Christie and the hellcat, p.27
Christie and the Hellcat, page 27
The train whistle blew again, louder and more impatient this time.
Then again.
“She’s getting set to depart. Let’s get you on board.” Zee helped Christie up the steps into the carriage, then returned for the cases.
When Christie was installed in a good window seat, her luggage stowed nearby, she turned to say goodbye.
What Zee wanted, more than anything, was to kiss Christie. But some of the other passengers eyeing her would be getting off at Contention too. She couldn’t risk revealing Christie’s play this early in the game.
She drew herself up to her full height. “Safe journey, Miss Hayes.
Give my regards to your brother.”
Christie’s startled disappointment gave way to comprehension.
“Thank you, Deputy Brodie,” she said, equally formal. “I will.”
Back on the station platform, Zee gazed up at the lovely face behind the soot-streaked glass. Christie glanced to either side, then 264
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mouthed, “I love you.”
Zee stifled a grin. “Me too,” she mouthed back. The train lurched forward. The two women locked gazes and Zee kept pace with Christie for as long as she could, but soon the train left her behind.
Chapter 4
He was waiting for her as arranged, sitting in the far corner of the Last Chance Saloon, chair pressed against the wall, gaze trained on the street door.
If Hogan hadn’t told her about Charlie Judkins’ background, she would have dismissed him. “Nondescript” was the word, she decided. He could be anyone, go anywhere without attracting attention.
Good.
She nodded a greeting and noted that the shot glass on the stained table in front of him was empty. She appropriated another glass and some whiskey from the bartender, then made her way over.
“Judkins?” He nodded. “Brodie.”
She put the bottle and glass on the table, placed her hat next to them, then sat down. His clothes were clean but well worn and slightly old-fashioned, and his graying hair and mustache needed a trim.
Though he wasn’t small, his self-effacing manner gave the impression that he was. The ex-Pinkerton detective had been giving Zee the once-over too, his gaze lingering on her tin star before returning to her bruised cheek and eye.
He’ll do.
She poured whiskey into the two glasses and pushed his toward him. “Thanks for coming.” She downed her drink in one, wincing as the cheap whiskey found a cut on the inside of her lip, then wiping her mouth on the back of her gloved hand. He cocked his head to one side, inviting her to get down to business.
“All right. Here’s what I need.” She outlined what she wanted, and he listened until she had finished.
“Just the one man?” He took a gulp of whiskey.
“That’s right. But I want to know his every move, no matter how 266
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small. He so much as looks at someone, I want to know the when and the where. Round the clock. That clear?” He nodded and she topped up his glass then her own. “So. Think you can do it?”
“Anything to be found, I’ll find it, Deputy.” Calculation filled his gaze. “For a price.”
He named a figure that made her wince. Hogan had warned her good detectives came expensive, but still . . . They’d have to put off buying that couch for the parlor that Christie had her eye on.
“Got yourself a deal.” She pulled off her glove, spat in her palm and held out her hand. He did the same and they shook.
“Half in advance.”
Zee pulled the little leather pouch from her vest pocket, and threw it to him. It contained slightly more than he’d asked for. “That do?”
He caught it, undid the tie, and gazed at the half eagles nestling inside.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Deputy.” He pocketed the pouch, eased himself out of his seat, and stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”
He tipped his hat.
“I’m counting on it.”
After Judkins had left, Zee topped up her glass and gazed into it for a while. If he didn’t find anything on Fred Younger, she’d have squandered their money for nothing. It was a gamble. But she had a hunch about Christie’s ex-fiancé, and Zee always bet on her hunches.
She drained the shot glass, kicked back her chair, and stood up. It was time to get moving on the next item on her list.
Madam Angie was in her office doing her accounts. “Brodie.” She smiled and pushed away the thick ledger with undisguised relief. “Is this a social call?” She reached for her pipe. “Is Christie with you?”
“No to both.” Zee took the seat offered.
Angie tamped tobacco into the bowl and cocked her head. “From the state of your face, I’d say you’ve been brawling.”
Zee grunted but didn’t enlighten her. “I need a favor.”
“Oh?”
“Concerning The Sisters of Charity.”
Angie’s eyebrows crawled skywards. “You won’t find any of them here.”
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“Reckon I knew that.”
They both chuckled, then Angie leaned forward. “It concerns Sister Florence’s establishment, I take it?”
