Cade's Justice. Pat Tracy

encouraged me to write and rewarded my efforts with lots of lovely A’s. I don’t know where you are, “Mrs. Horowitz,” but I want to thank you for loving English (you did, didn’t you?) and teaching your students to think for themselves.

      

      If any of my readers happen to know a Carolyn Horowitz who taught at La Puente High School, California, 1963-1964, please write to me at P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454.1 would love to send her an autographed copy of this book.

      

      * * * * *

      SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      

      Maxine Metcalf, friend for life. Thank you for your generous proofreading services. You saved my skin. Again.

      

      Flora Jorgensen, Debbie Ricks, Sherry Roseberry, Martha Tew and Vonda Wilson. You’re the critique group from heaven. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

       Chapter One

      The wrought-iron gate leading to Gideon Cade’s brick mansion stood ajar. In Emma January Step’s present mood, it wouldn’t have mattered if the gate was padlocked. She would have found a way through it.

      She proceeded up the rain-slickened flagstone path. During the two-hour walk from the academy, the strips of newspaper she’d tucked inside her worn shoes had dissolved into squishy clumps. The numbing chill that seeped through to her feet added to her discomfort.

      Emma sensed more than saw the dark blur that streaked past her. Before her startled eyes, a shadow materialized from the damp mist shrouding the front porch of the three-story residence.

      She pressed a palm to her racing heart. “Good grief, what are you doing here?” The less-than-cordial question was directed at the huge, hairy hound now blocking the doorway.

      “You followed me, didn’t you?” she demanded of the drenched creature. Without a flicker of apology, the dog’s steady gaze met hers. “And you raced ahead at the last moment to beat me here. I should have known it was a mistake to feed you.”

      Emma continued up the stone path. Shrewd intelligence gleamed back at her from the disreputable mutt’s black eyes. Clearly, it had been a mistake to smuggle him table scraps from the academy’s kitchen. Obviously, the motley beast had decided he could count upon her as a source of food.

      “You’ve followed me in vain,” she informed him in no uncertain terms, gingerly maneuvering herself around him on the porch. “I haven’t a morsel of food on me.”

      She drew her damp cloak more closely about her and steeled herself against the reproach she detected in his unwavering canine regard. After all, one could hardly be expected to remember such minor details as feeding a stray animal when one’s world came crashing about one’s shoulders. From the dog’s point of view, though, she supposed being fed was a matter of vast importance.

      “I’m sorry.” She sighed, unable to endure this added burden of guilt. “I should have thought to bring you something to eat. Just go away for now, and let me conduct my business without interruption.”

      Guilt weighed more heavily upon her. “I promise to bring you a giant soup bone when we return home.”

      Emma bit her lip. The academy where she taught was neither her nor the dog’s home. She couldn’t speak for the beast, of course, but, as for herself, she hadn’t known a place that could be so termed since she was three years old. Because she couldn’t remember anything of her early years, that meant that to all intents and purposes she’d never experienced living in a real home.

      “Shoo,” she said forcefully, determined to accomplish her mission.

      The animal’s lower jaw went slack. Looking for all the world like a fallen banner, his pink tongue drooped from the side of his mouth. Even though he cocked his head in an attitude of submission, the dog stayed put.

      “Suit yourself, but I’m warning you. If you expect any more food from me, you better be on your best behavior.” Resigned to the dog’s presence, she reached for the oversize brass knocker that decorated the tall, ornately carved ebony door.

      Emma engaged the knocker. A series of reverberating clangs broke the early-morning stillness. As she waited for someone to answer, she wiped the soles of her muddy shoes on the front mat. The potent stench of wet dog fur reached her. She could only hope that whoever opened the door wouldn’t think it was she who reeked of rainwater mixed with what was surely years of collected dirt and fleas.

      Trying to dismiss the thought, she focused upon the fortunate coincidence of Gideon Cade’s residence having been pointed out to her the day before. She and several of her students had been returning to the academy after occupying a pleasant afternoon contemplating the beautifully rendered paintings and statues displayed in Mr. Burke Youngblood’s nearby private art gallery. As their rented conveyance passed through the affluent Denver neighborhood, Mr. Cade’s niece, Courtney, had proudly gestured to the brick mansion and identified it as her uncle’s home.

      Emma was about to re-employ the knocker when the door suddenly swung open.

      The best means of compensating for both her humble origins and a distressing lack of height, Emma had learned, was to get immediately to the point. “I must see Mr. Cade at once.”

      The large, disheveled man glaring down at her said nothing, nor did his unfriendly expression alter.

      From the frayed condition of his drab blue robe, she deduced that he was a servant and not the notorious Gideon Cade of whom she’d been reading in the daily newspapers. According to vitriolic editorials, the ruthless and incredibly rich freighting tycoon was hardly likely to be traipsing about his mansion in such shoddy garb. From the scores of unflattering stories being circulated about him, he would far more likely have been found strolling about with a crown upon his head and wielding a smoking pistol for his scepter. A recent article had portrayed Courtney’s uncle as a cross between a vicious vigilante renegade and an arrogant foreign potentate.

      Emma returned the servant’s belligerent stare. “I trust I do not need to repeat myself, sir.”

      The yellowish splash of light provided by the lamp on a table behind him made the shocks of white hair sticking up from his scalp look like oily shafts of lightning. Despite his giant frame, the man glaring down at her resembled an irate troll guarding the castle gate against any who had the temerity to trespass upon his master’s domain.

      “Have you any idea of the hour?” the scowling troll demanded, his bushy eyebrows converging over his remarkably huge and pitted nose.

      “Certainly.” Emma pushed back the cloak she’d worn to blunt the night chill and consulted the timepiece pinned to her gray bodice. Unfortunately, the light was so poor she couldn’t make out the position of the hands upon the inexpensive watch. “My best estimate is that it’s half past one. Now, please be so good as to fetch Mr. Cade.”

      “In the morning,” the troll intoned balefully.

      “That’s right.” She refastened her cloak. She’d checked on Courtney at 11 p.m., expecting to see her settled in bed. The subsequent seven-mile walk here had consumed a lot of time. “Now that we’ve established the hour, you may summon Mr. Cade. I’m here on a matter of grave urgency.”

      The servant chuckled gruffly. “If I disturb him again tonight, it will be grave, all right. Yours and mine.”

      “Now see here—”

      “Miss,” he said, interrupting her, his droopy eyes and tone unexpectedly conciliatory, “you best come back at a decent hour.”

      Emma had no intention of leaving without telling Mr. Cade his niece had disappeared. She inched closer to the doorway. If she had to, she would push her way past him. Returning