Words Spoken True (31 page)

“Coleman Jimson doesn’t worry me. To tell you the truth, with you here beside me, nothing does. He can’t really hurt us now no matter what he does. You believe that, don’t you?”

“I want to.” Adriane lowered her eyes but not before Blake glimpsed more than worry there.

“You’re afraid.” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Yes.” She barely whispered the word as if voicing the fear made it even worse. The dog rose up off the ground and laid his muzzle on her knee.

Blake wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close as he whispered in her ear, “My darling, you don’t have to be afraid. We’re together now, and together we can handle whatever happens.”

She didn’t relax against him or make any answer, and suddenly Blake felt a bit of answering fear waking inside him. He pushed away from her and tipped up her face until he was looking into her eyes once again, but the shadows were deep now and hid her thoughts. He pushed out the words. “Is it me you fear? Have I asked too much?”

“No, Blake, you don’t understand,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for you. And for Duff. For all of us.”

His voice gentled. “I won’t let anything happen to you, my darling.”

“Things are not always so easily prevented,” she said. “Just last Sunday my father sat in his office writing his editorial for the Monday paper. Duff’s sister Lila was happy with her family. You had a press and a building. Now all of that is gone.” She looked up at him in the fading light. “What might be gone this time next week?”

“I don’t know, Adriane, but I do know one thing. I loved you last Sunday, and I’ll love you this Sunday and next Sunday and every Sunday forever. Nothing can ever change that.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Blake said. “Just ask your friend, Mr. O’Mallory. He’ll tell you.” Blake dropped his lips down to tenderly cover hers as the old dog cocked his head and watched.

Behind them the door banged open, and then there was an embarrassed shuffle of feet.

“Sorry, boss,” Joe said when Blake pulled away from Adriane to look up at the intruder. “I reckon this ain’t a good time to be disturbing you, but a runner just brung around a message I think you might be wanting to see.”

T
he strange, nameless fear rushed out of the shadows of Adriane’s mind stronger than ever and swallowed up her thinking as Blake took his arms away from her and stood to follow Joe back into the pressroom. A tremble swept through her and she concentrated on breathing in and out slowly to keep her panic under control. She felt like a little girl again with Henrietta dragging her toward the closet to give her over to the dark.

Only this was worse, Adriane thought as she trailed after Blake into the building. This fear had no door. As a child, she’d run her hands around the edges of the closet door, and even though she couldn’t open it no matter how hard she pushed, she’d always known, even in her most desperate moments, that eventually her father would come, open the door, and let the light spill in to her.

Now she frantically felt through her mind for some edge of a door, but she could find no hint of light. Instead there was only the consuming dread that she had absolutely no way to fend off whatever was lurking in the dark waiting for her.

And the light shineth in the darkness.
The Bible verse echoed in her mind, but maybe Henrietta had been right. Maybe the Lord wouldn’t listen to bad girls. Or to a woman who would so disgrace her father’s memory that she would marry his sworn enemy while he lay dying. Yet a prayer for light rose within her.

Inside Blake unfolded the note and read it aloud. “If you want to know who the murderer is, be at the docks at nine. A Witness.”

“I’m going with you,” Duff said.

“No.” Blake glanced up at the boy.

Adriane leaned over to look at the large stilted printing on the paper.

“I’m going,” Duff repeated.

“I doubt anything will come of this.” Blake shook the note a little. “Just some no-good trying to part me from a few coins for a drink or two on the pretense of knowing something. It happens all the time.”

Duff clenched his hands into fists, and his face looked old beyond his years as he stared at Blake. “And what if it be the murderer himself? He may think you’re on to him, what with this witness story. If it is and I see him, I’ll know.” It was almost as if Duff had convinced himself he actually had seen the murderer with his sister. That he was the witness.

Blake studied the boy a long moment before he nodded.

Adriane’s heart skidded practically to a stop inside her chest, and she had to try twice before she could speak. “I don’t want you to go. Either of you.”

Blake laid his hand gently on her cheek as he filled her ears with confident assurances. He was strong. He could handle whatever happened. He’d make sure Duff didn’t get hurt. Besides, the murderer wouldn’t have written them a note. It would surely be a false lead, but one he had to check out.