“If she’s the one who runs that place just outside Fairbank, yeah.”
“The Willows. It’s an Orphanage.”
“More ’n that, from what I hear.”
Angie lit up her pipe before answering. “True. The Sisters also take in fallen women, until their babies are born. A good proportion of the children in their care come from that source.” She gestured toward the door, through which Zee caught a glimpse of several of the whores taking a break in various states of undress. “Occupational hazard.”
“I also heard tell you and one of the Sisters have been,” she cast around for the words, “close friends for a while.”
Angie crossed her Turkish-trouser-clad ankles and laughed. “My my, you have done your homework, haven’t you. Yes, Florence and I are friends. Not in the way you mean though.”
“No?”
“I wasn’t always a madam, you know. There was a time in my life when things were very . . . bad.” Angie’s gaze clouded. “Florence wasn’t in charge of the orphanage then, of course. That’s a recent development. But she always was kind-hearted. Found me and took me in when no one else would. For that I will always count her my dear friend.” She forced a smile and Zee knew she wasn’t going to hear any more on that particular topic. “So, are you going to tell me what this mysterious favor is?”
“A letter of introduction. Figured the Sisters ain’t gonna take too kindly to someone like me,” she gestured at herself, “nosing around.
Thought if you could vouch for me, it might prevent them having the vapors.”
Angie’s eyes gleamed. “But why on earth would you want to—?”
Zee held up a hand. “Let’s just say I’ve a hunch one of their current charges is in need of my help, and leave it at that. I’ll tell you
’bout it once it’s over and done with. All right?”
Angie sighed and sat back. “All right.” She opened the desk drawer, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and reached for a pen. While the pen scratched across the page, Zee got up, crossed to the door, folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Whistles and catcalls greeted her appearance.
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“Enjoying the view, Deputy?” asked Nellie the Fox, in between puffs on a cheroot.
“Mighty fine, thanks.” Zee winked.
Rowdy Mollie straightened her petticoats. “Where’s Christie?”
“Gone to Contention.”
Red Mary’s face lit up. “Does that mean you’ll be requiring our services while she’s away?”
Zee was about to set her to rights when Angie’s voice came from behind her. “There. It’s done.”
She stepped back into the office and took the envelope Angie was holding out. “But this is sealed.” The red blob of wax bore the imprint of Angie’s signet ring.
“Of course it is.”
“Wanted to read what you wrote,” grumbled Zee. “What did you say about me?”
“None of your damned business.”
“But—”
Angie laughed. “It’s confidential. Between Florence and me.”
Zee knew when she was beaten. She sighed and tucked the envelope in her vest pocket. “All right. But if Sister Florence comes after me with a shotgun—”
Angie wagged a finger at her. “Have a little faith, Brodie.”
“I’ll try.”
Chapter 5
The ride was a long and dusty one, and by the time Zee arrived at the clump of willows that had given its name to the orphanage she was hot and in need of some shade. It didn’t help that her ribs were aching. She moistened her bandanna with water from her canteen and retied it, enjoying the coolness on the nape of her neck.
A dozen children, of varying ages but all energetic and grubby, were playing in the fenced-off yard next to the smaller of the two clapboard buildings—the school presumably. After the silence of the last couple of hours, their shrieks were piercing, and Zee’s mare tossed her mane and nickered; she couldn’t help but agree.
She dismounted and tethered her horse. By now, the shrieks had subsided and the children were crowding the fence, staring at her.
“Howdy, varmints.” She tipped her hat and winked. Eyes widened and mouths dropped open. A gangly boy hared off indoors to fetch an adult.
“It’s a woman,” said a freckled girl in a much-patched, pink dress.
“Don’t be stupid.” The speaker was a boy with ginger hair.
“Women don’t wear trousers.”
“That’s quite enough of that,” boomed a female voice. The large woman coming toward them was dressed in a black habit, veil, and pleated cape, and a white collar and coif. Behind her trailed the gangly boy. “Playtime is over. Indoors now, all of you, and leave our visitor alone.” She clapped her hands twice. “I said now. Sister Euphrasia is waiting.” She cast a sharp glance at a fair-haired boy about to pinch the girl next to him. “That includes you, Sam.”
There were a few protests and whines, but a frown from the sister soon had the children disappearing indoors. That done, the nun turned her attention to Zee. Her mouth curled in disapproval though 270
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her greeting was polite enough. “May I help you?”
