Heart of Lies (5 page)

“Mebbe, but he could hurt you pretty bad.”

“She’s constantly talking about going on to Kentucky. I’ll say she ran off when I was out checking my traps and get them to head northeast.”

“You’re not a very good liar anymore.”

Maddie shrugged. “I’m just out of practice.”

Anita finished off her coffee and let the empty cup sit. “They’d know you’d never let her out of your sight.”

Maddie leaned closer, lowered her voice. “You’ve got to help me get her home to her people. There is no tribe now, and I want no part of starting another one. I’m done thieving, but the twins are never going to change. It’s high time I face it.”

“You’re right about the twins. They’ll never make an honest living,” Anita said.

“Orphans and abandoned street urchins are one thing, but stealing someone’s child is unthinkable to me now. When I think of the suffering this little girl’s mother must be going through—” Maddie took a deep breath, then let it out.

Seated on the floor across the room with one hand on Anita’s hound, Penelope watched them intently. “Are you two whispering about me?”

“I’m leaving you here for a day or two,” Maddie said.

“Where
is
here? Are we any closer to a town?” Penelope stood and tapped one foot and then the other. “I’m warning you; you better take me to Paducah to my Aunt Gail’s — or you’ll be in big trouble with my papa. B-i-g trouble.”

“I’m going to take you back home, but I just need to pack up a few things first.”

“What about those other two?”

Maddie took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “That’s why you have to stay here. They’ll be back any minute now.”

Anita sighed and shook her head. “This is against my better judgment.”

Penelope studied Anita for a moment and then crossed her arms. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“You’ll be safer here.”

“Are you coming back soon?” Penelope’s voice cracked. Some of her bravado had diminished.

“Really soon.”

“Then are you taking me to Kentucky?”

“I’m taking you back where you belong.”

Maddie hardened her heart — at least she tried anyway. She turned away and headed for the door. It creaked on its hinges as she swung it open. Penelope and Anita followed her out onto the dock and watched as Maddie carefully climbed into the pirogue. Before
Penelope could attempt to follow her down the plank steps to the waterline, Anita placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Madeline, take me with you!” Penelope demanded. She stamped her foot hard against the dock. “I don’t
want
to stay here. I
won’t
stay here. I don’t know this woman.”

“It’s just for a day or two.”

Maddie heard Anita speaking softly to the child. She focused on the dark water, careful not to lose her balance. Once she was a few yards away, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Penelope and Anita stood side by side watching her.

“You had better hurry back!” Penelope called. “Or you’ll be sorry. You hear?”

Maddie turned around. This time she didn’t look back.

T
wo nights after he spoke to Frank Morgan, Tom was still sporting a growth of stubble on his jaw. Dressed in a battered hat and faded brown coat, he walked into the Yellow Moon Saloon on Gallatin Street and headed straight for a group of men crowded around the bar. The Yellow Moon’s reputation as a den of sin was comparable to most of the haunts in the city’s underworld district, yet Tom was as at home here as he was in fine cafe’s like the Absinthe House.

Free lunches had recently become popular in the Crescent City. Not only could the wealthy partake of the saloon owners’ generosity, but thousands of unemployed and impoverished men were assured one hot meal a day. For the price of a fifteen-cent drink, patrons could ladle up a bowlful of oyster soup accompanied by bread and butter and, depending on the menu, beef,
poulet,
mutton, stewed tomatoes, or macaroni
à la Française.

He glanced around the room and knew for a fact that there were countless concealed weapons in the room. Not only was he wearing a pistol, but he had a knife strapped to his calf and a derringer tucked in his coat pocket.

He ordered a drink, dished up a meal, and headed for an open chair near a cold stove in the back corner of the room. That morning he’d bought a
Times Picayune
and read a full-page advertisement.
A hefty reward was being offered by the kidnapped child’s father. There was also a sketch of Penelope Perkins accompanying a feature story.

Last night he’d haunted numerous saloons like the one he was in now, establishments that catered to the underbelly of New Orleans, but he hadn’t discovered any leads. Now he sized up the room as he took a bite. The food was hot and decent enough, and thankfully the liquor was watered down. He finished his bowl of stew, then sat for as long as he could stomach the smoke-filled bar, scanning the crowd. Finally he shoved out of his chair.

