Page 62 of Charlotte's Reckoning
Before she fled the shadowy alley to meet her girls, she caught a brief glimpse of his stunned expression. He thought she didn’t remember him, but she couldn’t forget the young man who’d risked his life for hers. Today hardly compared, but she appreciated him just as much.
Out on the busy street, her muddy, drenched state drew curious glances. Her friends lurched to a halt, eyes wide with horror.
“Criminy, Charlotte,” Violet exclaimed. “What happened?”
“A massive mud puddle,” she mumbled, her sodden clothes clinging uncomfortably as she slowly drew near, shoes squelching with each step.
“Were you pushed into it?” Patsy asked, eyes darting to the alley, ready to fight.
“No. This is my fault. To avoid more nasty looks, I took a shortcut.”
“You should have waited for us,” Violet insisted.
“You’re right, and I deserve all the ‘I told you sos’ coming my way. Can they wait until we’re home so I can get out of these clothes? I also need a scrub brush and to soak in a hot tub for an hour.”
“Make that two hours with a double dose of bath salts,” Patsy said, holding her nose. “Can you walk downwind, hon? No offense, but you stink.”
Then, an unusual event occurred. Charlotte laughed because frankly, it was either that or burst into tears. Her closest, and only, friends gave her a wide berth, but they accompanied her home, sludge-covered clothes and dripping hair leaving a brown trail from Main to Sixth Street.
What a spectacle she must have been.
Chapter 15
Kiss of Death
Monday was the slowest night of the week. When it rained, it was worse. With the door to her balcony open, Charlotte listened to the steady patter of raindrops. She loved the rain, but even more so the fresh smelling air that followed, and how, even if for only a while, it washed away the dust kicked up by the incessant horse and wagon traffic on the street.
There was a downside to everything, though. Like the heat and humidity, it caused her hair to double in volume.
While seated at her dressing table, attempting to tame the unruly frizzy mess, the door burst open and Fenton entered without bothering to knock. Unusually rumpled with the dark shadow of a beard on his jaw, he looked exhausted, his one-week trip having stretched into two.
He collapsed into her tufted blue velvet chair with a groan. “Damn, I’m beat. Mosey your fine ass into the other room and fetch me a glass of whiskey and a cigar.”
Although partners, he treated her like the hired help. But she wasn’t in the mood to argue with him and did as he asked, getting a slap on her ass as she passed him for her trouble.
“Wait,” he called, stopping her at the door. “Before I pass out from exhaustion and forget, I brought you something.”
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a stack of envelopes tied with twine, and tossed them onto the low table in front of him.
She stared at them, puzzled. “The post? Who would write to me here?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t open them,” he sighed, as he leaned back, stretched out his long legs, and closed his eyes. “All this time, I thought you didn’t have a last name. Now I find out you had two. And how did you get from Rowena to Charlotte?”
“What?” she gasped, rushing to the table and picking up the stack. The letter on top was from Elise, the others addressed to Mrs. Rowena Eldridge Dunn of St. Louis, Missouri.
A wave of dizziness washed over her as the past and present collided. She glanced at Fen, hoping he was out cold, but his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, was fixed on her.
“What, uh, makes you think I’m this Rowena Dunn?” she stammered, her voice tight with apprehension.
“No sense pretending,” he admonished. “I went through St. Louis on my way back and dropped by Elise’s place. That’s where I got those.” He nodded to the stack of correspondence in her hands. “She said a man inquired about you after we left then those letters started arriving.”
“What man?”
“Barton, Burton, something with a B,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “She didn’t remember, but he was an investigator working for someone back east. You got trouble you haven’t told me about?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “Not that I know of.” Any trouble she had was in St. Louis. “What did he want?”
Fen wasn’t known for patience, especially when tired. “Damn it, woman!” he snapped. “Enough questions. Open the damn things and see for yourself.”
