Flora's Wish (21 page)

“This?” Mr. McMinn set his sandwich aside to pull at his collar. “Fitting in is what I do, Miss Brimm.” He chuckled. “Though it certainly didn't work with your grandmother. She pegged me as a phony right away.”

Flora joined his laughter. “True, but my grandmother is definitely an exceptional woman. You're not the first to be put in your place by her, nor will you be the last. Sometimes when she says things…” She looked at him and smiled ruefully. “I cringe when I think of how she offered to send one of the maids to the kitchen for a boxed lunch.”

Mr. McMinn gestured to the picnic spread out between them. “Looks like I got one anyway. Or at least a boxed dinner.”

“Look who's calling the evening meal dinner.” Flora lifted a brow in mock surprise. “At this rate you'll truly be considered cultured in no time.”

“I assure you, Miss Brimm, there's no danger in that. Ask my grandfather.”

“Perhaps someday I shall.” She continued to study him as he returned to finishing off his sandwich. How Grandmama knew this man wasn't of their ilk was beyond Flora. Everything about him, from his mannerisms to the way he blended seamlessly into a more socially fortunate crowd, seemed to speak of a privileged upbringing and cultured existence. Until he opened his mouth, that is.

The sum of all those parts made Flora wonder which one was the affectation and which was the real Lucas McMinn. There was one way to find out.

He caught her staring, but she did not look away. “I wonder something,” she said as she watched his face. “Who are you really?”

Her question must have been unexpected, for Flora thought she saw a moment's surprise before his practiced neutral expression returned. “And I thought you were going to ask me to pass the cake.” When she continued to watch him, Mr. McMinn looked away. “So, the prisoner is attempting to overthrow the guard by using the power of surprise.” His attention returned to her. “It won't work. I'm Lucas B. McMinn, Pinkerton agent, and that's all you need to know.”

“I've already learned something new about you.” The lift of one dark brow told her she would get no further response on the subject. “All right, if you insist, I'll tell you what I've learned. Your middle name begins with a
B
.”

“There you go,” he said with a smile as he swiped at the crumbs on his jacket. “I'm just an open book, aren't I? And you, Miss Brimm, are quite the detective.”

“Why, thank you,” she responded cheerily. “I learned from the best, you know.”

“Did you now?” He shifted positions to toss the napkin into the empty basket. “And who is this expert?”

“Mrs. Gladden.” When his expression showed no recognition, Flora continued. “From
The Female Detective
novels?”

His guffaw of laughter echoed in the belvedere. “So you learned your powers of deduction from a fictional character in a detective novel? That's about right, I suppose.”

“Not just any fictional character. Some say Mrs. Gladden was a real person and the novels were taken from her actual case files. I will admit that theory is not without its problems. Especially as the books were written a full fifty years before the London police force admitted women. Nevertheless, Mrs. Gladden offers an interesting insight into the crime-fighting world.”

“Fair enough. As I said, you learned your powers of deductive reasoning from a detective novel.”

“Novels,” she corrected as the wind kicked up to tease the back of her neck.

“I stand corrected,” he said dryly. “Novels. But detective work is one thing. Where in the world did you learn to walk around on window ledges like a cat?”

The question stung, but only because it brought forward an image of her sister. Of Violet and her uncanny ability to balance on the thinnest thread of wire or the narrowest plank of wood. Indeed, her elder sister possessed an ability that, in a family of lesser social leanings, might have earned her a valued place in Mr. Ringling's circus.

“Have I asked a question you don't want to answer?” He paused, his expression unreadable. “Doesn't feel so good, does it?”

“No, it's not that at all,” she said as she forced herself to believe the words she'd just spoken. “I suppose you could say this skill of mine is a family trait.” Flora paused. “Handed down from my sister. Unfortunately, my talent developed a bit later than hers.”

Else I would never have lost footing that day and Violet would still be…
Flora shook her head. No good would come from allowing yet another recrimination to surface.

“Well, thank goodness you didn't say your grandmother, otherwise I'd be wondering when the woman was going to walk around the edge of the building to join us for cake.”

“Oh, cake!” Flora forced enthusiasm even as she began the process of tucking the memories of Violet back into place. “Yes, it's time for cake, isn't it?”

“You've only eaten half your sandwich,” he protested.

Flora waved away his comment. “Nonsense. It's always time for cake.”

Mr. McMinn rose to retrieve the covered platter and set it on the tablecloth-covered bench between them. “All right, Miss Brimm. Cake is served.”

He pulled off the dome to reveal a dessert that hadn't traveled as well as expected. While it had been a beautifully frosted masterpiece of chocolate confection down in the kitchen, it was now an interesting pile of cake layers held together by globs of dark icing.

“What happened here? It looks as though you went rolling down the hill with this while I wasn't looking.”

“You're close. I almost went rolling down the stairs while trying to keep from dropping the platter and the basket of sandwiches you so kindly left me with while you went in pursuit of your grand idea.” He paused. “Not that I believe you for a minute that you were on some lark about accessories. No woman goes climbing over a stair rail and crisscrosses the length of a hotel to…” The lawman shook his head. “What am I thinking? That is something you would do without question.”

“I came back almost immediately.”

“You were gone long enough to allow me to believe you'd escaped my custody.” His eyes narrowed. “And with your skills as a tightrope climber, you know you could have easily hopped around the entire fourth floor until you found an open window.” A pause. “Sounds suspiciously like the night we met, doesn't it? And you were certainly on the lookout for Mr. Tucker then.”

