East of Orleans (42 page)

The next morning, gossip filled
Bay Street
. Jacob Hartwell, the nephew of wealthy cotton broker Jules McGinnis, and son of banker Rollins Hartwell, had been found dead. Kate hurrying to her bakery, carrying baby Juliette, mumbled, “I reckon people don’t have anything better to do this morning than to stare and gossip in the streets. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Kate said, kissing Juliette on the cheek.

The paperboy cried out, “Savannah Mornin’ News!” Kate grabbed a paper and handed the boy a coin. Before she headed for the bakery Kate stopped off at
Saint John
the Baptist to light a candle and pray. Kate walked fast with the baby in her arms, ignoring curious stares as she unlocked the door of her bakery. A few minutes later, Isabella and Jesse arrived. Kate had made Juliette a temporary bed in a banana box and placed it on her bakery counter.

“You have her in a banana box?” laughed Isabella. “Look at that head full of black hair!”

“You know, Patrick’s hair was just like hers when he was her age,” said Kate.

“Did ya’ll know they found that Hartwell boy’s body a few miles out of town? From what they’re saying, they had to identify him by his clothes, his face was gone. Seems hunters found him buried under some brush, dogs had dug up his body. He must have made somebody awful mad.”

“I reckon,” said Jesse.

“Whoever did it wasn’t out to rob him. The paper said he had a pocketful of silver,” Kate said.

“It’s in the paper?” asked Isabella with a disturbed look.

“Front page, it’s right here,” Kate said, handing Isabella the newspaper.

Jesse glanced at Isabella with his dark black eyes. She took a deep breath.

“I wonder what business that boy had in
Savannah
? Isabella, isn’t he Jules’s nephew?” asked Kate.

“A Hartwell deserves anything he gets. They force women and children out of their homes to starve!” Isabella said as she ran out of the bakery door.

“Did I say—?” Kate asked.

Jesse interrupted, “No, no—she’s just tired. With all dat’s happened, her nerves are bad.”

Kate took quick, steps over to the bakery door and looked out. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’ll be fine,” said Jesse.

Jacqueline thought of all the things that she had intended to tell Patrick; everything except the two times that she had slept with Jules. But that was all behind her now. She was a married woman, a mother to her beautiful daughter, Juliette. She had thought about telling Patrick about Jules, but then he would question whether he was Juliette’s father, and more than anything, Jacqueline wanted Patrick to be Juliette’s father. She had always heard that when a man loved the mother as much as Patrick loved her, that he would worship the daughter. Besides, Patrick had to be Juliette’s father—there had only been one time when she made love to Jules that he could have gotten her pregnant and surely, that one time would not have done it, or would it? She closed her eyes; she would not think about that, she did not have to—no one would ever know the truth.

Jacqueline heard Patrick coming down the hall outside their hotel door. They had left town for a few days to try and forget Jules and all that was troubling them, but most of all to celebrate their marriage. There were other things that he was pressuring her to tell him. Things like the morning Jacob Hartwell was killed. This, she knew she had to tell him; she just had not found the right moment—maybe the opportunity was now.

Patrick opened the door and came in with the morning newspaper in his hand. “Prominent banker’s missing son found dead,” said Patrick.

“What?” said Jacqueline. She reached out for the newspaper and Patrick handed it to her. Jacqueline read the headlines and she felt sick. She was hoping to tell Patrick about Jacob in her own time, but she supposed now was the time.

“Do you have something that you want to tell me?” he asked.

Jacqueline put out her hands. “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you everything that happened and why I left so abruptly.”

“My darling, how can I help you if you don’t tell me everything,” said Patrick. “When are you going to stop doubting my love for you? Jacqueline, it’s time you place some trust in someone in this world. I am never going to abandon you, do you understand? Your mother, your father, Jules, everybody in your entire life has either deserted or tried to destroy you. I am not going to do that. I love you. If I have to tell you every day of your life, I want you to believe me. For months I’ve heard rumors; all over town. Rumor is that Jules McGinnis sent that low-life Hoyt, and his nephew Jacob Hartwell, to throw you out of your house after his cotton fields were burned. It’s being said all over town that there were five of you in the house that morning—you, Hoyt, Jacob, Isabella and Jesse. Word is that there must have been a fight and somebody killed the Hartwell boy. Of course, we all know that Hoyt was found dead not long after all this took place. And that was no loss—I’m sure a lot of people were mighty pleased when that sonofabitch was found dead. Hell, anybody could have killed that bastard. If given the chance, I would have done it.”

