Deep in the Heart of Trouble (20 page)

Tony fell back against his chair.

Essie looked between the two men. Who was Finch Morgan?

M.C. lifted his gaze. “Don’t ya wanna know what the cause of death was this time?” He pulled his napkin free from where he’d tucked it into his collar. “Gastric fever.”

Tony’s lips parted.

M.C. turned to Essie. “This will be the second one in just over a year.”

She frowned. “Second wife to die?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sympathy filled her. “Childbirth?”

“No, ma’am. They died of gastric fever.”

She blinked. “
Both
of them?”

“ ’Fraid so.” He pointed his spoon at Tony. “I believe our boy here knew the family, didn’t you, son?”

Tony rubbed the strip of skin just beneath his nose. “When did she die?”

“Last week.”

Folding her napkin, Essie wondered again at Tony’s familiarity with these Morgans. First Anna, then Finch, and now his deceased wife?

“Who exactly is Finch Morgan?” she asked.

“I’m not right sure of his exact connection to the family,” M.C. said. “Tony’ll know, though.”

Tony combed his fingers through his hair. “He’s first cousin to Darius Morgan.”

“Maternal or paternal side?” M.C. asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Paternal,” Tony ground out.

“I see,” Essie said. But truth was, she didn’t see. She didn’t at all understand how Tony had such intimate knowledge of the Morgan family. Intimate enough to call them by their first names and intimate enough to know who was related to whom.

Then a more disturbing thought occurred to her. If Anna was Darius Morgan’s sister, then she was in line to inherit Morgan Oil. And Essie was in line to inherit Sullivan Oil.

Her heart sped up. Was Tony a modern-day fortune hunter? Was he looking to woo the beneficiaries of oil tycoons until he found one gullible enough to fall for him?

Papa might not have old money the way the Morgans did—and therefore was not a tycoon—but in Texas, Sullivan Oil was by far the biggest producer.

She studied Tony’s drawn face. One thing was certain. Anna Morgan was much more to Tony than the daughter of his old boss.

chapter EIGHTEEN

TONY HAMMERED Mrs. Lockhart’s kitchen door with his fist. In the twilight, he could see the backyard was not kept nearly as nice as the front. Weeds filled the gardens, vines rode up the derrick’s legs, a loose board shifted beneath his feet, and paint peeled off the porch railings.

The door swung open. “What are you doing here?” Mrs. Lockhart asked, ushering him inside. “Aren’t you supposed to be training for the bicycle race?”

“I decided to stop here first. Is it a bad time?”

“No, no. Come in. Have you had your supper?”

“Yes, ma’am. I ate down at Castle’s.”

She tsked. “Sit down. I’ll slice you up some fruitcake.” She served them both a piece, poured two cups of coffee and joined him at the table. “Now, what’s wrong?”

“Have you heard from your daughter?”

“Goodness, Tony, there hasn’t been enough time for a response. Why?”

“I found out that Darius has arranged a marriage between my sister and Norris Tubbs.”

“What! Who’s Norris Tubbs?”

“Part owner of the H&TC Railroad. Both my father and Darius have been trying to get him in their back pocket for some time now. The man is old enough to be Anna’s grandfather.”

“Is there any chance whatsoever that your sister is amiable to the match?”

Tony scoffed. “She cannot stand the man.”

Mrs. Lockhart drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, don’t panic. Your father’s not been in his grave even two months. Anna’s betrothal is nothing short of scandalous, but she won’t be able to marry for at least another ten months or more.”

“They are to marry before the month is out.”

“Impossible! How do you know?”

“I heard it today from a driller by the name of M.C. Baker.”

She touched her throat. “Good heavens.”

“I’ve got to do something.” He jumped up from the table. “But short of kidnapping her, I can’t think of a thing.”

“Dear me.” She watched him pace, a worried frown on her face. “In
Her Martyrdom
, Lady Charlewood sequestered herself in a convent. Perhaps—”

Tony whirled around. “This is not some senseless romance novel!

This is my baby sister we are discussing, and I’ll thank you to treat the topic with the seriousness it deserves.”

The elderly woman straightened her spine. “How dare you take that tone with me, sir.”

