A Reckless Love, page 24
“That makes sense,” Riggins said, entering the conversation again. “We’ve been looking into Maney’s background since the onset of this investigation. We suspect this mainly has to do with Maney’s political ambitions. He was a Tennessee congressman, and there’s evidence that Ozias Hatch’s influence got him there.”
Without thinking, Zane grasped Aurora’s hand. “That’s what was missing from the information Frye and his wife gave us when we interviewed them—the identity of Maney’s Union informant!”
Wells rattled the document in his hand. “Scully claims that in the spring of ’64, Hatch—Reuben, that is—leaked information about Sherman’s plan to send troops into Mississippi to break up the M&O. And that created Maney’s hold over the Hatch brothers.”
Zane shook his head. “Why would Hatch do such a thing?”
“Money. Debt. Remnants of loyalty to the Masonic lodge.” Riggins shrugged. “You and I can hardly comprehend such self-interest, but believe me, cowardice and greed trump patriotism more often than you’d think.”
Zane frowned. “All right. So Maney got his seat in Congress and held his tongue about Hatch’s treason. But why do you think they arranged to cram all those Cahaba prisoners onto the Sultana and then sink it? I know that was Jones I saw getting off the boat in Memphis. Also, he continued trying to kill Union Cahaba prisoners who survived. Aurora saw him there. And he killed Judge Teague later.”
Wells stroked his mustache. “Follow the money. Let’s say Maney did extort reward for his silence from one or both of the Hatch brothers, and got support for his congressional run in return. I guarantee it didn’t end there. If Maney is twisted enough to betray the Hatch brothers for his own purposes, I’m willing to bet he’s hiding other crimes.”
“This Klan violence, for one thing. And we’ve been trying for months to prove his connection to the railroad scam involving the Crédit Mobilier,” Riggins put in. “We’re hoping Schuyler will bring back whatever evidence his father was holding against Maney and his co-conspirators.”
“What if it’s not that simple?” Zane felt as if there was some truth just out of reach that he should remember. His head was pounding in agonizing throbs. “Maybe it’s not just Maney getting greedy and Ozias Hatch protecting his brother. Yes, there was a lot of money involved in federal payoffs to get all those Union soldiers back home. But Jones might have had his own agenda for sinking the Sultana. It’s not likely he was after the judge at the time, because Teague wasn’t even supposed to be on the boat. I got off at Memphis and gave him my spot. But I keep thinking all of us at Cahaba knew something that Jones had to get rid of.” He lunged to his feet. “That spur, for example.” He looked at Aurora. “Or the gun. Aurora, where is the gun?”
“It’s right here.” She showed him the little handbag she carried when she left the house.
“Hand it to me—carefully. Is it loaded?”
“Of course it’s loaded. What good would an empty pistol do me?” She opened the bag and took out the derringer. “What are you thinking, Zane?”
“I’m thinking he’s been looking for this thing since the disaster in Memphis.” Zane took the little pistol and quickly unloaded it so that he could safely examine it. “If he thought the judge or I had it, that could be why he’s been on a five-year rampage.” Once all six chambers were empty, he examined the wooden grip. The screw securing the steel back plate fit snugly, but the engraving across it didn’t match, which told him it was a replacement. “One more thing,” he said to Aurora with a wry smile. “Do you have a coin?”
Reaching into the bag again, she fished around and produced a penny. “Here. Don’t spend it all in one place.” She handed it to Zane with a saucy smile.
“Thanks.” Using the coin to unscrew the pin, he proceeded to dismantle the gun’s grip. A typical rounded pistol grip would be in two pieces, fitting flat together on the inside, but when he had the first wooden side piece off, he could see that the insides had been carved out to form an interior hollow space. Cunning and diabolical—the perfect hiding place for something small, like a secret message or a bank note. He wished he and Jacqueline had thought of this when they were kids, hiding things from their drunken father. Hands shaking, he withdrew a tiny roll of paper from the chamber and showed it to Riggins and Wells. “This is what he’s been looking for.”
