We are delighted to welcome back author Nancy Herriman to Omnimystery News today.
Nancy's second historical mystery set in Old San Francisco, No Pity for the Dead (NAL; August 2016 trade paperback, audiobook and ebook formats), is published next month but she's giving our readers an early glimpse at it with an excerpt from the first chapter.
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San Francisco, June 1867
I'M IN IT FOR SURE. DAN and his buried treasure. Dang it all.
Owen Cassidy glanced over at Dan, the lantern dancing the man's shadow over the cellar wall. He didn't know how long they'd been digging, but they were both down to their sweat-soaked shirtsleeves, and Dan had been cursing under his breath for at least the past quarter hour.
Dan Matthews swore again as another hole revealed only sand and rocks and bits of broken construction rubble that had been used to level the building lot. "Anything there yet, Cassidy?"
"Nope," Owen said.
Soon. Dan would give up soon, and they could stop and pretend they'd never been looking for gold. It had to be soon. Owen was tired of breathing in the dust they'd stirred up, most of it from the coal heaped in the corner, and his left palm had an ugly blister that was sure to burst. Plus, he was scared Mr. Martin would discover that two of the workers he'd hired to refurbish his offices had been down in the cellar poking around. They'd lose their jobs for sure.
Worse still, if Mrs. Davies found out what he was doing, she'd scold the skin plumb off him. And Owen never wanted her mad at him. She was the closest thing to a parent that he had, since his real ones had gone and vanished.
"You sure Mr. Martin would bury gold down here?" Owen asked. "I mean, beneath his offices and all?"
"Where better? His house where some nosy maid might find it?" Dan replied. "Who'd ever come looking down here? And why do you think he's in an all-fired hurry to have this cellar bricked over when it's been fine as it is for so long, huh? 'Cuz he wants his money covered over for safekeeping and none the wiser, that's why."
Dan sealed his commentary with a nod. It did make sense. Sorta.
And then it happened. If only Owen hadn't shifted to his right and begun a new hole.
The sound his shovel made was suddenly very different from the clang of metal on stone. "Dan?"
Dan almost fell in his haste to reach Owen's side. "You've found it!" he crowed. "It's old Jasper Martin's bag of gold!"
He dropped to his hands and knees and started clawing at the ground, forgetting about his own shovel in his haste to reach the wealth he was certain they'd found.
"What the …" Dan drew back, his face going as white as a lady's fine handkerchief. "Shit!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Why won't he leave me be?"
"Who, Dan? What?" Owen asked, trying to get a look past the man's broad shoulders. He couldn't believe what he saw peeking around the peeled-back edge of a length of oilcloth.
Owen felt his stomach churn, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. Because what he saw sure did look like part of a blackened, rotting arm.
"Mrs. Kelly, you must stay off your feet if you do not want this baby to come prematurely."
Celia Davies sat down, the cane-seated chair creaking beneath her, and clasped the hand of the woman grimacing on the bed. Maryanne Kelly's skin was clammy and her pulse rapid. In the adjacent room, the Kellys' young daughter bawled, adding to the tension. Fourteen months since that child had been born and already another was on the way, more quickly than it should.
"But I've nobody to help, Mrs. Davies." Maryanne pressed her lips together as beads of sweat popped on her upper lip. She'd been experiencing night pains off and on for the past week, and Celia worried for her and the baby. From what Celia's examinations had revealed, the fetus was small and not particularly energetic; an early birth might threaten the child's survival. Worse, it had yet to turn head down.
Maryanne exhaled as the current pain passed. "John leaves early and gets home so late from his work, especially lately," she said. "He can't help with the baby. And he can't help with the cooking and the cleaning, either."
If Celia had a penny for every time she'd heard the like from her patients, she would be wealthy by now.
"And don't tell me to hire a nurse," Maryanne added. "You know we haven't any money to spare."
That truth was easily observed by a quick scan of the cramped bedroom where Maryanne lay. The meager contents consisted of a rope-strung bed topped by a straw mattress, the chair Celia occupied, and one chest of drawers that looked as though it had been rescued from a rubbish pile. The linens were clean, however, and the damp air coming through the window was fresh and smelled faintly of the ocean. Celia had seen worse lodgings. Far worse.