“You leaving?” Nearby, a toothless man in a tattered jacket eyed his empty seat.

“Take it,” Tom said, indicating the chair.

The man, along with a companion wearing a black patch over his left eye, sidled past. Tom was about to walk away until he heard what the toothless man asked his friend.

“You seen the Grandes lately?”

Tom paused, pretending to focus on straightening the brim of his battered hat. Sweat stains marred the band. He didn’t recall where it had come from — a rubbish heap most likely. He was in the habit of picking up clothing for his various disguises from all manner of places.

“I just saw ‘em at the Apple Tree.” The one-eyed man was still waiting for a chair to open up. “Heard they was livin’ somewhere in the bayou now.”

“Wonder what they’ve been up to.”

“No good, that’s for sure.”

A chair opened up, and as the one-eyed man sat down both men shared a laugh. Their banter turned to talk of gambling. When Tom finally stepped out onto the sidewalk, he felt more confident than he had in days. He had a lead that might help him find Megan Lane and even pay off for Frank Morgan. It was slim, but his intuition told him he was getting closer.

A
n hour later, after stopping by the precinct to confer with Morgan, Tom walked into the Apple Tree. Two undercover New Orleans policemen were not far behind. There were two more stationed outside the saloon. He spotted the Grande twins right away. They were hard to miss; both were big men, solid hulks of flesh and muscle. Along with a handful of boisterous braggadocios, the twins were seated at a poker table near the back of the room.

He silently signaled the officers that he would approach the Grandes alone. He hoped to leave with them and, after they were outside, let the officers approach to take them in for questioning. The last thing Tom wanted was to have the men turn on him in a room full of thieves and cutthroats.

At first he had a hard time telling the twins apart, but after a few minutes of observation he noticed one did all the talking while his brother either gazed into the bottom of his whiskey glass or stared at the barmaids.

Tom made his way across the room to the poker table. He turned around and faced the bar, keeping his back to the men engaged in card play as he listened to their exchange.

“So, then,” said the more gregarious twin, “we thought we had it made.”

“We
do
have it made,” his brother said. He had the same voice, but in a slower drawl thanks to the alcohol he’d consumed.

“Shut up, Lawrence,” the first said. Then he laughed and added, “He’s drunk. We got nothing. We’re livin’ in a shack on the bayou with our sister —”

Tom imagined a big buxom woman with wild strawberry-colored hair and meaty arms until he remembered the woman they thought of as a sister was probably not blood relation at all. He pulled out his pocket watch, sprang the lid, and checked the time.

“But things is changin’ —”

Tom heard what sounded like a
thunk,
and then the drunken twin whined, “What’cha wanna hit me for, Terrance?”

“Shut. Up.”

Tom immediately picked up his drink and carried it over to an empty seat at the poker table.

“You gents mind if I sit in?”

Dark, suspicious glances sized him up from around the table. Across the room, the officers sidled up a bit closer. He didn’t have to look to know they had his back. Tom held his breath for a second, let it out, and leaned back with as much nonchalance as he could muster. The twin called Lawrence paid him no mind. Terrance, on the other hand, appeared wary.

“Nice knife,” Tom told him, eyeing the Bowie strapped to Terrance’s thigh.

“Yeah. I took it off a dead Houma Injun.”

“Didn’t know there were any left,” Tom said.

“What’s left of them live along the banks of the Mississippi up north of here.”

Tom wondered how much of an arsenal Terrance Grande carried concealed beneath his dirty buckskin coat and baggy wool trousers.

They finally dealt Tom a hand, and he let Terrance and the others win to keep things even. They talked and played for a good forty minutes. No one noticed Tom wasn’t matching them drink for drink. But before he could suggest they move on to another establishment, the game broke up when someone at a nearby table threw a chair. It landed across Lawrence Grande’s shoulders. He jumped up with a roar and the fight was on. Tom joined in the fray and made sure he wound up fighting alongside Terrance Grande, watching his back.

The fight pretty much broke up the card game for the night, and as the Grandes started for the door, Tom caught up with them.

