* * *
Edward Pollard arrived shortly after eight that evening. It was really too late for a proper call, but he was confident that under these distressing circumstances allowances would be made.
He rang the bell twice and shifted anxiously from one foot to the other as he waited for the housekeeper to answer the door.
“Rebecca,” he said, his eyes widening at the pleasant surprise, “where’s Mrs. Wheeler?”
“Hello, Edward. She’s down with a cold,” she told him, stepping aside. Edward breezed past her. Oddly, her first thought wasn’t that she was glad to see him, but that he was wearing another new suit, gray gabardine with a matching vest. Edward was always the very picture of the well-dressed gentleman. “I’ve just heard the terrible, terrible news about your son.” He put his hat and gloves on the hall table. “I’m in shock. If only I’d been in town when this happened.”
She allowed him to lightly kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Edward. I appreciate your concern.”
“Is there any new information?”
“None,” she said, preferring not to discuss speculations with him. She led the way into the parlor.
Edward was a frequent visitor, and so made himself at home. “You poor dear.” He spoke as he walked to the liquor table by the hearth. “Let me get you something. Sherry, perhaps?”
“Yes, sherry,” she agreed, thinking a drink was just what she needed after the day she’d had.
Rebecca’s hand was surprisingly steady as she accepted the delicate crystal glass. She drank the thimbleful that Edward had poured her in one large swallow and handed him the glass. “Pour me another, please, Edward. Considerably more this time.” She held up her thumb and forefinger to indicate how much.
He looked surprised, but he obliged, returning a moment later. “Now sip that slowly. We don’t want it going to your head.”
“Edward, liquor doesn’t `go to my head.’” She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she never got that fuzzy feeling that people so often spoke of. Tonight, though, she thought she’d like to be fuzzy, or foggy, or anything else that would keep her from thinking of the man who was no doubt asleep in her guest room.
She leaned back against the fine rose silk of the settee, but she wasn’t relaxed. They sat in companionable silence for a long moment, and she absently adjusted the folds of her black skirt, making creases with her fingers where there shouldn’t be any.
Outside, the night was still. A few brave crickets made a halfhearted attempt at chirping. It was too late for them. Was it too late for her, as well?
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edward take another swallow of her best bourbon. He had delicate hands, she thought, watching the way his fingers curled around the glass. And he had delicate features.
She vowed she wouldn’t make comparisons and, ten seconds later, she did just that.
Edward was blond, neat, and always the height of fashion. He was polite and courteous to a fault. Luke was dark and handsome and provocative as sin. His hair was overly long, and his clothes were those of a cowboy, entirely out of place here. Yet when he walked into a room he had a commanding presence that made people turn and stare. She knew that firsthand.
She took another swallow of sherry to soothe her suddenly jumpy nerves.
Edward was everything a lady wanted in a man. Half the mothers in San Francisco were trying to tempt him with their daughters. Edward was considered quite a catch, and she understood that perfectly.
Oh, not that Rebecca thought of him that way, as a catch. She wasn’t interested in anyone. She had her life all nice and neat, and she liked it just fine. As soon as Andrew was home, they—
She finished off the sherry in one long swallow, putting her glass on the side table with a delicate clink.
“How did it happen?” Edward’s voice broke into her musings.
“I don’t honestly know. He was playing on the porch, and then he was gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” His expression was serious, grave.
“Thank you, Edward. I appreciate your concern, and your coming here at this late hour.”
“Anything for you, Rebecca.” He faced her fully. “You know that, don’t you?”
“You are a good friend, Edward.”
She’d known Edward ever since she’d married Nathan. He had been an occasional investor with Nathan, and had always been their friend. Why, it was Edward who had held the first party for them after they returned from their honeymoon.
Oh, she knew that since Nathan’s death Edward had wanted them to be more than friends. That was very apparent. He’d taken her to parties, the theater, anywhere she wanted to go, really.
She liked that. Edward was always the perfect gentleman. Unlike someone she could think of.
Unfortunately, thinking of that nameless someone made her fingers tremble and goose bumps skitter up her spine with a deliciously pleasant sensation. And the fact that it was so delicious annoyed her and, yes, frightened her a bit.
So she smiled, twisted in her seat and focused on her company. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told him, and was rewarded with a smile that had absolutely no effect on her pulse.
“Now, my dear, tell me everything that happened.”
They had known each other long enough that he’d taken to using an affectionate term occasionally, in private only.
Rebecca related the entire story—her search for Andrew, how she’d sent for the police, their efforts. Then she said, “Captain Brody is a difficult man, and I don’t think he would have helped me much if Marshal Scanlin hadn’t arrived.”
Edward paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Who?”
“Marshal Scanlin,” she repeated nonchalantly, not bothering to mention that he was sleeping upstairs, in the room next to hers.
“I assume you mean a U.S. marshal?” Edward said casually, and sipped his drink.
She nodded.
“What’s a marshal got to do with this? I mean, isn’t this Captain Brody’s jurisdiction?”
He took a large swallow of whiskey, draining the glass.
“True, but Edward, you know Brody. The man’s hostile, argumentative and, well, perhaps worse.”
“No, my dear,” he said in that patronizing tone that he used sometimes, the one that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “You’ve got Amos all wrong. He’s been police captain quite a while, and he does a good job. He’s just not very good with people, especially ladies, is all. I’m sure he’s competent.”
Rebecca stared at him in open surprise. “I know you and Brody are old friends, but surely you realize that we’ve been at odds for months. I’ve told you that there is every indication that he’s taking bribes, looking the other way for gambling and...and women and who knows what else!” She made an impatient gesture.
“Rebecca, I don’t know how you can say that.” He shook his head adamantly. “You’re treading on dangerous ground. It’s a miracle you haven’t been sued, or worse, with all these thinly veiled accusations in your paper. Fortunately, I’ve been able to persuade people that it’s all harmless, and that you’ll soon lose interest and move on.”
“I will not move on, as you put it. Crime is up, and anyone with half a brain can figure out why. And I don’t need you to defend me. I take care of myself.”
“Of course you can, dearest. Of course you can. It’s just that you’re so