Chapter 35
Jonathan Vance left the charity store with three simple shifts and a cloak with an over-sized hood. Until Stormy was well again, she’d do fine wearing hand-me-downs. The cloak would conceal her well enough to board the Pride of Dakota without suspicion. She could finish recovering in their stateroom.
Peabody had done him an invaluable service, poisoning Stormy to miscarry. Being fair-haired, he couldn’t risk her giving birth to a dark-haired bastard. Not if he hoped to be elected South Dakota governor in a few years.
He hailed a hansom and gave the driver directions to the rooming house. Barely comfortable on the cheap, hard seat, he pulled Stormy’s ring from his pocket and held it up to the light. The stunning ruby and four smaller emeralds sparkled.
He’d sell the stones in Yankton and buy her a smaller ring. Spend the rest of the money on elegant gowns and sophisticated three-piece suits. Before returning to Prosperity, they’d pose for pictures, and he’d hire a reporter to write the story that would launch his campaign for state legislator. Jonathan Vance, Esq., rescues fiancée!
The hansom turned a corner and stopped abruptly.
“Have to get out,” the driver said. “Big to-do up ahead.”
Surprised, Vance leaned out.
A dozen uniformed policemen surrounded the rooming house. A smaller entourage escorted Blade Masters as he carried a blanket-wrapped figure toward a fine carriage parked between two police wagons. Peabody was nowhere in sight.
Masters and another man settled into the carriage.
They had Stormy!
White-hot anger erupted in Vance’s gut as four officers hopped into the two police wagons. He slammed his fist into the tin door of the hansom.
Blade Masters had interfered with his plans for the last time.
~ ~ ~
Vance waited all day for the police to clear out of the rooming house. When they finally left, he drew the small handgun he’d just purchased and rapped the muzzle on the office door. “Investigator Phillips. Open up.”
A short, brown-haired woman answered. “Yes?” her voice quavered.
“Come with me. You’ve been named an accessory to the kidnapping. Ten years in prison, if convicted.”
Hands trembling, she backed against an entry table. “But, I already tell the other officers I know nothing.”
“Have you disturbed anything?”
“In the attic? Nein.”
“Have you discussed the case with any tenants?”
“There’s one you should talk to,” she said heatedly. “Stripples. She knows what happened.”
“Show me.”
The hausfrau fumbled for a key ring, scurried up the stairs, and opened a room.
Inside was a jumble. The bed was unmade. Wardrobe doors wide open. A woman’s undergarments tossed about. It appeared Miss Stripples had left in a hurry.
Clucking like a biddy hen, the hausfrau pointed at the bedpost, where a ribbon-wrapped handcuff dangled. “You see? Maybe the poor girl was held in here.”
“I’m impounding this room as a crime scene until further notice. If you cooperate, I’ll see that the charges against you are dropped.” Vance slipped the gun back into his coat pocket, shooed her to the hall, and held out his hand for the key. “One more thing. I work best alone. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”
“I keep quiet.” She drew a girlish X over her heart. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
Vance shut the door and scanned the room.
He doubted Miss Stripples would return if she was involved with Peabody. Most likely she was a girl who worked on her back. Either way, this place was his, free and clear, until Stormy was well enough to walk. Then, willingly or unwillingly, he’d take her home to Prosperity to be his wife.
~ ~ ~
Vance plucked a copy of the St. Louis Telegraph-Dispatch from a rack in the hospital’s main waiting room.
The front-page headline screamed Society Diva Jailed. Side-by-side pictures purported to show the same woman. Mrs. Candace Masters, smiling and elegant with upswept hair and jeweled necklaces. Miss C. Stripples dressed in dowdy jailhouse stripes and kerchief.
A quote from the local police commissioner said Candace Masters was accused of posing as C. Stripples to plan and execute a kidnap-for-ransom crime with one Edward Peabody, who was shot by police during a high-stakes exchange. Mrs. Masters had yet to confess her motives. Her court-appointed attorney was planning a vigorous defense.
The side article recounted how Candace Masters had ushered Miss Ophelia Hawkins, fiancée to Blade Masters, eldest son of Sam and Olivia Masters, through the finest Society salons. She was planning their lavish September wedding while the future Mrs. Masters shopped for high-priced houses in Lafayette Square.
Stormy had finally acquired a taste for the finer things in life.
Vance smiled as he tucked the paper under his arm and strolled past the elevators. When no one was looking, he slipped into the small grieving room next to the chapel.
Three days ago, he’d befriended an idealistic young nurse in a nearby bar by pretending to be a reporter working on a feature entitled ‘The Noble Nurse.’ Over dinner and drinks, he’d mentioned that the hospital administrator had suggested he interview her. And, if she could bring the hospital’s kidnapping victim—to get a newsworthy patient’s perspective—the article would surely make the front page of the upcoming, big Sunday edition.
He inspected the room and sat to reread the articles. It really sounded like Stormy had sworn off wearing jeans and roping steers.
If she’d embraced Society life because she thought she carried Blade Master’s child, she could do the same for him in South Dakota.
When the nurse brought her to him, he’d offer to take her home. If she refused, he’d make her. At gunpoint, if necessary.