Even though she heard the sense in what he said, it was all she could do to keep from clinging to him before he left with Duff. As she stood in the doorway and watched them disappear into the darkness on the other side of the streetlight, she tried to block out the thought that she’d never see them come back out of that darkness, but her fear had no reason.

Beck put his hand on her shoulder. “Blake can take care of himself, Addie, and he’s no doubt right about it being a false lead. Most leads are, you know.”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to turn away from the street and come back inside where Beck and Joe were both watching her uneasily.

She tried to smile, but her lips refused to respond. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about it all. What if it’s some kind of trap?”

Joe picked up his hat. “You want me to follow them, Miss Adriane? I can keep an eye out for trouble and warn the boss if it comes skulking up some way he might not be expecting.”

“Would you, Joe?” A bit of light edged into Adriane’s dark fear.

After the door closed behind Joe, Beck looked at Adriane. “You want to pray about it, Addie?”

“I am praying, Beck. You will too, won’t you? That they’ll come back safe. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to Duff because of that story.” She met Beck’s eyes. “Or to Blake.”

“Don’t you worry, Addie. Me and you can pray them through.” He reached out and took both her hands. Then he looked up and without closing his eyes started talking to the Lord. “God, we know you’re up there and that you listen. We’re a mite worried down here and we’re asking you to watch over them that are trying to do good. To protect them and bring them home to us. Amen.”

“Please, Lord,” Adriane whispered.

“They’ll be back here before you know it.” Beck smiled at her as he squeezed her hands and gave them a little shake before he turned her loose. “So why don’t you go rustle us up something to eat? They’re liable to be hungry when they come in, and as a matter of fact, I’m feeling a mite peckish myself.”

Because she knew Beck was trying to make her think of ordinary things instead of worrying, she played along, even managing to smile back at him before she headed for the kitchen. There was no reason to trouble Beck with this nameless fear inside her, but once out of his sight in the kitchen, she dropped down at the table and put her head in her hands. She shouldn’t have let Blake and Duff go. Something terrible was going to happen.

“Dear Lord in heaven,” she whispered and then couldn’t seem to come up with any more words.

Out in the alleyway the old dog growled and started barking. Low, furious barks that brought her to her feet. She peered out the window, but she couldn’t spot the dog in the dark. He’d probably cornered a rat.

She didn’t sit back down, but instead began rummaging through the cabinets for food. Beck might really be hungry. She pulled out a few apples and a bit of cheese. She had just finished slicing the cheese when she heard Beck’s voice in a growl almost as low as the old dog’s, followed by a loud crash and a heavy thud.

With the knife she’d been using to slice the cheese still in her hand, Adriane hurried across the hall to push open the door to the pressroom. The darkness slammed into her, and for a second she wasn’t sure if it was real or a part of her fear.

She blinked her eyes, but the darkness stayed. The light spilling out of the kitchen behind her seemed faint and far away. “Beck?” she called. Her heart began thudding so hard inside her that she doubted she’d hear Beck even if he answered. And she knew the danger wasn’t on the docks waiting for Blake and Duff. It was here waiting for her.

“Beck?” she repeated, her voice not much more than a whisper. The darkness throbbed with silence. A terrible silence that drummed in her ears and breathed on her neck. A silence that wanted to swallow her.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. She could run back in there and slam the door on the dark silence. Make her escape out the back door. But what of Beck? He might be hurt and need her help.

She turned her eyes back to the darkness in the pressroom, a darkness made blacker by her glance toward the light. Her grip tightened on the handle of her small slicing knife as she asked the Lord for courage and began edging toward the nearest gas lamp on the wall.

Disoriented by the darkness and the fear throbbing through her, she banged into a stool that fell over with a loud clatter. Her heart in her throat, she froze as if somehow by standing motionless she could become as invisible as whatever else was in the room. The stool rocked back and forth on the floor. When at last it stopped, she heard something else. A furtive footstep.

She peered at the shadows. A bit of light came through the front windows from the streetlamps outside, and now that her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, she saw the shape of a man stepping away from the press.

“Who are you?” Adriane’s voice came out stronger than she had expected it to. “What do you want?”

“My dearest Adriane, you know the answer to both questions already.” The man moved purposely into the shaft of light coming through the window.

