Thursday February 27, 2025

Final scene of Beatrice Bests the Burglars

Feb 27, 2025

Welcome, I’m Mary Louisa Locke, the author of the USA Today best-selling Victorian San Francisco Mystery series and the Caelestis Science Fiction series. In this daily newsletter, I reflect on my life as an indie author trying to age gracefully. Occasionally, I will also publish some of my shorter fiction in this newsletter to read for free.

Daily Diary, Day 1639:

For the month of February, I am offering, for free, the fifth short story in my Victorian San Francisco mystery series, Beatrice Bests the Burglars. Today is scene 7, the final scene, but if you would like to read the short post I did on why I wrote this short story, click HERE, or if you would like to read the Historical Tidbit on San Francisco boardinghouses in this period, click HERE.

Brief check-in: Big day in terms of exercise, with yoga, cleaning, walk, and all the lifting and standing that happens when I put away the groceries. One phone call, some more research on the Chinese celebration of Qing Ming, and some more plotting. Today I hope to get in two walks, and I also have a video call with my primary care doctor in the morning, then noon zoom meeting, followed by a scheduled phone call, and I will be ready to call it a day!

Beatrice Bests the Burglars
by M. Louisa Locke
Copyright 2019

Scene 7:

“Aunt Bea, you’re saying you fired twice? Are you sure? I only saw one bullet hole, and that was in the floor.”

Beatrice’s nephew, Patrick McGee, picked up the revolver from where she’d placed it on the kitchen table in front of her.

“That was the first shot. I really didn’t want to hurt Jimmy, just scare him. The second shot hit George.” Beatrice wished he’d sit down and stop looming over her. She took a sip of the tea Tilly had made for her. Lots of sugar the way she liked it.

“Jimmy, George? You knew the men?”

“Of course I didn’t know them, common thieves like that.”

“Aunt Bea, you aren’t making any sense.”

Beatrice felt a flash of anger. Looking up at him, she said, “I told you, I heard them call each other by name. The young one, couldn’t be much older than seventeen, eighteen, wore a cap, was named Jimmy. The older man, more in his thirties, shoulders like a bricklayer. His name was George.”

“And you say this gun is yours? Uncle Peter gave it to you?”

“Yes, Patrick, I said that. Stop making me repeat everything and go send a message to headquarters for officers to be on the lookout. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a man with a bullet lodged in his upper left leg.”

She was beginning to regret that it was her nephew, not the local beat patrolman, Officer Stanley, who was here asking her questions.

After Beatrice had watched Jimmy drag the furiously cursing George out of the front door and made sure the door was securely locked behind them, she had hurried down to the kitchen. As she stumbled down the back stairs, she had shouted out that all was well, but that Tilly needed to make sure the back door was locked.

The sight that greeted her when she emerged into the kitchen had almost made her laugh. Tilly, good girl, had her back against the kitchen door, as if to make sure no one could batter it down. Annie was beside her, clutching Abigail up against her shoulder with one hand and holding a frying pan in the other, no doubt ready to hit anyone who dared to try to snatch her baby.

And, the biggest surprise was finding Jamie Hewitt, who had come back in the carriage with them, standing with the iron kitchen poker held up like a baseball bat, ready to swing at any intruder. Even Jamie’s Boston terrier, Dandy, had been doing his part, although his ferocious growls changed instantly into joyful yips as the dog was the first to react to her entrance.

Once Annie understood what had happened, she sent Jamie off to get the police, with instructions first to check around the house to make sure the two men were really gone. The dear boy had run down O’Farrell towards Market, but when he hadn’t seen any sign of Officer Stanley, he’d decided to run up Powell, knowing that he might find Patrick near the Silver Strike Bazaar since that emporium was part of her nephew’s beat.

That’s why Patrick was here now, acting as if she were simple-minded.

Annie, who’d just returned from upstairs where she’d gone to feed and change Abigail, looked quickly over at Beatrice and then said, “Patrick, I don’t think we should take you away from your regular patrol duties any longer…not today of all days.”

“Mrs. Dawson, I need to get a full report.”

“Well, can’t Officer Stanley do that? I’ll make sure someone goes to tell him to stop by on his rounds. For now, you have your aunt’s description to send in, and I am sure that she will be willing to come in later in the week if necessary and look at those clever books you have of photographs of known criminals.”