His shoulders slumped. “Mrs. Lockhart, please. I meant no offense. I’m merely trying to point out that—”

“If you want my assistance, you’d best watch both your tone and your tongue.”

He said nothing.

“Sit down.”

He returned to his chair.

“I see you brought my novels back,” she said, eyeing the two books he’d set on the table upon his arrival.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you read
Marjorie’s Fate
?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“And what did you conclude?”

“That Dr. Letsom was a scoundrel.”

“I see.” She folded her hands on the table. “And what brought you to that conclusion?”

“He loved no one more than himself. He acted out of turn without thinking through the consequences. He ruined the woman he professed to love.”

She took a sip of coffee. “And what of Miss Marjorie?”

“She was taken advantage of. How could a young, naïve thing like her have been expected to know what he was up to?”

“She knew the difference between right and wrong. She knew she was breaking the rules of society. She knew she was lying to her parents.”

He leaned back in his chair. “What are you saying? It was her fault?”

“I’m saying they both made poor choices.”

“All right. I’ll agree with that.”

“Good.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Now, about your sister. I will wire my daughter and tell her I am coming to Beaumont on tomorrow’s train. Meanwhile, can you get word to Anna to meet me at the First Baptist Church on Pearl Street two days from now at ten in the morning?”

He put his chair down. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll see for myself how Anna feels about this match. If she is as reticent as you say she is, I will tell her to sit tight for now, but to be ready for action the moment you or I send word. In the meanwhile, I am going to do some research.”

“Research?” he asked. “What are you going to research? Your romance novels?”

“The very same.”

Rubbing his eyes, he checked his irritation. “Have you ever met Anna before?”

“Of course, but only briefly.”

“I’ll give you a letter to take with you, then. Now, what about your daughter’s husband, Archie? He’s Darius’s right-hand man.”

Mrs. Lockhart frowned. “Archie is not anyone’s ‘right-hand man.’ He is an employee of Morgan Oil. No more. No less.”

“I didn’t mean to imply Archie would be involved in anything untoward.”

“I should think not. Nevertheless, I don’t wish to jeopardize his job, nor put his loyalties to the test. So you can be assured I will be very discreet.” She stood. “Now, I need you to go so I can begin my research.”

“Mrs. Lockhart, I’m not sure that romance novels—”

She handed him his hat. “You may pick me up tomorrow morning and carry my bag to the train station for me. By that time, I will have several options for you to consider.”

He stood with indecision. What other choice did he have? He could go to Beaumont himself and confront Darius, but that would solve nothing. His brother would go to great lengths to protect this coveted connection with Norris Tubbs, just like Tony would go to great lengths to protect his sister.

But Darius had the upper hand. He was Anna’s legal guardian and had the ability to keep Tony from getting anywhere near her or Mother until it was too late. Darius would also have Tubbs’ power and support behind him.

But he would never suspect Mrs. Lockhart. Tony doubted Darius even knew who she was. If he got wind of it, though …

Tony gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You must be very careful. Darius isn’t evil, but he’s greedy. If you were found out, no telling what he’d do. At the very least, Archie would lose his job.”

She nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

“You won’t do anything without discussing it with me first?”

“Of course not.”

“All right, then.” He settled his hat on his head. “I’ll come by for you first thing tomorrow morning.”

With Mr. Baker in town, Essie had to forgo Tony’s bicycle training. Instead, she and Papa had Baker, Uncle Melvin, Aunt Verdie, and Preacher Wortham over for supper. Papa had wanted Tony to join them, now that he was officially courting her, but she’d insisted that Tony train instead, even if she wasn’t there with him. But what she really wanted was an opportunity to speak with Mr. Baker without Tony present.

Slicing an apple pie at the sideboard, she served up six plates while Aunt Verdie placed them on the table. The sheriff’s wife was a handsome woman, her blond hair highlighted with silver. Having never had children, she had the hourglass figure that every woman in town coveted—a tiny, tiny waist with extremely generous proportions both above and below.

“My crew should get here within a couple of days,” Mr. Baker said, “and then we’ll be able to get started.”

“I’ll take you through the fields tomorrow, then,” Papa replied. “We’ve started drilling outside the city limits now.”

“That’s what Tony was sayin’. ”

Essie slid back into her chair. “Have you known Mr. Bryant for long?”