“Stanley,” Adriane said. Her throat tightened, and she could push no other word out as her fear took form in front of her eyes.

“You didn’t really think I would allow you such an easy escape, now did you?”

Stanley’s laugh sent a tremble through Adriane, and she was almost glad she hadn’t lit the gas lamp so he wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing her fear. She licked her lips and swallowed twice before she was able to ask, “Where’s Beck?”

“Gone on to a better world, we should hope,” Stanley said.

Adriane couldn’t keep a strangled cry from escaping her throat.

“Oh, my poor dear.” Stanley’s voice spilled over with fake sympathy. “You were overly fond of the old man, weren’t you? But he did have such a way of interfering.”

Adriane tried to quell the panic rising inside her. Perhaps he was lying. Perhaps Beck was only hurt. Her eyes swept around the room. That shape slumped against the door had to be Beck. She took a step toward him, then stopped. Instinctively she knew that if she turned her back on Stanley, all would be lost. With another desperate prayer for courage, she fixed her eyes on the man in front of her.

“This is completely all your fault, my dear Adriane.” Stanley paused a moment as if allowing her time to consider his words. “You should have married me as you promised you would.”

“I would never have married you.” She almost spat the words at him.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you would have, given the proper persuasion. It was just extremely bad fortune that your father hit his head when he fell off that platform. If nothing else, I am an excellent marksman. Even my father would agree with that. I’ve often heard him bragging to acquaintances about my superior shooting ability.” Stanley’s voice changed, deepened. “‘By golly, Stanley may not be good for much, but he can hit the bull’s-eye every time.’”

“I thought you didn’t like guns.” Without moving her head, Adriane shifted her eyes from Stanley to the bulky shape of the composing table between the windows where she’d last seen Beck’s gun. She couldn’t be sure the gun hadn’t been moved, but even if it was there, Stanley stood between her and the table. Her father’s gun in his desk was closer. And she still had the knife in her hand.

Almost as if he’d read her mind, Stanley was saying, “As a matter of fact, they aren’t my weapon of choice. I much prefer a knife. The blade is so much more personal and intimate somehow.”

“Knife?” Adriane said faintly. Her grip tightened on the knife in her hand until her arm ached to the shoulder.

“A gun is much too quick, and death should be slow, not something to rush, don’t you agree, my dearest Adriane?”

“You’re mad.” Adriane’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“There are many who would agree with you on that point, my dearest. Of course, unfortunately most of them are no longer alive to agree with anything.” Again Stanley laughed, the sound belonging to the darkness surrounding him.

“You?” Adriane couldn’t give voice to the thought rising in her. It could not be. Even with Stanley facing her in the dark, even with his crazed laughter echoing in her ears, she could not believe the man she had danced with, the man she had allowed to kiss her, the man she had once thought she could marry was the river slasher.

“Did you never wonder where I went when I disappeared at those parties, my dearest?”

“No.” The word was more a denial of the truth he was pushing through the darkness toward her than an answer to the question he asked.

He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “Perhaps if you had not been so cold toward me, I would not have found it necessary to seek warmer bodies.”

Adriane wanted to shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears, but that would not make this monster in front of her disappear. “But you killed them,” she whispered at last.

“It somehow seemed to be necessary, my dearest. They might have talked, you know.”

“How could you?” Adriane said.

“Actually it was very easy. Family love is so touching, don’t you think? The first girls were desperate for the bit of extra money I promised them. Their families needed it, you see. And then with your young Irish friend’s sister, I only had to mention that the boy had been hurt in the riot and she was ready to follow me anywhere.” He paused a moment. “When I decide to do something, no one can stop me.”

“Someone will,” Adriane said.

“Perhaps you think your knight in shining armor will come to your rescue.” Stanley breathed out an exaggerated sigh. “But alas, I regret to tell you that is not to be. There are men waiting at the dock for him. He might have found it more advantageous if he had tried a bit harder to accept my father’s politics. And considerably safer too. There are those in the party who don’t appreciate their candidate, now their new state senator, maligned so forcefully. I personally couldn’t care less what your Mr. Garrett writes about my dear father, but one must use whatever resources one has. And what will one more beating, perhaps even killing, matter in the light of what’s happened the last few days?”