“But…”

“Patrick, you mind your manners with Mrs. Dawson. I already told you, the thieves didn’t get away with anything,” Beatrice said sharply as she stood up. “I doubt very much they’re going to try to break in anywhere else, with one of them wounded. You run along, do as Mrs. Dawson said. Send in your report and get back to your own duties.”

“Aunt Bea, what if they try to return? I shouldn’t leave you women alone...with the kitchen window broken and all.”

“Oh, saints preserve us, Patrick. Jamie will be back here with Mr. Nate any moment, and if you give me back my gun, I expect I can defend the house from anyone foolish enough to try to climb in again that way.”

Beatrice held out her hand, and Patrick stared back at her for a moment. Finally, he shrugged and slowly lay the revolver down on the table, carefully pointing it towards an unoccupied section of the kitchen.

Next, he nodded politely to Annie, picked up his hat, and paused. With a sudden turn he came over to her and gave her a fierce hug, whispering, “Aunt Bea, I’m just so glad you weren’t hurt.” Then he walked rapidly to the back door.

As he unlocked the door and said, “Be sure to lock up behind me and tell Kathleen I will be by tonight if I can get off before ten. I expect she’s going to be disappointed she missed all the excitement.”

When the door was safely locked by Tilly, Annie told her to run upstairs and get the case for the gun. “Mrs. O’Rourke said she left it on her chest of drawers. I think it would be better if this gun is safely locked away before the children get back. Despite what Officer McGee said, I don’t think we will need to defend the house with any more gunfire tonight.”

Tilly bobbed a curtsy and ran up the stairs and Beatrice said, “I don’t know what’s got into the boy, Annie. I’m sorry he was so rude, not minding you like that.”

Annie smiled. “Bea, my dear, I think Patrick might be having a little trouble accepting that the women he loves seem so capable of taking care of themselves. What with Kathleen’s adventure last New Year’s Eve, now this. I expect my husband’s going to set up a fuss as well.”

“Oh dearie. What will he think! I’m right sorry about all the mess. I should have shouted at them out the window the first I saw they were up to no good. They’d never have broken the kitchen window, or damaged all those locks…you saw what they did to the sideboard, didn’t you? And the front hallway! That bullet tore a hole in it. We best send for old Mr. Fitzgerald, he’ll be able to repair everything. And I want you to take the cost out of my wages.”

“Beatrice O’Rourke, don’t be daft! Who’s to say if you had called down to them, they wouldn’t have been even more eager to break in, force you to open up the rooms and drawers, two strong men like that. And if you hadn’t been here, acted as you did, we would have walked in on them, all unawares. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened.”

“Well, at least they didn’t get away with anything, though I won’t rest easy until I’ve inspected all the silver. Wouldn’t put it past that Jimmy to slip one of the napkin rings in his pocket. Patrick did say there wasn’t any damage to the front door?”

“No, the bullet must have lodged in the man—you said the shot hit his thigh?”

“Yes, it did. Serves that George right, thinking he didn’t have to pay attention to me.” Beatrice suddenly felt her head go all funny, remembering the way the man’s leg jerked, and how he’d howled in pain when the bullet hit his leg.

Annie came over and took her hand, drawing her to the kitchen rocker, where she insisted Beatrice sit. She then handed her Abigail, saying, “Be a love and rock her, she should fall right to sleep.”

Beatrice cradled the child in the crook of her arm, moving a finger so the child could grab hold of it, marveling as she always did at how babies could show glimpses of their future selves in little things. Like the way Abigail tilted her head and frowned as her brown eyes tracked Beatrice’s finger.

Annie pulled a chair over to sit by Beatrice and said, “Are you all right?”

She whispered, “I just hope he doesn’t die…I wouldn’t care to think I’d killed a man.”

“Oh, Bea. Now you are being a silly goose. Patrick said he didn’t see a drop of blood in the hallway or on the front steps. Was right put out by it since it meant he couldn’t track the man. So the bullet surely didn’t hit any vein or artery.”

Abigail cooed, and Beatrice felt unaccountably better.

“You mark my words, Bea. He’s probably sitting in the back room of some saloon right now, chugging down a bottle of whiskey, while someone digs the bullet out. But I bet he’s hoping that no one finds out it was a woman, half his size and twice his age, who bested him.” The End

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