Aurora stared at the scrap of paper she had apparently been carrying around with her for the last five years. That little gun had traveled in her luggage from Memphis to Daughtry House several times, and then to the Dogwood when she moved in there with ThomasAnne. She wasn’t a violent, aggressive person by nature, but her grandfather had impressed upon her the need to practice with the gun so that she could defend herself if necessary. And she did feel safer when it was on her person.
Now she realized that piece of hardware had entwined her life with that of Sam Jones, as well as Zane’s. She would never be free of Jones until she discovered why that paper had been hidden there.
She watched Zane lay the gun pieces on Wells’s desk, then unroll the paper. His hands were steady, capable. Trustworthy.
Afraid? Of Jones? Of course she was afraid. But there was no doubt in her mind that Zane would guard her with his own life. She stared at his face as he turned the paper over. “What is it?” she blurted. Everyone was so quiet.
Zane looked up, frowning. “Numbers. Looks like a safe combination.” He handed the paper to Wells.
Wells nodded. “I agree. Until we apprehend Jones, though, there’s no way to understand its significance.”
Aurora sat up. “Wait. Remember what I told you Jones was muttering while he was in delirium at Grandpapa’s house? He said ‘Hatch’ and ‘safe.’ Maybe he didn’t mean that Hatch was safe, but that there was a physical safe involved with his interaction with the Hatch brothers. Or Maney, or—”
“She’s right,” Levi said. “If all of that belongs together, maybe the safe is somehow related to the steamboat conspiracy.”
Aurora nodded. “My grandfather was one of a handful of people in Memphis who investigated the explosion in its aftermath. I heard him say that there was a safe on the boat, containing the payment for all those thousands of fares, but it was never recovered from the wreckage. People began to say that it must have never been there to begin with. Or that someone stole it.”
“That’s a good theory,” Wells conceded, “but no way to prove it at the moment. Let me hold onto this.” He slid the tiny paper into a file on his desk. “Meanwhile, we have to locate Jones before he hurts anyone else.” He looked straight at Aurora. “I don’t have to tell you, Miss Aurora, you are in grave danger.”
“I’ll guard her around the clock, sir.” Zane’s voice was grim.
Aurora looked at him. He did not look happy with his self-assigned task. “You’ve got more important things to do,” she said with assumed carelessness. “I’m sure Levi and Schuyler will—”
“I said”—he picked up the pieces of her revolver and began reassembling it—“I will guard you. Jones will find us, and I will either arrest or kill him, whichever seems right at the time.”
She absorbed that. Yes, he was trustworthy. But he was also as cold and deadly as the gun in his hands. Zane would guard her not because of his regard for her but because of his hatred for Sam Jones. It was a sobering fact, and she couldn’t change it.
She felt Joelle’s arm around her again. Looking up at her quiet, beautiful sister, Aurora wanted to fold into that strength and love. Some part of her even wished she could become Pete again, the entertaining little shadow who made everyone laugh and roll their eyes. But the realization hit her that many lives besides her own depended on her taking up the challenge ahead. Jones would kill and kill again until he got what he wanted or he was stopped.
She must help stop him.
twenty–four
ZANE STOOD AT THE WINDOW of the boardinghouse parlor, watching Wells and Marshal Pierce cross the street to the train station to meet US Attorney General Amos Akerman and defense attorney Alonzo Maney, scheduled to arrive on the last train of the day from Oxford. He understood why, under the circumstances, Wells could hardly have allowed Zane to come along, but it was frustrating to find himself relegated to the role of observer. He deeply desired to confront Maney, the central figure in all this chaos. Instead, he had to content himself with the thought that he would have his day in court.
Assuming he could keep himself and Aurora alive.
