Tresia straightened her shoulders and moved away from the bear to stand directly behind the counter, keeping the glass and wood structure between them, her focus on Frances though from the corner of her eye she watched Humbolt gravitate toward one of the ceramic tea sets on display. “Avery isn’t here.”
The resounding crash of that tea set being swept off the table onto the floor made her jump, but she never lost focus. Anger flashed through her.
“Get Avery.” Frances barked. “She’s my blood.”
“I will not. She doesn’t belong with you. She belongs with her father.”
Another cacophony of noise made her flinch as Humbolt pushed a table filled with brand new copper pots and pans to the floor. The sound seemed to echo, and she turned her head for a just a moment, not only to stare at the man, but to try to discern what could be used as a weapon to defend herself.
Frances smiled, a parody of what a real smile should be as she took a few steps closer. Her eyes were wild, so dark they appeared almost black, and held what Tresia could only assume was rage. Or insanity. Perhaps both.
“Humbolt is enjoying himself,” Frances said in a voice that confirmed the woman was indeed utterly mad as all the shovels and rakes, brooms and mops leaning against the wall went clattering to the floor. Tresia refused to flinch again.
Was he trying to distract her? Make her take her eyes off Frances? Yes, he was. And he was moving closer to her, step by slow step as each display tumbled or crashed to the floor, which didn’t help the fear and anger that made her heart pound and her mouth dry up.
She took a breath to help her remain calm, though it didn’t work, and moved slightly, taking a few steps further away fromHumbolt, which brought her closer to Frances, though she was still behind the counter.
She had to find a way to reason with the woman but how was that accomplished with someone like her? Reason didn’t seem to be something Frances understood.
Another crash resounded as Humbolt swept all the dishes from the shelves where they were—had been—displayed. Her hands curled into fists at the damage. On the outside, she fought to look calm.
“I thought you were going to ruin Devlin.”
That made the woman deflate, just a little, as her cheeks reddened. “I’ve changed my mind.” She acted as if it didn’t matter, though Tresia could see it plainly did. “It seems that Devlin Goodrich is a true hero. No one on my payroll wants to touch him.” She glanced at Humbolt. “Except for him. He has an axe to grind with the marshal, don’t you?”
Humbolt grinned and it was even more evil than Frances’ smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tresia stared at the man, unable to take her focus away from him and that wicked grin. She shouldn’t have done that. She felt rather than saw Frances take another step toward her. She swung her gaze back to the woman and finally saw her salvation—a way to defend herself.
There, on one of the tables, was a weapon—the hammer she’d used earlier to fix that table. There was a screwdriver, too. They weren’t much, but she could reach them. She wished now that she had kept a gun hidden in one of the cubbies behind the counter, but she’d never been a fan of guns. How ironic that she married a man who used guns for a living.
She moved a little closer to the table.
“A little more, Humbolt, if you please. I think we’re making Tresia here nervous.” The woman cackled, actually cackled, making the hair on the back of Tresia’s neck rise, as Humboltpushed over her display of soaps—the one she’d worked so hard to get right.
And Tresia made her move. She stepped from behind the counter, grabbed the hammer and paused. What could she do with it? There were two of them and only one of her.
“What are you going to do with that?” Frances laughed as she pulled a little derringer from her pocket and aimed it at her. “A hammer is no defense against a bullet.”
What she needed was help. Something to draw attention. She glanced at Humbolt. He was closer, almost to the counter.
She hauled back and threw the hammer with all her might toward the plate glass front window. It shattered with a loud crash.
“Well, that was a stupid thing to do. Now you have no weapon.” Frances laughed and glanced toward Humbolt, who was much closer now than he had been. He reached for her, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her chest, lifting her off her feet. He squeezed tight, making it difficult to draw a breath. She struggled, trying to get free, but he squeezed a little harder. Not only could she not breathe, but dark spots shadowed her vision. If she kept struggling, Humbolt would likely squeeze the life from her.
“Now where is my granddaughter? She’s not at the house. She’s not here and she’s not at your friend, Lucy’s, either, so where are you hiding her?”
Tresia struggled to speak. “If you kill me, you’ll never know.”
“You’re smarter than I thought, but you won’t win against me. Humbolt here has ways of convincing people to talk. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.” Her eyes narrowed as she focused on her henchman. “Show her.”
Devlin finished writing his report and started to close the ledger. He stopped with his hand on the edge of the hardcover journal and just stared out the window, remembering how delicious Tresia had looked earlier this morning.
He rose from his desk and strolled toward the front door but before he could open it, it flew open and banged against the wall.
Paul Jennings, the Ice Man, rushed into the office, breathless, his face perspiring, his movements stiff and jerky in obvious panic. “Something’s happening over at Sullivan’s!” he blurted out.
Tresia was at the store. Devin placed a hand on the man’s arm. “What’s happening?”
