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Barrett tapped a pencil on the paper in front of him. For the past hour, he’d studied the book on the desk, taking notes on cases that might help him with Jeremiah’s. At least, he’d tried to take notes.
Bouncing up from the chair, he was eager to get away from the thoughts that spun round and round like a whirlpool inside his head—thoughts having no business being there. For two days, he’d fought to concentrate on something other than those few minutes with Edy beside the river and how he’d longed for more than a business relationship.
He needed someone to converse with, someone who understood what agitated him. Wynn. His big brother always knew how to take his mind off whatever bothered him.
An hour later, Barrett parked his carriage in front of the sanitarium. He hopped to the ground, snatching a package from the seat.
Nurse Hammond met him in the front hall, her bearing inflexible and disapproving. “Good evening, Mr. Seaton. It’s a little late for a visit.”
“I apologize, ma’am. I won’t stay long, but may I see Ned?” Would he ever get used to calling his brother by that name? He held up the bag. “I brought him something to cheer him up.”
“What is it?”
“Gumdrops. They’re his favorite candy.”
Her head waggled side to side. “That isn’t part of his approved diet.”
He thought to argue that it wouldn’t hurt to let Wynn have something enjoyable once in a while, but he’d brought his brother here to improve his health not contribute to its decline.
She held out her hand and stared at him until he handed over the bag. What good would it do his brother for Barrett to ignore the rules?
“Mr. Flannigan is in his room. Please don’t stay long. It hasn’t been a good day for him.”
“He’s worse?”
“The tuberculosis is weakening him.”
“I brought my...Mr. Flannigan here based on the good reports I heard about Oakcrest. Dr. Ellis is well-known for successful treatments. Is Ned not responding to them?”
For the first time since his arrival, her authoritative expression slipped into something softer, more sympathetic. “The doctor keeps a careful eye on the progress of all his patients, but as he informed you, tuberculosis is an incurable disease and your friend was in poor health when he arrived.”
She needn’t remind him it was a killer.
“Don’t be discouraged, Mr. Seaton. With faith comes hope.”
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Yet faith and hope weren’t the same as assurance, and Barrett wanted the assurance that Wynn would survive for many years, even with this breath-stealing disease. While he asked for a miracle for Wynn, Barrett also asked God to make the judge understand what he had done to the Seatons.
“Thank you, Nurse Hammond. I won’t stay long.” He strode down the hallway to his brother’s room before she could barrage him with more well-meaning platitudes.
Barrett studied Wynn, who lay in a semi-upright position in the bed, his frail body not much more than a series of lumps under the covers. His chest rose and fell as though he’d finished a sprint around the sanitarium’s building mere moments ago. The darkened skin of sickness and fatigue ringed his closed eyes, and his cheekbones stood out like spikes under his skin.
God, he’s getting worse, not better. Is my faith too small to save him?
Maybe his desire for Wynn’s survival—even with the illness—was a selfish one.
Barrett’s throat tightened, threatening to cut off his own supply of air. As much as he despised Edy’s father, he despised himself even more for having failed his brother.
“Stop it...Barrett.”
He started at the weak voice. Immersed in self-pity, he hadn’t noticed that Wynn had opened his eyes. He whipped off his hat and pasted a smile on his face. “I was about to leave and let you sleep.”
Wynn snorted. “Plenty of time...for that...later.”
“I brought you a bag of gumdrops.” Barrett glanced over his shoulder. The hall was empty. “The dragon at the door snatched it from me.”
His brother’s chest bounced a couple of times and one side of his mouth drifted up. “Don’t worry...I’ll get them. She can’t...resist my sweet talk.”
Barrett laughed. “I’ve no doubt. You’ve always had a silver tongue.” This was the reason he drove out to visit his brother this evening. Based on Wynn’s condition, though, he shouldn’t stay. “You’re tired, and I promised Nurse Hammond I wouldn’t be long.”
“I’m glad you came.” Wynn drew in a deep breath and coughed. “I saw Edy...a few days ago.”
“She came to visit you?” Her coming to see Wynn would only draw attention to him. It wouldn’t be long before his brother’s identity was revealed.
“No. She brought books...for a library.” He coughed again. “I told her I was sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?” Wynn was the last person to owe anyone an apology.
“I need to tell you...” Deep, wracking coughs interrupted him, snatching his breath and leaving Barrett struggling to know how to help.
As he ventured farther into the room, Nurse Hammond rushed past him as if she’d been loitering outside, her face covered with a cloth mask. She helped Wynn to sit straighter and propped another pillow behind his back. During the continued coughs, she eyed Barrett. “Please leave, Mr. Seaton.”
“But—”
“He’ll be fine and ready to see you in a few days. For now, he needs less talk and more rest.”
Barrett slapped the hat on his head. “I’ll be back when you’ve built your strength, Wy...Ned.”
He escaped out the front door and onto the wide porch, his chest heaving as much as Wynn’s. He leaned his forehead against a column, wanting to forget the pitiful sight of the man he once believed to be stronger than anyone he’d ever met.
