Flora's Wish (25 page)

“That much I figured,” Mr. McMinn said. “But how did he set the appointment and obtain the license?”

“I don't handle licenses. You would have to ask the fellow at the courthouse. And a man up at the Crescent Hotel set up the appointment.” He paused. “I don't recall him saying any name other than Tucker.” The preacher turned his attention to Flora. “I'm terribly sorry you're not going to have a wedding this morning.”

“As am I,” she said as she rose to walk to the office door.

She was sorry. But why?

Because I said no to your plan.

Flora looked around for the source of the words and found Mr. McMinn and the pastor in conversation, neither paying attention to her. She moved into the doorway. Just beyond where she stood was the chapel, a small wooden structure of simple but elegant construction. The cross at the altar beckoned.

“Just how did this man from the Crescent Hotel set the appointment?” Mr. McMinn asked.

“Excuse me,” Flora interrupted, “but if you don't mind I need a moment.” She gestured toward the chapel's interior before returning her attention to Mr. McMinn. “You have my word I'll go no farther than the altar.”

He seemed surprised. Then his face softened. Slowly, he nodded.

As the men returned to their conversation, Flora wandered down the narrow aisle, past the rough-hewn benches that served as church pews, and up to the altar, where a shaft of sunlight pierced the darkness and spilled warm and golden across the uneven floorboards.

She moved through the sunshine to pause at the pulpit. A Bible sitting there was open to Psalm 23. Flora smiled. This chapter had been her first memory verses as a child, and she still recalled every word.

Only now she correctly stated the last line, while as a girl she'd insisted the proper version was Shirley Goodness and Mercy, two sisters who shadowed the Lord's people and offered holy help in times of trouble. Flora smiled at the recollection of how she'd debated Grandmama until the older woman had finally given up.

Funny how a simple mispronunciation could cause such a difference in meaning. How many times had she looked over her shoulder as a child to see if Shirley Goodness and her sister, Mercy, were following as the Lord had promised? And how many times had she felt disappointment that they weren't?

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me,” she whispered. “Indeed, Father, I am in need of both. And please don't say no to my plan.”

She moved toward the altar, leaving the Bible and its words of comfort behind. There was no rail, no kneeling bench covered in tapestry, no candlesticks of silver and gold shedding light on the place of holiness.

And yet the Lord was in this place. His presence was so close she could almost reach out and touch Him.

Finding the roughly constructed altar first with her hands and then with her heart, Flora fell to her knees and bowed her head. Words failed her, and yet she knew God heard.

How long she remained there, she couldn't say. When she finally tried to stand, her knees had long gone numb.

She rose with difficulty and made her way back down the aisle to the exit and the midmorning sunshine. Mr. McMinn was waiting.

Of course he was.

Now that Will Tucker was officially not marrying her today, there was little to keep the Pinkerton agent from hauling her off to jail and the mercy of the Eureka Springs sheriff. Again she thought of the psalm she'd just read.

Shirley Goodness and Mercy, where are you?

Without a word, he escorted her to the buggy and helped her up. “I suppose you're taking me to jail now,” she said when he had joined her on the bench seat.

“Yes, Miss Brimm, that's where we're headed. Whether you remain there is yet to be determined.”

L
ucas almost felt sorry for Flora Brimm. Almost, but not quite.

While her prayer time in the chapel seemed real enough, the fact remained that she was intent on hitching her fate to that of a criminal. And he was just as intent on seeing Tucker pay for the crimes he'd committed.

That was the real reason for his visit to the jail. If the sheriff had sworn out a warrant for Tucker, he'd be more than happy to continue his arrangement with Miss Brimm until the man was caught. If not, he'd have to decide whether turning her over for receipt of stolen property was sufficient.

If she and Tucker were in communication, the arrest of the woman could bring him out of hiding. Or it could cause him to drop any interest in her and run for the hills—and for his next victim.

Lucas let out a long breath as his mind untangled the threads of possibility. The idea that Will Tucker felt allegiance to any female enough to turn himself in was doubtful. That left only one way to catch him: Stick close to Flora Brimm and keep her out of jail.

A sideways glance told him she appeared less than enthusiastic with her current situation. Not that he could blame her. Whatever reason had caused her to want to buy what Tucker was selling, she certainly wasn't finding any relief for it now.

Maneuvering the buggy into a tight spot in front of the jail, Lucas set the brake and looked over at his companion. To her credit, the woman who had slept at his side last night bore the idea that she might be heading for a jail cell with surprising dignity.

Miss Brimm caught him staring at her. “Can we get this over with?” she demanded.

Lucas weighed his options. If he took her inside, he would likely be required to leave her there. If he went in without her, the odds were she would not be waiting when he returned.

