Magnolia (21 page)

“Send that thief out here, Chief Stanton, and we'll lynch him for you!” an angry man called.

As Clayton and Maude went into the police station, Claire turned and moved back to the top step. She glared straight at the man who'd yelled the threat.

“My husband would not steal a nickel if he were starving,” she said firmly. “And anyone who really knew him would be aware of that! If he was the guilty party, why didn't he run?”

There were murmurs. That hadn't occurred to anyone, apparently.

“Would a man who stole so much money stay here?” she continued. “Would an innocent man stay in town and wait for a lynch mob? And if Mr. Calverson, who accused my husband, is so innocent himself, why is he still hiding in his house? The newspaper says he won't even go to work at his own bank. He makes his foul accusations from hiding! Would a brave man do that? And where was he during the run on the bank, when my husband was forced to go out and defend the reputation of it? Was Mr. Calverson risking his own neck? He was not! Only my husband had the courage to face the mob. Is such courage the hallmark of a thief?”

There were more murmurs.

Claire lifted her chin and glared down at the milling crowd. “My husband has been falsely accused. And if you will be patient for just a few days, I will prove it to you.”

There was a long pause and some loud murmuring. Finally the man in front spoke for the rest. “I guess we won't lose any more money if we wait,” he said sullenly.

“Guess he would have run, if he'd done it,” another added. “And he never ran from that mob.”

“In this country a man is supposed to be considered innocent until he is proven guilty,” Claire continued. “My husband will be exonerated, and every penny of your money will be recovered. I promise you so!”

There was another pause and loud murmurs. After a minute one man stepped forward. “We'll see, then,” the mob leader conceded. He let his placard fall and motioned to the other men, leading them away from the jail.

When she got inside, it was to find John being brought out from the back of the building. He stopped when he saw his parents and Claire. He was so shocked he couldn't speak.

“There you are, my boy,” Clayton said heartily, as if they'd parted in harmony only the day before. He moved forward, extending a hand. “I've brought Dennison. He's going to get you out of this place. We'll post bail. Then we'll set about proving you innocent, whatever it takes.”

John's eyes narrowed as he dragged them away from the joyous sight of Claire and looked at the father he hadn't seen in two years. Clayton Hawthorn was thinner, and he looked frail, but his eyes were as determined and fiery as ever. “You're certain that I am innocent?” he asked, with a mocking smile.

“Don't be absurd,” his father said stiffly. “You're my son—even if I have been an old fool of a father. I know you're innocent.”

John met the extended hand and shook it with warmth and respect. “It's good to see you again, sir,” he said formally, although there was sincere feeling in his deep tone.

Clayton smiled faintly. “Yes. It's good to see you, too.”

“Such formality! Men!” Maude grumbled, pushing past her husband to hug her son fiercely. “Oh, my dear! What a mess you've landed yourself in this time!” she said heavily. “But we'll get you out somehow, even if we have to bribe a judge or threaten him at gunpoint.”

“Mother!” John chuckled, hugging her close.

“I do know a judge,” she added thoughtfully as she extricated herself. “We were sweethearts in grammar school. But he sits on the bench in Florida, so he would hardly be any help to us.”

“The truth will be help enough,” Clayton said. “And you can stop flaunting your old boyfriends at me, you hussy!”

Maude giggled, and John looked past his parents to Claire. His heart jumped at the mere sight of her, and he realized how much he'd missed her in his life. He'd never had such a sensation of joy in his life before, but even as his dark eyes glittered with emotion, she lifted her chin and stared at him with frank resentment. He scowled as he saw her belligerent expression. She hadn't forgotten a thing, apparently. He knew then that her resentments would have to be overcome, and it would take time. That was all right. He had plenty of time—if he wasn't lynched in the interim, he thought darkly.

“What are you doing with my parents?” he demanded.

“She's been staying with us,” Clayton offered.

“I decided that it would be the last place you'd look for me,” she told him.

“So it was.” He appeared angry now. “I'd no idea where to find you!”

