will the master question her?”

Red was breathing hard. She fought the urge to throw up again. To her utter relief, the excruciating pain began to recede. As her mind cleared, Vlamyr stood in front of her and took her face in his hands. He lifted her hair off her forehead and probed the sore area above her right eye. He scowled at his blood-tipped fingers. “This won’t help either, dammit,” he said in an undertone.

He let go of Red and faced the girl. “I’m sure the master will be overjoyed to find out she can’t be questioned because you were enjoying yourself too much, especially if you drain yourself in the process. After he’s finished, you’ll be able to do whatever you want.”

Red saw the resentment on the girl’s doll-like face; she also saw fatigue and a distinctly gray tinge. It wasn’t much in the way of consolation, but it gave Red a grain of grim pleasure to know the pain wasn’t all one way.

“Yes, I know.” Vlamyr’s response to the girl’s unspoken reply sounded distinctly testy. “But a second killing linked to Franklin may be enough to interest the idiots this city calls a police force. Her suicide, however, would barely be noticed.”

With this they left. Red pondered the mess she’d landed herself in. As her mind cleared, she began to work over what she’d learned. She clutched at the opportunity to do anything but dwell on what the girl might do to her next. It certainly looked as if she was completely wrong about Franklin’s little problem being plain old criminal. There’s no way in hell this was normal.

Methodically, she worked through the facts she had. Somehow, that girl, Clara, could put thoughts, commands, and pain directly into her head. But why had it only happened here, and why only now? It must only work within a certain range, she mused. And what about her comb? Was it like voodoo dolls, where you needed some part of the person you wanted to control, like a strand of hair for instance? That would explain why only now she’d been attacked like that.

As she mulled it over, it made a twisted sort of sense. She also wondered if those strange eye-shaped symbols were involved in some way. Suddenly, she realized that in all the time she’d been in the house there had been no mention of Evadne. Didn’t they know they were working together? They had certainly seen her at the warehouse. Perhaps they had her tied up somewhere, too. “Christ, I hope not,” Red muttered fervently, then quickly drove all thoughts of Evadne out of her mind, not sure how far Clara’s mind-reading skills went. If Evadne was still free, then help should be on the way. All she needed to do was stay alive until it got here.

Chapter 14

September 29:  An ending

As the misty night slowly dissipated into a dismal, overcast dawn, Evadne wondered whether her decision to wait had been wrong. If she’d gone back to Franklin’s as agreed, the police could have been at the door by now. Of course, explaining what they were doing in the house in the first place would have been a trifle tricky. A small smile tugged at her lips. It seemed breaking and entering was to become a regular part of her life, if the last couple of days were anything to go by.

What should she do now? While she’d maintained her uncomfortable and increasingly damp watch, there’d been no sign of movement from the house. She had only heard what sounded like faint shouts sometime in the early hours. The house had been as quiet as the grave ever since.

The grave.

Evadne shivered. Was Red all right? If she was, then where in the devil’s name was she? Despite Red’s insistent instructions to the contrary, Evadne was not going to go off and leave her. Carefully stretching her cold and stiff limbs, she considered the best way to get into the house. Before she could come to any decision, the noise of an automobile coming up the drive had her scrambling back into cover. The vehicle drove around to the rear and pulled up just outside the back door. The driver got out and headed for the door. It opened as he approached, and he entered. A little while later, the door opened again and the two men from the warehouse came out. Between them, they held a bound and gagged Red.

Evadne’s chest tightened with worry as she saw the dried blood on the side of Red’s face, the way every step she took seemed to be an effort. Indeed, it looked more as if Red was being half-dragged, half-carried rather than walking under her own power. Evadne fought the urge to break cover. She was outnumbered and almost certainly outgunned, and it didn’t look as if Red was in much of a state to help. For the moment, her best bet was to watch and wait.

Two more figures emerged from the house: a tall, solidly-built man with a cane and a small, slight figure, female from the way it moved, swathed in a voluminous hooded cape. Evadne hunkered down deeper into cover. Five to one. Definitely not odds in her favor.

Suddenly, Red broke free of her escort. Before Evadne had fully registered what had happened, and before she could do anything to help, Red was brought crashing to the ground by the smaller of the two men. They struggled a bit, then the second man stepped to the side of the squirming heap of arms and legs. There was a brief flash of metal, and the struggle suddenly stopped.

Evadne was relieved to see Red hauled back to her feet, apparently none the worse for wear. The gun pressed against her temple explained the sudden lack of resistance. The door of the automobile was opened, and her captors marched Red toward it. Apparently they had no immediate plans to do her more harm.

With that realization, Evadne’s decision was made. As swiftly and as quietly as she could, she crept toward the gates. Once the house came between her and Red’s captors, she ran along the drive as fast as she could. She hurried through the gates, grateful the automobile’s arrival meant they were standing open. She turned into the entrance to Franklin’s property and reached her own vehicle, parked close to the entrance as Red had suggested. Evadne marveled at the way Red seemed to have prepared for all eventualities, even her own capture.

Breathlessly, she wrenched open the LaSalle’s door, scrambled inside, and tried to steady her trembling hand enough to insert the key in the ignition. After a couple of frustrated attempts, the key slid home and turned. She worked the other mechanisms, and the engine caught on the first attempt. She breathed a tiny prayer of thanks for all the time James spent tinkering with it. Slamming the car into gear, she headed through Franklin’s gateway, wheels skidding on the gravel. To her immense relief, she was just in time to see the other vehicle disappear around the corner and she raced after it.

Having caught up to what she hoped was a suitable distance, Evadne relaxed a little. It appeared that the man with the cane was driving with the woman in the front passenger seat. Red and the two men from the warehouse were in the back. There was no sign of the original driver. He must have remained at the house. At least the odds hadn’t gotten worse.

Carefully, and apparently without detection, she tailed the other vehicle across Boston and down into the docks. It pulled into the yard of one of the smaller warehouses. She noted the name on the gate and drove on past and around the corner. Franklin’s warehouse was in front of her. She’d already decided that Red was probably being taken to the place they’d been in the night before. She parked the LaSalle, rested her forehead on the steering wheel, and let out an unsteady breath while trying to calm a racing heart and collect her scattered thoughts.

After a few moments, she hauled herself out the door and got an oversized driving coat from the trunk to replace the unpleasantly dew-dampened one she was wearing. The new coat had the added benefit of being long enough to cover the pistol on her hip. She also grabbed the battered, rust-stained beret that she’d all but forgotten was in there. Her friend Bobbie had given it to her as a joke, but it was more practical than the wide-brimmed felt monstrosities they’d been issued in the service. It also worked well as padding under the one-size-fits-nobody tin hats they’d eventually received. When she’d returned home, she’d not wanted it in the house but neither had she been able to throw it away. Instead, along with the coat, it had been relegated to her “what if” clothing.

She pushed away the sudden flood of memories the beret provoked. She put it on and tucked her disheveled hair up under it as best she could. The unmistakably feminine Evadne had no illusions about it working at close quarters, but she hoped the extra clothing might disguise her enough to walk the short distance without being spotted by any of the undesirables reputed to hang around the docks. Hoping the LaSalle would still be here when she got back, a nervous yet perversely excited Evadne headed toward the small door they had used the night before. Gentle pressure showed it was locked. She turned back in the direction of the main door, still not sure exactly what she was going to do when she got there, but determined to help Red escape whatever fate her captors had planned for her.

She reached the entrance to the yard without meeting anyone. She decided openness might be the best approach and walked as nonchalantly as she could past the open gateway. Glancing into the yard in a way she hoped appeared natural, she continued past it before stopping and leaning against the wall in relief. A vehicle approached, and she did her best to look as if she belonged there as it sped past.

It swerved around the corner, passing where her own was parked. Evadne frowned, certain she recognized the driver. But how could that be? He was half a continent away; her uncle had made sure of that. Shrugging off the fanciful thought, she concentrated on analyzing what the brief glance at the warehouse yard had shown her. The vehicle that she’d followed was neatly parked in front of a large set of double doors. Set in one of these was a smaller door that was slightly ajar. The cursory scan also revealed no other doors and only a couple of windows, high up on one of the side walls.

Evadne felt more confident with what she was going to do and returned to the entrance. She peered carefully around the gate. Coast clear, she slipped into the yard and, sticking close to the wall, made her way toward the door.

She crouched so that the automobile hid her from anyone passing by and listened intently by the smaller door. A sudden crash from inside made her jump, and her heart leaped into her mouth. The sound of Red’s loud cursing and angry male voices followed. Evadne used the noise to mask her entrance, slipped inside, and pinpointed where the noise was coming from. She headed toward the small office in the far corner, using what cover could be derived from the remaining crates.

She thought she heard movement from behind the stack of boxes in the opposite corner and shrank back behind the nearest packing crate. When nothing happened, she moved toward the office again. The noise of fighting seemed to have faded, replaced by the low but distinctly heated murmur of voices.

Evadne reached the office without further incident. She crouched below one of its grimy windows and tried to make out what was happening inside. The first thing she heard with any clarity was Red’s snarling voice.

“Told you, anyone moves and I break her neck, too.”

“Now, now, Wolverton, you do that and your inevitable death will just be that much more painful and prolonged.” This was a man’s voice, in an odd tone that made Evadne shiver.

“Still be dead though, won’t I?” Red’s reply was defiant. “Ain’t got much to lose.”

Evadne eased her way up the thin wall until she could see what was going on in the office. Red, wild-eyed and with a feral look on her face, had her back against the far wall. A fresh trail of blood ran down her cheek, but her bound hands were around the neck of the small woman in the hooded cloak. Evadne couldn’t help a sympathetic grimace at the way the slight figure had both hands on the rope across her throat, fear and pain on her face as she was held in front of Red’s body.

“Whereas you”—a cruel grin appeared on Red’s face as she savagely pulled her arms back and up so that her captive choked and tried to raise herself from the extreme tiptoes she was already on—“do have something to lose.”

Evadne slid back down the wall, feeling faintly sick at the brutality of what was being done. Especially as she realized the cloaked figure could be no more than thirteen or fourteen. The clothing had initially disguised her youth.

