Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kit
IT HADN’T BEEN A SURPRISE THAT Gus didn’t come after me when I left last night, but it was a disappointment.
One I’d buried deep down beneath documenting the riot in the streets of Halifax.
Seeing the city I grew up in littered with debris and huge shards of glass, stores looted, men in uniforms and civilians both taking anything they could carry, and law enforcement who couldn’t do anything in the face of mass disorder. ..
I’d seen the aftermath of plenty of battles, I’d seen the destruction of entire towns reduced to rubble, and it was always terrible. Seeing similar sights in my own city had gutted me.
Rationally, I could understand what brought it on—the tension between the navy and the city of Halifax had been rising throughout the war.
Price gouging on housing for men stationed here, too much pressure on city services by the families many of those men brought with them, and not enough recreational spaces to go around.
It was safe to say most armed forces who passed through despised Halifax, and the feeling was mutual.
So, when V-day had been announced, the city had shut down, frightened of restaurants and entertainment venues being overrun by drunk and disorderly navy men.
Stores had closed and boarded up, too, but early reports claimed over 9,000 men were let off the ships yesterday evening to flood the city.
The celebrations planned weren’t nearly enough to occupy them.
They’d wanted to go all night, and I almost couldn’t blame them for it.
We’d won a war that had cost almost everyone in Canada someone or something they loved.
These men had laid their lives on the line for freedom.
But the city had suffered too—every convoy that had departed its harbour left suffering in its wake, food and fuel shortages the civilian population struggled through.
The housing crisis had reached a fever pitch and shoved so many into homelessness and destitution that camps had sprung up in city parks.
Haligonians were frightened, frustrated, and seething with resentment at the armed forces and foreign merchants for causing the upheaval.
It was a powder keg which had ignited in horrible violence. There were hundreds of injuries, assaults, at least one death known so far—an eighteen-year-old rating who’d drunk himself to death—and not nearly enough arrests given the damage to property and bodies.
Early this morning, a connection I’d made at one of the parties Montgomery dragged me to came through and my story ran in the local paper.
I couldn’t be on the radio talking about it, but Whitman couldn’t stop me from bleeding my heart onto paper.
I’d interviewed men who were laughing while dancing around with a stolen clothing department’s mannequin.
I’d detailed the more sordid scenes I’d stumbled across, and I’d spread the blame around.
From command down to the sailors and citizens themselves, and the short-sightedness of the city, I hadn’t spared anyone.
Certainly, it might have helped if the navy’s bizarre ban on arresting their men for drunkenness on V-E day had been lifted or if a stronger force of navy police had been dispatched to shore.
With only a little imagination, it wasn’t difficult to see what could have been done to prevent disaster.
I’d ended with a warning that things would get worse tonight if something wasn’t done to prevent a reoccurrence. I hoped to heck someone, somewhere would listen.
Once I’d gotten the article to my connection, I’d promptly fallen face first into bed and slept away the morning and half of the afternoon.
It wasn’t until I woke up, groggy and disoriented, that my own situation reasserted itself and it struck me: I didn’t want to be chased out of town by some fae asshole with a grudge against my family.
What I actually wanted was to talk everything through with Gus. I wanted him to come with me to see Meggie about getting rid of Whitman once and for all... and I still senselessly wanted Gus to want me to stay.
Melancholic heartache wasn’t going to do me any good or even pay the bills. Flinging back the quilt, I climbed from the bed and set about making myself presentable. If there was another riot tonight, I needed to be out there. Someone had to be held accountable for what was happening.
Once dressed, I placed calls to my contacts in the navy and heard what I least hoped to.
While the army and air force were to be kept in quarters, well-controlled, or provided with programs, Rear Admiral Harris refused to believe the reports about his personnel’s behaviour.
He planned to allow another 13,000 ashore today with no direction.
He’d brushed off the destruction as the work of no more than 200 of his men, probably at the instigation of civilian bootleggers.
If last night had been a riot, this would be so much worse.
As I was gathering my things to go out for the evening, the telephone on the desk rang. I picked up the receiver and greeted the caller.
“Kit?” Ted asked hoarsely, and every hair on the back of my neck rose at the alarm in his voice.
“Ted? Where are you?” I dropped heavily on the bed.
“I’m—” He cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to give you a message.
They know you’ve got the documents Mr. North compiled.
” What documents? “They’ve got Mary-Alice.
” His voice cracked on her name, and my throat went scratchy.
“And me. If you don’t meet us at Mr. Whitman’s estate tonight with them, we’ll wind up like Salter. ”
Jesus. Whitman had found them. Now Ted was bluffing, buying time for a rescue.
He had to be. Or had Mr. North actually stashed proof somewhere before he wound up dead?
If Ted was lying, I hadn’t felt that certainty in my gut I got with everyone else.
He was so bad at it usually that I couldn’t remember ever needing instinct to tell me so.
Did the ability to pick up lies not work on other fae?
“It’s going to be all right. I’ll bring the documents.
” Even if we had proof, why the hell would Whitman let us live after I delivered them?
All three of us would be witnesses to kidnapping, not to mention we knew he was fae and a murderer.
Blood rushed in my ears as I tried to think fast. “I’ll get you out of this, you hear me? And Mary-Alice. Tell them I’ll—”
The line disconnected, and panic strangled me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. And I needed to. What was I supposed to do?
Gus.
Gus would help. But when I dialed in his number, it rang and rang with no answer.
I tried three times before slumping to the ground and gasping for air.
Agonizing minutes ticked by before my mind began to function again, to reason, and I stumbled upon the next step.
I dialed another number I knew by heart.
“Hello, Tillie North speaking.”
“Tillie, it’s Kit. Is Gus there?” My voice came out panicked.
“I haven’t seen him today. What’s this about, Kit? You sound awful.”
“Someone has Ted and Mary-Alice. He thinks I’ve got proof he killed my parents, and if I don’t bring it he’s going to… He’ll—”
“Breathe,” Tillie said, calm in the face of my rapid speech. “We’ll figure this out. Just… Oh gosh. Do you have proof?”
“No, Ted made that up.”
“How are you going to deliver something you don’t have?”
A drumbeat settled at the base of my skull. “I can’t. But if I show up tonight and tell him to let them go, and I’ll take him to it, Ted and Mary-Alice will have an opportunity to run.”
“Okay, but even if you pull it off and he believes you, when you can’t lead him to anything, won’t he kill you?”
My already speeding pulse ratcheted higher. I’d have to figure out how to fool Whitman, and fast.
“What other choice do I have? The Mounties would never believe me. I’ve seen how many people are in his pocket, and I can’t risk him killing Ted and Mary-Alice to hide the fact he took them. If it’s them or me, they’ve got so much more to live for.”
“Oh, Kit,” she said, grief-stricken. “You’ve got things to live for. Gus won’t forgive himself if anything happens to you.”
Something in my chest crushed. “Do me a favour. Don’t tell him I asked for him. It’ll only make him feel guilty, and he doesn’t deserve to live with that. Just tell him you and I talked and I forgive him for seventeen years ago, and for last night. And I… I care about him.”
“Kit.” Tillie was crying, I could hear it in the soft gasp she let out, and the way she said my name. “Kit, please just think about this. Surely Marion and Agnes could help, someone. Don’t give yourself up, we can’t lose you.”
“Goodbye, Tillie. I love you too.”