He looked over his shoulder at her. She sat in her favorite chair, listlessly picking at a mangled piece of handwork in some sort of hoop in her lap. All her sunny personality seemed to have dimmed to moonglow within the space of twenty-four hours, and he suspected—no, he knew—it was entirely his fault. He should have been guarding her door when she went downstairs the first time. He should have awakened someone to make sure she didn’t come back down the second time.
He should never have kissed her at all, let alone twice. In the cellar. In her nightgown. He was embarrassed and chagrined and angry with himself. This time he would keep his distance, be the professional lawman he’d been trained to be.
“I wish you would sit down,” she said without looking up. “I know I’m not a paid deputy of the law, but that seems a stupid place to stand when one has a killer’s target on his back.”
She was right. He stepped to the side, putting his back against the wall. “I’m sor—”
“If you say that to me one more time, I’m going to come poke your other eye out with this needle.” She jumped to her feet, tossing the hoop and fabric into her chair. Staring at him, she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear Gussie. What is wrong with me?”
He laughed. There was his Pete. “You’re tired and scared. And aggravated with me for good reason. I know you don’t want me around—”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She clenched her hands into small fists. “Can’t you understand, you’re the one person who knows how I feel? I just don’t want you forced to stay around. Like I’m some—some horrible obligation!”
He reminded himself that he needed her to feel this way so that she wouldn’t walk over here and destroy all his good intentions. “Pete, we can’t change the circumstances. Even if we could be, you know, regular friends, I’m never going to be anything other than a seriously damaged fellow with responsibilities. You’re a lady who needs feelings, and I can’t give you that.” He paused. “I won’t.”
A heavy silence fell. He watched Aurora breathe, saw the moment when blank acceptance drew a shade over her expression. “All right,” she said colorlessly. “I have to go upstairs for a few minutes.”
He followed her.
She wheeled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going with you.”
“Are you out of your mind? You can’t—”
“I’ll wait outside the door.”
“Zane, this is humiliating!”
“I’m sorry”—he put up his hands—“keep your needle in its pincushion! I know it’s awkward, but it’s got to be this way until Jones—”
“And don’t say his name again! I can’t bear it!”
He racked his hands on his hips. “Now you’re being childish.”
“No, I’m not! I’m being normal! I don’t want the man I love waiting outside the door while I use the—” Her golden eyes widened, and she collapsed at the bottom of the stairs to bury her head in her arms. “Oh! Oh! Dear God in heaven, just take me home in a chariot of fire right now.”
Electrified, Zane stared at her, listening to her soft sniffles, watching her shoulders quiver. He knew he hadn’t misunderstood her. But she couldn’t have meant that. She was simply overwrought with fear and frustration.
“What in the name of everything holy is going on down here?” Mrs. Winnie stood at the top of the stairs, both hands resting on her cane. She thumped it on the next step for emphasis. “Can’t a person take care of correspondence in her room in peace, without all this shouting and sobbing and histrionics?”
Zane looked around to find Rosie and Bedelia standing behind the bar, Joelle at the kitchen doorway. He was surrounded by angry women. “I was just . . .” He shifted his shoulders. “Will somebody take her upstairs just long enough to . . . I’m going to wait right here.” He met Joelle’s narrowed eyes.
“What have you done?” she hissed, marching past him.
“I don’t know. Please—”
“All right, that’s enough.” Joelle put a hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Then we’ll sit and meditate. That’ll suit me better anyway.”
At last he was alone with the two working girls. Rosie regarded him in bewildered silence, while Bedelia busied herself wiping down the bar, her expression a masterpiece of disdain.
“What?” he said, daring her to criticize.
Bedelia rolled her eyes. “For a smart man, you sure act like a simpleton. I coulda told ya that train wreck was comin’, so.”
“For your information, I knew it was coming too. It’s better this way.”
“Oh really? Feeling good about the outcome, are we?”
Tight-lipped, he just stared at her. Something occurred to him. Bedelia was mighty good at listening in where she wasn’t supposed to be. “How long did you say you worked here at the saloon?”