“So?” The man’s voice came again. “We seem to have reached an impasse, my dear Wolverton.” Evadne discerned a slight lisp as he spoke.

“You might. I ain’t.” Red’s voice seemed calmer now, though still harsh. “Get out of my way, and I’ll let her go once I reach the main door.”

Evadne looked through the window once more. Besides the man and the girl, there were also the two men she’d seen holding Red earlier. One was in a heap on the floor, whether unconscious or dead she couldn’t tell. From Red’s earlier comment, she guessed the latter. The other hung back just behind the tall man’s shoulder, indecision obvious on his youthful face. Red turned her attention to this young man.

“What you doing here, Billy?” she asked almost conversationally. “Does your pa know you’re out?”

“Leave my pa out of this,” Billy said.

“Bet he’ll be sore impressed at what his darling boy’s been up to on the sly, eh?”

“You know nothing about my pa or me, Wolverton,” Billy said.

“I know he’ll be real upset when you’re dead,” Red said with apparent sympathy before suddenly bestowing on him a flash of her feral grin. “Assuming they ever actually find your corpse that is.”

Billy took an involuntary step backward, and Red snorted. “You don’t think these creeps are going to let you live after all this, do you?”

“Shut up,” the tall man said, finally showing a trace of concern.

“Or what?” Red shot back.

As the room fell into silence, Evadne acted on the plan she’d just devised. She drew her pistol, and made her way to the open door of the office. Pausing, she tried to stop the trembling in her hands and sum up the bravado needed to get through this successfully. She took a deep breath and moved swiftly into the doorway, the Colt held firmly in both hands.

“Police! Stay exactly where you are,” she shouted, hoping her voice didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “Hands up, everyone, nice and slowly.” With a profound sense of relief, she watched the two men in front of her slowly raise their hands. If only the astounded look on Red’s face was not, quixotically, making her want to giggle. Then the tall man muttered, “Since when do the police have female officers?” He faced Evadne, an unpleasant smile on his face. She shivered as she noticed his eyes seemed to be completely colorless, lacking even the pinkish tint of an albino.

“Good point,” she said as nonchalantly as she could while trying to ignore his disturbing stare. “And it’s their loss.” She gave a grim smile. “However, I do have this big gun, gentleman, and that’s all you really need to know, is it not?”

“My knife’s on the table.” Red said, her voice clearly showing her relief at Evadne’s sudden table-turning appearance. “Quick, cut me free.”

Evadne edged her way around the crowded room toward the table, keeping eyes and gun trained on the two men. As she stepped over the body on the floor, Billy made a movement toward her, but he stopped as she swung the pistol around to point in his face. “Ah, ah, naughty, naughty, Billy,” she said. Adrenaline gave her a feeling of power she’d never guessed was possible, and she gestured for him to step back. At the table, she let go of the automatic with her left hand and picked up the knife before continuing the short distance to where Red stood with the girl still held cruelly high. As quickly as she could, without further damaging the bloody wrists and still keeping her gun on the two men, she cut through the rope.

As the severed strands fell away, Red pushed the girl roughly to one side. She bent to scoop something up off the floor before reclaiming her revolver and fedora from the table.

Red grinned, utter relief evident on her face, and rammed the battered brown hat firmly back onto her head. “Christ, Evadne, I sure am glad to see you. Thought I was a goner for sure this time.” She took back the knife and slipped it into the boot sheath.

Evadne gave Red a small smile in return before watching in concern as the girl slowly picked herself up off the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Red’s grin abruptly disappear. Red moved closer and scowled down at the dazed girl. “Got the comb back, bitch. See if you can hurt me now.” Red suddenly gave the girl an angry shove and pushed her back onto the floor. “And stop that, or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

Evadne was astonished by the utter hatred in Red’s voice. “Red, what has got into you? Leave the poor girl alone. Surely she can’t be that dangerous.”

“Oh no?” Red continued to stare daggers at the girl. “You don’t know the half of it. This one’s the worst of the lot, always in my head, taunting, hurting—just like a kid with a spider, pulling its legs off.”

Staring in puzzlement, Evadne wondered what Red was talking about. Had the stress of the last few weeks driven her to the point that she was now hearing imaginary voices?

“Get out of here, Billy,” Red said, still staring at the crouching girl. “Go tell your pa what you’ve been up to, and thank your lucky stars you got out alive.”

Billy looked at the tall man then back at Red. With an audible swallow, he took a step backward.

“And I warn you, kid, if I catch you up to something like this again, I’ll hand you over to the cops personally, pa or no pa.”

Billy gave one more scared glance at his boss then turned on his heels and fled.

“He’s no loss,” the white-eyed man said. “We’ll deal with him later.”

“If that’s what you want to believe,” Red said. “Now, out, the pair of you.” She backed up the command with a gesture of her revolver. To Evadne, she said, “Watch Vlamyr. I’ll make sure she behaves herself.”

“What are you going to do to them?” Evadne whispered.

“Nothing permanent.” Red’s reply was not altogether as reassuring as Evadne hoped.

Once they’d backed their two captives out of the confined office and into the open space of the warehouse proper, Red said to Evadne, “See if you can find some rope or something to tie these two up with, will you?”

Evadne had just nodded her understanding when a shot rang out, echoing around the empty warehouse. Red gave a cry of surprise and pain, clutched at her thigh, and fell. All hell broke loose. Stunned by Red’s sudden collapse, Evadne let her gun drop just enough for Vlamyr to grab it and push her backward. She stumbled and landed heavily on the floor, only vaguely aware that Vlamyr darted across the room to kick Red’s fallen revolver and send it skittering across the warehouse floor.

Evadne sat up and saw Red clutching at her wounded leg with both hands while looking around for something. The girl had also moved out of reach. Even as Evadne looked at her the girl gave Red a look of pure hate. With an almost ceremonial grace, she held out her hand. She possessed the comb that Red had been so vehement about reclaiming in the office. Evadne was nonplussed by the action. She could see no threat, no reason for the triumph on the girl’s face.

“No!”

To Evadne’s shock, Red’s strangled shout was full of fear. Even before the echoes died, Red fell back to the floor, her bloody hands scrabbling at her head as if trying to dig their way inside. Evadne moved to her side, unhindered by either Vlamyr or the girl. She looked at the fast growing bloodstain as Red continued to groan alarmingly, hands still pressed to the side of her head.

Then Evadne’s training kicked in, and she attempted to treat the bullet wound. Applying pressure to the gaping exit wound, she tried to staunch the flow of blood with one hand while seeking the entrance wound with the other. Once she had both wounds located, she applied as much pressure as she could while raking her mind for something she could use as a makeshift dressing. She looked around for inspiration only to stop and stare at the girl. A malevolent smile transformed her face into something barely human. A sheen of sweat indicated the effort her attack on Red was taking.

No! I don’t believe that. I can’t. It makes no sense! But if not that, then what made Red writhe in agony? There was no sign of any head wound, certainly not one that would cause the immediate and terrible pain now etched on Red’s contorted face.

Evadne looked away from the girl, not willing or able to face her, or the questions she raised. She saw Vlamyr pointing her pistol in the direction of the warehouse’s main door. Before she could wonder why, another groan drew her attention back to Red. Trying to maintain the pressure on the wounds with hands now slippery from the warm blood, Evadne used one hand to remove the silk scarf from around her neck and tie it around the top of Red’s injured leg as tightly as she could. With the makeshift tourniquet in place, she turned her attention once more to finding something to use as a dressing. Then she saw there was someone standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the daylight. He staggered drunkenly forward until the lights of the warehouse illuminated his hate-twisted face. How on earth did he get back here? Evadne stared in disbelief at Edgar Van Volk. It was little consolation to realize that her eyes had not deceived her earlier.

“I got her?” Edgar asked incredulously, his voice almost a giggle. “I got her!” He was triumphant now. “And now I finish her.” He raised his revolver until it pointed at Red’s pain-wracked face, apparently oblivious to the others present.

“Edgar, no!” Evadne’s shout was interrupted by the sound of a pistol firing. Edgar stopped suddenly, a look of astonishment on his face as a red stain began to seep across his shirtfront. His hand dropped to his side, and his pistol fell from his nerveless fingers before he slowly toppled, first to his knees, then forward onto his face. Evadne stared incredulously at the white-eyed man. “You killed him?”

Vlamyr looked at her coldly. “Can’t be having extraneous witnesses now, can we?”

“Are you going to kill us now?” she asked, amazed at how calm she sounded.

“Think Wolverton’s well on her way already.” He glanced down at Red’s body, a sneer curling his lips. Then his eyes flashed with alarm. “Clara!” He darted forward and caught the girl as she suddenly collapsed.

Evadne felt Red shift and tense under her hands. Glancing down, she saw green eyes open then rapidly change color to a stormy gray. Red gave another flash of that feral grin and launched herself at the girl with a roar that was as much of pain as hate.

As soon as the crippling presence left her mind, Red’s boiling rage took control. Drawing her boot knife in one smooth movement, she surged ahead without thought or plan, her only aim to prevent any more such attacks on her mind. She ignored the stabbing pain from her damaged leg and barely registered Vlamyr’s shocked look before she bowled both him and Clara over in a heap on the floor. As they fell, she felt her knife go into something, someone, but she had eyes for only one thing—the comb. As Clara hit the floor, her hand opened and Red grabbed the comb. Rolling back to her knees, she threw it as far into the darkness as she could.

With Clara now effectively neutralized, Red struggled painfully to her feet. Feeling the increasing weakness in her damaged leg, she transferred most of her weight to the good one and turned to deal with Vlamyr. She stopped dead as she saw he was holding what looked suspiciously like Evadne’s automatic and had it pointed in her direction. As she glanced from the pistol up into his face, she saw his lips turn up into a gloating smile.

Fuck! How did that happen? Red took a firmer grip on her knife. Gun against blade. Bad odds.

“Got you now, Wolverton,” he said. “I see you’ve noticed that your little friend is not very good at keeping hold of her gun.”

