Beloved Counterfeit (28 page)

“Now hold on a minute, lady.” Mr. Drummond seemed sufficiently riled to lean away from the door frame and hold the pose. “I never asked those kids to do nothing of the kind.” He sagged against the wall then shook his head. “I need to sit down, and I’d be obliged if you’d help me.”

When Ruby did not move, Mr. Drummond did, turning his back on her to stumble into the parlor. After a moment, she inched toward the door to peer around the corner. She found the man sprawled on the settee.

She glanced at the mantel clock. Likely Carol was home by now.

A thought occurred. Surely someone would come looking for her soon, what with the boarders likely wanting their next meal at the usual time. Perhaps even Micah, should he return to the boardinghouse at a reasonable hour.

She inched forward and nudged Mr. Drummond’s boot with her foot, and he did not respond. His even breathing gave her hope he now slept.

“Mr. Drummond?”

Nothing.

Ruby backed up two steps then paused and retraced her steps to the kitchen, where her foot crunched on a shard of what had once been Emilie’s dinner plate.

She jerked around to see Mr. Drummond standing a stone’s throw away. Other than the toweling still wound around his hand, the man appeared lucid and well able to stand.

“I thought you were—”

“Hurt?” His lips curled into a smile that quickly vanished. “A nasty cut, this here,” he said, “but otherwise I can’t complain.” He moved forward to lean on the edge of the table. “I hope you’ll forgive the playacting. I had to be sure you wouldn’t run to turn me into the law before I had a chance to talk you out of it.”

“Play—”

“Acting,” he said. “I’ll get right to the point. Your daughter and her friend have been right helpful, but they don’t have any idea who I am.”

“Neither do I.” Ruby whirled around to see Micah standing in the door, his rifle at his side. “I’m not a man for wasting time, Drummond, and I’ve got men on every corner of this property. Only a fool would try to run, and you don’t look like a fool.”

“You remember me.” He smiled. “I’m flattered.”

Ruby skittered behind Micah then peered around him to watch the injured man raise both hands as Micah raised his weapon and caught Drummond in his sights. “He seems nice, Micah,” she said. “Don’t shoot him.”

“That’s enough, Ruby.” His tone both stunned and stung. “Go on home now.”

“Home, but I don’t see how it’s safe for you—”

“Home.” Micah’s shout told her he would listen to no more arguments. “And I’ll not tell you again,” he added with a tone that told her anything they’d shared in the past month was now forgotten. “Do. You. Understand?”

She did. With little to recommend her save the way she cooked and the fact that she might give him a child, Ruby had ruined the best she’d had. And she hadn’t had it but just over a month.

“Yes, Micah,” she said. “Would you like me to send Viola to doctor him up?”

“Tell her I’ll need her at the jail in an hour.”

* * *

 
“You’re mighty certain you’re going to convince me to leave with you,” the stranger said.

Micah kept the weapon trained on the man until the sound of the front gate closing told Micah that Ruby was safely out of harm’s way. “More than certain, Drummond.” Micah paused. “If that’s who you really are.”

“It is, but before I trot over to the jailhouse with you, I figure we’ve got some chatting to do.” He paused to level an even stare despite the fact that he was in dire danger of being shot. “You are Micah Tate, captain of the Fairweather Key Militia and until, oh, two or three weeks from now, the acting judge as well. I am sorry I missed the wedding, but you got yourself quite the bride, too. Feisty. Bet she’s a—”

Micah’s trigger finger twitched as his temper flared.

“Hold on there.” Drummond waved his hands. “I mean no disrespect.” Another pause, his arms still held high. “One lawman to another, that is.”

“Lawman?” Micah sneered. “No decent lawman would break into someone’s home and use it as a hideout, then convince children to do his stealing for him.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Drummond’s hands sank a notch, but they rose again when Micah lifted the gun to adjust the sights. “Look here,” he said, “how about you call some of your hired help to keep an eye on me so you don’t get too jumpy and shoot me before you realize what I’m saying’s the truth?”

“So tell me,” Micah said carefully, “where exactly did you find Carol?”

“She found me. I was out at the beach on the east end of the island. You know the spot where the mangroves are thick.”

“I do.”

“They’re quiet, those two, and I was tired,” he said. “Otherwise I’d have heard them.”