Zee took off her hat. “Sister Florence?”
“No. I’m Sister Agnes.” Hands chapped by housework worked a rosary with a click, click, click of beads. “You wish to see Sister Florence?”
She nodded.
“Very well. Wait here and I will see if she is receiving visitors.”
Sister Agnes turned to go then paused and turned back. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Deputy Zee Brodie.” Zee fished the envelope from her pocket, still sealed, though temptation had almost got the better of her. “Got a letter of introduction here.”
Sister Agnes took it and gave it a cursory inspection. Then she headed toward the other building, a two-story structure that must be the orphanage proper.
Zee put her hat back on and went to join her horse in the shade.
She filled her palm with water from the canteen and let it drink. That chore done, there was still no sign of either Sister Agnes or the mysterious Sister Florence.
Wonder what Angie put in that letter? She squatted on her heels and whistled under her breath, then pulled out her pocket watch and flipped it open. Christie should be in Contention by now.
Somewhere, a door creaked open and Zee looked up. A large black crow was heading toward her. She blinked and straightened, pulling the brim of her Stetson down against the glare. The crow resolved itself into Sister Agnes, habit flapping.
“Deputy Brodie,” called the sister, beckoning. “Sister Florence will see you. Please come with me.”
Zee banged her hat against her thigh, to get the worst of the dust off, and followed Sister Agnes into the hallway. It was a welcome relief to get out of the heat.
Her eyes adjusted to the relative gloom of the interior and she allowed the Sister of Charity to lead her through into a small room labeled “Vestry.” One wall was lined with closets. Furniture consisted of a small table and four uncomfortable-looking chairs. On the table was a brass handbell.
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“Someone will be with you shortly.” Sister Agnes left Zee alone.
Moments later, a different sister entered, bearing a glass of lemonade on a tray. Zee drained it in two swallows and handed it back with her thanks. Shortsighted gray eyes, already wide at her appearance (must be the battered face, she supposed), widened even further. Then the nun, who was short and thin and wore wire-framed spectacles, recollected herself and exited as silently as she had entered.
“Guess she wasn’t Sister Florence either.” Zee wandered over to the window and stared out at the windmill turning in the breeze, pumping up the water from the underground spring that was the reason the Sisters of Charity had chosen this site. In the distance a lesson bell rang.
“No. But I am.”
She swung round in surprise.
“It’s not often we are paid a visit by the notorious Hellcat.” Like the other sisters, the new arrival was wearing a black habit, veil, and pleated cape, and a white collar and coif.
“The Hellcat don’t exist no more, Sister. I’m . . .” Zee trailed off as she registered the twinkle in the gray eyes and the opened letter clutched in the nun’s hand.
“Deputy Zee Brodie,” completed Sister Florence. “I know. But allow an old woman a moment of excitement. It’ll have to last me several years.”
Zee snorted. “Old” was pushing it, she decided, taking an instant liking to Angie Tucker’s friend. More like in her fifties. She’d also hazard a guess that Sister Florence had once been quite a looker, before time and the elements had coarsened her complexion.
“Please.” Sister Florence gestured with a work-worn hand. “Sit.”
Zee did so. The sister did likewise and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Now. Tell me what brings you to my establishment. As far as I am aware, none of the sisters are wanted by the law. Nor are any of our charges come to that. Though with scamps like Sam Baker, it’s surely only a matter of time.” She gave a rueful smile.
Zee started to lean forward, but her sore ribs made her think twice.
“You take in fallen women here. That right?”
“If you mean desperate and wronged young women in need of our help,” corrected Sister Florence, “then yes, we do. We care for them during their confinement, until they are well enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Some take their babies with them, some entrust 272
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them to our care.”
“I’m looking for one in particular.”
Sister Florence’s expression became watchful. “I cannot divulge the identities of the women here. It is a matter of trust and confidentiality.”
Zee thought for a moment. “Suppose you don’t tell me anything, but I tell you?”
“Very well.”
“Her name’s Jenny Farnham.” Sister Florence’s poker face was perfect. Damn! “The baby’s father wants to marry her, but her parents have other ideas.”
“I see.”
“That all you can say? She’s here against her will.”
“No one is here against their will,” said Sister Florence. “I am certain of that. Perhaps the parents have their daughter’s best interests at heart. Or did that not occur to you?”
Her statement brought Zee up short. Could Blue have been right?