“Fuck you.” Red struggled to keep a grip on her temper. A sudden flash of red light to her right drew her attention. She risked a quick glance but saw only gloom. Returning her gaze to the immediate threat, she saw Evadne behind Vlamyr, edging cautiously toward Red’s revolver.

“An interesting suggestion.” Vlamyr’s pale eyes traveled slowly up her battered and bleeding body. “But, alas, one I shall have to forego.”

She had to keep the man’s attention long enough to allow Evadne to reach the gun, preferably without getting herself shot again in the process. She looked around for Clara. She could yet alert Vlamyr, but Red saw the girl was lying in a heap.

Red gave Vlamyr a once-over in return. “In your dreams, white-eyes.” She paused, as if in thought, then gave a cocksure grin. “Though perhaps you are woman enough for me.”

Fury flashed in those creepy eyes, and the pistol was raised to point directly at her chest. Red cursed her own bravado and wondered whether she had pushed her fickle luck for the last time. Even as she tensed, summoning up all her energy to make what would almost certainly be her last desperate move, Vlamyr relaxed and a condescending look appeared on his face.

He waggled the pistol. “Careful now, Wolverton. Stupidity like that could get you shot, you know?”

Relieved at not being shot out of hand, she was nevertheless aware of the squelchy warmth in her left boot. Soon the blood loss would slow her down.

Another furtive glance in Evadne’s direction showed she was nearly there. Red just needed to stop Vlamyr from turning. “As if that ain’t going to happen anyway,” Red said, taunting him now that it seemed he didn’t have any plans to kill her yet. “What in hell are you waiting for?”

An infuriating smile appeared on Vlamyr’s face. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know? Perhaps I just want to make you suffer some more. Or perhaps I’m going to kill your little friend first.”

Unbidden, Red’s eyes flicked to where the woman in question was now within a hairsbreadth of the revolver. They must have rested on Evadne for just a second too long. Vlamyr frowned and began to turn. Praying to a God she didn’t actually believe in, Red launched herself toward him. To her dismay, her injured leg gave way completely on the second step. Instantly, what should have been a full, knife-wielding charge turned into a barely controlled fall. She landed in a heap at Vlamyr’s feet. As he looked down at her in amazement, she went for the best available target and thrust the knife up toward his groin.

Evadne picked up the revolver and turned to see Vlamyr jerk backward. He cursed and clasped a hand to his thigh. Instantly, Red threw herself at his legs and knocked him over. He landed half on top of her, and they began an immediate fight for control of their weapons.

“Stop or I shoot!” Evadne shouted, but neither of the combatants made any sign of having heard her. She pointed the gun at the struggling pair and was unsure what to do next. She couldn’t shoot; she might hit Red. Dear Lord, what do I do?

Catching a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced across to where the girl was crawling along the floor clutching a bleeding arm. Evadne frowned uncertainly; she’d seen, if not understood, the comb being thrown into the darkness of the warehouse. Presumably, Red believed that by doing so she had removed the girl’s hold on her. The girl certainly seemed no threat in her current state, and Evadne returned her total attention to the continuing fight between Red and Vlamyr.

Red now had the upper hand. She straddled her opponent and, despite Vlamyr’s straining attempts to stop her, slowly pushed her knife down toward his face. There was a sudden jerk of effort from the pinned figure and a moment’s intensified struggle. It looked like Red was losing control, and Evadne took a step forward, desperate to help but not sure of the best way. All of a sudden, she heard the faintly muffled crack of an automatic pistol. A spray of blood misted the air behind Red as the back of her vest pushed outward.

“No…” Evadne’s horrified whisper had to be forced from her suddenly tight throat. Stunned into immobility, she watched as Red fought on weakly before being pushed harshly away to land with a faint groan on her back.

The feeble, heart-wrenching sound instantly snapped Evadne out of her daze. “You bastard!” she screamed. “You complete and utter bastard!” She pointed the revolver at Vlamyr’s astonished face and began to pull the trigger.

“Stop!”

The pain that flowed though her head was excruciating. She fell to the floor, and the revolver dropped from her fingers. Curling up into a fetal position, she wrapped her arms around her head in a vain attempt to ward off the fire searing through her brain.

The pain stopped as suddenly as it started. It felt like it had gone on for hours, but she realized it had probably only lasted a few seconds. She looked up blurrily to see the white-eyed man smiling cruelly down on her, revolver in one hand, automatic in the other. “What happened?” she said, dazed by the receding effects of the pain.

“Never discount little Clara.” He smirked and nodded in the girl’s direction. Painfully, she turned her head to where the girl, Clara, was sitting. She was plainly exhausted but had a cruelly triumphant expression on her face as she held Evadne’s beret tightly in her hands. It must have fallen off when she was pushed, Evadne thought. She stared at it in bewilderment, unable to make sense of what it meant.

“You really should have paid more attention to what Wolverton said about her, you know.”

Red? Oh dear Lord! Without a thought for the others, Evadne scuttled over on hands and knees to where Red lay. She looked at the bloodstained shirt, and her chest tightened at the sight. Desperately hoping she was wrong, she took a shaky breath that did little to stop the trembling in her hands and began to pull the wet material out of the way.

“Hurts…”

The single word was barely audible, a plaintive little whimper that was so unlike Red’s usual brashness that Evadne felt a sudden sinking in the pit of her stomach. As carefully as she could, she pulled away the rest of the shirt and uncovered the bullet wound. With a rush of nausea, she saw the oozing hole just above the blood-stained waistband. “Oh, Red,” she whispered. As she’d feared, the wound in Red’s flat belly was far too central for any real hope of survival. She was still staring in shock at the small but deadly hole when a cold hand grasped her own. Looking sideways, she met Red’s pain-filled eyes.

“Gut?” Red asked weakly.

Evadne nodded as a single tear trickled down her face.

Red blinked then turned her face away, but not quickly enough to stop Evadne from seeing the fear in her eyes. Then Red tensed, moaning a little as her grip on Evadne’s hand tightened. Red was dying. There was little chance of surviving a gut wound, even if Red got medical treatment and that wasn’t likely. From the look Evadne had seen in those pain-glazed eyes, Red knew it as well. The bone-crushing grip relaxed a little, and Evadne glanced up to check on what Vlamyr was doing. She was surprised to see his attention was not on them; instead he was gazing deeper into the warehouse with a look of awe and fear on his face.

“Fuck me, there was a golem!”

Startled by Red’s pronouncement, Evadne saw she was staring in the same direction as Vlamyr. Following Red’s stunned gaze, Evadne could only gape in utter amazement as an eight-foot-tall figure with glowing red eyes emerged slowly from the gloom. An uneasy silence fell over the warehouse as all attention focused on the strange creature. So Red was right after all, Evadne thought in wonder. Such things really do exist. She could feel each footfall vibrate through the wooden floor, but she noticed that, although moving slowly, the figure did not appear to be as ponderous as its size would suggest.

The approaching creature moved into the light that spilled from the office. Evadne could see that the being in front of her wasn’t in fact a golem, though she’d no idea what it actually was. Definitely a creature of flesh, not clay. Its skin, where not covered by a sleeveless tunic, was a dark reddish brown, leathery and tough looking.

Her attention was abruptly torn away from the extraordinary creature as Red groaned again. “Evadne?” The single word was barely audible, the effort needed to say it clearly written on Red’s face as she grasped Evadne’s hand painfully hard.

“Its okay, Red. I’m here,” Evadne said softly and lifted her free hand to gently stroke Red’s cheek, trying to offer what comfort she could through this simple contact.

Red’s eyelids fluttered open, and their eyes met then held. “Got a thing for me, Evadne Davenport?” Red gave a weakly roguish grin. “I mean, first you half undress me and now you can’t keep your hands off me.” The grin widened briefly as Evadne shook her head in amused disbelief.

“Don’t you ever stop?” Despite the lightness of her words, her heart was heavy with grief.

“Me? Never.” Red’s teasing ended suddenly, and her eyes squinched shut as she once more tensed against the pain. A crushing hopelessness settled over Evadne as Red struggled for the life that would soon leave her. Helpless to do anything to ease her pain, Evadne gently continued stroking the soft skin of her cheek, hoping that Red would know she was there, with her, even to the end.

Vaguely, she realized she could no longer feel the creature’s movements through the floorboards. She looked up. The being was so close she could see the veins in its massive arms, the talon-like claws on the end of the three-fingered hands, and the faint movement of the chest under the tunic as it breathed. The tunic was of an unfamiliar dark material that seemed to shift and blur as she looked at it, making her head ache even more than it already did. Then it spoke, in a voice that was unexpectedly pleasant, like the sound of distant thunder on a summer’s day.

“Why has my peace been disturbed before time?”

Evadne stared at the creature in astonishment, its perfect English almost more surprising than its other-worldly appearance. But before she could consider this latest revelation, she felt the grip on her hand relax. Glancing fearfully down, she was relieved to see Red’s sea green eyes still open, full of regret and pain, yet alive. With a sad smile, she brushed the hair off Red’s forehead, noting the increasingly pale, clammy skin and rapid, shallow breathing. Red was going into shock. Having seen the horrible, lingering death a belly wound often brought, she found herself being grateful for the smallest of mercies. It wouldn’t be long now. She forced a smile onto her face. “If this is your idea of showing a girl a good time, Red Wolverton, it’s definitely in need of some improvement.”

Red gave a faint laugh, winced, then whispered disjointedly, “I’m sorry—my fault—Straker—should have dropped it then—so sorry.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and for one ghastly moment, Evadne feared that Red was gone. Then she saw the subtle movement of her chest as the shallow, rapid breathing continued. Looking back at Red’s pale face, she saw that the sweat-dampened hair had fallen back into her eyes as she’d struggled to speak and again Evadne gently brushed it away. Oh, Red, I’m so sorry.

For the first time since the creature’s arrival, Vlamyr spoke. “I apologize, lord. It was that miserable being that awoke you. He has been suitably punished.”

He must mean Edgar, Evadne realized. Shocked by the callousness of his voice, she looked up to find the creature’s glowing eyes fixed on her and Red.

“And these?”

“The tall one is the one you requested, my lord. The other a mere insect.”

“A mere insect.”