“You were occupied with Mrs. Calverson just before I left, as you recall,” she said in a near whisper. “I didn't think you'd miss me.”

Maude stepped between them. “This isn't the place,” she said gently.

“You're right,” John agreed reluctantly, still angry at Claire's jibe. “But thank you all for coming, just the same.”

“Families must stick together in times of strife,” Maude told him.

“I've paid the bail,” old Dennison said, rejoining them. “You're free, for the moment,” he added to John. “Let's go.”

John went out the door with them and down to the waiting carriage. It was a tight squeeze, but they managed to fit. The carriage took them to the biggest hotel in town.

“Do you still have the suite at Mrs. Dobbs's house?” Claire asked John. “And is Chester all right?”

“Yes. Mrs. Dobbs refused to throw me out—even in the face of sour public opinion. Quite a woman, Mrs. Dobbs.”

“We'll get rooms here,” Clayton said as the carriage stopped at the Aragon Hotel. “Claire, go home with John and get him cleaned up. Then you can meet us here at the hotel for the evening meal.”

“I don't…” she began, embarrassed.

“Yes, that would be best,” John said before she could talk her way out of going home with him. “We have a lot to say to each other.”

“Do we?” she asked coldly.

The elder Hawthorns waved at them as the carriage pulled off down the street toward Mrs. Dobbs's house.

John leaned back and stared at Claire. She looked fine-drawn and remote, elegant in her dark suit and perfectly
coiffed. He sighed as he thought how good it was to have her home again, even reluctantly. He'd wasted so much of their time together. Now, when the chips were down, she stood by him. Diane, he knew now, would have already run for the hills.

“I'm indebted to you for coming back,” he told her, “and most especially for bringing my parents with you. We've been alienated for some time.”

“I remember.”

“Did my father talk to you about it?” he asked persistently.

She turned in her seat to look at him. “Yes, he told me everything, just as you had. Your father will tell you himself that he deeply regrets blaming you for something that was, after all, an act of God. He has reconciled himself with God and now wishes to do the same with you. He has been very ill. But just lately, he seems to have rallied.”

He smiled. “Because of you, no doubt,” he said, and without sarcasm. “You have a kind heart, Claire. It would take a statue not to warm to you.”

“You're very kind,” she said formally, and looked out the window at the lighted houses.

“I had asked one of the Pinkertons to find you for me,” he remarked.

“Why?” she asked, with honest surprise.

He frowned. “Because I was worried about you. I had no idea where you were, even if you were all right.” He shrugged, glancing away. “And I missed you,” he added stiffly.

“If you'd asked Kenny, I imagine he'd have told you, even though I asked him not to.”

His eyes glittered with suppressed anger. “You think I would go to that prissy little bounder to ask the whereabouts of my wife?” he asked tersely.

“He may be prissy, but he's my friend,” she returned. “He's been a better friend to me than you ever were!”

“Indeed?”

He sounded arrogant again, and jealous. That was a laugh. She sighed, studying him. “There's no need to pretend that you have any feeling for me,” she told him. “I came back out of loyalty, nothing more. I could hardly desert you in your time of need. I had no idea, no idea whatsoever, that you would be accused of embezzling money from your own bank. What an absurd idea! I had to come home and help defend you. It is my duty as your wife.”

He felt the words as if they'd been a blow aimed at his heart. Now he had her real reason for coming back, and it stung. He'd hoped that she might have come back because she still loved him. “I see,” he said dully.

She must have convinced him. Good. She couldn't bear him to know how deeply she loved him, when he was still pining for Diane. “Your parents very kindly gave me a place to stay—and made me welcome while I decided what I was going to do. You needn't worry about me. I can make my own way in the world now.”

“With help from your friend Kenny?” he asked icily.

She searched his hard face. “Actually, yes…in a way,” she
said. She lifted her chin. “My friend Kenny introduced me to a man from New York who has an interest in the evening gowns I design. I will have an income of my own. So my welfare really is no longer your concern,” she said amiably. “You can worry about Diane instead.”

