“But what about you? There is already a bruise darkening your cheek.”
“I am a police officer, Mr. Catchpole.” He smirked. “Believe me, I have seen worse.” Hah! Being a lawman had nothing to do with the aches he’d suffered the past few years. He had Kit to thank for those.
“An officer? Outstanding!” A mouthful of crooked teeth spread in a grin. “You really shall need my assistance.”
“Yes, well…off with you now.” Jackson flicked his fingers towards the doctor’s office. “Get yourself a thorough go-over, eh?”
“Upon your word, yes, I shall. Absolutely.” He stiffened to a ramrod, one skinny arm snapping a salute. “Good day, Mr. Forge. I will be seeing you.”
The odd little man darted inside, ribbon strings from the mask flying behind him.
Jackson pulled the door shut and re-entered the flow of pedestrians, his gut clenching. Was he wrong to hope the doctor would deem Catchpole mad enough to warrant confinement, or at least to provide some tonic to set his mind straight?
Because otherwise, his already-complicated life was just about to gain another twist.
Chapter Five
Kit strode through the enquiry agency’s door, mind whirring as she mapped out a plan of attack for the Coleman case…and the first battle would be with her big bear of a father, who eyed her from his desk. She’d have a much easier time of finding the missing man and child if she could sway him to join her in the search.
“Good morning, Father,” she said sweetly as she hung her hat on the coat-tree.
“Mmm,” he rumbled. “Taking after your husband, are you?”
Repinning a loose strand of hair, she frowned. “In what way?”
“It is no longer morning.” His thick index finger pointed at the wall clock.
Bother! Half past twelve already? She never should have stopped by the launderer’s to pick up Jackson’s shirts after leaving Mrs. Coleman’s house. But it was either that or ask her husband to go yet another day in the same shirt—the one he’d been relegated to for the past week. He didn’t complain, though. In fact, she doubted he even noticed the increasing odour, so preoccupied had he been with work. But wrinkles and stink aside, it was the washerwoman who had forced her hand, threatening to sell his garments if Kit didn’t retrieve them.
“I had a stop to make first.” Two, actually, if she counted Mrs. Coleman’s. As she took the chair in front of her father’s desk, she glanced at the ceiling.
A little favour here please, Lord?
Smoothing out her skirt, she faced her father, still not quite sure how to tell him she’d taken on the Coleman case without his agreement. “I should like to speak with you.” Eyes narrowing on the open file in front of him, she scooted to the edge of her chair and stretched her neck. What was he up to? “That is, if you aren’t already occupied.”
He slammed the folder shut, his ham-sized hand fixed firmly atop it. “I always have time for you.”
True, but a clear deflection…one she could use to her benefit, perhaps.
“I should hope so, being I am your partner.” She sank against the cushion, pausing for a beat. Just like reeling in a large fish, it never paid to be overly hasty. “And speaking as your business partner, I hope you will hear me out with an open mind.”
His bushy brows gathered like thunderclouds, an accusing gleam in his dark eyes. “You didn’t.”
Annoyance flared in her belly. How could he possibly know she’d taken on Mrs. Coleman’s case before she told him? The man was far too canny—a trait she enjoyed in herself but would prefer if others didn’t possess quite so much. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Kit.” Disgust sullied her name. “I believe I made myself more than clear on that Coleman business.”
“Yes, but Father—”
“Uh-uh.” He wagged his big finger. “Partner, you mean, for you cannot have it both ways. Either we keep our relationship outside the door or we do not. And up to this point you have made it abundantly clear you wish to be treated as a professional associate, not as my daughter. Therefore, it is not right that you play upon my sympathies in order to wheedle me into doing your bidding. That is not how a business is run.”
Scads! She’d used the wrong bait. She hefted a great sigh. “You’re right.”
“What’s this?” His head reared back. “Humility?”
“Pish!” She cut her hand through the air. “Can we get back on topic please?”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “You know, your nose—”
