Against a Brightening Sky (9 page)

Sam slumped against the opposite door and toyed with his straw boater, picking at sections of the damaged brim and frowning. Gabe leaned back and shut his eyes. After two years of friendship, he knew Butler fairly well. The young reporter wasn't mourning the loss of his hat; he was mulling over everything that had happened and trying to make sense of the chaos. Once Sam had things figured out, he'd offer an opinion.

Butler's silence lasted until the car pulled up in front of the hospital. “Be honest with me, Gabe. My guess is that you don't really think the dynamite explosion on that roof was an accident. Am I right?”

“You should have been a detective, Sam.” Gabe eased himself up in the seat. Getting out of the car was going to hurt like hell. “I don't think there was anything accidental about what happened. Blowing up that dynamite was outright murder. Someone didn't want those men on the roof caught. The man with the Colt was another loose end they couldn't afford to leave lying around, but I don't think he planned to die. Not like that.”

“Agreed. That's a brutal way to commit suicide. Sit still another minute.” Sam stuffed his ruined hat into the dustbin on the curb and came around to open the door. He got Gabe to his feet. “You're going to need some help with this one, at least until Jack's back up to snuff. I'd like to volunteer.”

“You know I can't let you work a murder case.” Those were his father's words, and the firm ideas he had about what a good cop would do. But the world had changed since Captain Matt Ryan's day. His dad never had to deal with the kind of cases Gabe did. He gave Butler a sidelong glance. “Not officially. But the department always welcomes information from a concerned citizen.”

“I like the way you think, Ryan. That's all I am, a concerned citizen. Finding out why those men were shooting at Alina is the number one thing I'm concerned about.” Sam held the door open so Gabe could hobble through. “First we'll check on Jack and get you looked at. Then I can hit the street. You take the night off.”

“This could be dangerous, Sam. Whoever is behind what happened today means business.”

“I've been in dangerous spots before. This wouldn't be the first time.” Butler shrugged and shifted his hold to take more of Gabe's weight. “No one should watch their parents be shot down that way and not know why. She deserves to know why. I'd like to give her that if I can.”

Gabe concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and stopped attempting to talk Sam out of trying to find answers for Alina. She did deserve that much and more.

Maybe between the two of them they could find her a little peace as well.

 

CHAPTER 5

Delia

The click of Isadora's heels on the entryway tile summoned Stella from hiding as effectively as any charm. She ran out of the sitting room as quickly as she could, meeting us before we'd gotten too far from the base of the stairs. Stella flung her arms around Dora's legs, hanging on tight and words pouring out in a rush. “Aunt Dora, Aunt Dora! Are you staying for supper? Annie said that Libby could stay. She knows how to make paper dolls just like Mama.”

“Hello, poppet. I'm glad you and Libby are having fun.” Dora scooped the little girl up, smiling broadly. “I'll talk with Annie and ask if it's all right that I stay for supper too. I don't want to put her to extra work.”

Isadora Bobet and three-year-old Stella Fitzgerald were fast friends, something I'd never have credited when Stella was a baby. Dora appeared to have infinite patience with her, holding long conversations on a wide range of subjects or discussing picture books at great length. Given that Dora looked upon most small children as creatures to be avoided at all cost, watching her friendship with Stella grow was both amusing and touching.

“Mama's not home. She took Papa to see the doctor. He got hurt when the bad men were shooting guns.” Stella solemnly told Dora all about her father lying on the hotel sofa and how scared she'd been when Jack didn't talk to her. Listening twisted my stomach. Young as she was, Stella understood much more than I'd thought. “But Annie says Papa will be all right and I don't need to worry. You shouldn't worry either, Aunt Dora. God's taking care of Papa and will make him well. Then he can come home again.”

Dora's eyes met mine over the top of Stella's head. Those were Annie's words, Annie's heartfelt beliefs. Hearing Stella repeat those same thoughts to keep Dora from worrying about Jack was an odd, uncomfortable feeling. She was only a child and believed the people she loved—believed Annie—knew everything.

