Diane T. Ashley (26 page)

As Benvolio answered her question, a movement to her right caught her attention. Vance blew her a kiss just before he stepped onto the stage.

A moment more, and it was over. Lord Montague called her away, and they walked off the stage. “Well done.” The older man, Stan Mitchum, one of the stock actors who played the smaller parts, sent her a smile. “You’re a natural, honey.”

The praise made her glow. Clem found her and dragged her back to the prop room so her costume could be altered. Then it was time to grab a bite to eat and get dressed for the performance.

As soon as the farce ended, Jasmine took her place behind the curtain. The chorus—two women—were already on stage and would soon introduce the audience to the blood feud between the Montagues and the Capulets. Miss Barlow, dressed in the resplendent gold ball gown with its newly attached flounce, stood nearby.

Between them, the men rushed forward, their swords raised. It seemed only a moment later that Lord Montague whisked her onto the stage. She faltered for a moment when she saw the number of people in the audience. It seemed every seat was taken. Mesmerized by the reality, she missed her cue and silence filled the stage.

“Hold me not,” Lord Montague shook the arm that she had barely managed to retain her hold on. “Let me go.”

Jasmine’s gasp was loud as she realized what had happened. “Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.” At least her gasp fit the part of a distressed Lady Montague concerned for her husband’s welfare.

The scene played out without further incident. Vance, looking handsome in a crimson doublet and hose, winked at her as he returned to the stage.

She was in heaven as she exited and took the opportunity to glance once more toward the audience. What she saw made her heart drop to her toes. Jane Baxter, Camellia’s best friend from the finishing school in New Orleans, was seated in the front row.

Had Camellia’s friend recognized her? Jasmine tried to tell herself it wasn’t possible. The heavy stage paint they wore disguised her features. And Jane wouldn’t expect to see her here. As Jasmine stripped off her costume and returned to helping Clem with the other actors’ costume changes, she decided Jane could not have recognized her. She was safe for now.

“What did you think?” Clem’s curious voice gave Jasmine something else to concentrate on besides her fears.

“It was wonderful. I was born to be an actress. It was a small part, but the audience liked me.”

“I heard you flubbed your first line.” Miss Fenwick appeared in the doorway. “Do you have my green dress ready?”

Clem shook her head. “It’ll be in your room by the third act.”

“I’ll not be pushed aside for Vance’s latest trinket.” Miss Fenwick glared in Jasmine’s direction. “If she can’t have my clothes ready on time, she’ll have to give up acting. She wasn’t hired for that purpose anyway.”

“If you would stay away from those French pastries, we wouldn’t have to keep letting out your dress.” Clem shook a finger at the actress. “Go away before I tell Mrs. Easley that Jasmine should study for your role.”

Miss Fenwick’s mouth opened and closed several times, but apparently she didn’t know what to say unless the words were scripted for her. Her face turned an ugly shade of red, and she turned on her heel.

Jasmine met Clem’s gaze, and a giggle forced its way past her throat. Soon they were both laughing, tears streaming from their eyes.

Clem sobered first. “We’d better get back to work, or Miss Angelica Fenwick will have a real reason to complain. I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve had in years.”

Grabbing her needle and scissors, Jasmine nodded and looked around at the pile of material. “How long will we stay in Vicksburg?”

“We have to perform in Memphis on Thursday, so we’ll probably leave tomorrow after the early show.”

Jasmine was relieved. Perhaps Jane had not recognized her tonight, but if she ran into the woman in town or if Jane attended another performance, she would be caught. The sooner the
Ophelia
left Vicksburg, the more likely she could remain hidden.

D
id you see any of their faces, Mr. Baxter?” David asked the bank manager, even though he thought he already knew the answer.

A slight man with hair as white as a field of ripe cotton, Mr. Harold Baxter exuded an air of quiet competence. His hair must have grayed prematurely, because he looked only a few years older than David. He carried himself well in spite of the empty sleeve of his jacket. David wondered if he had lost his arm during the war and which side he might have fought for.

“Please call me Harry. That’s what everyone around here calls me. Some of my fellow employees don’t even know that my given name is Harold.”

“All right, Harry. Now, about their faces?”

“The lower parts were hidden behind handkerchiefs.” Harry frowned. “But they seemed to know exactly where to go, as if they already knew the layout of the bank.”

“We think they spend some time in town, slipping in and out of the area while they learn what they need to know. Hours of operation, security, and the number of employees to name a few.”

“You think I’ve seen them before?”

“It’s quite likely.” It was the only theory David could imagine. The bank robberies were too smooth. He had first believed they might have inside help from someone who worked for the bank, but these robbers had struck banks from Chicago to New Orleans. No one could have acquaintances associated with that many banks. What was the connection? The elusive “Ophelia” was the most obvious answer. He closed his notebook and stood. “Please think about the past few days carefully. Any new customers? Or perhaps your tellers might remember someone who has been hanging out in your lobby for the last week or so. Any little detail to help me catch these men.”

“I’ll be glad to, Detective.” The other man stood and walked around his desk. “I want you to catch those scoundrels as much as you do.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated before going to the door. “I do have something else I wanted to mention to you, Harry. It’s about your wife, Jane, and a friend of hers.”

“Oh?”

David cleared his throat. “Yes. Camellia Thornton is a close friend of mine, and she was concerned about you and Jane when she learned of the bank robbery. I wish you would ask your wife to send her a note. I would send word, but I know she’ll want to hear confirmation directly from Mrs. Baxter.”

“You’re a friend of Camellia’s?” Baxter’s face was warmer than it had been during their interview. “I insist you join us for dinner this evening. Jane will skin me alive if she discovers a friend of her old schoolmate is eating alone.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I have work to do.”