Did Jenny agree with her parents’ plans for her? Her mind raced.
“Maybe it’s just she’s accepted her fate,” she guessed. “Maybe she thinks she has no choice.”
“That’s a possibility,” conceded Sister Florence. She got up, went to the window, and stared out.
Time stretched. Zee could hear the faint buzzing of a fly, the distant ticking of the clock in the hall . . . She picked at a loose thread on her Levi’s and schooled herself to patience. At last she was rewarded.
“Deputy Brodie.” Sister Florence turned to face her, her expression somber. “Partly because of the endorsement my old friend has given you,” she lifted the letter she still held, “and partly because I myself have had some doubts about this particular young woman, I’m going to break my cardinal rule.”
Zee let out a sigh of relief.
“Jenny Farnham is here . . . accompanied by her aunt, who rarely leaves her side.”
Zee arched an eyebrow.
“Quite. Now it could of course just be that Jenny has been so upset by recent events she needs constant support. But,” Sister Florence began to pace, her long skirts swishing as they brushed the floorboards, “as yet, none of us has made any serious effort to talk to the Christie and the Hellcat
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girl on her own.” She shook her head. “A highly unsatisfactory state of affairs.”
Zee nodded. “We need the facts, ma’am.”
“The facts,” repeated the nun, halting and nodding once. “I think I can arrange that.” She reached for the handbell and rang it. The little sister in the spectacles who had brought the lemonade reappeared.
“Yes, Sister Florence?”
“Sister Mary. Will you please tell Miss Farnham that I wish to speak with her at once? Bring her to the vestry, will you?”
“Yes, Sister.” Sister Mary bowed her head again and hurried away, but not before giving Zee another curious glance.
“But the aunt will come too,” objected Zee.
“Indeed.”
“She won’t let Jenny speak to me.”
“She’ll let her speak to me, or I shall ask them both to leave the orphanage.” Sister Florence looked at the closets lining the wall of the vestry then walked toward one and opened the door. “Hide in here, Deputy.”
Inside the closet was a rail, from which hung black habits and other items of clothing. Zee grimaced but made space for herself amongst the nuns’ apparel, which gave off the faint whiff of moth-balls. Then the door closed with a click and she was in pitch black-ness. Good thing I’m not scared of the dark.
Then again.
“She’s getting set to depart. Let’s get you on board.” Zee helped Christie up the steps into the carriage, then returned for the cases.
When Christie was installed in a good window seat, her luggage stowed nearby, she turned to say goodbye.
What Zee wanted, more than anything, was to kiss Christie. But some of the other passengers eyeing her would be getting off at Contention too. She couldn’t risk revealing Christie’s play this early in the game.
She drew herself up to her full height. “Safe journey, Miss Hayes.
Give my regards to your brother.”
Christie’s startled disappointment gave way to comprehension.
“Thank you, Deputy Brodie,” she said, equally formal. “I will.”
Back on the station platform, Zee gazed up at the lovely face behind the soot-streaked glass. Christie glanced to either side, then 264
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mouthed, “I love you.”
Zee stifled a grin. “Me too,” she mouthed back. The train lurched forward. The two women locked gazes and Zee kept pace with Christie for as long as she could, but soon the train left her behind.
Chapter 4
He was waiting for her as arranged, sitting in the far corner of the Last Chance Saloon, chair pressed against the wall, gaze trained on the street door.
If Hogan hadn’t told her about Charlie Judkins’ background, she would have dismissed him. “Nondescript” was the word, she decided. He could be anyone, go anywhere without attracting attention.
Good.
She nodded a greeting and noted that the shot glass on the stained table in front of him was empty. She appropriated another glass and some whiskey from the bartender, then made her way over.
“Judkins?” He nodded. “Brodie.”
She put the bottle and glass on the table, placed her hat next to them, then sat down. His clothes were clean but well worn and slightly old-fashioned, and his graying hair and mustache needed a trim.
Though he wasn’t small, his self-effacing manner gave the impression that he was. The ex-Pinkerton detective had been giving Zee the once-over too, his gaze lingering on her tin star before returning to her bruised cheek and eye.
He’ll do.
She poured whiskey into the two glasses and pushed his toward him. “Thanks for coming.” She downed her drink in one, wincing as the cheap whiskey found a cut on the inside of her lip, then wiping her mouth on the back of her gloved hand. He cocked his head to one side, inviting her to get down to business.