"Yes, I know." Celia released Maryanne's hand and stood. She folded away her stethoscope, returning it to the portmanteau that served as her medical bag. "But you must spend more time resting. Ask a neighbor to help. Surely there is someone nearby who can stop in for an hour or two."
"To help a Mick and his wife?" Maryanne asked. "We should've stayed among the Irish rather than live near the Italians and the Spanish and their endless guitar playing. But no, John had to move up here, after we'd had that nice set of rooms off Market and I'd thought we'd finally stay put someplace."
Her daughter's bawling increased in pitch and volume, and Maryanne looked toward the door. "And that one with the colic. What am I to do? Some days I think you're a lucky one with no children, ma'am."
Celia would not call it luck. And she expected she never would have children, especially given her singular lack of a husband residing with her.
"You will feel more cheerful after the baby is born, Mrs. Kelly."
"That's what John says, too."
"Take some sage tea to ease your pains or a teaspoon of paregoric if the tea does not work." Celia snapped shut the portmanteau and tossed her mantle over her shoulders. "For your daughter's colic, you can try some ginger tea, if she'll have it. Otherwise, a warm compress on her belly might help."
"I just wish John could be here more often," the other woman said. "I'm worried he won't be with me when the baby finally does come. But I wouldn't want him to lose his job because he's tending to me. He had such poor luck at work before we came to San Francisco."
"Do ask a neighbor for help, Mrs. Kelly. You might be surprised to discover who is willing to assist a woman in labor." It was a common enough condition among the women who lived in the lodgings that spilled down the hills toward the Golden Gate, and many would be sympathetic.
"I would be surprised," said Maryanne, hauling herself to her feet, a hand on her protruding belly.
"There's no need to show me out," said Celia.
"Do you need a candle to light your way home? The fog's coming in thick tonight."
"I've only a few blocks to walk, Mrs. Kelly." Celia fastened her blue wool mantle atop her garibaldi and grabbed her bag. "I will be fine."
"You've more courage than I do to walk these streets alone at night, ma'am."
"They are not so bad." Which was what she always told her housekeeper as well. Addie Ferguson tended not to believe Celia, either.
Maryanne thanked her, and Celia let herself out the front door. The fog was indeed thick, thick as the fogs she'd experienced in London, the corner gaslight a fuzzy spot of yellow in the distance. Mist swirled around a horse and rider passing on the intersecting street, a shadow moving through the blanketing white like a specter. After an anxious inhalation, Celia descended to the street, clutching her portmanteau close.
It was only a few blocks to reach home, she reminded herself. She was well-known in the area and would be perfectly safe.
Better still, she was a very fast walker.
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Photo provided courtesy of
Nancy Herriman
Nancy Herriman retired from an engineering career to take up the pen. She hasn't looked back. A multi-published novelist, she is also a former winner of the RWA Daphne du Maurier award for Best Unpublished Mystery/Romantic Suspense. When not writing, she enjoys singing with various choral groups, gabbing about writing with friends, and eating dark chocolate. After two decades in Arizona, she now lives in her home state of Ohio with her family.
For more information about the author, please visit her website at NancyHerriman.com and her author page on Goodreads, or find her on Facebook and Twitter.
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No Pity for the Dead by Nancy Herriman
A Mystery of Old San Francisco
Publisher: NAL
A courageous nurse and a war-scarred police detective in 1860's San Francisco champion the down-trodden and fight for justice …
British-born nurse Celia Davies runs a free medical clinic to assist the poor women of San Francisco. Aided in her endeavors by her half-Chinese cousin Barbara and feisty housekeeper Addie, Celia has earned the trust and friendship of many of the city's downtrodden, including a young orphan named Owen — who's just confided to her that he's stumbled upon a corpse.
Owen recently started working for the ruthless real estate and development group, Martin and Company, and discovered a dead body in the office's basement. Celia turns to Detective Nick Greaves for help, only to learn that one of the main suspects — the husband of Celia's dearest friend — is an old enemy of Nick's.
Now, Celia and Nick must put aside their personal feelings about the case — and each other — if they're going to bring a killer to justice …
— No Pity for the Dead by Nancy Herriman