Evadne thought it was an echo, then she saw the girl smiling cruelly at her and the words came again.

“Our lord shall crush you as he shall crush all in this pitiful world.”

Evadne’s skin crawled at the invasion of her mind, recognizing in that moment of repugnantly intimate contact the truth of Red’s words: Vlamyr might be cold and ruthless, but Clara was pure evil for all her apparent innocence.

After a final taunting smirk, Clara turned away from Evadne to hold out her injured arm to the creature, a pleading look on her face. It cocked its head to one side. Just like a listening dog, Evadne thought. She was feeling oddly detached, as if none of this was real. Part of her was expecting to wake up, another fearing she never would.

“No. You like hurting others too much, my child. It is a fault. That may help you to understand what you do to others.”

For a split second, Evadne thought the girl was going to argue, but instead she bowed in acquiescence.

“My lord?” This time it was Vlamyr who asked.

The creature turned slowly to face him. Looking down at Vlamyr’s bloodstained thigh, it spoke again. “It is not a mortal injury. You failed me, servant. I wanted to question this Wolverton, but she is dying. You have killed her.”

“I humbly apologize, my lord.” Evadne was astounded to see that Vlamyr was visibly shaking with fear. “I will take my penance with a glad heart.”

As if bolstered by Vlamyr’s unease, Evadne suddenly found her tongue again. “If you are so powerful, then why are you skulking in this warehouse?” she asked, surprised at her own daring.

“A bold insect.” The creature’s voice rolled around the building.

“So why?” she asked again, amazed that Vlamyr had not silenced her yet. Glancing at him, she saw he was still kneeling in obeisance and suddenly realized that he wouldn’t do anything now unless instructed to do so by his master.

The creature gazed at them. It seemed to be thinking, at least in as much as Evadne could tell from its angular, inhuman face. It moved closer, eventually stopping only a few yards away.

“I will grant you your answer, my bold insect.”

Evadne could clearly, and amazingly, hear amusement in its voice. At least she hadn’t annoyed it.

“My power is not yet complete,” the creature said. “I have to rest for most of the time.”

Vlamyr gasped audibly. Evadne glanced across to see surprise on his face. Obviously the creature was saying more than he expected. Increasingly intrigued, Evadne concentrated on what it was saying.

“However, once I receive the jewel I shall be reborn afresh and my power shall be as none have ever seen.”

Suddenly, she understood. It all fit together. The jewel; the creature’s presence next to Franklin’s warehouse; their attempts to get Franklin to sell it. They were all linked. “And this jewel, or whatever it is, is at Franklin’s warehouse?”

“Not quite, clever little insect. Deep underneath is where my power has been hidden all these millennia. The construction damaged it and released me from my prison. Now I can feel the power calling out to me.”

Her mind raced overtime, and Evadne spoke her thoughts out loud. “So you were trying to scare Franklin off? But why not just kill him, or just take this jewel if you know where it is?”

“He would not sell.” The girl’s words came into her mind tinged with frustration. “We offered a fair price, but he would not sell.”

“And Straker? Why kill him?” Evadne said, determined to know everything before they were killed, as she was certain they would be.

“A sniveling treacherous worm, and like a worm he was crushed under my foot,” the creature said emotionlessly.

“So why not kill Franklin as well and just take the jewel?” Evadne said stubbornly.

“It is on land owned by him, so it is his by right of laws even I cannot break.”

Evadne could have sworn there was frustration in the creature’s voice. Odd to hear such a human reaction from such an inhuman-looking being.

Apparently calm again, it intoned, “The power can only be used if the jewel is given willingly. If he died then another, perhaps even more stubborn, would take his place.”

“So you tried to scare him into selling the land,” Evadne said. Not quite seeing how that could be construed as willingly given, she couldn’t help but add, “And that would really count as giving the jewel to you?” Despite the strange conversation, she was horribly aware that Red’s breathing was getting shallower by the second. She glanced down at the pale face and tightened her grip on the limp hand. Suddenly, she thought of her dead husband. It won’t be long now, Geoff. Then, more than a little bizarrely, she wondered whether he and Red would get on should there actually be an afterlife for them all to meet up in.

“Indeed, little insect, it would satisfy the laws.” The creature’s voice rolled over Evadne, jolting her out of the peculiar train of thought. “Bold and brave, clever and courageous,” it said. “You apes can be such astonishing creatures.”

Evadne was surprised to hear regret in the ageless voice even as she felt rather than saw Red’s shallow breathing shudder and stop. The detachment she’d been feeling while talking with the imposing creature fled as, in a panic, she felt for the pulse in the pale neck but there was nothing. In desperation, she shook the limp shoulders. “Red! Wake up! Red, don’t you dare leave me like this!” But Red’s head just lolled lifelessly from side to side at every shake. Finally accepting the hopeless truth, she slumped forward and dropped her head to rest on Red’s motionless chest as her tears began to flow.

“When my power is returned, none will be able to resist my call,” the creature said, “and you, my bold and clever little insects, shall be honored amongst my servants.”

Evadne felt a strange, tingling sensation envelop her and a light grew and grew in intensity. She vaguely heard Vlamyr’s strangled cry. “No, my lord! Not them!” Then the whiteness became too much to bear, and she dropped into welcome unconsciousness.

Eyes the color of the boundless oceans shot open, wide with disbelief and glazed with pain. The creature could feel the pain coursing up and down the she-ape’s body, flowing through every fiber and nerve as he forced her body to heal, knitting rent tissue, repairing veins and arteries, giving of himself to let her live. He’d already restarted her heart and lungs, keeping her alive while he repaired the other injuries. He healed the stomach wound completely but the leg he could only seal; he had used too much of his newly acquired strength. As he withdrew his power, the redheaded she-ape blinked up at the distant ceiling a couple of times in sheer confusion. Then she turned her head to meet his gaze.

For an instant he felt the touch of her thoughts in his mind, her knowledge of his exhaustion. He slammed down a mental wall and saw the she-ape wince as if it had been a physical blow. For a moment they stared at each other. The contact had both amazed and intrigued the creature. Only his she-ape servant had been able to touch it like that before, yet there was no indication that this Wolverton could mind-speak.

“My lord.” His he-ape servant spoke hesitantly. “Why waste your energy on one such as her?”

The creature spoke, each word an effort. “Do not question my actions, servant.” He might have pushed himself further than was wise, but he wasn’t going to tolerate his servant challenging his decisions.

“Why?” The Wolverton she-ape echoed its servant’s question in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “And fucking well how?”

The creature moved a step closer, amused to see the way she automatically put a protective arm around the unconscious body resting over hers. “I gave you a part of my essence, that is how. As to why?” He stared hard, testing the link it had established by his sacrifice. It was weak but given time it would grow stronger, binding her to his service. “The dark-haired one has a powerful mind and an impressive intellect; you have rage and strength. She will be an excellent tool, and you a valuable weapon. Together you will be a formidable combination.”

That wasn’t the whole reason of course. He wasn’t going to tell them of the surprise he felt when he realized that the darkness in the Wolverton she-ape was balanced almost perfectly by light. He had not felt it before, so well hidden had it been, but when the dark-haired she-ape was threatened, he had sensed it, strong and true.

Then he recognized the familiarity he had sensed the first time they entered his dwelling. Both had been touched by the First Ones, the feel of their influence strong in both. The younger was touched by both light and dark, whereas the elder was a creature of the light, a servant of the Sun, even if she did not know it yet. It was that fact that prompted him to heal the Wolverton she-ape. Her he could now influence and would eventually control. Through her, and the growing bond she had with the dark-haired one, he would ultimately have power over both.

The creature paused, needing a moment to summon up the energy to continue his explanation. “I see you are also Chosen. That in itself makes you worth the saving.” He gave a short, barking laugh. “That will truly annoy the First Ones, but they have become weak and will not be able to prevent it. As for the arrogant apes that infest this world—those I cannot use will be destroyed, and the rest will toil as slaves. Only the honored few will be my servants, and all will serve me faithfully and gladly.” He turned his focus on her once more, pulling her, binding her, using the link he had forged to force acceptance. “You will instruct Franklin to sell.”

“Like fuck I will,” the redheaded she-ape said, her growing rage giving her the strength to resist his will.

He smiled and his lips parted to reveal teeth that would have looked natural on a tiger. “Ah, you see, you use it even when you would deny it.” This was an ape worth the taming. With one such as this, he could do much. He glanced at the unconscious she-ape, the disturbing smile still on his face, then met the stormy gray eyes of his new servant. “If you do not do as I instruct, she will die.”

The she-ape’s only reaction was a defiant stare. He didn’t mind. With time she would have no choice but to obey. Suddenly his keen ears heard something. He cocked his head to one side to concentrate on what he was hearing. He-apes’ voices, the occasional shouted instruction. “Others are coming.”

“What?” his he-ape servant asked in surprise.

“Many others!”

His warning was too late. The main door of the warehouse burst open as a wave of he-apes rushed in, fanning out with planned deliberation. A loud staccato rattle filled the air, and his white-eyed servant twisted and fell. Blood sprayed the air as projectiles punched through his body and pulverized his flesh.

The creature let out a roar of challenge, confident his fearsome presence would drive the invaders away. They shouted in fear, a few cursed, one even screamed, but they did not run. They turned their unnatural power on him. In disbelief, he felt his body invaded by lead. Summoning his remaining strength, he swung out at those that dared attack him. He made contact with one, his scream abruptly cut short as ribs splintered under the blow. The others backed hurriedly away, shouting at him and each other.

Now he saw one of the he-apes was issuing commands, controlling the others. He headed for him. He would cut the head off the serpent that was biting at his heel. More projectiles ripped into his body, tearing through organs, rending his flesh. There were too many, too fast. He could not heal himself quickly enough, and in astonishment, he realized his body was failing. He managed one more step then fell forward onto his face. Cheek pressed against the bare floor, he sensed the jewel’s end even as his own life ceased. The ground’s shuddering was the last thing he felt.

Chapter 15

 “Come on, wake up, it’s all over,” a familiar voice gently urged.

Must be dreaming, Evadne thought. Or dead and gone to hell, she corrected, catching a vaguely sulfuric bad-egg smell.