“I’m trying to have patience, God, but when does Your justice take hold?”
***
EDYTHE PLACED HER HAND in Ansel’s as she stepped from the carriage in front of the Patton Place Hotel. He tucked her arm around his and led her inside the building, keeping hold of her as if he worried she’d run back home. It had crossed her mind.
The headwaiter ushered them into the dining room, a long and somewhat narrow room with tables arranged against the side walls and separated by Roman-style columns. A straight line of large chandeliers spaced several feet apart hung from the ceiling, and colorful carpeting muffled their footsteps. Starched white tablecloths, polished silver, and crystal glassware awaited diners.
The hotel’s restaurant was not an eating establishment the majority of Riverport frequented. Hopefully, Ansel could afford the meal and wasn’t simply trying to impress her.
On the way to their table, Edythe dipped her head in greeting to a number of people she knew or recognized. Most were friends of her father. Surely, their tongues would wag for the next few days as they speculated on seeing her accompanied by Ansel.
They had barely been seated when two shadows passed over the table. Phoebe Crain and Spence Newland approached. Ansel pushed back from the table and sprang to his feet.
“I told Spence I thought I saw you enter the room.” Phoebe clung to the arm of her fiancé and slid a curious glance toward Edythe’s companion.
“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Ansel Treadway. Mr. Treadway, these are my friends, Mrs. Phoebe Crain and Mr. Spence Newland.”
Ansel nodded a greeting. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Crain. I had the pleasure of attending your July Fourth concert and was quite taken with your talent. Superb.”
Phoebe’s gift as a concert pianist had gained her acclaim throughout the Midwest until a man’s deceit ended her career. Why did love too often end in betrayal?
“Thank you, Mr. Treadway.”
He reached out and shook Spence’s hand. “Mr. Newland, it’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. I understand you and Mrs. Crain became engaged on Independence Day. I offer you my congratulations.”
Spence grinned. “When a man finds the right woman, he takes the necessary steps to keep her from getting away.”
Ansel gazed at Edythe. Her cheeks flared like a flambéed Cherries Jubilee. She liked the gentleman, but he wasn’t—
Her jaw tightened. No, Ansel Treadway was not Barrett Seaton. Shouldn’t she consider that a good thing?
Phoebe exchanged an amused glance with Spence. “We should go.”
Ansel’s attention whipped back to Edythe’s friends. “Won’t you join us?”
“No, thank you,” said Spence. “We’ve finished our meal. Maura’s bedtime is coming soon and Phoebe wants to tuck her in.” Clearly, Phoebe’s fiancé would enjoy his role as papa to her child.
Barrett had his doubts about Andrew’s innocence with regard to the Stark incident, but her son’s respect for him said much about their newly formed relationship. Even Timmy and Sarah Jane spoke about him as though he were a hero.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. If she didn’t stop snatching at every opportunity to think of Barrett, she might scream.
Left to themselves again, Ansel settled back in his chair. “Nice couple.”
“Yes.” Edythe turned her attention to the evening’s menu.
“Of course, I knew Mr. Newland from his visits to the bank.”
“Really?” Really? Even with her natural timidity, Edythe had been taught to provide more scintillating and intelligent conversation in a discussion. She focused on Ansel. “He is a nice man.” No better. “I’m sure he finds your assistance...”—her brow furrowed—“helpful.”
“I hope so. The bank’s president is leaving soon. As a substantial investor and one of its board members, I’m sure your father must have mentioned it.”
“No, he didn’t.” Her father rarely spoke to her of anything regarding his business dealings.
“It’s rumored that I am certain to take his place.” His chest puffed out like a Thanksgiving turkey’s.
“Congratulations.”
“We’ll see. It all depends...” The sentence faded as though the words had fallen over a cliff. He raised his menu, his gaze moving up and down it with enthusiasm. “What would you like, Edythe?”
She would like to know who told him the bank presidency might be his and why this sudden chill had overtaken her.
***
WYNN WAS ASLEEP WHEN Barrett returned to Oakcrest on Sunday afternoon, so he hadn’t stayed. On Tuesday, he received a message from Dr. Ellis telling him that Ned Flannigan was feeling much better, dissolving the solid clump of anxiety he’d struggled to breathe around for days.
Mrs. Quincy appeared in the doorway to his office. “Mr. Seaton, a gentleman is here to see you.”
Barrett checked his schedule to be sure he hadn’t forgotten an appointment. Still new in town, there hadn’t been many yet. As expected, nothing was written in the small agenda he kept open on a corner of his desk. “Thank you, Mrs. Quincy. Show him in, please.”
“Yes, sir.” She disappeared momentarily and reappeared, followed by a well-dressed man near his own age.
Barrett met him in the middle of the room.
His guest removed his hat. “Mr. Seaton?”
“I’m Barrett Seaton. What can I do for you?” Barrett gestured for the man to take the chair near the desk and returned to his own seat.