“I understand that, but you must find time to eat … if not tonight then another evening.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

Realizing he couldn’t refuse without sounding churlish, David inclined his head. “Thank you, another night would be better.”

“Good. How about this Thursday? That should give you time to wrap up the most pressing of your business.”

After receiving directions to the Baxters’ home, David left. He had a lot of ground to cover.

Over the next several days, David met with the police, who had no additional information, and spent hours interviewing the proprietors and patrons of businesses close to the bank. No one had heard of Ophelia, and no one had noticed any strangers hanging about. How did these men manage to hide in plain sight? What magic did they use to pass freely through the town and escape notice? It was frustrating to find no evidence … again.

David was beginning to doubt his ability as a detective. He should be able to pick up the trail of at least one of them. So far, the only mistake they’d made was letting Charlie Petrie get caught. And they’d remedied that by killing him.

On Thursday evening, he returned to the hotel, pulling his extra coat from his bag and smoothing it with a damp cloth. He hoped it would pass muster tonight. Jane and her husband were obviously as wealthy as Jasmine’s family.

Since the address was not too far from the hotel, he decided to walk. David wanted to turn away when he arrived at the Baxters’ home, a graceful three-story mansion that was the largest house on the street. But it was too late. David stiffened his shoulders and climbed the front steps. The porch provided a panoramic view of the Mississippi River, and a cool, steady breeze teased his coattails as he waited at the front door.

A butler ushered him inside, took his card, and guided him to the main parlor. “Detective David Foster.”

After the announcement, the man stood aside, and David entered the parlor. The room looked like a garden brought indoors. Images of roses graced the wallpaper, the curtains, and the rug at his feet. A large vase on the table in the center of the room was filled with fresh roses, their fragrance filling the air.

He saw Harry first, and then his wife—a tall, slender woman with hair as red as the roses she apparently loved. She walked toward him, a welcoming smile on her face. “Detective Foster, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

David tried to imagine this beauty and Camellia as friends. They must have turned every male head in New Orleans. He bowed over her hand. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Baxter.”

“Please, call me Jane.” She smiled up at him. “I’m anxious to hear news of Camellia. How is her little girl doing? And Jonah? You must tell me everything.”

They moved into the dining room, and David found himself comfortable with his gracious hosts. After regaling the couple with news from Les Fleurs, their conversation turned to the dismal economy and President Grant’s latest scandal.

“Speaking of scandals, I suppose Camellia and Lily are quite upset that Jasmine is working as an actress.”

David leaned forward, his gaze sharpening at Jane’s comment. He couldn’t believe news of the runaway had fallen into his lap like an overripe plum. “You’ve seen Jasmine here in Vicksburg?”

Jane sipped from her glass of lemonade before answering. “I didn’t recognize her at first, but I know it was Jasmine. Those eyes of hers are so distinctive, almost purple in color. I always told Camellia her name should be Violet or maybe Iris.”

“Where did you see her?”

Jane looked a little surprised at his intensity. “She was on one of those showboats.”

He should have known. If not for his concern over the bank robberies, he might have even thought of looking for her on a showboat. It was an easy way for her to reach her destination, earn some money, and gain experience. Jasmine might be selfish and stubborn, but no one could accuse her of being dimwitted. “Camellia’s been frantic since she disappeared from Les Fleurs a few days ago. I’d like to find her and send her back home. What was the name of the showboat?”

“It had one of those Greek-sounding names. Do you remember, Harry? Was it Portia?”

“That doesn’t sound quite right.” Her husband pushed back from the table. “I think I kept a playbill. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes.” David could hardly believe he had found Jasmine. At least once he sent her home he could concentrate on his real job.

Harry returned with the gaudy advertisement in his hand.

As soon as David saw the name at the top, his heart clenched. He took the paper in his hand and stared down at it, his mind spinning. He couldn’t believe it. Jasmine had taken a job on a ship called the
Ophelia
. Another name in bold typeface drew his attention, and the final piece of the puzzle fell in place.
Vance Hargrove
. He was the reason Jasmine had gotten a position on the showboat. And he was the common link for all of the bank robberies as well. “May I keep this?”

Both Baxters nodded.

David knew he had to find the boat right away. Explaining the gravity of the situation, he took his leave of them and half-ran, half-walked back to the waterfront. A city of boats rested there, some tied to the piers while others were roped together, forming floating islands. Dogged determination pushed him from deck to deck, posing as the concerned brother of a runaway as he made his inquiries. Finally he found a captain who knew the
Ophelia
.

“She left outa’ here a few days back.” The swarthy man scratched his beard. “I heard tell they was going to Memphis for a week or so, and then on to St. Louis, mebbe all the way to Chicago.”

David’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might break. “You’re sure?”

The captain nodded. “I hope you find your sister.”

“I will.” He stomped away, his mind boiling. Should he send a message to Camellia and Jonah? What if Jasmine was no longer with the
Ophelia
by the time he caught up with the boat? He didn’t want to raise their hopes at this point and have to disappoint them later. It would be better to wait. By this time tomorrow night he would have his hands on her. He would read her the riot act … as soon as he was certain she was okay. Then he would send her home and concentrate on his real job of collaring criminals.

David wasted no time in locating the
Ophelia
as soon as he arrived in Memphis. A performance was about to begin, so he decided the easiest way to gain entry was as a theatergoer. He smiled at the lady who sold him a ticket and entered the room that held the theater. Impressed by the number of people in the audience, he chose a seat toward the back and looked at the new playbill in his hand.