“Come on, I can’t breathe properly with you lying on me.” Now the voice was accompanied by light pressure on her shoulder and a gentle shake.

Evadne’s eyes opened slowly, not at all sure what she was going to see, only to discover that she was exactly where she had been before, her head resting on her dead friend’s chest. Her eyes widened—a chest she could feel gently rising and falling. She abruptly pushed herself up off Red’s body and stared down in shock and disbelief at the sea green eyes staring back up at her. “You’re alive?”

“Yup.” A miraculously, unbelievably, but quite definitely alive Red grinned.

“But you died. I saw you dead...” She trailed off, wondering if she’d finally gone insane. “Weren’t you?”

“Yup, dead as a doornail,” Red said, still grinning slightly too maniacally for a bewildered Evadne.

“But how?” She looked for the awful hole in Red’s stomach. It was gone, replaced by an old-looking scar. Glancing down at the blood-soaked pants, she saw the previously torn and bloody exit wound in Red’s leg was now just a scar, albeit a fresher-looking one. She reached out and touched the pink new skin.

“Hey, don’t poke it like that. It’s still damn sore, you know,” Red said. “He made a much better job of the gut wound.”

Evadne returned her gaze to Red’s still pale face, frowning in confusion, “H-how? Who?” she stammered. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re not the only one,” Red said. “I could hear you, you know, when I was lying there. Heard you talking to him and all.” There was a tremor to her voice, and she stopped and shut her eyes tight. After a moment, she opened them to stare intently at Evadne. “Then I felt myself die. First the breathing stopped, then my heart, and your voice started to get farther and farther away.” She shuddered and halted once more. Evadne waited quietly, wondering why the usually taciturn Red was sharing this awful experience. Maybe it was something she felt she had to tell.

Red picked the story up again. “Then I felt warmth flood through me, and I got hotter and hotter until I thought I was burning.” She took a steadying breath. “Then there was a jolt of pain, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and suddenly, I was breathing again with the old ticker going like greased lightning, just like I’d finished the fight of my life.”

Red fell silent, clearly uneasy. Concerned by the pensive, worried look on her face, Evadne gave a bloodstained hand a gentle squeeze.

Red gave a small smile at the affectionate gesture then continued her story. “Just after I came around, all hell broke loose.”

For the first time, Evadne noticed the shadowy figures in the warehouse with them, each carrying either a shotgun or submachine gun. A sudden stab of fear surged through her, but there appeared to be no immediate danger and Red didn’t seem to be worried by their presence. Her pounding heart began to calm as her attention returned to what Red was saying.

“Weak as a kitten I was—still am,” Red said in a frustrated tone. “All I could do was lie back and watch the fun. These guys came pouring in like the damn cavalry, armed to the teeth and nervous as hell. Vlamyr barely had a chance to look startled before he was blown away.”

As the story continued, Evadne took in the carnage around her, a distant part of her mind wondering in exasperation at Red’s typically inappropriate use of the word fun. The strange smell could now be identified as gunpowder smoke that still hung heavy in the air. The floor was strewn with used shell casings and shotgun cartridges. She could just make out Vlamyr’s body crumpled in a pool of blood not far from where she last remembered seeing him. Edgar still lay where he had fallen, and not far from him lay the body of the creature that, she realized with sudden clarity, must have restored Red’s life only shortly before its own had been ended. Its back was a bloody mess. She noted the blood’s color with a strange feeling of detachment. Crimson, just like ours.

Apparently noticing her scrutiny of the dead creature, Red said, “Took all of them to bring down the big guy, even weak as he was. They must have put a ton of lead in him before he fell, but not before he got old Blue.”

Just as it was mentioned, Evadne saw the body identified as Blue, lying on his back, eyes wide open.

“Poor bastard got punched in the chest. Heard his rib cage splintering from here.”

Evadne gulped. Nausea rose again as the last twenty-four hours of stress, both physical and emotional, began to press down on her.

“Don’t know where that fucking little sadist got to, though,” Red said. “Just hope the boys get her because—” She stopped mid threat. “You okay?”

Evadne heard the concern in Red’s voice but couldn’t voice an answer. All she could manage was a shake of her head before she hunched forward, unable to stop the tears from pouring forth. “Hey, come on, it’s all over now.” She heard Red’s voice then felt a hand on her shoulder. Instantly, Evadne turned, seized Red in a fierce hug, and buried her head in Red’s chest. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, she felt Red’s arms wrap around her, gentle and oddly hesitant, then the weight of Red’s head against her own. And so Red held her until the sobs slowly receded into sniffles. Despite the dreadful events they’d just gone through, and the nervous, heavily armed men that still surrounded them, she felt safe within the haven of Red’s arms.

As her sniffles faded and eventually stopped, she felt Red raise her head. Then she was whispering in Evadne’s ear. “For a straight woman you sure seem inordinately fascinated by my chest.”

Evadne gave a hiccup of laughter. “Don’t know why you’d think that. You’re as flat as an ironing board and about as comfortable.”

Red chuckled before prodding Evadne’s back in mock irritation. “I’ll have you know some people like my tits just as they are.”

“And that,” Evadne said as she released her hold and sat upright, “is more information than I needed.”

The feeling of relief was now palpable, and they exchanged grins. Somehow, against all the odds, they had survived the apparently unsurvivable. Evadne raised an arm and wiped dry her red and swollen eyes before glancing at Red’s bloodstained and bullet-hole-riddled pants and shirt.

“I would say I mussed your clothes. But I don’t think anything I did could have made them worse.”

“True,” Red said. “Don’t reckon even Maria could save them now.”

“Your friend okay now, Wolverton?”

The voice came from their left. Evadne looked up and saw a man somewhere in his fifties, of average height but strongly built. He was dressed in an anonymous suit, with a flat cap pulled down over his eyes and a drum-magazine Thompson submachine gun tucked under one arm. Despite the obvious attempt to hide his identity, he seemed oddly familiar.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Red said.

The man grimaced. “We lost the girl.”

“Damn!”

Evadne, in the process of standing up, gave Red a quick, concerned look. Clara hadn’t looked like the forgiving type, and if she got free neither of them would be safe, especially Red.

“One of the boys saw her heading toward the wharves but lost her. Still, she can’t be too much of a threat.”

“Don’t you believe it,” Red said in a fierce undertone as she got to her knees. Saying nothing more, she started to stand. It was clearly a struggle; she was still weak and obviously hating the fact. Despite her difficulty, when the man reached out to help, a raised hand stopped him. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

The man’s face spoke plainly how much he believed that little statement but he withdrew his hand. Evadne had already come to the conclusion that Red had to be all but unconscious before accepting that sort of personal help. So, when Red didn’t refuse her surreptitious assistance in getting upright, she was surprised and more than a little pleased.

Once back on her feet, Red held out her hand to the older man. “Thanks for getting us out of that little mess. I owe you, Mr. Garrison.”

He gave a bemused shake of the head then took the offered hand. “It was no problem. I’ve had my eye on this place for a while. I knew there was something going on but didn’t know what, so when the boy turned up I was quite happy to grab the chance to find out. Lucky for you he knew where I was and there were enough of the guys within hollering range.” He gave a wry smile. “Anyway, it seems I owe you one on Billy’s behalf, so I reckon we can call it quits.”

“Looks like I still owe someone.” Red nodded to where the dead rescuer was being carried out of the warehouse. “Blue didn’t have a family, did he?”

“No, that’s one blessing at least. Don’t worry about it, Wolverton. He knew the risks well enough. What happened was just the luck of the draw.”

Red gave a brief nod. “Let me know when the funeral is, okay?”

“I will.” Garrison looked around at his silently working men. “We’ve got it covered here. You should scram.”

“Can you keep the big guy somewhere, just for a day or two?”

“Yeah, I should be able to do that. Can I ask why?”

Red shrugged. “No particular reason.”

“Trade secrets, eh? Fair enough. I’ll let you know where. In the meantime, you look a mess. Get yourself home.” He gave a polite nod to Evadne then moved over to supervise the tidying up operation.

“Mr. Garrison?” Evadne whispered, the man’s familiarity now making sense. “Isn’t he the teamster union leader?”

“Yeah.” Red limped toward the open door. “He’s also Billy’s pa. Looks like the kid came through in the end after all.”

They left through the main gate and headed back toward Franklin’s warehouse. When they rounded the end of the forecourt wall, they came to an abrupt halt. The new part of Franklin’s warehouse, the part where they’d found the dead watchman, was a crumbled heap of rubble.

“What the fuck?”

“What on earth happened?” Evadne echoed Red’s surprise, albeit more politely.

Red frowned; the ground had shaken violently as the creature died, though the noise of gunfire would have masked most sound from outside. It seemed too big a coincidence to be anything else. “Must have happened when the big guy croaked.”

“You mean his death somehow caused the collapse?”

Red gave a one-shouldered shrug. She ached too much to want to get into a discussion on the merits of her theory. At least not now. “It works for me.”

After a moment, Evadne nodded her agreement but her face remained thoughtful. “I wonder if it’s still down there.”

“What?”

“The jewel, the source of the golem-or-whatever-it-was’s power. He said it was under Franklin’s warehouse.”

“Oh.” Red turned to study the wreck of the warehouse once again. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be getting their hands on it anytime soon.”

“No,” Evadne said quietly.

“At least Bessie’s okay.” Red changed the subject. She wanted to avoid any more talk about the creature, its jewel, and most especially, what it had done to her. Fortunately, the LaSalle had been parked next to the original section of the building and the only ill-effect it had suffered was a liberal coating of dust. “Who’s going to drive?”

There was a brief but not altogether wholehearted argument as to who was going to drive. One Evadne won with only token opposition. Despite what Red might claim, she knew she was in no state to be driving, even without the fact that James would never forgive Evadne if she let Red behind the wheel of his beloved Bessie again.

As she reached the passenger door, she caught a sudden flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see Evadne crumple to the floor. A familiar hated figure stood over her, a hefty piece of broken wood in her hands. Their eyes met for a second before Clara gave a smugly triumphant grin. Primal fear surged through Red as she grabbed for her revolver. Before her hand had even touched the grip, pain was searing through her head. Instantly, her legs buckled and she collapsed to the ground.

