Lucas waited until he was in his room before he opened the travel-worn letter. Anything that would take his mind off Sharisse, even for a few moments, was welcome. The bottle in front of him was welcome, too.
Lucas,
It’s a good thing you finally got around to letting me know where to find you. I didn’t know what to think when Billy Wolf wired me that you had left Arizona. I didn’t know if you still wanted that information from my friend Jim or not. Jim had returned to New York and was off on another case, so I couldn’t find him. But he found me about a month ago, and you’ll never guess why.
Jim has been hired by the same Marcus Hammond…to find you. He had already been to Newcomb and talked with Billy, who told him vaguely that you might be found in Europe somewhere. But Billy did give him my name. I suppose he figured you might contact me and would want to know about this. By the time Jim tracked me down in Chicago, where I have moved to, he was pretty annoyed by all the runaround. And of course I had nothing to tell him about you, which didn’t help the poor man’s disposition any.
As for the information you requested, I find it very curious that you would need me to verify that your fiancée is Marcus Hammond’s daughter. You must have known that all along—same name, same description. It just couldn’t be coincidence. Jim tells me Miss Hammond came home on her own as he’d suspected she would do. And now here her father is looking for you. Was she really your fiancée, or were you only helping her hide from her father? Oh, well, I don’t suppose that’s any of my business.
I heard by way of Jim that Newcomb is fast becoming a ghost town. There were few people left for him to question about you, except for one Samuel Newcomb who raved that you were responsible for ruining him. Jim didn’t credit anything the man had to say since he couldn’t find Newcomb sober long enough to get any decent answers out of him.
If you ever need me again, you know where to find me.
Your servant,
Emery Buskett
Lucas read the letter one more time before he crumpled it and threw it across the room. So Sharisse was back home with her father. A runaway, not estranged, not destitute. Was there no end to the lies she’d deceived him with?
The conclusion he came to damned her entirely. The spoiled rich girl angry with her father, seeing Lucas’s advertisement as a way to disappear for a while, thinking nothing of the harm she was doing. She had no way of knowing he wasn’t serious about wanting a wife. Why, he might have been some lonely fool who’d have fallen head-overheels in love with her and been heartbroken when she took off. Had she considered that? Did she care? Of course not. Her type never thought of anyone but herself.
No wonder he hadn’t been able to find her. No doubt those incompetent bankers he had left the matter to didn’t have the sense to check out all Hammond households. Either that, or Marcus Hammond had paid them off.
Was that why Hammond was looking for him? Did he know about the money Lucas had deposited for Sharisse? A man of his stature might take that as an insult. Then again, Sharisse might have confessed his treatment of her to save her own skin. Hammond might be an enraged father wanting retribution. No doubt she had painted an innocent picture of her own part in everything.
Lucas sat back, his mouth turning up into a caricature of a smile. Set the hounds on him, would she? He shook his head and reached for the bottle. She ought to’ve left well enough alone.
Thirty-seven
Sharisse returned her friend Carol Peterson to Carol’s home on Lafayette Place, one of the older residential areas still occupied by the upper crust and still holding out against the advance of commerce. Sheila was supposed to have joined them, too, but she hadn’t, so Sharisse and Carol had spent an enjoyable afternoon walking between Union and Madison Squares, Sharisse’s driver following slowly behind. Of course the girls couldn’t resist stopping at the great retail houses of the Tiffanys, the Arnolds, and the Lords and Taylors.
Sharisse was tired, but not anxious to get right home, even though she did have an engagement that evening. She told her driver to take his time, wanting to enjoy the sights of the city she loved so much.
They drove past the two-hundred-foot-long multicolumned Custom House, up Broadway and along Park Row, and by Printing House Square, which took its name from the large number of newspaper offices in the vicinity. Between lamp posts were the tall utility poles with as many as nine crossarms. Organ grinders were playing on the streets, and candy men were pushing their carts next to vendors of ice cream and ices. A penny would buy a small cup filled with one or another delicious concoction.
The streets never quieted. Horsecar railways operated on many streets, as did the elevated railroad, but the older horse-drawn omnibus was still the only means of transportation besides private carriages on Broadway south of 14th Street. They were brightly colored vehicles with large lettering above and below a long row of windows. The driver, up front, was exposed to the elements and kept an umbrella ready for an unexpected shower. Riding on them was an adventure for children. Sharisse hadn’t been on one for years.
Park Place revealed many shops advertising rattan furniture, fireworks, glass shades, polishers, and printers. Past City Hall many of the older structures had been replaced by buildings with stone and cast-iron fronts. There could be found manufacturers of safes, firearms, and scales. Curb trees diminished there and then vanished altogether. Ready-made clothing stores offered hats, gloves, flowers and feathers, corsets, shoes, and furs.
Up near Bleecker Street, Sharisse smiled as they passed the Grand Central Hotel, thinking of her father getting red in the face every time the “eye sore” was mentioned. It really was monstrous, towering above the other buildings around it, yet stylish with its marble front and mansard roof. In 1875 when it opened, an incredible eight-stories high and having six hundred thirty rooms, it was reported to be the largest hotel in the world.
When she arrived home and took off her hat and gloves, her father appeared at his study door.
“I would like a word with you, Rissy.”
“Can’t it wait, Father? Robert is taking me to a play tonight, and I don’t have much time to get ready.”
“Then you should have finished your shopping sooner,” he said disagreeably. “And it’s about your recent purchases that I want to talk to you.”
Sharisse sighed and followed him into his sanctum. “You’re not going to chastise me for spending too much, are you? It was only a few dresses, Father.”
“A few? I believe a dozen boxes were delivered here last week, and more arrive every day.”
“Well, the full bustle is becoming popular again. You can’t expect me to make do with last year’s fashions when they have changed so drastically. And besides, you’ve never begrudged me a good wardrobe.”
“That is not why I called you in here, Rissy. I don’t care if you purchase a hundred new gowns. I just want to know who’s paying for them.”
“Paying? Why, you are, of course.”
