Free The Russian Hill Murders by Shirley Tallman Page A

Woodward’s Gardens is a splendid way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”
    “Woodward’s Gardens was never the question, though, was it? I’m the problem, although I doubt it’s anything personal. You probably would behave the same toward any man who showed you any interest.”
    “Mr. Godfrey, really—” I started to object, but he cut me off.
    “Unlike most of your sex, you aren’t looking for a man to take care of you.” He smiled at what must have been my shocked expression. “You’re intelligent, independent and know what you want from life. Most extraordinary, you’re not afraid to go after it. I’ve traveled the world, Sarah, yet I’ve never met another woman remotely like you.”
    I found myself at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
    “I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you. It’s just that I find you remarkably refreshing. I can’t remember when I’ve had a more enjoyable time.”
    “I think—” I said hoarsely, annoyed when I had to stop to clear my throat. “I think most men would find the qualities you named intimidating rather than refreshing. At least that’s been my experience.
    “Then we must broaden your horizons, Miss Woolson,” he said softly.

    His words, though seemingly harmless, were spoken in a tone so laden with hidden meaning that I felt goose bumps rise on my arms. Evening was fast approaching, and Pierce sat cast in partial shadow, but enough light fell upon him to reflect his eyes gazing at me speculatively.
    “So, have you decided whether or not to accept my business proposition?” he asked.
    “Your what?” I said, caught off guard.
    “Last week I asked if you would act as my attorney on some company business. You haven’t given me your decision.”
    “Ah, yes. Actually, I think it would be best if you brought this up with Mr. Shepard,” I said, remembering the senior partner’s rage over Lily Mankin’s case. That incident would be nothing compared to my agreeing to represent a company as large as Godfrey Shipping!
    He regarded me for a moment, then nodded. “As you wish. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your employer, but I’ll call upon him first thing tomorrow morning.”
    “You realize it’s highly unlikely he’ll allow me to represent you.”
    “Of course; that’s why I came to you first. Your employer’s chauvinism is no less than I expected.” Again, that unreadable smile. “Don’t worry, Sarah, I’m confident he can be made to see reason.”
    I didn’t return his smile. I knew Joseph Shepard and, by his own admission, Pierce did not.
     
     
    T hat evening I attended a meeting of the hospital board at the Barlow home on the north slope of Russian Hill. This was an older, more established area than the summit—where the Godfreys’ home was situated—but it, too, commanded a spectacular view of the city.

    Mama and Celia, who were members of the board, were excited that the group had successfully leased the Battery Street warehouse. Now everyone was eager to finalize plans for the necessary renovations.
    It surprised me when Mama and Celia grew tense as we approached the Barlow home shortly before eight.
    “What is it?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
    “It’s that fanatic, Reverend Halsey,” Mama replied. “Every time we hold a board meeting, he’s lying in wait outside, ranting and waving his Bible at us.”
    “Thank goodness he doesn’t seem to be here tonight,” Celia said with a little shudder. “He makes my skin crawl.”
    “Speaking of Halsey,” I put in, “Mr. Godfrey and I saw him today preaching outside Woodward’s Gardens. Actually, screaming fire and brimstone is more like it. He actually incited a riot and the police had to be called out.”
    “I just wish he’d go back to Los Angeles or wherever he comes from,” Mama said. “I wonder if he realizes how many enemies he’s making?”
    And with those naively prophetic words, we went inside.
     
     
    E veryone gathered in the Barlow front parlor. The