“All right. Here’s what I need.” She outlined what she wanted, and he listened until she had finished.
“Just the one man?” He took a gulp of whiskey.
“That’s right. But I want to know his every move, no matter how 266
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small. He so much as looks at someone, I want to know the when and the where. Round the clock. That clear?” He nodded and she topped up his glass then her own. “So. Think you can do it?”
“Anything to be found, I’ll find it, Deputy.” Calculation filled his gaze. “For a price.”
He named a figure that made her wince. Hogan had warned her good detectives came expensive, but still . . . They’d have to put off buying that couch for the parlor that Christie had her eye on.
“Got yourself a deal.” She pulled off her glove, spat in her palm and held out her hand. He did the same and they shook.
“Half in advance.”
Zee pulled the little leather pouch from her vest pocket, and threw it to him. It contained slightly more than he’d asked for. “That do?”
He caught it, undid the tie, and gazed at the half eagles nestling inside.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Deputy.” He pocketed the pouch, eased himself out of his seat, and stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”
He tipped his hat.
“I’m counting on it.”
After Judkins had left, Zee topped up her glass and gazed into it for a while. If he didn’t find anything on Fred Younger, she’d have squandered their money for nothing. It was a gamble. But she had a hunch about Christie’s ex-fiancé, and Zee always bet on her hunches.
She drained the shot glass, kicked back her chair, and stood up. It was time to get moving on the next item on her list.
Madam Angie was in her office doing her accounts. “Brodie.” She smiled and pushed away the thick ledger with undisguised relief. “Is this a social call?” She reached for her pipe. “Is Christie with you?”
“No to both.” Zee took the seat offered.
Angie tamped tobacco into the bowl and cocked her head. “From the state of your face, I’d say you’ve been brawling.”
Zee grunted but didn’t enlighten her. “I need a favor.”
“Oh?”
“Concerning The Sisters of Charity.”
Angie’s eyebrows crawled skywards. “You won’t find any of them here.”
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“Reckon I knew that.”
They both chuckled, then Angie leaned forward. “It concerns Sister Florence’s establishment, I take it?”
“If she’s the one who runs that place just outside Fairbank, yeah.”
“The Willows. It’s an Orphanage.”
“More ’n that, from what I hear.”
Angie lit up her pipe before answering. “True. The Sisters also take in fallen women, until their babies are born. A good proportion of the children in their care come from that source.” She gestured toward the door, through which Zee caught a glimpse of several of the whores taking a break in various states of undress. “Occupational hazard.”
“I also heard tell you and one of the Sisters have been,” she cast around for the words, “close friends for a while.”
Angie crossed her Turkish-trouser-clad ankles and laughed. “My my, you have done your homework, haven’t you. Yes, Florence and I are friends. Not in the way you mean though.”
“No?”
“I wasn’t always a madam, you know. There was a time in my life when things were very . . . bad.” Angie’s gaze clouded. “Florence wasn’t in charge of the orphanage then, of course. That’s a recent development. But she always was kind-hearted. Found me and took me in when no one else would. For that I will always count her my dear friend.” She forced a smile and Zee knew she wasn’t going to hear any more on that particular topic. “So, are you going to tell me what this mysterious favor is?”
“A letter of introduction. Figured the Sisters ain’t gonna take too kindly to someone like me,” she gestured at herself, “nosing around.
Thought if you could vouch for me, it might prevent them having the vapors.”
Angie’s eyes gleamed. “But why on earth would you want to—?”
Zee held up a hand. “Let’s just say I’ve a hunch one of their current charges is in need of my help, and leave it at that. I’ll tell you
’bout it once it’s over and done with. All right?”
Angie sighed and sat back. “All right.” She opened the desk drawer, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and reached for a pen. While the pen scratched across the page, Zee got up, crossed to the door, folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. Whistles and catcalls greeted her appearance.
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“Enjoying the view, Deputy?” asked Nellie the Fox, in between puffs on a cheroot.
“Mighty fine, thanks.” Zee winked.
Rowdy Mollie straightened her petticoats. “Where’s Christie?”
“Gone to Contention.”
Red Mary’s face lit up. “Does that mean you’ll be requiring our services while she’s away?”
Zee was about to set her to rights when Angie’s voice came from behind her. “There. It’s done.”
She stepped back into the office and took the envelope Angie was holding out. “But this is sealed.” The red blob of wax bore the imprint of Angie’s signet ring.