There was only one solution. “Miss Brimm, I'm going to have to handcuff you again.”

“Honestly,” she said as she leaned away from him. “What do you think I'm going to do? The sheriff's office is just a few steps away from where I'm sitting. How could I possibly escape?”

“I'm considering leaving you here while I go in and have a talk with the sheriff. If you go in with me, I'm going to have to continue my search for Tucker alone while you spend the night at the jailhouse.” He allowed her to think about that a moment. “So, what will it be?”

Without comment, she held out a wrist. Lucas slapped on the cuff and attached the other end to the buggy. “Do not move until I return.”

While the handcuff was obvious to anyone who might come close enough to look inside the buggy, from Lucas's vantage point at the door to the jailhouse nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Only the stricken look on Miss Brimm's face gave her away as anything but a woman passing time on a sunny May morning.

“Smile,” he called to her. “Or someone's bound to wonder what's wrong and inquire.”

Her response was swift. Though she added a broad grin to her expression, nothing in her demeanor told him anything had changed.

The woman looked as though she would rather shoot him than take her next breath. Lest she might have a weapon hidden in her skirts, he scooted inside.

“Hello there, Pinkerton man,” the deputy called as the door closed behind Lucas. “The sheriff's out the back seeing to some business with the undertaker. He ought to be here in a minute or two, but I'll let him know you're here.”

“I would appreciate that,” Lucas said as he found a chair. A few minutes later the sound of heavy footsteps told him he was about to have company.

“Heard you'd come by to pay me a visit,” the sheriff said. “What can I do for you, McMinn? My deputies didn't catch your fellow?”

“Unfortunately, no. Apparently he slipped out another way, but I do appreciate your sending them and posting the others.” Lucas rose to shake the sheriff's hand. “I thought I'd come check on that warrant I swore out.”

The sheriff fitted himself into the chair behind his desk. “Had a little problem with that.”

Refusing to take the bait or let his disappointment show, Lucas kept his voice neutral. “Did you? Anything I can help clear up?”

“Maybe.” He leaned back in the chair and put both boots on the desktop and regarded Lucas with a look that told him there was more than just a little jurisdictional squabble here. “I needed some information about the charges pending on Tucker, so I thought I would shortcut the process by sending for the details of your open investigation. You know, lawman to lawman.”

Lucas had a sinking feeling. “You talked to someone at the agency?”

“I did,” he said, his gaze never wavering. “There doesn't seem to be an open investigation against our boy Tucker.” He paused. “At least that's what the fellow in Chicago told me. Maybe he was mistaken.”

How to answer? While Lucas refused to lie, the truth wouldn't get him what he wanted. He decided to take a plot of ground that met the two in the middle.

“It's true, Sheriff. As far as the Chicago office knows, there isn't an official investigation. They have their hands full up there, what with the Haymarket appeals and all.” Lucas paused. “In fact, I would wager a guess you were told I'm working on my own time.”

The lawman barely blinked. “I was.”

Not a surprise, given the man's expression of doubt over the whole investigation. Lucas decided to come clean and tell him the whole story, or at least the part of it that pertained to Tucker's arrest warrant.

“I have a telegram in my pocket from my contact at the agency. Unless you talked to a Pinkerton by the name of Kyle Russell, you're not going to get the full story. He's the one I report to and the man who has been keeping tabs on what I'm doing down here.”

The sheriff's demeanor softened, though only slightly. “Don't believe that's the man I spoke to. Go on.”

Lucas let out a long breath as he sent up a quick prayer for favor. And for the ability to convince this man to help him without resorting to deception. There had been enough of that already.

“The truth is, Tucker isn't far from being caught. I was close and I'll get him yet. Resources being what they are right now at the agency, I felt it my duty to use time I had coming to me to bring him in.”

“There's still the matter of no official investigation or arrest warrant.”

“True. Russell's working on the first problem, and you can easily solve the second.”

The sheriff sat up, put his boots on the floor, and rested his elbows on his desk. “I'm a straight shooter, Pink, and I would appreciate the same courtesy from you.”

“You can count on it.”

“All right.” He paused as if sizing Lucas up. “What's this Tucker done?” When Lucas began the laundry list of charges against Will Tucker, the sheriff held up his hand. “No, I have all that in the papers you filed. I mean, what's he done to you personally?”

Lucas sat back and searched for something to say to cover his surprise. “What makes you think it's personal?”

“Son, a man doesn't go to the trouble you've gone to if he doesn't have a personal stake in it. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm committed to putting men who deserve it behind bars. Trouble is, I don't usually take off from my regular job to go out and do it on my own time.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So I'll ask you again. What has Will Tucker done to you personally?”