“I shan't worry, then. Everything will be fine.” Dora hugged the little girl tight and set her on the ground. “Now, run along and find Annie. Delia is going to introduce me to your new friend Libby and to Alina. We're going to talk about boring grown-up things and I promise it won't be any fun at all. But if you ask nicely, Annie will let you help with supper. Go on now. I'll find you later.”

“All right. I'm going.” Stella sighed, her expression every bit as dramatic as I'd expect from Sadie's daughter. “I almost forgot. Annie said we should be extra nice to Alina. Her heart is broken.”

“I will do my very best, poppet.” Dora smoothed curls back from Stella's face. “Promise.”

A promise was all she needed. Stella dashed through the dining room and shoved open the door into the kitchen.

Dora watched her go, mouth pulled into a tight, thin line. “I don't like lying to her about Jack, even if she won't be four for months yet. Children are better served by the truth, even uncomfortable and frightening truth. If anything bad happens to Jack, she'll remember I said everything would be all right and blame me. I can't stand the thought that Stella might end up hating me.”

“She'd never hate you. She adores you.” If I said the words to Dora with enough conviction, maybe I'd banish my own fears about damaging my friendship with Sadie. “And Jack will be home soon, that's not a lie. He's a strong man and Dr. Jodes will take excellent care of him.”

Dora waved her hand in dismissal, the lines around her eyes pulling tighter. “Yes, yes, that's all well and good. But knowing the probable outcome doesn't make me feel any easier. This entire day has been unsettling. Let's go in and get these introductions over with.”

Libby sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the low table between sofas, her skirts spread around her. Annie's sewing shears, scraps of fabric and lace, a pot of glue, and small figures cut from heavy paper littered the top of the table, evidence for Stella's claim of manufacturing paper dolls. Soft, dark waves hung around Libby's face, making her appear ridiculously young and not far past the age of playing with paper dolls herself.

She looked up at our entrance. Libby's eyes showed how tired she was after our adventures, but she did her best to be pleasant. “Hello, you must be Miss Bobet. Sam's told me all about you. I'm Libby Mills.”

Dora put on her most dazzling smile and stuck her ungloved hand out. She rarely touched strangers, another surprise in a day where I'd given off counting. I saw a small wince as she shook Libby's hand, but only because I was watching for a reaction. Libby didn't notice. “Assume anything Sam says about me is a lie, Libby. Please, call me Dora.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dora.” She craned her neck to look past me and into the entryway. “Where did Stella go? She asked me to make a princess doll.”

“Stella's helping Annie with supper. That will give us a chance to talk about what happened today.” Dora's eyes darted to the small, quiet figure huddled in a corner of the larger settee. Alina was wrapped in one of Annie's hand-stitched quilts, her knees drawn up to make herself smaller and face turned toward the back cushion. She was the picture of utter misery. “Delia told me all about the strange creatures and phantoms the union men claim to have seen. That and the behavior of the crowd concern me a great deal. Did you see anything out of the ordinary, Libby?”

“No ghosts or ghoulies, or other such rot. No offense intended, Dora. Sam did tell me what you do.” Libby's mouth screwed up in distaste. “But I'm not a believer in spiritualism or any of the occult nonsense so popular these days. Although I suppose mothers abandoning babies in their prams and total strangers starting fights with each other qualifies as out of the ordinary. I keep trying to think of a logical reason for that kind of behavior.”

“No offense taken. Most people have to come face-to-face with the unexplainable before they believe such things exist.” Dora's smile was tight and brittle, but she did smile. I took that as a hopeful sign. “But what you consider a logical reason for how people behaved today may not exist. What you think of as occult nonsense may indeed be involved. People don't change their normal behavior quite so drastically unless an outside influence is at work. Try to keep an open mind.”

Libby gave her a dubious look, but didn't say more. Dora settled herself in the center of the settee, near enough she could reach out and touch Alina if she chose. She folded her arms and crossed her legs, one foot bouncing rapidly in an odd, jerky rhythm. Dora studied Alina, eyes narrowed. She sought to see below the surface world and into the spirit realm, but I'd no idea what she looked for.

