Indiana Belle (American Journey Book 3) (20 page)

Cameron glanced again at the others and saw that Hardy had struck a chord. Marjorie nodded and lifted her hands slowly above her head. Lawrence shook his head, as if displeased by the mention of Satan, salesman, and dollars in the same sentence. Candice put her hand on Cameron's knee and offered her trademark smile.

Cameron had thought of that smile and the woman behind it almost nonstop since he had kissed her in Sunset Park. He thought about her wit, charm, and wholesome beauty and how badly he wanted to enjoy all three after his time in 1925 was done.

The time traveler was not oblivious to the challenges. He knew that before he could even ponder a future with Candice he had to take care of business. He still had to find a cave, harvest some crystals, and keep his adversaries at bay. He wondered if asking God to smite Richard Paine and Leonard Heller was asking too much and ultimately concluded it was.

Cameron smiled at Candice and then looked again at the man they had come to see. He needed only a second to see that Hardy was hitting his stride.

When the reverend was not prancing from one end of the stage to the other, he was throwing up his arms, standing on chairs, and kicking over barrels. He used every prop and gesture at his disposal to convince his audience that the fight against evil was not a passive one.

"I like his style," Cameron said in Candice's ear. "We should bring him to the Cathouse."

Candice smiled.

"We don't want to start a riot."

Cameron laughed to himself as he considered Candice's comment, the fire-breathing pastor, and Henderson's house of sin. This was an interesting time, he thought. It was an era of contrasts and contradictions, promise and peril, and endless drama.

As he watched Hardy raise his arms against Satan and move in for the kill, Cameron asked himself if he was a visitor or a resident of the time. Though he was clearly a short-timer in the age of blues, booze, and brimstone, he didn't feel like a short-timer. He felt like someone who belonged, someone who was surprisingly at ease in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Cameron clasped Candice's hand, gave it a squeeze, and gave her a smile. If some answers eluded him, at least one answer did not. He was not letting her go. If he did nothing else on his adventure of a lifetime, he would maintain his present course. He would not let go of this hand.

CHAPTER 32: CAMERON

Evansville, Indiana – Wednesday, April 29, 1925

Cameron read the letter on the go. He thought about perusing it inside the post office, a three-story Romanesque shrine that was the pride of the city, but he decided he didn't have the time. So he opened the letter on the post office steps and read it intermittently as he walked southeast on Second Street and then northeast on Main toward the hotel.

He had not heard from Geoffrey Bell since leaving Los Angeles. Though he had written to the professor twice in four weeks to update him on his travels, he had not heard back until today. He was surprised to find mail in his post office box.

Cameron needed only a quick glance to see that Bell had received his first postcard. He saw references to the
Evansville Post
, the tornado, and the Vanderburgh Hotel.

The professor apologized for sending the time traveler into a death zone. Like Cameron, he had forgotten that an F5 twister had struck Indiana on March 18, 1925. He had also forgotten that Henry Bell's home had ceased to exist on that very same day.

Geoffrey asked Cameron about his train trip, his accommodations, and his initial impressions of Evansville and 1925. Then he launched into the meat of his letter.

"You did not mention the cave. I assume that is because you did not want to discuss it on a postcard or because you have not determined its location. In either case, I would like you to send me an update, in a sealed envelope, as soon as possible. Though I want you to enjoy your trip, I don't want you to forget that you are on a fact-finding mission of the highest importance …"

When Cameron finished the letter, he stopped near the intersection with Fourth Street, tucked the letter in his satchel, and then picked up his step. He hurried his pace because he wanted to reach the hotel before the clerk who handled dry cleaning deliveries left at six. He wanted at least one clean suit when he knocked on Candice Bell's door in the coming days.

As he walked past Heller's Drug and the law firm of Pauley, Pearson, and Paine, Cameron thought about the other things he had not mentioned in his posts. He was fairly certain that Geoffrey Bell would not approve of his meddling in local affairs, but he admitted he did not know for sure. He still had not figured out what made the professor tick.

Cameron reached the hotel at six sharp and asked for the clerk. Told that the clerk had already left for the day, he trudged through the lobby and up the stairs to the second floor. He arrived at Room 208 just as an amorous young couple exited Room 210.

Cameron nodded at the red-faced pair as they walked past Room 208 and continued down the long hallway. When the two disappeared from sight, he put his key in the lock, opened his door, and found something that shook him to his core: a room turned upside down.

He rushed inside, tossed his satchel to the floor, and threw his hands to his head. Nearly everything he saw had been pulled out, turned over, or thrown to the floor.

Cameron ran first to the dresser and searched the drawers. He did not find what he had hoped to find. So he went to the desk, did the same, and found the same. By the time he reached the bed and started shaking sheets and pillowcases, he was in full panic mode.

He ran back into the hallway to see if a maid had exited one of the rooms, but he found the corridor as empty as he had left it. So he rushed back into Room 208 and searched again.

For five minutes he inspected every square inch of his home of forty-four days. He moved furniture, tore apart his bed, and patted clothing, sheets, and towels.

When he was done, he sat in the desk chair, cursed, and stared blankly at a wall. Whoever had gone through his belongings had done a thorough job. He or she had taken valuable notes, his California birth certificate, his letter of reference, and a blue crystal he had put in a drawer.

Thankful that the thief or thieves had not taken his money, his satchel, or the white crystal, which he kept in a safe deposit box, he got up from the chair, walked to the window, and looked for answers. He didn't need a detective to figure out who might have gone through his room or why, but he knew he couldn't do anything without proof or at least a clue.

Then he stepped away from the window, walked to the desk, and found one. Emblazoned on a sheet of hotel stationery was a name he had seen before – a name he knew all too well.

