Page 122 of The Widow and the Wanted

Goldie stands then. Slow. Royal. Her chair gives a little creak behind her, but nothing else in the room dares make a sound. She comes around the desk. Lula goes stiff, but Goldie does not touch her. She stops just short.

“I will not give you my ledgers,” she says. “Not because I do not love you. But because I do.”

Lula’s eyes shine with fury. “You love yourself.”

“Yes,” Goldie agrees, as if that’s obvious. “And I am only in the position I am to assist you because I am who I am. What of it?”

That challenge changes the air. Okee’s head lifts.

Goldie looks at me again, and there is a spark in her now. “I thought you boys were supposed to be so clever they gave you a fancy name and everything. You still ain’t got this sorted?”

I tug my robe sash again to make sure it's shut. “Well that’s what we’re in here tryin’ to do, ma’am, and you’re makin’ it difficult.”

At that she laughs from her chest, the sound accented with the crackling wheeze of her lungs. “My God, you are adorable.” She comes over and sets a hand on my cheek. It’s cold but oddly comforting, the way only a mother’s hand can be. And as sour as I’d like to be, the touch disarms me.

I couldn't feel more vulnerable if I was standing here barefoot and near naked.

Oh, right. That’s exactly what the hellfire I’m doing, fool that I am.

“Sweetheart,” she says, soft. Eyes like Lula’s years from now looking at me with a kind of love I ain’t earned. “You march in here like a lost lodger in the night, all puffed up and ready to fix your pickle by asking me to put everything on the line on your behalf, is that right?”

My mouth goes dry.

Ain’t heard the idea put like that before, but it seems about right. “Ma’am, if I had the ledgers, I’d hand ’em over my⁠—”

“Forget the ledgers,” she snaps, smacking my cheek gentle before throwing down her arms in frustration. “Your focus is too singular, my dear. You’ll get nowhere. The trick is to think of something else.”

Okee sighs behind me. “Ms. Eld, I can respect your position. But of what use is this information if leveraging it would jeopardize your reputation?”

She smiles. “Now that is the question.”

“It’s not simply leveraging it,” Lula says. “It’s how it’s leveraged. Fine, we can’t have your ledger, but we can tell someone what we know, can’t we?”

“Someone like who?” she asks.

“The newspaper man,” Okee answers. “You know of one, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“So then we’ll meet with him,” he says.

Goldie raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, slow and disbelieving. His expression sharpens, bite creeping into every word. “What would you have us do?”

“I would have you wait in your room as I have repeatedly fucking instructed.” Goldie folds her hands at her waist, looking prim enough for Sunday service while cussing at us like a mule driver. “You are to meet with no one. No one must know you are here.”

Okee draws a breath, and from the look in his eye I can tell he is reminding himself: this is a woman. This is Lula’s mother. Be calm.

I wish I could do the same.

“Look here, Goldie. I get it. You’re a real tough lady. Toughest I’ve maybe ever met. And you’re helping us, and we’re grateful. But let me tell you something you might be grateful for. That stunt your friend Everett pulled at the Verdigris nearly got your daughter killed. If it wasn’t for us, he would have. So instead of yanking us around, why don’t you do us the fine fucking favor of saying something useful?”

Goldie turns her face slowly, looking at him over her shoulder, delight blooming.

“If you weren’t so cute,” she says, “I’d cut your balls off for speaking to me like that in my own office. But seeing as I know you’re only trying to help my daughter, I’ll give you and your beau a pass.”

My heart drops clean through me. I go still, then take one careful step back, the blood draining from my face. I swallow hard. The room goes quiet.