“Thought you’d escaped me, did you?”

Red tried to resist, and for a minute she felt like she was pushing the girl out, but she was too tired and soon there was nothing left for her to fight with. A whimper escaped from her, then another.

“Now that is disap—”

Abruptly, thankfully, the pain went. By the time the spots cleared from her vision and she recovered enough to lift her head, she saw Evadne on the ground grappling with Clara. The girl fought like a wildcat, clawing and squirming but eventually, to Red’s utter relief, Evadne managed to knock the comb from Clara’s hand. She’d nearly got the girl under control when she bit down hard on Evadne’s arm. Evadne gave a little gasp and let go for a split second, but it was enough for the girl to be up and away. Immediately, Evadne was in hot pursuit.

Red got up and limped after them as fast as aching leg and pounding head allowed. Clara was obviously suffering as well. She staggered a little as she ran, and Evadne was rapidly catching up. She got close enough to make a tackle that a linebacker would be proud of. They went down together and hit the ground hard.

Again Clara recovered first, but Evadne reached out and tried to catch hold of her leg. Her flailing hand hit Clara’s ankle hard enough to throw her off balance. For a split second, Red’s eyes met Clara’s. Shock then terror flashed across them as Clara toppled over the edge of the pier, followed almost immediately by a splash.

Red felt a sudden surge of relief. Clara would drown; the terror in those blue eyes had clearly said that she couldn’t swim. With her death would end any possibility of that terrible pain being inflicted on anyone again.

Buoyed by this realization, she reached Evadne just as she was getting slowly to her feet. “You okay?” Red asked, offering her hand.

“I’m fine,” Evadne said, taking it.

Red hauled her easily to her feet. “Nice tackle by the way.”

“Thank you.” Evadne’s response was distracted. She looked around, a worried frown appearing on her face. “What happened to her?”

Red didn’t answer straight away. She didn’t want to say what had happened, certain Evadne would want to try saving Clara, but neither could she ignore Evadne’s growing anxiety. “She fell into the bay.”

Evadne let go of Red’s hand. “We need to help her.” Moving toward the edge of the dock, she looked down into the dark, dirty water. “I need to help her.”

“Why?” Red asked, her voice harsh. “So the little bitch can fry my brain again?”

Evadne turned to stare at Red, sorrow on her face. “I can’t just let her drown.” She stripped off her jacket, pistol, and shoes and jumped in. Red moved to the edge of the walkway and peered down. She watched as Evadne treaded water then took a deep breath and dived under.

She watched her dive four more times. When she came up from the fifth, she was obviously tiring. “That’s enough, Evadne,” Red shouted. “You’ve tried enough.” Evadne hesitated, clearly not wanting to give up. “Evadne, please, stop.” Red tried to insert a little humor. “I really ain’t in much state to drag you out, you know.” Evadne didn’t look at all happy about it, but she did stop. As she swam to the nearest ladder, Red limped over to meet her.

“Your turn for a dip, I see,” Red joked halfheartedly, not quite sure how Evadne was going to react to her lack of action. Not that she’d been kidding about not being in any state to do much more than watch, but even if she had been able to help, she wouldn’t have. As far as Red was concerned, Clara got what was coming to her.

“Yes.” Evadne gave a small sad smile. “And not a very pleasant one.” Then her face turned somber. “I couldn’t find her. I tried, but I couldn’t see her. The water was too murky.”

“I know.” Red laid a hand on Evadne’s arm, sensing her genuine distress even if not sharing it. “You did more than I would. You tried, and that’s all that matters.” When Evadne only nodded mutely, her eyes downcast, Red stepped closer and offered her support, physical as well as emotional.

After the tiniest of hesitations, Evadne stepped into her arms, rested her head against Red’s shoulder, and wrapped her arms around Red’s waist. Red tightened her hold, feeling the tension running through Evadne’s body. “She could have killed you,” Evadne whispered, tightening her own grip.

Red stared down at the dark water. Her head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it, her leg throbbed abominably, and she felt the cold water from Evadne’s clothes working its way through to her skin. Despite all this, she felt a sudden rush of euphoria. They were alive. The girl and the monstrous creature were dead. And, for the second time that day, Red had her arms around Mrs. Evadne Davenport. What more could she ask for?

Chapter 16

By the time Evadne brought the LaSalle to a stop outside her house, Red had been fast asleep for a good quarter hour, though if the moans and mutters were any indication, it had been anything but restful. Evadne glanced across at her. Red had fallen sideways in her sleep, head and shoulder propped up by the automobile’s bodywork. The catnap didn’t seem to have done her any good. She’d been exhausted when they’d got in; now she looked awful, her face pale and wan, dark rings under her eyes. Not that Evadne felt particularly chipper either. Over twenty-four hours without sleep wasn’t something she was used to, but she knew Red had gone through a lot more than she had, a lot more pain for one thing. And she still had no idea what happened to Red in that house, but given the girl Clara’s vindictive attitude, she doubted it was pleasant.

The click of her door handle made her jump. She turned to see James’s concerned face.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Behind her, Red grumbled in her sleep then settled back into silence.

“Just tired, James.” She tried to move only to find she had stiffened up to the point of near immobility. “I seem to have seized up a little, James, if you would be so kind?” With his gentle assistance, she eased herself out and tried to stretch out some kinks. With some surprise, she realized it couldn’t be much after midday. “What time is it, James?”

“It was five minutes to one when I left the kitchen,” James said. “I would say that hour is now upon us.” His gaze shifted to the passenger seat. “Is Re—Miss Wolverton all right, ma’am?”

Evadne followed his gaze, belatedly realizing what Red’s bloody state would look like to anyone who didn’t know what happened. She gave a reassuring smile. “Exhausted but otherwise pretty much intact. Don’t let the blood worry you.”

“Shall I carry her inside?”

“Don’t bother.” Red slowly pushed the door open and swung her legs out to sit sideways. “All your yapping woke me anyway.” She grimaced. “Why do I feel like a herd of cattle’s been tap-dancing all over me?” Then her eyes widened, her already pale face got even paler, and she looked as if she were about to be sick. She dropped her head into her hands.

Evadne turned back to James and caught the look of alarm on his face before it transformed into professional concern.

“James, we are going to need baths. And Red is going to need some clothes. Could you find something suitable for her? I think something of Geoff’s may do.”

“Will you be—”

“We’ll be fine, James.” Evadne looked back at Red. “Though could you ask Maria to get some hot sweet tea ready?” The British certainly had that right. There was nothing quite like a scalding, sugar-saturated mug of “char” when the world was falling down around your ears.

“As you wish, ma’am.” And with that James left.

Evadne knelt stiffly in front of Red. As she did, Red lifted her head to meet her concerned gaze.

“Christ, I feel like shit.” Red gave a weary smile.

“And I have to say you look it.” Evadne smiled in return.

“Gee, thanks for your unwavering support, Mrs. Davenport.” Red’s smile widened, then she winced and rubbed at her leg. “Damn that idiot Edgar.”

Evadne felt a sudden wave of guilt. That should never have happened. Her jaw clenched, and she wondered where her plan had gone awry. Then she thought of his parents. They would be distraught. Although their misguided attempts to cure their son had seriously lowered their esteem in Evadne’s eyes, she could only feel sympathy for the grief they would soon be suffering.

“Hey.” Red’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Evadne stood, not without complaint from her knees, and offered her hand to Red. “Shall we get inside?”

Red looked at her hand, then up to her face, then back at her hand. Evadne thought her offer of assistance was going to be refused, then Red reached out, took hold, and pulled herself upright, with an occasional wince.

“Ow.”

“Exactly.”

Red didn’t release Evadne’s hand. “You look a mess.”

“You should see yourself.”

Red looked down at her blood-stained clothing. The grip on Evadne’s hand tightened, and Evadne kicked herself for reminding her of what happened. When Red looked back up, she was surprised to see a wry smile on her face. “Guess I am kind of dirty.”

“Kind of?” Evadne snorted. “You are most certainly a lot more than kind of.” Red’s smile became a mischievous grin, and Evadne found herself chuckling. Then the chuckling became laughing. Suddenly, all her emotional walls seemed to collapse, and the laughing became tears. Once again, she was wrapped in Red’s comforting arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She tightened her grip, seeking certainty in Red’s solid presence. “Really?”

“Really.”

The tears soon receded, and Evadne pulled reluctantly away. She was a little embarrassed by her actions, especially the way she seemed to constantly throw herself into Red’s arms.

As she collected herself, she realized Red had said something odd. Well, not exactly odd, but certainly different. Now more intrigued than embarrassed, she met Red’s gaze. “Sweetheart?” she asked, giving a teasing edge to the question. Hearing the word itself wasn’t strange. Red seemed to take perverse pleasure in using it whenever she thought it might ruffle feathers. But this time, it lacked the usual hint of mockery. Instead, it held a sense of genuine affection.

“You called me ‘sweetheart.’”

Red shrugged then gave a crooked grin. “Just sorta slipped out.”

“Uh-huh,” Evadne said with mock severity, relishing the teasing banter as it drew her out of the morass of emotions she’d been wading through. “Did it indeed?” She slipped her arm through Red’s. “Come on, little wolf, I can hear a bath calling.”

“Hallelujah.”

After the first couple of steps, Red leaned on her. She smothered the smile that threatened to break out. It wouldn’t do to scare Red off just when that stoic façade began to show the first signs of slipping.

After the bath and fresh clothing, Evadne gravitated to the comfortable chairs and warm fire of the sitting room. Red soon joined her. Evadne couldn’t smother the amused chuckle that slipped out at the sight of Red engulfed in a borrowed set of Geoff’s clothes. Red had given her a glare in response then slumped into her favorite chair.

“Did you like your tea?”

Red grimaced. “Horrible stuff. No wonder we beat them.”

Evadne didn’t reply. She already knew Red was a coffee-only woman, black at that. “Would you like something stronger?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Evadne rose stiffly and moved across to the escritoire that doubled as a drinks’ cabinet. After pouring Red a stiff shot of whisky and herself a glass of brandy, she returned to the fireplace.

