Heart of Lies (7 page)

Except for the twins’ bunks, the cabin was neat and tidy. A few pieces of Maddie’s clothing hung from pegs. Household items and cooking supplies were carefully arranged on sagging wooden shelves lined along one wall.

He was aware of her every move. He heard the squish of her sodden dress when it hit the floor. Then the rustle of dry fabric. He shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying not to imagine what was going on behind him, and studied her neatly made bed. The blanket hung over the edge but didn’t quite reach the floor. Something beneath the bed sparkled and caught his eye. He didn’t know much about women’s geegaws, but it looked to be a small hair comb.

Too small for a grown woman.

He didn’t turn until he heard Maddie’s soft footsteps as she padded barefoot across the wood-plank floor. Now dressed in a brown skirt and yellowed blouse, she paused before the stove and lifted the lid off a cast-iron pan. A rich, delicious smell began to fill the room. His stomach grumbled and she must have heard it because she said, “Guess you were telling the truth about being hungry.”

“That’s not something I’d lie about,” he told her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “What
would
you lie about, Mr. Abbott?”

She didn’t appear to be teasing or making idle conversation. He tried to laugh off the question, but her eyes were deep, dark, and serious.

“Well, if that grub turns out to be a disappointment, I might tell you otherwise so as not to offend.”

“It’s stew.” She reached for a bowl and started ladling out a goodly portion.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” he asked, changing the subject.

She shrugged, noncommittal. “Here and there.”

He respected her silence. He liked folks who didn’t need to hear themselves talk. She surreptitiously watched him, thoughtful all the while. Her quiet confidence was evident in every move she made. He wondered if she enjoyed living in such isolation.

He finished off the stew in record time. Though she didn’t have any herself, she made certain he ate his fill and gave him a second helping. When he was all done, he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“That was delicious.”

“You would have said so anyway, remember?”

He laughed, surprising himself. “If it was bad, would I have had a second helping?”

She shrugged but a slight smile teased her lips. He found himself wishing it had lasted longer.

Tom glanced toward the window where rain streamed down the glass. Leaks had sprouted in the ceiling, and Maddie had carefully placed bowls and buckets on the floor to collect the drips. Now the room was full of a chorus of plinks and plops.

“I brought along a paper. You mind if I sit and read a bit?”

“Read?”

He nodded, noting there were no books, no papers around other than a few yellowed sheets of newspaper pasted up on the wall to cover the cracks.

“Go right ahead.”

As he stood, he purposely knocked his spoon to the floor, causing it to slide off in the direction of Maddie’s bed. As he had hoped, it fell where he could both reach for it and scoop up the trinket. His hand closed over both. After he placed the spoon back on the table, he slipped the comb into his vest pocket. Then he stretched and walked over to the bed against the far wall where he had tossed his saddle bags. Pulling out a copy of the
Times,
he shook it out, shoved aside a pile of dirty clothes, and sat down.

After pretending to read for a while, he let the newspaper fall and feigned dozing. Through half-shuttered lids, he watched Maddie
quietly straighten her kitchen and putter. She picked up a broom and swept the floor, then washed the dishes stacked in the dishpan, dried them, and put them on the shelf. After that, she walked over to the table and struggled to light the oil lamp. The wheel that turned the wick gave her trouble, and she mumbled beneath her breath. Finally the flame caught, and she carefully slipped the glass chimney back on. The scent of burning lamp oil filled the cabin.

He waited until she returned to the sink and worked a while before he sat up. Rubbing his jaw and then his eyes, he yawned.

“Guess I dozed off,” he said.

“Not for long.”

“Hope I’m not a bother.”

She glanced out the window, not really answering. “It’s sure dark early with the storm.”

He got up slowly and walked over to the window. Hands on hips, he stared out into the pouring rain. Behind him Maddie remained silent.

“It hasn’t let up much yet.” The storm appeared content to hang over the bayou. “I can be on my way — “ He paused, wondered whether she’d make him leave in this weather.

They exchanged a long, silent stare, and then he heard her sigh.