“You gents calling it a night already? I’m still up for some carousing.”

They agreed to accompany him to the Yellow Moon just down the street. Tom knew the police officers were on foot behind them. He slowed his pace, pretending to be on the near side of drunk. They matched his steps.

“I could sure use a couple of men like you.” He focused on Terrance, who had rested his hand on the hilt of his knife.

Lawrence looked over and smiled. “We don’t need to work no more.”

Terrance scowled his brother into silence, then said, “We got a rich uncle about to die.”

“Yeah. That’s it. A rich uncle.” Lawrence laughed so hard he started hiccupping.

Tom shook his head. “Then you probably aren’t interested.”

Terrance stopped walking. “All depends on what you’re offering.”

Tom lowered his voice and leaned closer to Terrance. The man’s blue eyes were glassy, but lucid enough for a man who had downed as many rounds as he had.

Frank’s men were in place, waiting for Tom to move. A sense of satisfaction came over him. He might not be any closer to finding Megan Lane, but he prayed that the kidnapped child’s nanny was right about twin kidnappers. If so, then the Grande twins might be the ones responsible for taking the Perkins girl. Now Frank Morgan would have a chance to get a confession out of them, and Tom would not only help save the child, but might be able to track down the woman named Anita Russo in the bargain and find Megan Lane.

They stood in the shadowed doorway of a brick-and-mortar building that was over a hundred years old in a block of others just like it. A slow, steady drizzle began to fall. They ignored it. Nervous energy hummed through Tom as he glanced across the street. He didn’t see the police but he knew they were there.

Terrance Grande shifted and cleared his throat. He scanned the seemingly deserted street. Tom had no doubt the man might rob him on the spot.

“So what about this job?” Lawrence asked.

Tom heard footsteps coming fast behind them. Frank Morgan’s men were good at what they did. This tea party was starting right on time.

An undercover policeman dressed as a gent stepped out of a nearby alley and started walking toward them. Another stepped out from behind a parked hansom cab.

Suddenly Terrance was brandishing a gun, his sights centered on the two men coming in close behind Tom. Tom pulled his own gun and pointed it at Terrance.

“Don’t move,” Tom warned. “We just need you to answer a few questions.”

That’s when things went downhill. As an undercover policeman dressed as a waiter stepped up behind Lawrence, Terrance fired twice. Tom lunged for Terrance as the policeman went down, but the big man broke free and started pounding down the street.

Tom turned his gun on Lawrence, but shot by his brother, the second twin wasn’t moving. His gun hand hung limp at his side, his eyes wide and wild as he stared back at Tom. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. A blood stain spread fast and high across the left side of his buckskin shirt.

Down the street, Terrance was wrestling with three officers. The fourth officer was on the sidewalk holding his thigh. From the way he was cursing, Tom figured the man would live.

Suddenly Lawrence’s gun clattered on the street. He looked down at his shirt front and covered the blood with his meaty hand just before his legs folded and he sank to the ground.

“Did you kidnap the Perkins girl?” Tom asked him.

“What girl?”

“Did you kidnap Penelope Perkins?”

“Where’s Terrance? Is he dead?”

Ignoring Lawrence’s gasp, Tom grabbed his shoulders and tried to force him to focus. “Where is she?”

Three officers were dragging Terrance closer. One of the policemen was bleeding from a knife wound on his forearm.

“Don’t you say nothin', Lawrence,” Terrance yelled. “Keep your trap shut, you hear me?”

Lawrence was battling to stay conscious. Blood continued to
bubble from the wound near his heart. Tom doubted the man would make it.

“Where is she?” Tom leaned close to be heard over Terrance’s shouting. “Where’s the girl?”

Lawrence grabbed Tom’s shirtfront with his bloody hand. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, “Tell my sister,” he wheezed. “Tell Maddie …”

“How do I find her? Where is your sister?” “Bayou,” Lawrence whispered. “A cabin … near Clearwater. Ask … asssk around. Ask for Maddie Grande.”

S
omething was wrong. Maddie could feel it as sure as she sensed a storm brewing. The sky matched the color of the spidery gray moss that hung limply from the trees. The air was close and still, so hot and heavy she could almost taste it.