Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (16 page)

"I think it's good," Thad said. "I think it's really good. It's too bad you have an anonymous liar and a drunk as your source."

"You know very well who my source is. You know he's reliable too. Even if Jed Green lies to the police, he would never lie to me. He likes me too much."

Thad sat up in his chair, placed the pages on his desk, and pushed them forward. He looked at his friend with eyes that revealed frustration, amusement, and affection.

"Why are you doing this?" Thad asked. "You know George is working on the same story. He'll probably have something on Emerson by the end of the week."

"I'm doing it because I care about crime," Candice said with conviction. "I'm doing it now because I know it will be a snowy day in May before George Penn busts this guy."

"You're a society writer, Candice. You're supposed to write about society."

"I
am
writing about society. I'm writing about a man who is corrupting our society by embezzling money from the largest employer in town."

The editor sighed.

"Even if you're right, I can't run this now," Thad said. "I will not risk a lawsuit on the word of a man who
used
to work for Preston Emerson."

Candice stared at her boss.

"I bet Baxter Maine would run this story."

Thad folded his hands atop the desk.

"I know he would. He would take your story, put his name on it, and pass himself off as the biggest crime fighter since Sherlock Holmes."

Candice frowned. She knew Thad was right. If she bolted to the
Evansville Record
and its unscrupulous managing editor, she would find temporary happiness and permanent misery. She would spend each day writing stories for her male peers at half her present salary.

"So what are you going to do?" Candice asked. "Ignore this?"

"No. I'm going to add it to the mix," Thad said. "I'm going to tell George what you've found, wait for him to break the story, and then give you half of the credit. Is that fair?"

Candice pouted.

"I suppose."

Thad smiled.

"Cheer up. You're already lighting the world on fire."

"Says who?" Candice asked.

Thad opened the file drawer of his desk, reached into a folder, and pulled out a slip of paper. He looked at the slip for a second, sighed, and then handed it to his society editor.

"This guy, for one," Thad said. "He called yesterday."

Candice examined the slip. She saw a name and a phone number she didn't recognize.

"Who is Bernard Frank?"

"He's the editor of the
Long Island Review
, a literary magazine in New York," Thad said. "He has read your work and wants to steal you away from me."

"Did you tell him I don't like big cities?"

Thad leaned forward.

"I
told
him you're the most talented journalist I've ever known."

Candice laughed.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No," Thad said. "I'm trying to help you."

"You know I have no desire to move back east," Candice said.

"I do. I also know that people change. The
Review
does a lot of investigative reporting. This could be the opportunity you've been waiting for. At least look into it."

"You really want me to leave?"

"I want you to be happy," Thad said. "Give Mr. Frank a call."

Candice slid the slip into a pocket. She scolded Thad with playful eyes.

"I'll think about it."

"You do that."

"I will," Candice said.

Thad smiled and looked at his defiant underling like she was a problem child. A moment later, he reached for the typewritten pages, gathered them together, and offered them to Candice.

"Do you want these?"

"No. You keep them. Or give them to George," Candice said. "He'll put them to use."

"OK."

Thad added the pages to a few others on his desk, returned to the file drawer, and began placing the papers in different folders. When he was done, he closed the drawer, gazed at Candice for what seemed like an eternity, and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Candice asked.

"I was just thinking about something."

"What?"

"You're becoming popular," Thad said.

Candice tilted her head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean four men have asked about you in just the past twenty-four hours."

"Really?"

Thad nodded.

"Two editors from Boston called this morning. They heard about the cross burning and want to talk to you about it. I said I would speak to you first and get back to them."

"Who is the fourth man?" Candice asked.

"I'm surprised you don't know. You've spent a lot of time with him lately."

"Cameron Coelho called you?"

"He did better than that," Thad said. "He came to see me. He visited the paper yesterday after you had left for the day."

"What did he want?"

Thad smiled.

"That's privileged information, Miss Bell."

"Don't be difficult, Thad."

The editor laughed.

"I'm only teasing," Thad said. "He just stopped by to ask questions."

"What did he ask you?"

"Among other things, he asked me what you did for fun."

"What did you tell him?" Candice asked.

"I said you made bathtub gin and gambled."

"I'm going to take that New York job."

Thad laughed.

"He also wanted to know your favorite color and flower."

"Please tell me you didn't say black and skunk cabbage."

"I'm not that cruel," Thad said. "I know you favor pink and roses."

Candice paused a moment to digest what she had heard. She knew that Cameron liked her, but she didn't know the depth of his interest. Now she did.

"Did he ask you anything else?"

Thad shook his head.

"He just wanted to know the basics. If I didn't know better, I would suspect that your new friend is planning some sort of surprise."

"He might be," Candice said.

"You like him, don't you?"

"I do. He's interesting."

Thad rubbed his chin.

"What does Richard think of your interest in Mr. Coelho?"

"I don't care what Richard thinks. He can spin on a stick for all I care."

Thad chuckled.

"I see you haven't forgiven him for his transgression."

"Frequenting a brothel is not a transgression," Candice said. "It's a sign of bad breeding."

Thad smiled.

"I assume Mr. Coelho is a product of good breeding."

"I don't know," Candice said. "I don't know much about him. I'm not even sure he's going to stick around. He's completed most of his research – or at least the parts that involve me."

Thad looked at Candice with serious eyes.

"Has he inquired about your freelance work?"

"I don't follow."

"Has he asked about local crime and corruption?"

Candice nodded.

"He has. For some reason, that subject interests him a lot."

"I see," Thad said. "Does he plan to do more in that area?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what he's up to. I know only that he's working on something important and plans to stay in town for at least the foreseeable future."