“Might as well bunk down out in the shed with your horse,” she suggested. “Leave in the morning.”

Her offer surprised him. Innocent or not, she probably didn’t want a stranger or a Pinkerton around.

“I don’t want to put you out, Madeline.”

He turned and found her standing closer than he’d expected. So close he could have touched her. He was shocked to realized how much he wanted to. Maddie Grande radiated an inner strength, yet there was nothing hard about her. Now dry, her hair gently curled around her shoulders. Except for tinges of hazel, her eyes were liquid brown, the color of the bayou waters. Her lips were rosy.

How many men had kissed her, he wondered. Surely a woman this lovely had been kissed. Something in the way she stared back
assured him she wasn’t innocent in the ways of men. She was no child.

“It’s nothing to me if you sleep out in the shed with your horse,” she said softly.

“If you’re certain you don’t mind?” He’d slept in worse places. The twins’ beds weren’t any better than the shed.

“No. I don’t mind.” She took his place at the window as he moved away.

Worry creased her brow, and he found himself wondering if she was thinking of the twins. She tended the place, cooked for them, might even worry about them, though to his way of thinking they didn’t deserve it. Unlike her crude, lawless brothers, she appeared to be a woman with a kind heart — at least enough of one to give a stranger shelter from the storm.

But she knew he was a Pinkerton and if the Grande twins had kidnapped the Perkins girl, then Maddie was most likely involved too. If the child was hidden somewhere nearby, it wouldn’t do to alarm Maddie.

While she had her back to him, Tom folded the newspaper and left it next to the pile of bedding so it appeared he had forgotten to take it with him. He shouldered his saddle bags, picked up his hat, and walked to the back door.

He didn’t ask for his gun. She’d hidden it someplace, and if it made her feel better to think she’d disarmed him, so be it. He had other weapons on him.

Maddie turned away. She walked to the shelf over the dry sink and moved a tin. Retrieving his Colt, she brought it over and handed it to him.

“Thank you for the delicious meal.” He lowered his hat onto his head.

“No trouble, Mr. Abbott.”

“It’s Tom.”

“Thank you for letting me know about … Lawrence.” She looked as if she were about to say more but didn’t.

“I wish it wasn’t such dark news for you.” In truth, he wished this had all been simpler, that he had found the Perkins girl in the cabin and hadn’t had to spend the last few hours alone in Maddie Grande’s company.

Most of all he wished he hadn’t found her so attractive.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He stepped out into the rain and sensed her watching from the doorway. He turned and raised a hand to the brim of his hat in farewell. She leaned against the door frame, arms folded, staring at him through rain pouring in streams of silver rivulets off the tin roof.

Water had collected in low spots in the yard and formed puddles as big as small ponds. He sidestepped what he could and finally reached the shed. The door creaked in protest when he opened it. He stepped into the pungent, shadowed interior. His horse nuzzled his shoulder.

“Looks like it’s you and me tonight.” He spoke softly to the animal as he pulled the small piece of metal out of his pocket and looked at it.

There, lying in his palm, was a small comb. It was ornamented with an intricate silver bow encrusted with tiny diamond chips. A much finer piece than anyone the likes of Maddie Grande might own.

A
s twilight faded into dusk, darkness gathered in the corners of the cabin. With Tom Abbott tucked in the stable, Maddie could concentrate on his shattering news.

She walked to an empty chair and sat down, feeling slow and heavy as she tried to come to grips with the idea that Lawrence was dead. How could it be? She’d known him since he was four. Watched him grow up. With all his faults, she considered him family. That was one of the only things that had kept her here for so long.

Dexter’s words were ingrained on her heart.
“We’re not like anyone else. We’re a family with a strong will and that strength helps us
survive and thrive. We protect each other from those on the outside who would do us harm.”

“We protect each other.”

Now Terrance was in jail, Lawrence was dead, and she was alone.

If she told Abbott about the Perkins girl, she’d seal Terrance’s fate and surely go to jail herself. So would Anita.