Mr. Baker looked at her with confusion, before his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean Tony? Well, I guess that depends on what you’d call ‘long.’ I’ve been in Beaumont off and on for a couple of years.”

“Off and on?”

“Yes, ma’am. My brother and I have been drillin’ water wells all over the state, but our families are in Beaumont and so we always return there between jobs. That’s how I got to know Tony.”

“I see.” She scooped up a bite of pie with her fork. “You know his family, then?”

“Oh, I know who they are, but I don’t know them personal-like the way I do him.”

She frowned. How could he know Tony and not his family? That didn’t make a bit of sense. Not in a small town like Beaumont. But she couldn’t think of a graceful way to ask such a question.

“I’m surprised Morgan Oil didn’t hire you to drill for them, what with you right there and all,” Uncle Melvin said.

“Well, I reckon we were so busy with our water business that we didn’t really think about drillin’ fer oil until here recently when we heard they was using rotaries up in Pennsylvania—and very successfully, I might add. But once we got wind of it, we went straight to Tony.”

“And did Mr. Bryant contract your services?” the preacher asked.

“No, sir. Before any firm plans were made, Mr. Morgan passed.

And now, well, the new boss is still sorting out which end is up.”

“Tony knows the Morgans quite well, then?” Essie asked.

Color rushed to Mr. Baker’s cheeks. “I’d say that’s a safe assumption, ma’am.”

“Oh?”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. He, uh, he worked for them.” He glanced at Papa, then back at her. “You did know that, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes, of course,” she replied. “He said he ordered their equipment and such.”

Mr. Baker visibly relaxed. “That’s right. That’s why I went to him about the rotary drill.”

“And what about you? Do you know the Morgans?”

“No, ma’am. Just …” His voice tapered off.

“Just … ?” she prompted.

“Just from a distance, ma’am.”

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Mr. Bryant seemed upset about Miss Morgan’s betrothal to Mr., um, Tubbs, I believe?”

Mr. Baker’s eyes darted in two different directions. “Did he?”

“He certainly did. Were he and Miss Morgan close?”

With a large, stubby finger, the driller pushed the last bite of dessert onto his fork. “They went to school together, I believe.”

Before she could continue her line of questioning, Aunt Verdie interrupted.

“The pie was delicious, dear,” she said. “Every bit as good as your mother’s.”

The others at the table echoed her sentiments and Essie smiled her thanks.

Papa pulled his napkin from his neck. “Mr. Baker? Preacher? Melvin? Would you care to join me for a cigar?”

The driller shoved back his chair. “I’d be much obliged, sir.” He turned to Essie. “The meal was mighty fine, ma’am. Mighty fine.”

Thanking him, she stood and gathered their plates while the men retreated to the front porch. She realized many of her questions about Tony and his relationship to the Morgans could have been answered if her father had simply thought to ask Tony when he first brought up the idea of courting her.

But Papa had relegated that discussion to her and now it seemed a bit late to start inquiring about it. Or maybe it wasn’t. Now that they were officially courting, it was only natural she’d want to know about his family and his past and, certainly, his connection to Morgan Oil.

“You have somethin’ on your mind, Essie-girl?” Aunt Verdie asked.

Essie glanced out the window, trying to judge the time. “I was just thinking about Tony. Perhaps if we hurried with these dishes, I could still catch him before he left the bicycle club.”

Her aunt’s expression softened. “You run on, now, and see to that man of yours. I’ll take care of these dishes.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Essie shook her head. “No, really. I wouldn’t feel right.”

Without further argument, Aunt Verdie cleared the table, and Essie made short work of the dishes. She was just finishing up when she spotted Ewing and Mr. Baker through the window. They’d come around from the front and moved into the backyard, deep in discussion.

Mr. Baker was clearly distressed. Ewing placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, stopping him. The preacher glanced at the house, frowning, then said something to Mr. Baker. Both men bowed their heads.

Essie slipped into the clubhouse, surprised to see Tony was only on the Indian clubs. He should have finished with those long ago. He juggled them in the air with much more precision than Sharpley ever had.

Pushing aside thoughts of Anna Morgan, Essie allowed excitement over the upcoming race to fill her. She only wished she had more time to prepare Tony.