“Thanks.” Red took the glass and immediately knocked back half the whisky.

Evadne gingerly lowered herself into her own chair and took a more moderate sip of her drink.

Red soon visited the escritoire herself, the second whisky following the first in rapid succession. Evadne watched uneasily. She knew Red was reputed to be a hard drinker, indeed, she’d seen her consume her fair share while convalescing, but she didn’t like what she was seeing now. She wasn’t against a little alcohol now and then, even when it broke some idiotic law, but she definitely frowned on taking it to excess. She sipped her own brandy and watched as Red started on a third. When that seemed to be heading the same way as the first two, she finally spoke.

“It isn’t water, Red.” Evadne thought Red was going to say something unpleasant. Instead, she turned away to look into the fire instead.

For a long while, Red stared into the flickering fire. Evadne watched her face and tried to read what she was thinking. At least she wasn’t swigging the whisky down now. In the end, Evadne gave up and joined Red in watching the jumping flames. She was just beginning to nod off when Red spoke.

“You saved me, you know, saved both of us.”

“What?” She looked at Red, bemused by the statement.

“Been thinking about it, and it was you, the way you talked to the big guy. It impressed him, impressed him so much that he brought me back so we could both serve him.” Red clearly struggled to put her feelings into words. “I know it don’t make sense, but for a moment after he brought me back, I could almost hear his thoughts and you definitely impressed him.” She broke off to stare down at the half-empty tumbler in her hand.

“I was just talking, Red, trying to give us time.” Evadne paused and considered what had happened. “Don’t know why, to be honest. I had no real expectation that either of us was going to survive the experience.” Taking another sip from the brandy she cradled, she revisited the feeling of utter helplessness that had gripped her when she knew Red was dying and she wouldn’t be long in joining her. With a shudder, she continued. “I suppose I just wanted to know why we were going to die.” Then she gave a snort of laughter. “I’ve always searched for explanations, understanding. I suppose when it came right down to it, I didn’t want to die without knowing why.”

“Well,” Red said uncomfortably, still staring at the glass in her hands. “Just wanted to say thanks… for saving me… again.”

Red fell into silence, and Evadne couldn’t think of anything to say. She certainly hadn’t been expecting to talk their way out of the situation. She’d been quite truthful in her assertion that it was curiosity that drove her to speak, that and a certain perverse obstinacy she inherited from her father.

A gentle rap on the door made her look up. Maria entered with a tray laden with a selection of sandwiches and cold meats. Evadne hadn’t felt hungry up until now, but as soon as she saw the food, her stomach rumbled nosily.

“I thought you might like something to eat, ma’am.”

“God bless you, Maria.”

“Maria, you’re the best.” Red rose to her feet and helped herself to a liberal selection of sandwiches. Evadne met Maria’s gaze, and they shared a conspiratorial smile.

“It’s not going anywhere, little one.”

Red looked up, an embarrassed expression on her face, and her consumption receded to a more normal rate.

“There’s more if you want, ma’am,” Maria said before leaving them.

As she bit into a neatly cut beef sandwich, Evadne glanced up at the clock. She nearly choked when she saw it was almost six. They’d been in the room for nearly four hours. No wonder she was so hungry. She finished her sandwich more sedately than Red and took another. Red had finished her plateful and seemed on the verge of sleep again.

“Would you like to stay here tonight, Red?” The question was out almost before Evadne realized what she was doing. Red looked at her in surprise. She was just about to withdraw the offer, certain Red would refuse it, when Red nodded.

“You would?”

Red grinned. “Don’t sound so shocked, Evadne.”

“I’m sorry,” Evadne said, “I just never…”

“It makes sense. No point me having to traipse all the way back.”

“James could—”

Red’s face hardened into something very like anger. “I ain’t going to put him out just to take me home. Not on his day off.”

Evadne opened her mouth once then shut it again. Red was right. It was officially James’s day off. Evadne had forgotten that as it seemed James had himself. Red, however, hadn’t. That fact in itself said a lot about Red’s character. Before Evadne could say anything, Red stood.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to head on up. I’m beat.”

“Of course. I don’t think I shall be very far behind. Good night.”

“Good night.” Red made her slightly unsteady way out of the room.

Evadne took another sandwich and bit into it, while a myriad of thoughts filled her mind.

Chapter 17

September 30: A new beginning

Red broke out of her nightmare with a muffled cry and sat bolt upright. Breathing heavily, heart thumping with remembered fear, she stared into the darkness. Gradually her breathing and pulse slowed to normal, and she flopped back with her arms flung out. She stared up toward the invisible ceiling and tried to ignore the multitude of images that kaleidoscoped through her head.

Eventually she gave up on the futile attempt, flicked on the bedside lamp, and checked the pocket watch sitting on the table. It was just after five. Not worth trying to sleep again, not with the nightmares waiting to pounce. She rubbed at her face with her hands in an attempt to wake herself up. She only had partial success. What sleep she’d managed hadn’t been good. The previous evening’s plan to avoid the nightmares by getting blind drunk, via the tried and true method of downing the better part of a bottle of whisky, had been foiled. Evadne’s disappointed look and mildly disapproving comments had caused a guilty reining in on the planned drinking.

Red groaned slightly when her abused body complained as she swung her legs off the bed. She winced at the sudden stab of pain from the wound on the back of her thigh. She bit her lip and waited for the throbbing to subside as she wondered whether a career change was required. Something safer, like lion taming for instance. She searched for something to wear, fairly sure that wandering around the house clad only in a borrowed nightshirt would be frowned upon.

Moving as quietly as she could, she soon found the untidy heap of borrowed clothes left where they’d been flung the afternoon before. She pulled on the clothes and paused briefly in wonder to touch the old-looking scar on her stomach. After rolling up the long sleeves and pants legs, she cinched her belt—one of the few items of her clothing to escape destruction—tight enough to keep the overlarge pants from slipping down over her hips. If the way the clothes hung off her was any indication, Evadne’s late husband must have been as big as Joe.

She suddenly found herself wondering what he’d been like. Other than the portrait in the study, she hadn’t seen any pictures of him. But what was plain was that Evadne had loved him, still did even though he had been dead for nearly ten years. No chance for you there, little wolf. You just need to get used to it. She wondered whether she would ever have the chance to feel that sort of love.

In a sudden guilty rush, she realized she’d indeed had that chance and had thrown it away. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you deserved, Janet. So damned sorry. A tear formed in her eye, and she roughly brushed it away. She pushed back her melancholy thoughts and concentrated on dressing.

Now decent, if not tidy, she limped over to the door and pushed it gently open. She listened for sounds of life in the dark house and could hear faint noises coming from the kitchen. She soon identified the familiar sounds of Maria starting the morning clean-up of the night before. A glance at her watch confirmed that Maria was indeed unusually early. Interest piqued, Red slowly made her way down to the kitchen. Occasionally she winced as the partially healed wounds hurt from the exercise.

“You would have thought he’d do a better job of patching me up,” Red said under her breath as she pushed open the door to the kitchen. Although the supernatural being had restarted her heart and lungs and repaired the damage to her abdomen, it had been either unwilling or, given its comments about being underpowered, unable to fully heal the damage to her leg. Fortunately, the bullet had passed through without hitting the bone, but the muscles were only partially healed and the new scars were fragile. The effect of blood loss also lingered. She felt lethargic and weak—her least favorite state of being.

“Talking to yourself now, little one?” Maria’s voice broke through her reverie.

“Nice to see you, too, Maria.”

Maria’s face changed in a flash to a beaming smile of welcome, and before Red could fend off the approach, the motherly Latina crossed the intervening space and had her in a floury embrace.

“Oh, it is good to see you, too.” She released her grip and looked up into Red’s face. “I didn’t know what to think when we heard from Mr. Franklin that the two of you were missing, and then when you turned up covered in blood and looking so pale...” She slapped the back of her hand across Red’s stomach in feigned annoyance. “And what am I supposed to do about those clothes of yours, eh?”

“Trash them. Or use them for rags.”

“Sound advice, little one.”

“You’re in early. Everything okay?” A look of what seemed to be embarrassment appeared on Maria’s face.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Maria said. “I was worried about you both.”

Red wasn’t quite sure how to respond to Maria’s concern. Fortunately she was spared trying to find a way to express her mixture of embarrassment and gratitude when Maria gave her an odd smile.

“You were having a nightmare again, I didn’t know whether I should wake you, or not...”

Suddenly, Red realized what Maria was saying. “You checked on me?”

“On both of you.” Maria looked embarrassed again. “I just needed to see—” Abruptly she turned away and returned to her bread making.

Red stared at Maria’s back, amazed that she should do something like that for her. Checking on Evadne she could understand; the affection between the two of them was obvious. But that she would do the same for her? “I don’t know what—” She stopped. There was really only one thing to say. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, Red.”

After a moment, as it became clear that Maria wasn’t going to say anything more on the subject, Red limped over to gingerly take a seat at the kitchen table. She arranged her leg so the edge of the chair didn’t press on the wound.

“I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep, I see.” A voice came from the doorway.

“What?” Red’s exclamation was immediately followed by a trail of expletives as her sudden turn pressed the edge of the seat into a tender scar. “Argh, shit, fuck, and double fuck.” She stood up and hobbled around the room in a forlorn attempt to ease the throbbing pain.

How the fuck does she do that? Evadne could sneak up on her like nobody else she knew. As the pain lessened into a steady ache, Red glowered at her guilty-looking hostess. “Jeez, Evadne, can’t you whistle to let me know you’re coming or something? Or perhaps,” she gave a wicked grin, “tie a little bell around your ankle?”

“I think you should keep your private fantasies to yourself, Red, don’t you?” Evadne’s perfect picture of Brahmin respectability was slightly marred by the twinkle in her eye. “What would Maria think?”

“She thinks it would be a good idea for you to stop teasing the little one, chica,” Maria said with mock severity, “before she hurts herself again.”

Red gave Evadne a victorious smirk.

“As for you, Red Wolverton,” Maria said, wiping off the smirk, “your potty mouth needs washing out with soap.”

