“You’d think the judge would wait until the sun rose to begin issuing warrants.”
Rodney shrugged before turning to his deputy. “You take the top two floors, and I’ll search the dining room and cellar.”
“But my guests are still asleep,” she insisted.
“They’ll have to rise early this morning.”
She followed Rodney as he looked under each table and through the kitchen, praying the darkness would hide Stephan and Persila until they reached the cottage.
The sheriff didn’t ask permission to enter her private quarters, but he did instruct her to light the oil lanterns in both rooms. He glanced around at the furniture in the sitting area, but when he stepped into her bedchamber, his eyes fixated on the window. It was open, about an inch, and a stripe of copper-red streaked across the white-painted windowsill.
“What is this?” Rodney asked, striking his finger through the fresh blood.
She froze, her lips pressed together.
He swung toward her. “Miss Labrie?”
She leaned forward, studying the smear. “It appears to be blood.”
“Do you have any recollection as to how it got here?”
When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to find out in court.”
The bell of her lobby chimed, and she hurried back toward the front door, the sheriff behind her. Several of her guests lined the staircase, looking down at them. She tried to reassure them with her smile, even as her heart was pounding, knowing that they all might vacate if they found out what she had done.
When she arrived in the lobby, all the pounding in her heart seemed to crash in on itself. There were two more white men before her—the second deputy and a man she assumed to be Persila’s master. Secured in the deputy’s hands was Stephan, his hands tied behind his back. And Mr.Webb gripped Persila’s upper arm.
Tears streamed down the woman’s cheeks, and Isabelle wanted to hug her, give her the same hope that Aunt Emeline had given her, but she could do nothing for Persila or her faithful steward right now. The men that held them were much stronger than she—and the law was on their side.
Loneliness gripped her. And fear.
How could she help them now?
Rodney studied the man secured in the deputy’s grasp before looking back at her. “It appears that your steward was an accomplice to this crime.”
“It depends on what you think is criminal.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Labrie.” Rodney opened the front door for his deputies. “Take Stephan and this woman to the jailhouse.”
Mr.Webb didn’t release the woman. “She’s coming home with me.”
Rodney shook his head. “Not until she goes before the judge.”
Mr.Webb looked as if he might fight the sheriff, but he relented, releasing Persila to the sheriff’s care. “I’m following you to the jailhouse,” he said.
Rodney didn’t speak to Isabelle again, but when the door closed behind him and his men, she knew his inquiry about her involvement had just begun.
Chapter 30
Sacramento City
July 1854
The accommodations at the Kirtland House were modest but sufficient. Last night, the proprietor’s wife had flaunted her beauty over dinner, regaling him with stories about her hometown of New York, telling him to call her Fanny instead of Mrs.Kirtland. He had an appreciation for fine food and an even greater appreciation for the familiarity.
Mr.Kirtland hadn’t extended the same courtesy in the use of his first name, but he seemed delightfully unengaged with the comings and goings of his friendly wife.
Victor removed his leather portfolio from the plain bureau and took it down to breakfast with him. If Fanny wasn’t available for hire, perhaps the women in the Sacramento brothels would be more accommodating than the ones in Panama. Or the woman he’d paid back on the ship.