“Boardinghouse,” she corrected automatically.
He waved a hand. “I mean when it was a saloon.”
“I moved in about four years ago. Before that I lived in the rail camp with me man.”
“I’d be willing to bet you know more about the inner workings of the local Klan than anybody in town. They ever meet here?”
Bedelia shoved a lock of curly blonde hair out of her eyes with her arm. “Maybe.”
“Would you be willing to testify? Name names?”
Alarm flashed in the green eyes. “Those men carry some weight around. They’d be like to squash me and Rosie”—she glanced at her friend—“like a coupla ladybugs.”
“The marshals could protect you.”
“Like you did Jefcoat and Moore?” she sneered. “No thanks.”
“Fair enough.” Zane sighed. “Then we’ll get you out of town, send you out west with a nest egg to start over.”
That might have been a spark of interest that crossed Bedelia’s blowsy face. “I dunno. What you think, Rosie?”
Rosie looked troubled. “I like eggs. I like to cook.”
Zane grinned. “I’m fond of eggs myself. Bedelia, did you ever hear the name Maney or Forrest out of Whitmore or Brown or any of that gang?”
“Not sure. They was more like to call each other boy-club names like Grand Titan or Grand Cyclops and such nonsense.” She scrunched her face. “The moniker Maney might ha’ come up.”
Zane nodded. “Good. I’ll let the attorney know he can call you in, if that’s all right with you.”
Bedelia shrugged. “Sure.”
It was a long shot, but . . . “What about Jones? Sam Jones? You ever hear that name?”
This time pure terror suffused the woman’s face. “No! Absolutely not!”
“But—are you sure—”
Bedelia twisted the rag in her hand. “I never seen him, nor heard anybody here mention him.”
He approached her carefully, slowly, as though she were a feral cat. “Listen. Deedee, this is important. Jones is the man who broke in here last night. You know that. Aurora shot him—clipped him, at least—but he’s running loose and could come back here at any time. Tonight even.” He was close enough to touch her, but he simply held her fearful gaze. “If you know where he might have gone, maybe another booze joint or flophouse—someplace he’d go to recover from a wound—I need you to tell me so we’ll have a chance to grab him before he hurts anybody else.”
Bedelia wrung the rag as if it were the throat of some antagonist. Moments passed before she flung it onto the bar with a groaning curse. “He said he’d hurt Rosie.”
“Who? Jones?”
Bedelia nodded, teeth gritted. “I know where he is. But you got to get Rosie out of town tonight, before you do anything.” She glared at Zane. “Promise me.”
Aurora lay supine, arms and legs flung wide, upon her bed. There were no more tears left in her body. She was wrung dry as a chamois left out in the sun for a week. Rolling over, she saw Joelle sitting sideways in a chair under the window, catching the last rays of sunlight in order to read some tome she’d brought with her from Daughtry House.
The man I love . . .
Of all the things she had ever said—and wished she had the magic ability to reel back into her mouth—that one won first prize. There were some thoughts a girl simply didn’t say aloud.
She cleared her aching throat. “Joelle. I’m going to live.”
Joelle swung her feet to the floor. “Of course you will,” she said gently. “They don’t mean to be so stupid. They just can’t help it.” She smiled. “You’ll learn to overlook the stupidity and find the things he’s good at.”
Aurora sat up. “That implies there might be some universe in which Zane Sager and I are on speaking terms again. I’ll get to heaven and ask God for a mansion on the other side of eternity from him.”
Joelle laughed. “You know he loves you.”
“Of course God loves me.”
“Well, yes, but so does Zane.”
“He’s had every opportunity to say so. But he hasn’t.” The last word cracked off on a miserable wobble. “I find that I don’t care.”
“Pete, don’t be silly. Not every man is a fountain of urbanity like Schuyler or Levi. Hasn’t he shown you that he loves you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But then again, maybe it’s my imagination.” She folded her arms. “I want the words.”
