Read Online Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] by Deadly Promise - Free Book Online

a small notepad and a pencil out of her purse. In it she also carried several other useful tools of her trade. She had learned the hard way to always carry matches, a candle, a small knife, and a gun.
    Schmitt practically sighed. Then he reached into a drawer for a notebook, and Francesca copied the addresses down. “Thank you. If there is anything else you think of, please, get in touch with Joel Kennedy, Maggie’s son. He lives right up the block.”
    “I don’t know anything more,” Schmitt said, turning his back to her.
    Francesca left the store, unsettled. Why would this man be so unhelpful? Was he withholding information from her? Did he associate her with the police? Or perhaps her stature as a wealthy young lady made him resentful or even anxious. Still, Francesca could not justify the treatment she had just received.
    The sun was warming the morning outside. It looked as if spring would come early to the city that year—several of the apartments in the buildings up and down the block had flower boxes, and Francesca saw dandelions and daffodils just breaking the soil. Above her, the sky was surprisingly clear and blue. She unbuttoned her navy blue coat and was rewarded with a draft of pleasant air.
    But she did not smile. As soon as Joel was finished posting her reward notices, they would go a few blocks uptown to 300 Mulberry Street. That is, she would go to police headquarters and seek aid from Rick Bragg.
    If he was still speaking to her, that is.
    Police headquarters was housed in a five-story brownstone building just around the corner from one of the city’s worst slums—Mulberry Bend. As Francesca paid the cabbie, she saw Bragg’s handsome motorcar parked on the street, a roundsman in his blue serge and leather helmet discreetly watching it. Other roundsmen were leaving the building; a police wagon was coming down the block. Her heart tightened. She hated the moment of confrontation that must surely come. If only last night could be undone.
    Then she let herself think about Calder Hart and her heart tightened even more, in a different way, and her skintingled and she blushed. She forced herself to concentrate on the investigation at hand. “Will you come up?” she asked Joel, who, given up his recent occupation as a “kid”—a child pickpocket—despised and distrusted the city’s finest with a passion.
    “Don’t think so,” Joel said, scowling. “I bet we could find Emily on our own, Miz Cahill. We really don’t need any coppers on our tails.”
    “I disagree, and you
do
work for me,” Francesca said, patting his shoulder. “If you need me, I will be upstairs in the commissioner’s office.”
    Joel nodded, walking over to a sickly elm tree, which he leaned against, and began whistling tunelessly.
    Francesca hurried into the reception room. There, a long counter faced her, behind which were several officers, all of whom she now knew quite well. An officer was on her side of the counter with an elderly lady, apparently discussing a complaint that involved the theft of her purse. Two men in ill-fitting suits and bowler hats were seated on benches, in handcuffs. To the far right there was an empty holding cell. And in the background there was the ever-constant pinging of telegraphs, the pounding of typewriters, and the ringing of telephones. The noise was more than familiar to Francesca; she realized with a pang that she had come to enjoy the intrusive sounds. In fact, she thought, smiling, she had missed not just the sounds of the precinct, but being there on an active investigation as well.
    Captain Shea was the first officer on duty to remark her. He stopped what he was doing, smiling. “Miss Cahill! It has been a long time. How are you?” he asked.
    She smiled, coming quickly forward then. “Hello, Captain,” she said. “I’m afraid I had to go out of town.”
    “Yes, we heard,” Shea returned, adjusting his hornrimmed glasses.
    Sergeant O’Malley, a stout fellow, approached.