I leaned against the doorframe and studied Alina as well, shifting the way I looked at her. Her aura was muddied, the colors muted to a dull, flat brown. Once those colors had been bright golden yellows and soft reds, and I still saw flashes of her old life mixed in. Grief might have that effect, but not that strongly. My instincts all said there was more wrong with Alina than could be accounted for by witnessing the death of her parents.

The bouncing of Dora's foot came to a sudden halt. She scowled and glanced at me, as if she wanted to say something but didn't deem it wise to speak. Instinct became belief. Isadora and I saw spiritual energy differently, at varying levels and depths. What I saw as a muddied aura might be much more to her. I wasn't at all surprised that she'd seen something I'd missed.

Dora extended a hand toward the girl, but carefully avoided touching her, a marked contrast from how she'd greeted Libby. “Hello, I'm Isadora. You told our friend Sam your name is Alina. That's really a lovely name and not one I've heard in a very long time. Has it always been yours or did you have another? Do you remember?”

Alina squeezed her eyes shut and slid farther under the quilt. She didn't answer nor look in Dora's direction, but instead curled into a tight ball. If wishing herself invisible were possible, I felt sure she'd have done so.

I'd lingered near the doorway, but now I moved to stand near the settee. The air in the room was heavier, thicker, a barrier thrown up between me and Alina. I couldn't say what stirred, but Dora had roused something with her questions.

Libby looked between me and Isadora, puzzled, but she didn't let being baffled stop her from speaking up. “Alina's had a terrible, tragic day, Dora. Her parents were shot right in front of her and if not for Sam, she'd have died too. Perhaps we should leave off asking questions until later.”

Dora was completely focused on the girl, coiled tight as my cat Mai waiting to leap on an unwary grasshopper. She never looked away from Alina. “Normally I'd agree. But I'm afraid that waiting too long may cause her to forget more than she has. Learning her real name would be a huge stride in the right direction. Dramatic as it sounds, remembering what she knows and who she is could help save her life.”

“Are you joking?” Libby's face flushed with anger, stripping away the impression of youth. “Those men on the roof were either madmen or anarchists, likely both. And they're dead, Dora, blown to bits. Those men can't hurt her, not ever again.”

“Are you absolutely sure of that, enough so to risk her life? Because I'm not. Her aura is suppressed in a way that appears quite deliberate, and so is her memory. I can't begin to imagine what the long-term consequences of that might be. Nor can I understand why someone thought it necessary.” Dora lifted an eyebrow, looking at Libby with a calm, almost deadpan expression that was at odds with the snap in her voice. “I know you have the best of intentions. What you don't have is knowledge of the spirit world or experience dealing with murderers. Unfortunately, I have both. Please stay out of this.”

“Stay out of what?” Libby braced her hands on the edge of the table. The color in her cheeks burned brighter and her jaw set in stubborn lines. “An attempt to convince this poor girl that the nonsense you're spouting is the truth? She's been through enough and doesn't need your mumbo jumbo confusing her. Leave her alone.”

“Mumbo jumbo?” Dora's calm expression stayed in place, but the rhythmic bobbing of her foot began again, a sure sign she'd reached the end of her patience. “My, my … now that the insults are out of the way, perhaps I can get back to helping Alina.”

I'd wanted Libby and Isadora to be friends, but the conversation had taken a nasty turn. That I knew Dora was right made it all worse. The thick, expectant feel in the air was stronger, the pressure more noticeable. Two men had died on that roof, but death was no guarantee the people after Alina would stop pursuing her.

“Please … don't argue. I can't remember being anyone else.” Alina peered out of the cave she'd built of sofa cushions and quilts, eyes brimming with tears. Her soft voice held the remnants of an accent—an accent I couldn't place—but likely Dora would know. “Aunt Mina and Uncle Fyodor always called me Alina. That must be my name.”

I traded looks with Isadora. The barest of smiles was all Dora gave me, but it was enough. She'd known somehow.

Some of the heaviness left the air and moving toward Alina grew easier. I knelt next to her and took her hand. Her skin was soft, unmarked. “The older man and woman with you … those weren't your parents?”