The wind rammed the rain against the cabin so hard that it was beginning to seep through the paper covering the cracks in the wall. Storms in New Orleans always slowed life to a standstill. Dexter had hated rain for that very reason. There had been no working the streets when it rained, which was perhaps why she found storms somewhat comforting. She’d loved hearing it beat down on the roof and watching it fall in thick ropey strands from the eaves of the tall buildings. The rain washed away the dust and grime on the buildings and put a shine on the leaves and windowpanes. After a passing storm, droplets glittered like diamonds around the city.

Despite the pounding rain, the cabin seemed hollow with emptiness. It was a blunt reminder of just how lonely her life had become.

She sat idle in the gathering darkness with her hands limply folded in her lap. At times like this she desperately missed Louie, the young husband she’d lost long ago. She missed Dexter too. She had always been his favorite. He called her his shining star. And he’d been hers. Dexter Grande was the force behind them all. He was a genius. He’d told them so himself.

Hunger nagged as she thought about the Pinkerton in the shed. Tom Abbott had eaten more than a fair share of her stew, but she’d had no appetite at the time. She was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, though, so she got up and ladled a small portion of stew into a bowl and carried it over to the table. As she passed by the cot where Abbott had slept, she noticed he’d forgotten to take his newspaper.

She thought about how content he’d looked with the newspaper spread out across his chest. And then she looked closer.

The paper was folded so that only half of a child’s smiling face showed, but that was enough to set her heart pounding. Maddie set down her bowl, picked up the newspaper, and opened it.

She found herself staring down at a very good likeness of Penelope Perkins.

Maddie hurried back to the table and spread the paper out near the lamp. She strained to make sense of the marks on the page, but it was fruitless.

“Girls don’t need to read,” Dexter had always said. “They probably aren’t even capable of it. It’s a great waste of time to try to teach them.”

She ran her fingertips over Penelope’s likeness and shook her head. She had no idea how long ago the story had been printed. Newspapers were sold all over the city, which meant that Penelope Perkins’s image had been seen by countless New Orleanians. The papers were no doubt being spread all over Louisiana. This couldn’t be the only copy to have reached this corner of the bayou.

She pictured the Pinkerton out in the shed. Imagined his dark, shrewd eyes.

One thing was clear: she had to get to Penelope and get the girl away from Anita. But she couldn’t leave until Tom Abbott was gone.

T
he next morning, the storm moved on, leaving a brilliant blue sky overhead. Tom was lured to the cabin by the aroma of bacon. He paused outside the back door, pulled off his hat, and ran his hand over his hair before he knocked.

He heard Maddie Grande’s footsteps as she crossed the cabin. A jolt of expectation coursed through him at the thought of seeing her again. He tried to shake it off, irritated by his undeniable attraction to her. As she opened the door, he reminded himself that she was no better than her lowlife brothers, no matter how innocent she seemed. Now that he’d found the diamond comb, he had to tread very carefully. Even so, before he left, he hoped he had an opportunity to ask her about Megan Lane.

“Mornin',” she said, stepping back to invite him inside.

He couldn’t help but notice there were dark smudges beneath her eyes, shadows that attested to a sleepless night. She indicated with a wave of her hand that he should sit at the table. As he crossed the room, he saw the paper there. It was folded and waiting for him.

She dished up a plate piled high with bacon and bits of crab sautéed and scrambled with eggs and onions, served beside a mound of grits, and then went back to pour his coffee. It was as opaque as the muddy bayou water and strong enough to kill a weaker man. He took a few sips and smiled.

“I forgot to ask if you’d like some sugar with that,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She brought over a cracked sugar bowl along with a plate of hot biscuits. He loaded the coffee with sugar, looked up, and found her watching. When he caught her staring, a hint of a smile graced her lips and her face lit up. His blood warmed to the sight despite his best efforts to ignore it. He wouldn’t let himself be taken in.

“The twins are of the opinion my coffee could be used for tar and featherin'.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe they’re just weak of heart.” Staring at all the food he said, “You must have been up long before dawn.”

“I didn’t sleep much.” Her smiled faded. “You know how long Terrance will be in jail?”