Maria surveyed the two full-grown women in much the same way she must survey her recalcitrant sons. Only the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of her mouth gave any indication of the amusement she was feeling.

Red was the first to recover. “I’d like to see you try, Maria.” A feral smile touched her lips.

“Pfff!” Maria dismissed the look with a flick of her hand. “Don’t try that look on me, little one. You’re a big softie underneath, and don’t you try to deny it.”

The telltale warmth of a blush crept up Red’s neck. Muttering under her breath, she retook her seat, giving the back of her thigh a gentle rub as she did.

“I’m sorry about startling you like that, Red.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t sneak up on me like that again—at least not until I’m back in one piece, okay?”

“Would it be all right if I just go home for a half hour or so, chica?” Maria asked. “Jose is not good this morning.”

“Of course, Maria,” Evadne said. “You should know by now that you don’t need to ask.”

“It is the correct thing to do,” Maria said with a fond smile. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone.” Then she slipped on her coat and left the kitchen to the two women.

“Doesn’t she trust me or something?” Red muttered, caught by sudden insecurity. She genuinely liked the motherly little woman; she didn’t want her thinking ill of her.

“She’s only teasing you, Red. Surely you know that?”

Red smiled uncertainly, not completely convinced by Evadne’s reassuring words, then she gave the back of her thigh another gentle rub.

Evadne moved over to the hot plate. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.”

While Evadne poured out two mugs, Red watched her. Even clad in a well-used, but obviously much-loved, dressing gown, she looked elegant, totally in control. When she met Red’s gaze with a quizzical look, Red felt the blush beginning again. What was it about this woman that reduced her to an embarrassed adolescent? She ducked her head, not daring to look up as she heard the thunk of the mug being placed on the table in front of her. The faint scrape of chair legs indicated that Evadne had taken a seat as well.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Red looked up through her fringe at Evadne and saw the concern in her warm brown eyes.

“It’s nothing.” Red took a swig from the mug. The coffee was hot, black, and strong, just as she liked it.

A few more gulps and her mug was empty. Evadne was a little more ladylike in drinking her coffee, and Red found herself studying her again. This time she wondered about what the future held for them.

Tomorrow would be the start of a new month. Evadne’s trial period was up. After the last couple of days, Red doubted Evadne would want to continue working with her, as a secretary, or anything else. If she had any of the sense she was born with, she would run screaming into the night and never be seen again. And without that connection, their paths would probably never cross again. Maybe if—

“Have I drool on my chin or something?” Evadne asked, interrupting Red’s chain of thoughts.

With a faint shake of her head, Red looked away, flustered by how her intense gaze may have appeared. Now was as good a time as any. She needed to speak before she lost her nerve. “Evadne...” She nervously brushed her fringe back into place with one hand and trailed off into silence.

“Yes?” Evadne raised a questioning eyebrow.

Red hesitated. Was she right? And if she wasn’t, what then? Why was she being so damned stupid? There were plenty more fish in the sea. But none of them were quite like Evadne Davenport.

Evadne reached out and laid a hand over Red’s as she clutched the mug “What is it? You can tell me, you know. That’s what friends are for.”

Friends? Red considered this revelation. When did that happen, I wonder? Evadne looked nearly as startled by her own words as Red was. However, it gave Red the added confidence that what she was about to suggest just might work. “Friends, eh?” A combination of bravado and nerves drove her to add a distinctly suggestive smirk.

Evadne’s eyes narrowed. “Red Wolverton, I do believe you are the most incorrigible flirt and the most impossible person I have ever come across.”

“I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.” Before Evadne could get in her response, Red turned suddenly serious. “Your trial period is nearly up, you know.”

The look on Evadne’s face confirmed that she didn’t. She stood up abruptly and placed the empty coffee mugs on the sideboard. “So, how did I do?”

Her question held a definite edge of nervousness, and it was all Red needed to know. Relieved that Evadne clearly wanted to remain as her employee, Red found her spirits suddenly soaring. She struggled to keep from breaking into a self-satisfied smile, and with her devilish streak well in command, she replied solemnly and truthfully, “I’m afraid you ain’t right for my secretary, Evadne.” As Evadne’s face fell, Red quickly added, “Which is why I would like you to become my partner.”

Evadne stared at her, a stunned look on her face. “Your partner?” she repeated softly, as if not quite sure she’d heard the words correctly. Then her eyes narrowed. “You beast, making me think—”

Before Red could react, Evadne crossed the small distance between them and was mercilessly tickling her. “Argh! Stop it!” Caught completely flat-footed by the sudden attack, Red squirmed under the probing fingers as they found the ticklish spot on her ribs. “Please, Evadne, stop it or I’ll…” Even as she pleaded, the injured part of her leg moved once more across the edge of the chair and the jolt of pain was followed by another string of obscenities that turned the kitchen’s air blue.

Hunched up over the ball of pain that was her throbbing leg, Red was vaguely aware of Evadne coming to crouch by her side. “I’m so sorry, Red.” Evadne wrapped her arms around Red in a gentle hug.

“It’s okay,” Red said through gritted teeth.

“No it’s not. I should have thought.” Half-jokingly, half-afraid, she added, “I expect you’ll be withdrawing that offer now I’ve done that to you twice this morning.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Red gave a groaning laugh in reply. “The way you can sneak up on me, I need you right were I can see you… friend.”

Epilogue

On a dismal, cold October morning, Red went to honor her debt to Blue Langesmann. Nearly a week had passed since the showdown at the warehouse. The scandal of Edgar Van Volk’s violent death was still the talk of both press and society. No one had been able to offer a reason as to why his body should turn up floating in the bay. His family was as baffled as everyone else. As far as they were concerned, he’d been safe in Alaska.

Then the body of the wealthy child recluse, Clara Wight, had been dragged out of the dark water. Speculation was rife that the two had been somehow connected. Miss Wight’s business manager had also disappeared, which led to the initial theory that he’d murdered his employer and absconded with the Wight fortune. However, the police investigation showed no signs of such an act. Instead, they’d found some very revealing evidence that suggested Clara Wight, young as she was, had been highly placed in the Boston criminal fraternity. Although the business manager, Mr. Vlamyr, had been the public face of their criminal misdeeds, she was the brains behind the operation. That amazing revelation had knocked Edgar Van Volk’s death from the top of the scandal sheets, and together, they were keeping the gossips busy.

While the upper echelon of Boston society wondered over the doings of two of their own, the close-knit dock community closed ranks. With Garrison’s backing, the incident at the warehouse was covered up and the authorities had no clue what really happened.

The only person who suspected Red of being involved with Edgar’s death was Evadne’s Uncle Charles. The ex-commissioner had arrived unannounced at Evadne’s house while Red was still there. The interview was charged and angry, with him and Red instantly rubbing the other the wrong way. Eventually he accepted Evadne’s assurance that Red wasn’t to blame for Edgar’s death.

When Mr. Garrison informed Red of the date of Blue’s funeral, she hadn’t wanted to bother Evadne. As far as she was concerned, it was her debt to pay. But when Evadne offered to accompany her, Red gladly accepted. As they made their way up the path toward the small brick church, the memory of Evadne’s carefully chosen words to her uncle caused Red to give a sudden chuckle.

“What’s so funny,” Evadne asked.

“Just remembering how devious you can be, Mrs. Davenport. Damn impressive, the way you never quite told a lie to your uncle without actually telling the whole truth either.”

Evadne grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I still feel somewhat guilty about that, but I couldn’t see any other way.”

“Yeah, really can’t see him buying the supernatural evil explanation.”

“Indeed not,” Evadne said. “At least Mr. Franklin is happy with the result.”

“Yeah, and he even got to see his golem.” They had eventually decided to tell Franklin most of what happened at the warehouse, though not the identities of the creature’s human agents. He’d been taken to see the creature’s remains before Garrison disposed of them and was sensible enough to accept that this had to remain their secret. With no evidence, any claims he might make would be disbelieved and might eventually lead to ridicule and ruin. He even took the destruction of half his warehouse with remarkable calmness. “I just hope his recommendation can do something to help stop that bitch Katherine’s attempts to ruin me.” Red suddenly stopped and caught Evadne’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about our partnership.”

Evadne looked hurt. “You don’t want me to be your partner anymore. I can under—”

“No, no,” Red broke in, suddenly realizing what her words might have sounded like. “I still want you as my partner but—” She stopped, released the arm, and regained a little distance. “With the Dubois still out to get me, it’s more than likely you’ll be attacked as well if you associate with me. They may say things about you, about us—” She stopped again, not sure how to continue, and intently studied her boots.

“That we’re lovers?” Evadne finished the sentence. “The possibility has crossed my mind.”

Red continued to stare at her boots, not wanting to see Evadne’s revulsion at this possibility. “If you want to—”

Evadne didn’t let her finish, and her response was fierce. “Red, I really don’t care what they say about me. I’ve been the object of their rumors before and no doubt will be again. I’m not going to let anyone control who I work with or, more importantly, who my friends are.”

Red felt more relieved than she would admit that the partnership was still in place. Caught by a sudden impulse, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on Evadne’s cheek. “Evadne Davenport, you’re a wonder.”

Evadne chuckled. “And you’re a rogue, Red Wolverton, but a charming one.”

Red gave Evadne a broad smile, then with a small flourish offered her arm. “May I escort you, Mrs. Davenport?”

“Why thank you, little wolf.” Evadne returned the smile and took Red’s arm. Together, they walked the remaining distance and only released the link as they passed through the church door to pay their final respects.

About the Author

Jamie lives on the edge of the rugged beauty of the Peak District with two cats but not with her American partner of three years—they are still trying to find a way to live on the same continent.

Brought up in rural South Warwickshire, Jamie gained a degree in Architectural Studies at Sheffield University and then stayed. After drifting into software design and development some fifteen years ago, she still hasn’t escaped. While she works with the technology of the present, what interests her is the past. After years as a re-enactor and living historian, she is now studying archaeology part-time. A keen reader, writing is a recent development, drawing on her favourite genres of historical and speculative fiction. Thirty Days Hath September is her first book.

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