“You're being ridiculous,” she said, though he truly was being anything but. “I may have stepped out of a window the night we met, but I returned through an open door.” She gave him a triumphant look. “And in neither case was I trying to escape anyone's custody. It is simply not something I would do.”

“And you know this because you've been in a lawman's custody before?” Mr. McMinn stretched out his long legs as he studied her. “I suppose I ought to have checked your name for priors while I was down at the sheriff's office swearing out that warrant.”

“You know what?” Flora said sweetly. “I've come to believe this whole matter of an arrest warrant is a complete fabrication.”

“Have you now?” He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But there are two warrants, Miss Brimm. One for you and one for the man you think you'll be marrying in the morning.”

“Yet you didn't turn me in when you had the chance.” She shrugged. “As the granddaughter of a judge, I'm not so sure how a jury of my peers would like that. Why, you're practically holding me hostage without a fair trial. Shame on you.”

He rose abruptly and circled her wrist with his hand. “Come on,” he said as he pulled her to her feet.

“Where are we going?” Flora demanded.

“Good news.” His smile was dazzling, his expression dangerous. Flora found she couldn't look away.

“And what is that?” she managed.

“You're being set free.” His grin appeared to be caused in part by sarcasm and the remainder amusement. “I can see you're surprised. Don't be. I'll happily release you from my captivity and into the hospitality of the Eureka Springs jail.”

Again with the threat of jail.

“Or,” he continued, “we can eat cake, and you can stop complaining.”

“Funny you should say that,” she said calmly. “I was just about to offer to cut a slice for each of us. I'll defer to you on that.”

“Looks more like a spoon would work better, but I think we can manage. And given your enthusiasm for the idea of bringing the whole cake with us, I don't suppose I have to ask if you would like a generous serving.”

Flora lifted one brow, a sufficient response to a question obviously asked in jest.

He sliced and scooped enough of the mangled cake to fill each of their plates and then set the knife aside. She did not miss the fact that he placed it well out of her reach.

“Still don't trust me?” she asked as she picked up the nearest fork. “I'm devastated.”

“I'm sure you are.”

The first bite was divine, the second even better. “Oh,” Flora said as she savored the rich chocolate. “Even mashed to a pulp, this is good cake.”

“Mashed to a pulp?” Mr. McMinn shook his head. “You're one picky woman. I carried that cake all the way up here because you said you had to have the whole—”

“Oh, please. I said it was delicious.”

The cake
was
good. Not the melt-in-your-mouth variety that Cook made back in Natchez, but definitely a passable second choice.

“It smells like rain. Maybe we ought to go before the weather turns bad again.”

“Don't be silly,” Flora said. “I'm in no hurry to leave.”

“Because there's still plenty of cake?” he teased.

“Because my grandmother will demand an explanation of where I've been and why the suite was left in that condition.” She met his gaze. “And I'm not ready to have that conversation with her.”

“If she hasn't called the law to report us missing,” he added.

“Oh, she won't call the authorities, at least not officially. She may send a few discreet inquiries to a few high-placed friends who will make discreet inquiries of their own. Anything to keep the situation quiet, you understand.”

Mr. McMinn chuckled. “I see how this works. Poor folks like me call the law. Rich folks like you and your grandmother call their friends.”

“Exactly.” Flora frowned. “Well, sort of. You don't have to be friends with a person to…” She shook her head. There was no need in trying to explain how things worked in Natchez to someone who had no idea of the ridiculous social structure and politics that went along with being a Brimm. “You know, I'm curious about something. I don't believe you've come from background much different than mine. Am I right?”

The wind shifted directions to tease at the edges of the tablecloth. A moment later the sound of softly falling rain could be heard. “You'd be surprised. And it looks as though we're in for another round of weather after all.”

“You sound like my father,” Flora said. “He might have been born a Brimm and expected to take up the family legacy, but he is an indigo farmer at heart. When we're both at home, I don't think a day passes that he doesn't make some mention of the weather to me.” She paused to trace the edge of her plate with the fork. “Grandmama says his behavior is most pedestrian. I always thought it was something fathers just did.”

“Predict the weather?”

“Well, yes, though now that you've said it, it does sound a little silly.” A shrug. “It would be even sillier to say I miss it.”

“Not at all.”

She took another bite of cake to keep from responding further. Finally, only the remnant of her oversized slice of chocolate heaven remained. Icing clung to the cake crumbles, requiring Flora to lick her fork in order to get all of its gooey goodness.

“You know, this sort of behavior would be unconscionable back in Natchez,” she said as she noticed one last smattering of frosting on the back of her fork and swiped at it with her index finger.

“So I'm privy to Miss Brimm misbehaving?” He chuckled. “What would your grandmother say?”

Flora set the fork aside and rose to move toward the rail. If she sat there any longer, she'd indulge in another piece, something her corset would not allow.

“My grandmother does not need to know about my indiscretion with the chocolate frosting,” she cast over her shoulder, “and should you be so uncouth as to tell her, I will deny it.”

“Is that so? You've given in to the urge to eat chocolate frosting off a fork in the presence of a person who is not a member of your immediate family. That is absolutely scandalous.”

She leaned over the rail just enough to allow the light mist of rain wet her fingers. “It is scandalous, isn't it?”

As was her desire to press past Lucas McMinn to dance in the rain. They were, after all, completely alone with no one to witness her silly behavior. Behavior that was simply not done by a Brimm.