Cameron grabbed the sheet, tucked it in his jacket pocket, and returned to the window. He peered into the distance, at Main Street and beyond, and pondered his next move. It was time, he thought, to ask some tough questions. It was time to visit the hotel's proprietor.

CHAPTER 33: CAMERON

Thursday, April 30, 1925

Cameron didn't haggle with the receptionist. He didn't have to. The second he walked into the law firm of Pauley, Pearson, and Paine, the woman waved him forward.

"He's expecting you," she said. "Follow me."

Cameron followed the clerk to an office at the end of a long hallway. When she knocked, opened the door, and introduced him, he waited to be acknowledged and then stepped inside.

"Mr. Coelho, I've been expecting you," Richard Paine said.

"So I hear," Cameron said.

The attorney rose from his seat and extended a hand. He seemed neither surprised nor upset when Cameron refused to shake it.

"Please take a seat," Richard said.

"All right."

Richard returned to his upholstered throne behind a large mahogany desk as Cameron found a more modest chair in front of the desk. He paused for a moment, as if to size up his prey, and then started what would surely be a contentious conversation.

"I'm told you had an unpleasant experience," Richard said.

"Who told you?" Cameron asked. "The man you hired to go through my room?"

Richard chuckled.

"You don't think much of me, do you?"

"No. I don't."

"I know about the burglary in Room 208 because the manager of the hotel called me shortly after you reported the crime to the front desk," Richard said.

"That was thoughtful of him," Cameron said.

Richard leaned forward.

"Contrary to what you may think, I did not break into your room. I did not
ask
someone to break into your room. I would no sooner draw negative publicity to my hotel than I would to this prestigious firm. Surely you understand that."

"I don't understand a thing," Cameron said. "I know only that someone with a key opened the door to my room at the Vanderburgh and made off with several of my belongings."

"Did you report the theft to the police?" Richard asked.

"I did. I also reported it to the
Post
. I figured that if the hotel and the police didn't follow up, then maybe Thad Grant would. He's on a crime-fighting bender."

Richard leaned back in his chair.

"I see. Well, I hope one of the parties, preferably the hotel manager, comes through for you. I hate to think that a matter this heinous might go unresolved."

"Give it a rest," Cameron said. "I didn't come here looking for an admission. I came here looking for answers. You obviously want something. I want to know what."

"You're right," Richard said. "I
do
want something. I want the answer to a question. I want to know what you're doing in Evansville."

"I've told you. I'm gathering information for a dissertation."

"I think we both know that's not true."

"Are you implying something?" Cameron asked.

"I'm not implying a thing," Richard said. "I'm stating it. You are here for reasons that have nothing to do with a dissertation or any academic project."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm quite sure. I did some digging this month and learned that Brown University has never heard of you. Nor has any college within fifty miles of Providence. You are not even listed in the city directory. As best I can tell, Mr. Coelho, you do not exist."

"Have you shared this information?" Cameron asked.

"No," Richard said. "I have not."

"Why?"

"I haven't exposed you because I prefer to handle such matters quietly."

"What do you want?" Cameron asked.

"You know what I want. I want you to leave town."

"I'm not going to do that."

"I guessed as much," Richard said. "It appears that your interest in a certain young woman is keeping you from doing something you should have done weeks ago."

Cameron leaned forward.

"My interest in Candice is none of your business."

"Perhaps," Richard said. "Perhaps not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that everything in this town is my business. That includes someone who is still near and dear to me."

"You have to be kidding," Cameron said. "You despise her almost as much as she despises you. I doubt you will ever get over what she did to you."

"She told you that, did she?"

"She told me enough."

"What else did she tell you?" Richard asked.

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm getting at a man named Clyde Barrington."

"I don't know who he is," Cameron said.

"I'm sure you don't, but you should."

"Why?"

"Why?" Richard asked. He snorted. "Because you are in love with our local busybody and want to know everything about her. I would think that is reason enough."

"You're playing games. What does Clyde have to do with Candice?"

"He has a lot to do with her. He's the reason she latched onto you so quickly."

"That's funny," Cameron said. "I thought
you
were the reason."

"You're far too generous."

"Stop playing games. What are you getting at?"

"So you really don't know?"

"No. I don't."

"Then let me tell you," Richard said. He grinned. "Let me tell you about Clyde Barrington. Let me tell you about Clyde Barrington and Candice Bell."

CHAPTER 34: CAMERON

Diamond Island, Kentucky – Sunday, May 3, 1925

Cameron had no difficulty repairing Lawrence Bell's sailboat. He merely replaced one piece, snapped another into place, and made a few adjustments. By the time he took Candice out on the Ohio River on an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon, he was able to navigate the fifteen-foot craft as effortlessly as a twenty-foot catamaran in Narragansett Bay.

He sailed the wooden tub for more than two hours before pulling ashore on a fertile sliver of land that split the river ten miles west of Henderson. It was the perfect place, he thought, to enjoy a picnic lunch, catch up, and perhaps ask a few questions that had been on his mind for days.

Cameron tied the boat to a tree near the bank as Candice threw a blanket on the grass, opened a basket, and set up a meal for two. A moment later, he sat down beside her, loosened his tie, and opened a bottle of French wine that Lawrence had scored on a business trip.

"How is this spot for a law-breaking picnic?" Cameron asked.

"It's nice," Candice said. "Given this island's history, I'd say it's perfect."

"I don't follow."

"This island used to be a hideout for river pirates. Samuel Mason called it home. So did the Harpe brothers, numerous highwaymen, and other outlaws in the late 1700s."

Cameron poured two glasses of wine.

"Who were the Harpe brothers?"

"They were serial killers," Candice said. "They committed numerous atrocities against men, women, and even children. Legend has it that Micajah Harpe, known as Big Harpe, killed his own infant daughter because she cried too much."

"Good grief," Cameron said.