“My name is Mark Gregory. I’m an architect here in town.”
Someone drumming up business? “I’m afraid I’m not in the market for an architect’s services, Mr. Gregory.”
The man grinned. Confidence oozed from him. “Well, if you ever find yourself in that market, come see me. My office is on Commerce Street.” He lost the grin. “Actually, I’m not here regarding my business. I’m here about yours, or I should say, that of Jeremiah Quincy.”
Barrett leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “What about Mr. Quincy?”
“I spoke with Mr. McMullin earlier. He’s like a gossipy old woman when it comes to the disturbing event that happened near his livery.”
“I can’t blame him for considering it disturbing.”
Mr. Gregory grimaced. “As is learning you’re looking for a man who once lived under my roof.”
Barrett bolted upright. “He’s a relative of yours?”
“By the grace of God, no.”
“But you know who he is.”
“I believe he’s a man by the name of Alec Olesky. He rented a room from my mother in July. He’s in his fifties, thin, and has a jagged gray streak in his hair. About here.” Mark Gregory ran a finger down the front portion of his brown hair.
“That’s the description Jeremiah gave me.”
“And the one Mr. McMullin gave me.”
Stopping to talk to the friendly livery owner might have been Barrett’s best move in this case so far.
He wrote down the name he’d been given, then studied his guest. Though seemingly self-assured, he didn’t appear to be the type of person to make up a story in order to assert himself into a criminal case. However, one never knew. Barrett had met such men—and women—in his line of work. They sought the notoriety.
No, Mr. Gregory didn’t look the type, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility. “To be clear, if the man I’m looking for is this Mr. Olesky, no one has accused him of taking part in Dulong’s murder. At this point, I’d categorize him as a potential witness.”
“I don’t like to think the worst of people, yet I always felt there was something not quite right about Olesky.”
“In what way?”
He shrugged. “Call it a feeling.”
“I see.” Feelings weren’t fact and definitely not evidence of wrongdoing. “Your mother owns a boardinghouse?”
“Not a boardinghouse. It’s a long story, but she rented the room to him thinking to help ease my financial burden while I established my business here.”
“So, you’re new in Riverport.”
“We’ve been here a few months.”
“Mr. Olesky still resides with you?”
Gregory shook his head. “When I informed him I would marry in October and he should find another place to live, he moved out that night without a word. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Strange.” And disappointing.
“No stranger than the man himself. I didn’t pay much attention to McMullin’s gossip until he mentioned the gray streak in the man’s hair.”
“Have you given this information to the police?”
“I stopped there before coming here. They listened and wrote down his name, but I’m not sure they considered my information as being important.”
“Which prompted you to come see me.”
Mr. Gregory bobbed his head. “When speaking with the officer in charge, I sensed he’d made up his mind about the murder and wasn’t looking elsewhere. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I’m afraid his lack of desire in investigating the facts might stem from your client being a frequent visitor of the local taverns.”
“Why? What did he say to you?”
“It wasn’t what he said. It was more the way he grimaced each time he mentioned that Quincy was a ‘drinking man’.” Gregory leaned forward. “My partner in my company is a woman and my fiancée. I’ve seen the prejudice she’s encountered as a female architect. It almost ruined my business and our relationship.”
This man was the fiancé of Edy’s friend? What was her name? The name Claire came to mind.
“I don’t know if Mr. Quincy is innocent or guilty, but I do know he deserves a fair trial and not one based on someone’s bias.”
“We agree.” Barrett admired the passion and sincerity in Mark Gregory’s voice. It was obvious he’d taken his fiancée’s troubles to heart. “Do you know where Mr. Olesky lived before he rented a room from you? Was he new to town?”
“All I know is he told my mother he was a widower whose children had moved away. He said he didn’t like living by himself, yet the whole time he stayed in my house, he rarely interacted with us.” He rubbed his chin. “He did talk about Peru in one of our conversations. I got the impression he’d lived there not long ago.”
Peru was a good-sized town a short train ride from Riverport. Barrett would make his inquiries around here first and, if necessary, travel to Peru. “Would your mother have any other information?”
“I’m afraid I’ve told you all she knows.” He settled the bowler on his head. “If you have no more questions for me, I’ve been gone from the office long enough.”
“I’m grateful for your help, Mr. Gregory.”
“Mark. Please.” He rose from his seat, and Barrett accompanied him to the front door. “If you need anything further from me, as I said, my office is on Commerce.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for coming to see me, Mark.”
The man nodded again and walked away.
Barrett returned to his office and reviewed the notes he’d taken, grateful for the help from the architect. Nothing pinpointed Alec Olesky’s present whereabouts, but there was enough to get Barrett started on inquiries.
He marched to the foyer and grabbed his hat from the hall tree. “Mrs. Quincy, I’m going out. I’ll return later this afternoon.”
A faint “Yes, sir” came from the kitchen, barely heard as he walked out the door.
If the man he sought was Olesky, Barrett would find him. He prayed that, when he did, it would be to Jeremiah’s benefit.