“Of course it is.”
“Wanted to read what you wrote,” grumbled Zee. “What did you say about me?”
“None of your damned business.”
“But—”
Angie laughed. “It’s confidential. Between Florence and me.”
Zee knew when she was beaten. She sighed and tucked the envelope in her vest pocket. “All right. But if Sister Florence comes after me with a shotgun—”
Angie wagged a finger at her. “Have a little faith, Brodie.”
“I’ll try.”
Chapter 5
The ride was a long and dusty one, and by the time Zee arrived at the clump of willows that had given its name to the orphanage she was hot and in need of some shade. It didn’t help that her ribs were aching. She moistened her bandanna with water from her canteen and retied it, enjoying the coolness on the nape of her neck.
A dozen children, of varying ages but all energetic and grubby, were playing in the fenced-off yard next to the smaller of the two clapboard buildings—the school presumably. After the silence of the last couple of hours, their shrieks were piercing, and Zee’s mare tossed her mane and nickered; she couldn’t help but agree.
She dismounted and tethered her horse. By now, the shrieks had subsided and the children were crowding the fence, staring at her.
“Howdy, varmints.” She tipped her hat and winked. Eyes widened and mouths dropped open. A gangly boy hared off indoors to fetch an adult.
“It’s a woman,” said a freckled girl in a much-patched, pink dress.
“Don’t be stupid.” The speaker was a boy with ginger hair.
“Women don’t wear trousers.”
“That’s quite enough of that,” boomed a female voice. The large woman coming toward them was dressed in a black habit, veil, and pleated cape, and a white collar and coif. Behind her trailed the gangly boy. “Playtime is over. Indoors now, all of you, and leave our visitor alone.” She clapped her hands twice. “I said now. Sister Euphrasia is waiting.” She cast a sharp glance at a fair-haired boy about to pinch the girl next to him. “That includes you, Sam.”
There were a few protests and whines, but a frown from the sister soon had the children disappearing indoors. That done, the nun turned her attention to Zee. Her mouth curled in disapproval though 270
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her greeting was polite enough. “May I help you?”
Zee took off her hat. “Sister Florence?”
“No. I’m Sister Agnes.” Hands chapped by housework worked a rosary with a click, click, click of beads. “You wish to see Sister Florence?”
She nodded.
“Very well. Wait here and I will see if she is receiving visitors.”
Sister Agnes turned to go then paused and turned back. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Deputy Zee Brodie.” Zee fished the envelope from her pocket, still sealed, though temptation had almost got the better of her. “Got a letter of introduction here.”
Sister Agnes took it and gave it a cursory inspection. Then she headed toward the other building, a two-story structure that must be the orphanage proper.
Zee put her hat back on and went to join her horse in the shade.
She filled her palm with water from the canteen and let it drink. That chore done, there was still no sign of either Sister Agnes or the mysterious Sister Florence.
Wonder what Angie put in that letter? She squatted on her heels and whistled under her breath, then pulled out her pocket watch and flipped it open. Christie should be in Contention by now.
Somewhere, a door creaked open and Zee looked up. A large black crow was heading toward her. She blinked and straightened, pulling the brim of her Stetson down against the glare. The crow resolved itself into Sister Agnes, habit flapping.
“Deputy Brodie,” called the sister, beckoning. “Sister Florence will see you. Please come with me.”
Zee banged her hat against her thigh, to get the worst of the dust off, and followed Sister Agnes into the hallway. It was a welcome relief to get out of the heat.
Her eyes adjusted to the relative gloom of the interior and she allowed the Sister of Charity to lead her through into a small room labeled “Vestry.” One wall was lined with closets. Furniture consisted of a small table and four uncomfortable-looking chairs. On the table was a brass handbell.
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“Someone will be with you shortly.” Sister Agnes left Zee alone.
Moments later, a different sister entered, bearing a glass of lemonade on a tray. Zee drained it in two swallows and handed it back with her thanks. Shortsighted gray eyes, already wide at her appearance (must be the battered face, she supposed), widened even further. Then the nun, who was short and thin and wore wire-framed spectacles, recollected herself and exited as silently as she had entered.
“Guess she wasn’t Sister Florence either.” Zee wandered over to the window and stared out at the windmill turning in the breeze, pumping up the water from the underground spring that was the reason the Sisters of Charity had chosen this site. In the distance a lesson bell rang.