Jacqueline looked around, confused. “I don’t know where to start.” Patrick placed his arm around her shoulder and whispered, “Just start at the beginning.”

“I wanted to, I wanted to more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything, but no, I did not.”

“Then who did?” Jules asked.

“It was an accident,” Isabella said, under considerable strain.

Jules nodded and lit a cigar. “Well, nothing can change the fact that he’s dead and from everything that you’ve told me, hell, he deserved it.”

Isabella broke down and cried. “He killed my daddy, it was him all along. He raped me and then he killed my daddy,” she said crying hysterically.

Jules stood, silently staring into the distance with a pained look on his face. “That boy was always troubled, no one could reach him. You hate to think that some people are just born bad, but I believe that was the case with Jacob. There were many times that I tried to know him, but I never could. Maybe he was just weak; he wanted everyone to think he was strong, but he wasn’t.” Jules didn’t know what to say to Isabella. He couldn’t tell her that Jacob was his son, but he knew that he would have to and soon. Mae was not going to let Jacob’s murder be forgotten. Soon, everyone from
Savannah
to
Atlanta
would know that he was Jacob Hartwell’s father. In the past, he had been able to pay Mae off, but not this time; this time Jules knew that Mae would go to her death before she let this go.

Two days had passed when Jules noticed that a man had been following him to the warehouse. Jules turned around, waiting for the stranger to approach him. But it was the stranger who was the first one to speak. “Good morning, are you Jules McGinnis?”

“That depends.” Jules smiled removing a cigar from his mouth. The man stuck out his hand to shake Jules’s hand. With hesitation, Jules shook the man’s hand.

“I’m the lead prosecutor on a case that’s going to be coming up in
Effingham
County
,” said the man.

“Yeah—” said Jules.

“Grand jury met this morning and looks like there’s reason for questioning,” said the prosecutor.

“So, if you have some time, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Well, actually Mr.—?”

“Jones, Noble Jones,” said the man.

“Mr. Jones, I don’t have any time or any information for you.”

In a clear and sarcastic voice, Mr. Jones said, “Mr. McGinnis, if might be in your best interest to find some time. This thing is going to get ugly.”

Jules slammed the door behind them and looked the prosecutor directly in the eye. “I’ll give you five minutes. Anything you want to ask me, you better ask me now. After your five minutes are up, if you come back in this warehouse, you better bring a subpoena or a gun with you.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. McGinnis?”

“Take it any way you want,” said Jules. He sat down in his leather chair behind his oak desk and removed a bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass from his desk drawer. The prosecutor pulled up a chair and sat down across from Jules. “You want a drink of this?” Asked Jules.

Noble shook his head. “I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. McGinnis. Where were you the day Jacob Hartwell was killed?”

Jules swung around in his chair and looked out over the river. He took a swig of his whiskey.

“Mr. McGinnis, did you understand the question I asked you?”

“Hell, yeah, I heard your goddamn question. Jacob Hartwell was my nephew and I’m still trying to get over the shock of his death. You know, it ain’t been that long since they found his body.”

“Yes, I realize that, Mr. McGinnis, and you have my condolences, but it seems there are a lot of people that would have liked to see Jacob dead. You must understand I’m just trying to do my job.”

There was a long pause, and then Jules said, “Noble, is it all right if I call you Noble?”

The prosecutor nodded and smiled.

“I firmly believe that my nephew’s death was caused by something he done to someone, and as bad as I hate to think it, I’m convinced that he deserved what happened to him. Who killed him? Who knows? I’m like you; from what I hear, it could have been a lot of people. However, I don’t want to see any more people that I care for get hurt. Do you understand what I’m saying? What would it take for you to forget about this investigation? I hear there’s an election coming up next year. Hell,
Savannah
could use a good understanding man like yourself for a judge.”

Noble snapped, “Mr. McGinnis, are you trying to bribe me?”

“Bribe you?” asked Jules, “Why, hell no; I’m trying to convince you to protect some good honest people and I’ll return the favor,” said Jules. He lit a cigar and glanced at Noble Jones.

“Thanks for the offer, Mr. McGinnis, but I have a job to do.” The prosecutor stopped for a moment and then said, “And by the way, I do have a subpoena. You are to appear before the grand jury fifteen days from today.” Noble Jones lay the subpoena on Jules’s desk, turned and walked out the door of the warehouse on
Bay Street
. Jules sat in his chair, drained of all emotion, and finished the bottle of whiskey.