Chapter Seventeen
S unlight broke through a haze of clouds as Logan escorted Amelia through bustling streets to the Rogue’s Lair. Close by her side, he remained alert for any sign of a threat while taking in the ordinary acts of people going about their business, plying their trades and hawking their wares. He’d take no chances with her safety. The bastard who’d invaded her library had lurked about under cover of night. But there was no reason to believe he would not make a more risky move.
A white-haired bird of a woman standing on the corner of a street not far from the tavern caught his eye. Her small peddler’s cart was laden with bouquets of flowers. Smiling to himself, he decided to take a detour. Leading Amelia to the rickety cart which had seen better days, he selected a handful of violets tied with a slender blue ribbon. When he pressed a coin into the old woman’s hand, she stared down at it, brows furrowing in confusion. Lifting her pale, gray gaze, she offered an adamant shake of her head.
“Sir, you’ve made a mistake,” she said as she tried to return the coin.
He smiled. “It’s not an error.”
“But . . . you’ve paid too much.”
“’Tis money well spent,” he said and placed the bouquet in Amelia’s hand.
The flower peddler’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “Bless you. And the pretty lady.”
Moments after they’d left the flower peddler, still smiling by her cart, Amelia lowered her voice to a near whisper. “That was most generous.”
“She’s too proud for charity,” he said.
Amelia lifted the modest bouquet to her nose. “Well done, Mr. MacLain.”
Continuing to the tavern, Logan wondered at the unusual quiet as they stepped through the door. To his ears, the place was still as a tomb. Peculiar, even given the mid-morning hour. The thud of his boots against the gleaming wood floor was magnified by the near silence. Neither Murray nor Tilly, the barmaid, stood behind the counter.
Bloody odd.
The door to the backroom swung open with a squawk of the hinges. The barkeep carried a platter filled with clean glasses. Logan felt the tension in his muscles ease.
“Oh, it’s ye.” Murray set the tray on the counter, turning to stack tumblers on a shelf behind him. “When I heard the door open, I thought Caldwell had returned.”
“He was here?”
“Not quite an hour ago.” The tension in the barkeep’s expression contradicted his bland tone. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact. “I take it ye have not heard the news.”
Logan leaned an elbow on the bar. “What in blazes is going on?”
Murray frowned. “I don’t know if this is fitting conversation... with the lady present.”
Amelia squared her shoulders. “I urge you to speak freely. Please, tell us what you’ve learned.”
Murray cleared his throat. Why was he stalling?
Logan’s patience frayed. “Out with it, Murray.”
“Finn brought news.” The barkeep raked a hand through his hair. “There’s been another death.”
Amelia curved her hand around Logan’s forearm, seeming to steady herself. “Good heavens.”
A chill slid over the back of Logan’s neck. “What are ye saying, Murray?”
The barkeep set another glass on the shelf. His hand shaking, he nearly toppled the stack. “A woman died last night.” He glanced at Amelia, then quickly looked away. “Finn said she was an acquaintance of yers.”
“He must have told ye her name.” Logan pressed.
Murray nodded grimly. “Helen. Helen Tanner.”
Amelia’s gasp sounded like an alarm in his ears. “Dear God.” Leaning against his shoulder for comfort, her voice quivered. “Did he tell you... did he say how she died?”
Murray avoided her gaze. “The lady fell from a high window.”
*
Without warning, Amelia’s world went topsy-turvy. The floor seemed to shift beneath her as if she stood on sand washing out with the tide. Her knees trembled, and she clasped Logan’s arm, holding tight.
Logan coiled an arm around her waist, bracing her against the stunning revelation. “Ye’re sure of that, Murray?”
“Yes.” A look of regret fell over the barkeep’s features. “I should not have spoken of it in the lady’s presence.”
Amelia managed a brisk shake of her head. “No, I needed to hear the truth.”
“It must come as a shock to ye.” Compassion flowed in the barkeep’s voice.
“Indeed, it does.” She slowly made her way to a chair. “I only need to sit for a moment, to steady myself. I was not prepared for such horrible news.”
“I take it ye knew the lady,” Murray said.
“We were acquainted.” Her chest tightened and her pulse thundered in her ears. Struggling to retain her composure, she fanned herself with a trembling hand. An hour earlier, she’d been focused on her library and grieving the destruction of a doll, of all things.
And all the while, Helen had lain still on the pavement.
Alone.
Dying.
In the morning, I will be on a steamer that’s sailing far away from here. Far from the bastard who wants me dead.
Had Helen believed her own words? Or had she merely sought to ease her own fears?
The jackals had killed her in the same way they’d murdered Paul.
How very cruel.
Turning to the bar, Logan poured brandy into a crystal glass. “Amelia, ye’ve gone pale. Ye’d benefit from a sip.”
“Thank you.” She downed a few sips, welcoming the calming warmth of the spirits. She glanced toward the door as Finn Caldwell marched in. He met her gaze, then threw Murray a scowl as he read the truth on her features.
“Ye were not to tell her,” Caldwell said in a low, hard tone.
“I insisted that he tell me what he’d learned,” Amelia spoke up. “I do not have the luxury of insulating myself from unpleasant truths these days, especially those connected to my brother’s dealings.”
“What’ve ye found out?” Standing behind Amelia, Logan lightly rested a hand on her shoulder. “Bear in mind, there is a lady present.”
Amelia sighed. “All of this talk of a lady’s presence . Do not attempt to shield me. At a time like this, I assure you that ignorance is not bliss.”
Caldwell kneaded his neck as if it ached. His attention flickered to the glass in her hand. “Ye might find it beneficial to take another drink before ye hear what I’ve got to say.”
“That will not be necessary,” she said.
“Very well.” He sounded resigned. “The detectives have already ruled Helen Tanner’s death a suicide.”
“Bloody fools.” Logan bit off the words between his teeth.
Amelia could not contain her frustration. “How can they make such a determination so swiftly? There has been no investigation.”
“And there won’t be.” Caldwell stared down at the rug for a long moment before meeting Amelia’s gaze. “Not one of the detectives gives a damn about her death. In their eyes, she was a cheat who bilked gullible fools out of their money. It’s not difficult to call it a suicide and carry on.”
“How very convenient,” Amelia said in disgust.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Logan said. “I know ye better than to think ye didn’t get someone to talk.”
“Ye know me well, don’t ye, MacLain?” Caldwell said without a smile. “One of the constables who found her was talkative. For a price. The gent now has enough blunt to sate his taste for cheap liquor for a month.”
“Please tell us what you’ve learned,” Amelia said.
With a look of clear reluctance in his eyes, he hesitated for the span of a few heartbeats.
Amelia held her voice steady. “I need to know, Mr. Caldwell.”
With a half-hearted nod, he fished a fortune-telling card from his pocket. “A watchman at the hotel discovered her before dawn.” He held out the card. “This was found near her body. She may have held it when she fell from the window.”
The Lovers.
Amelia swallowed hard against her revulsion. “How macabre.”
“There’s more.” Caldwell turned over the card and placed it on the bar. “I can’t make out all the letters, but it appears someone scratched a word into the surface.”
Amelia took the card to the window and held it up to the glass. Pulling in a breath, then another, she studied the markings. Sunlight brought the crudely etched letters into relief.
Dear God. A bitter taste rose to the back of her throat.
“It’s faint, but I can read it. It says…” She choked out the word. “Betrayed.”