“No. But I am.”
She swung round in surprise.
“It’s not often we are paid a visit by the notorious Hellcat.” Like the other sisters, the new arrival was wearing a black habit, veil, and pleated cape, and a white collar and coif.
“The Hellcat don’t exist no more, Sister. I’m . . .” Zee trailed off as she registered the twinkle in the gray eyes and the opened letter clutched in the nun’s hand.
“Deputy Zee Brodie,” completed Sister Florence. “I know. But allow an old woman a moment of excitement. It’ll have to last me several years.”
Zee snorted. “Old” was pushing it, she decided, taking an instant liking to Angie Tucker’s friend. More like in her fifties. She’d also hazard a guess that Sister Florence had once been quite a looker, before time and the elements had coarsened her complexion.
“Please.” Sister Florence gestured with a work-worn hand. “Sit.”
Zee did so. The sister did likewise and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Now. Tell me what brings you to my establishment. As far as I am aware, none of the sisters are wanted by the law. Nor are any of our charges come to that. Though with scamps like Sam Baker, it’s surely only a matter of time.” She gave a rueful smile.
Zee started to lean forward, but her sore ribs made her think twice.
“You take in fallen women here. That right?”
“If you mean desperate and wronged young women in need of our help,” corrected Sister Florence, “then yes, we do. We care for them during their confinement, until they are well enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Some take their babies with them, some entrust 272
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them to our care.”
“I’m looking for one in particular.”
Sister Florence’s expression became watchful. “I cannot divulge the identities of the women here. It is a matter of trust and confidentiality.”
Zee thought for a moment. “Suppose you don’t tell me anything, but I tell you?”
“Very well.”
“Her name’s Jenny Farnham.” Sister Florence’s poker face was perfect. Damn! “The baby’s father wants to marry her, but her parents have other ideas.”
“I see.”
“That all you can say? She’s here against her will.”
“No one is here against their will,” said Sister Florence. “I am certain of that. Perhaps the parents have their daughter’s best interests at heart. Or did that not occur to you?”
Her statement brought Zee up short. Could Blue have been right?
Did Jenny agree with her parents’ plans for her? Her mind raced.
“Maybe it’s just she’s accepted her fate,” she guessed. “Maybe she thinks she has no choice.”
“That’s a possibility,” conceded Sister Florence. She got up, went to the window, and stared out.
Time stretched. Zee could hear the faint buzzing of a fly, the distant ticking of the clock in the hall . . . She picked at a loose thread on her Levi’s and schooled herself to patience. At last she was rewarded.
“Deputy Brodie.” Sister Florence turned to face her, her expression somber. “Partly because of the endorsement my old friend has given you,” she lifted the letter she still held, “and partly because I myself have had some doubts about this particular young woman, I’m going to break my cardinal rule.”
Zee let out a sigh of relief.
“Jenny Farnham is here . . . accompanied by her aunt, who rarely leaves her side.”
Zee arched an eyebrow.
“Quite. Now it could of course just be that Jenny has been so upset by recent events she needs constant support. But,” Sister Florence began to pace, her long skirts swishing as they brushed the floorboards, “as yet, none of us has made any serious effort to talk to the Christie and the Hellcat
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girl on her own.” She shook her head. “A highly unsatisfactory state of affairs.”
Zee nodded. “We need the facts, ma’am.”
“The facts,” repeated the nun, halting and nodding once. “I think I can arrange that.” She reached for the handbell and rang it. The little sister in the spectacles who had brought the lemonade reappeared.
“Yes, Sister Florence?”
“Sister Mary. Will you please tell Miss Farnham that I wish to speak with her at once? Bring her to the vestry, will you?”
“Yes, Sister.” Sister Mary bowed her head again and hurried away, but not before giving Zee another curious glance.
“But the aunt will come too,” objected Zee.
“Indeed.”
“She won’t let Jenny speak to me.”
“She’ll let her speak to me, or I shall ask them both to leave the orphanage.” Sister Florence looked at the closets lining the wall of the vestry then walked toward one and opened the door. “Hide in here, Deputy.”
Inside the closet was a rail, from which hung black habits and other items of clothing. Zee grimaced but made space for herself amongst the nuns’ apparel, which gave off the faint whiff of moth-balls. Then the door closed with a click and she was in pitch black-ness. Good thing I’m not scared of the dark.