“Not much of a lawman if a couple of schoolgirls can best you, Drummond.” Yet he knew the story of the twins going to the beach alone was plausible. Before the Frenchman hit the floor and things changed, it wasn’t unusual to see two or three of the O’Shea girls pass within view of his home when he happened to be there.

The stranger shrugged. “I’d have just slipped away quiet-like and let those girls go on about their game of missing school, but for something the girl said to me.”

“What’s that?”

“That one—Carol’s her name, I believe.” He shook his head. “She called me her pa.”

Micah called out for the two nearest men to join him. “Take him down to the jail,” he told the first through the door. “I’m going to take a look around.”

“Hold up there, Chief,” Drummond said. “How about you check my references before you throw me in jail?”

Micah laughed. “What references?”

“I’ve got a coat somewhere in the back of the house. The girl said she’d hang it up for me.”

“What will a coat prove?”

“There’s a letter. Inside seam.”

Micah waited until the men had Drummond in hand; then he went to the back of the cottage and opened a door. No armoire, only a lone bed and a table covered in books. Likely a spare bedroom.

Opening the door across the hall, he stepped into a room filled with light and flowers. They decorated the bed coverings and pillows, and pictures of them hung at different places around the room.

“If this is how Caleb’s going to live, I feel for the man,” he muttered as he stepped over a flowered carpet to throw open the door of an armoire that seemed to be the only thing in the room not covered with foolish adornments. Inside, conspicuous among the frilly things, was a man’s jacket.

He yanked the jacket from its peg and patted it down for weapons. Satisfied nothing was hidden in it, Micah held it at arm’s length as he walked down the hall and into the parlor. There he found Drummond swapping stories of life in Texas with his men.

“Feeling like home, are you, Drummond?” he asked with all the sarcasm he could manage. “I’m glad these fellows were able to entertain you. Stay long enough, and one of ’em just may ask you to waltz.”

Both men shrank back to stand in the doorway as Micah stepped into the room and tossed the jacket to the stranger. “What’s this going to prove?”

“There’s a pocket in the seam.” He gestured to a place under the left arm. “Reach in there, and see what you find.”

Micah patted it first then slipped his fingers into the seam to retrieve what at first glance appeared to be a slip of paper. As he removed it completely, he could see it was a letter of introduction.

He glanced at the letter then scanned the signature. “Dumont?” Micah shook his head. “Is this—”

“Remy and Viola’s elder brother with a second signature below made by their father, along with his seal. You can see by the letter that I am in their employ. If you look at the next page, you’ll find a letter written on the stationery of the governor.”

Micah turned to the second page. Sure enough, there it was.

“I see that.” He shook his head. “What I don’t understand is why.”

Drummond looked past him to the men standing guard. “As a professional courtesy, I’m here on a private matter and would like it to stay that way.”

Micah folded the letter and set it aside, then nodded to the militiaman nearest the door. “Go find Remy Dumont and bring him back here. If he gives you any trouble, tell him it’s in regard to his sister.” When the fellow had gone, Micah turned back to Drummond. “I doubt you were sent here to hide out in Emilie’s house.”

Drummond gave the remaining militiaman a glance. “You have my word I’ll not try to escape, Tate, so might we have some privacy?”

Micah gave the matter some thought then gestured to the fellow who waited at the door. “One sound out of the ordinary, and you come in.” A pause for effect. “Shoot to kill.”

“Yes, sir,” he said as he left.

“And let me know the minute you see Dumont coming up the road.” Micah waited for the man’s response then turned his attention to Drummond. “All right. You’ve got your privacy,” he said, “but I’ve got my militia.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned back against the cushions and rested his hands in his lap. “What would you like to know?”

“Start at the beginning,” Micah said, “and I’ll stop you if I have any questions.” He shook his head. “Wait. When you were here last, we checked you out, Caleb and I, and all we could find was that you were an insurance man.”

“You could say I’ve been hiding in plain sight, Tate,” Drummond said. “An unfortunate casualty of my line of work is that I must sometimes stretch the truth in order to get to the greater truth.” He shook his head. “And in a way, I do indeed work in the insurance field. I insure that the guilty are brought to justice.” He shrugged. “So in that way, I’m not all that different from you.”