He stared at her without comprehension. As if any mystery man from New York would buy dress designs from an unknown Georgia woman! And what evening gowns? He'd never seen her work on anything like that at her sewing machine, although he did know that she could sew. Most women could, even if ready-wear clothing made it largely unnecessary for women of Claire's class. But he didn't believe her elaborate lie. She was obviously making it up to save her pride and convince him to let her go. “Diane is married,” he reminded her.

“Probably not for much longer, if her husband is indeed the culprit who stole the money. Can you really see Diane following Mr. Calverson to the ends of the earth, guilty or not? She isn't the sort to live on the run, regardless of the amount of money he's embezzled. Her family name means too much to her.”

He was amazed that she knew that. He'd only just learned it the hard way.

“Eli accused me of embezzling the money—and Dawes of being my accomplice.”

“Mr. Dawes will certainly clear you—”

“Mr. Dawes has conveniently vanished.” He interrupted her gruffly. “He was out on bond and apparently left town.
No one has any idea where he is, although Calverson has promised to produce him in time to testify against me.”

“You said the Pinkertons have been called in?”

“Indeed they have, at my insistence,” he said. “And one of their men who served in the war with me just happened to be in town for their convention. He's the best investigator I know. He took Dawes to the police and was working to find evidence against Calverson when I was arrested. Last night he came to see me in jail.”

“He isn't from Atlanta?”

“No, he's from Chicago. He'll work with the local detectives. His name is Matt Davis.” He smiled. “You'll like him. He's quite unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“Wait and see.”

Mrs. Dobbs opened the front door when the carriage pulled up at the house and came out to meet them.

“I'm so glad that you're both back,” she said warmly. “I know you're innocent, Mr. Hawthorn, and I've told everyone so. Are you acquainted with a man named Davis?” she added worriedly. “Because he's inside waiting for you.” She leaned forward. “He looks like that picture on the Indian-head nickel! I think he's an Indian!”

“He is. He's Sioux.”

“Sioux?” Claire exclaimed.

“Yes. Come and meet him.”

“He won't…? That is, he—he doesn't…?”

“Mrs. Dobbs, universal brotherhood…? Forgive and forget…” John prompted, teasing her. “We're all friends now.”

She flushed. “Of course!” She gathered up her skirts. “I hope he knows we are.”

A tall, very dark man in an expensive suit waited for them in the hall.

“Good to see you out again, John,” he said.

John shook the extended hand. “Good to be out, Matt.”

He glanced at Claire with studied indifference, and she noticed that he had very long, straight black hair, tied in a neat ponytail. “The missing Mrs. Hawthorn, I presume.”

“Yes. How do you do, Mr. Davis?”

“Very well, thank you.” He studied her for a minute longer and decided that he need never tell John that he'd discovered her whereabouts. She was back. That was all that mattered. He turned to John. “I heard from the police that your father had arranged for you to be freed on bail. I came by to tell you that I've been checking our files, looking at Calverson's background for anything that might help point a finger toward him. So far I've turned up only one thing that might give us an advantage, and I got that from a reporter who wrote the only story questioning Calverson's accusations. It seems that Calverson was once under suspicion at a bank in Maryland for embezzling. The case was dropped for lack of evidence, although a young clerk was blamed for the theft and spent some time in jail before he
was cleared of the charges. That was just before Calverson opened the Peachtree City Bank in Atlanta.”

John whistled. “Apparently he learned through the experience to have someone standing by to be blamed while he got off.”

“Some would say that he was falsely accused,” Matt replied. “But it sounds like a method of operation to me. And a very successful one. He could get away with it here unless we can catch him with the money somehow.”

“Do you have anyone watching his house?” Claire asked abruptly.

Davis's eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

“He can't be planning to stay in town if he's guilty, can he?” she continued. “He probably knows the case against you won't stand up. Either he has the money with him or he's stashed it somewhere. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if he tried to sneak away in the middle of the night. Now that he's got John on the line, he's very likely to consider it safe to get away. After all, everyone knows that he's been at his house. He's entertained the press there twice.”