"I understand."

"Does that bother you?" Candice asked.

Thad shook his head.

"No. I'm glad he finds Evansville interesting. I'm also glad that
you
have found someone who shares your interests."

"Your tone suggests otherwise."

"I'm just concerned about you, that's all."

"I'll be fine," Candice said. "Cameron is a nice guy."

"I'm sure he is," Thad replied. "I know he is."

CHAPTER 24: CAMERON

Thursday, April 9, 1925

Sitting in the library of the Vanderburgh Hotel, Cameron read pages and letters he had read a dozen times and tried to find new clues in each. He succeeded twice.

In one diary, he found a reference to an unusual tree. Henry Bell had discovered a sequoia, shaped like a wishbone, on the primary trail to the cave.

In another diary, Cameron found a reference to an unusual rock. Candice had discovered the clear blue crystal in an old box of her father's belongings.

Cameron spread the unbound papers across the library table, sorted them into four stacks, and began the process of reviewing them yet another time. He perused about half of the papers before he saw a woman walk through the library's open door.

"There you are," Candice said. "I was beginning to think you had left for the day."

Cameron smiled.

"Hi, Candice."

Cameron hastily shuffled the documents into a stack and threw them into his satchel. He closed the bag just as the object of his interest, wearing a yellow dress, reached his table.

"Have I interrupted anything?" Candice asked.

"No. I was just finishing up."

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not."

Cameron got out of his chair, walked to the other side of the table, and pulled out a chair for his unexpected visitor. When Candice took her seat, he scrambled back to his, pushed the satchel aside and gave the best looking journalist in Evansville, Indiana, his undivided attention.

"I'm sorry to come here unannounced," Candice said.

Cameron laughed to himself. Only in an age where people still left calling cards would a person apologize for coming to a public place unannounced.

"It's all right. I'm happy to see you," Cameron said. "Do you have some news?"

Candice beamed.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"What?"

"It seems the Boston press is interested in the persecution of a former Boston professor," Candice said. "I returned two calls this morning and spoke at length about the cross burning."

"Do they plan to run a story?"

"They plan to run several. They want me to write a first-person account. They want me to write the kind of article I could never publish here."

"That's great, Candice."

"That's not the best part either."

"Oh?" Cameron asked.

"They want to talk to you too. Now that they have spoken with Professor O'Brien and me, they want to talk to the intrepid doctoral student who came here to document the Klan."

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Candice asked. "Don't you want to speak with them?"

"I'd rather not," Cameron said. "I'm kind of publicity shy."

Candice tilted her head.

"You surprise me, Mr. Coelho. I thought you would jump at the chance."

"I would under different circumstances," Cameron said. "Trust me."

Candice frowned.

"All right then. I'll tell the papers that the intrepid student is too shy to speak against evil. That will give them something to write about."

"You wouldn't," Cameron said.

"I might."

"You wouldn't."

Candice giggled.

"I'm just kidding. I like you too much to soil your reputation."

"That's a relief," Cameron said.

He took a breath. He could just imagine Candice quoting a man who did not attend
any
Rhode Island colleges and would not exist, officially, for another sixty-four years.

"So what were you doing when I came in?" Candice asked.

"I was going over my notes," Cameron said.

"Have you finished your research?"

"No."

"Would you like to do
more
research?"

"Maybe."

Candice laughed.

"I thought students liked to learn."

"We do," Cameron said.

"Then perhaps you need a research opportunity."

"I'm done with cross burnings."

"So am I," Candice said.

"Then what are you proposing?"

"I'm proposing a chance to study the natives in their natural habitat."

"This sounds like another field trip."

"It is."

"Will it be fun?" Cameron asked.

"I hope so."

"Do I need to dress up?"

"Yes," Candice said. She laughed. "That's not an option."

"When is it?"

"Saturday night."

"Then count me in," Cameron said.

Candice gazed at him with alluring eyes.

"I was hoping you would say that."

"Why?" Cameron asked.

"Because I'm going even if you aren't."

Cameron chuckled.

"You are?"

The society editor nodded.

"Clean your suit and clear your schedule," Candice said. She reached across the table and clasped Cameron's hand. "We're going on a date."

CHAPTER 25: CAMERON

Henderson, Kentucky – Saturday, April 11, 1925

The establishment came as advertised. From the black jazz band to the dapper white clientele to the liquor that flowed as freely as the Ohio River, the Cathouse, as it was called, screamed Roaring Twenties. Even the conversations lived up to expectations. No matter where Cameron walked in the cavernous speakeasy, he heard talk of sex, riches, and excess.
The Great Gatsby
, it seemed, had come to the Bluegrass State.

"Are you having a good time, Mr. Coelho?" Candice asked.

"I am," Cameron said.

Candice smiled.

"Are you learning a lot about the native population?"

Cameron chuckled.

"I am."

"I thought so, but it never hurts to ask."

The time traveler looked across his small round table and beheld a little slice of heaven. Wearing a beaded flapper dress, pearls, and an ornate cloche hat, Candice Bell looked like a jazzier version of a woman in a sepia photograph – a woman he had fallen in love with. He let his mind drift to pleasant places until the man at his left brought him back to Kentucky.

"Doesn't Providence have a club like this?" Lawrence Bell asked.

Cameron turned his head.

"If it does, I haven't seen it."

"Candice says you don't get out much," Lula Bell said. "Is that true?"

Cameron glanced at his smiling, blushing date and saw amusement in her eyes. Then he turned to the sister-in-law who was clearly privy to each of her waking thoughts.