Micah looked down at the stranger. “I doubt that.”

“Anyway, the beginning. I came at the behest of both Mr. Dumonts—father and son—and I’ve been paid to bring the criminal Hill back to stand trial. It appears, however, that he ran off like the coward he is.”

“Hill?” Micah shook his head. “Dr. Hill?”

He shrugged. “Doctor or not, he killed a man.”

“Emilie’s brother,” Micah said, “though I understand the case has been closed as the doctor shot in self-defense.”

A grin crossed Drummond’s face. “I think that’s for the courts back in New Orleans to determine.”

Micah sighed. “I’ll not be any part of vigilante justice, Mr. Drummond, which is exactly what this smells like. If these men want to hang someone, let them consider it might have been Viola who pulled the trigger.”

Drummond seemed to give the statement some thought. “Likely it was, but answer me this, Tate. Where’s the good doctor now?”

“Gone,” Micah said as he chewed on the words. “And I’ll give you this: He didn’t exactly leave in broad daylight.”

“About a month ago, three weeks at the least?”

His eyes narrowed. “About.”

Drummond’s expression gave no indication of what he might be thinking. “I suppose that didn’t set well with Miss Dumont.”

“You can ask her yourself,” Micah said. “She’ll be the one doctoring you up.”

“In the jail.”

Micah shrugged. “Depends.”

“I believe you’re about to find out I’m telling the truth.” Drummond gestured to the door. “You won’t shoot me if I stand up, will you?”

“Got the schoolteacher, Mr. Tate,” he heard the militiaman call as the gate closed.

“Send him in,” Micah said, never removing his attention from Clay Drummond, who had begun to chuckle.

“Dumont,” Micah said when the teacher walked through the door. “Do you know this man?”

Ignoring the question, Remy Dumont pressed past Micah. “Clay Drummond?” He followed the question by a string of expletives. Then Remy punched him.

To his credit, Drummond barely flinched as Viola’s brother continued to deride everything from his parentage to his personal convictions.

“Any question now whether I am who I say I am?” he asked.

Micah nodded to the militiaman, who quickly stepped in to pull the schoolteacher off Drummond. “Guess it’s too late to ask if you’d vouch for Drummond’s character.”

“Oh, I’ll vouch for him, all right.” Dumont struggled against the militiaman’s iron grip. “I’ll vouch for the fact my father and brother think the world of him. Funny, since it wasn’t that long ago that you were the man they least wanted to see their precious—”

“Enough,” Clay Drummond growled.

The stranger held his ground, but Micah couldn’t help thinking he’d spring forward to take Dumont by the throat at any minute. Dumont looked ready to return the favor.

“Easy there.” Micah moved between the two men. “The jail here’s small, but it’ll easily hold the both of you.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Remy protested, “but this man, well, ask him what he does for my father. No, I’ll tell you.” He threw a disgusted look at Drummond. “He uses his considerable skills to see that my father and, I assume, my elder brother are kept apprised of anything that might interest them.”

“You said you were a lawman.” Micah gave the stranger a long look. “You want to change your mind and tell me the truth?”

“Oh, it’s true enough,” Remy continued. “Clay Drummond’s got a long and storied career on both sides of the law. Father found him toiling away in some law office in San Antonio and decided to prey upon his emotions and bring him to New Orleans to work for him. I always suspected it was to keep you where he could watch you, Drummond. Same reason he arranged the situation with my sister.”

“Another word,” Drummond said through clenched jaw, “and I don’t care what your father’s orders are.”

The teacher froze, his bravado turned to fluster. “What orders?”

Drummond cast a glance at Micah. “I told you the partial truth, Tate, and I’m man enough to ask for forgiveness for it now.”

“Go on.”

“It’s true that I was sent here to get to the bottom of the Gayarre shooting and bring Daniel Hill back to face justice. I’m sure the Dumonts will not be happy that the doctor slipped away before that could be accomplished.” He paused to release a long breath. “But the rest of the story is I’m also here to keep an eye on Remy and his sister until both are back home in New Orleans.”

Drummond shifted his attention from Micah to Remy. “That’s right,” he said derisively. “Your father doesn’t trust you to be man enough to come back to him alive.”