"How would I know?” muttered Penelope petulantly. “He's been whining about his financial problems for months. I tried to help, but you ruined that. Now, since you've stolen Father's estate, you'll just have to see that I'm taken care of properly. You should split the inheritance with me. I want you to see to it right away."
"You already have an income from Grandfather,” Jessica pointed out.
No matter what Hugh had done, it seemed to Jessica that her mother should have stood by him. They had been married for over twenty years, and he had been generous to a fault where Penelope was concerned. On the other hand, Penelope had proved herself repeatedly a woman with no loyalty, no gratitude, no affection for others, and no sense when it came to money.
"That little bit Papa left me is nothing, and Henry Barnett controls it. He won't let me have it."
"Well, not the principal. If you spent that, you'd be left with nothing, which is evidently what Grandfather was worried about."
"Henry Barnett hates me. That's why he won't let me have the money to tide me over."
"Why would he hate you?"
"Because he was Justin's lawyer in the divorce,” Penelope replied sullenly.
"Oh.” Jessica thought about the story Travis had told her. “Then Henry must know about your trying to smother me when I was a baby,” she said, as much to see her mother's reaction as for any other reason.
"Lies!” cried Penelope, turning pale. “Who told you that? Your father? Your husband? You owe me respect and—and support in my time of trial. I took you in when you needed help."
"Yes, you did,” said Jessica, “and I intend to repay you. I'll estimate what you spent on me and send it to Henry to use in your behalf."
"What good would that do? That would be a pittance. I'm accustomed to wealth. I deserve—"
"I suppose it would be a pittance considering what you ordinarily spend on yourself, but then that means I'm not as much in your debt as you keep saying."
Penelope looked confused.
"The truth is you don't like me, Penelope, and you've treated me badly at every opportunity."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Jessica sighed. “Go home. I'll send Henry some money for you, but I don't want to see you anymore. I'm tired of your criticism and your accusations. I've never been unkind to you, and I don't deserve your—your—contempt."
Penelope's eyes had turned mean when she realized that she wasn't going to be able to bully Jessica into splitting the inheritance. “You should do what you're told, Jessica, because if you don't, I'll have to take steps. I can't allow people to take advantage of me. I didn't let your father, and I won't let you."
James Hogg had shambled in and dropped with a thump beside Jessica's chair during the confrontation. He watched Penelope curiously as she railed at his mistress, then growled low in his throat and bared his teeth. Penelope drew back and stopped talking. Jessica was surprised. Her dog had never growled at a soul before. “Go home,” said Jessica wearily. “We've nothing to say to one another."
"You'll do what I tell you,” retorted Penelope threateningly, “or you'll be very sorry.” She rose and gathered her gloves and parasol. James Hogg, still growling, had risen as well, every hair on his spine bristling.
"You haven't moved in yet,” said another of the Calder Avenue residents. “It's all over town you plan to drill on your land."
"I can't help what people are saying,” snapped Travis. He didn't want to hear about the damned house. He turned his head when he rode past it, and he continued to live at the Ervin.
"We're willing to buy it from you,” said the neighbor and named a figure twice what Travis had paid.
"Done,” said Travis. Why should he keep the house he'd bought for a woman who wouldn't live with him?
"You'll take the offer?” asked the man, surprised.
"I'll take it."
"Oh.” The fellow looked doubtful now that he'd achieved his purpose. He probably regretted having bid so much when he might have got the place for less, or so Travis surmised.
In August while a Heywood tank was being filled from a well, lightning set afire the gas venting from the top and sent a column of fire into the air. Although the fire was smothered with wet blankets brought by men from nearby wells, the potential for disaster in money and lives sent shock waves through the hill population, for the tank had been near a forest of derricks. Jessica looked at the towers sprouting around her house and shuddered, then went on with her daily routine, but the story was told in newspapers elsewhere and read by Anne Harte, who came swiftly to Spindletop.
"You can't stay here,” said Anne after kissing and hugging Jessica. “It's too dangerous. Look at that.” Anne waved at the vista from the sitting-room window. “What would happen to you if this whole place went up in flames?"
Jessica sighed. There was nowhere to go had she wanted to. “Mother—Anne—"
"I may not have borne you, Jessica,” said Anne, “but I am your mother."
Jessica nodded humbly. Anne Harte was the only mother she'd ever known; Anne's love had been the most constant factor in Jessica's life, and it overwhelmed her as Anne put loving arms around her.
"You must come home, child. You simply can't stay here. You have no one in this dreadful, dangerous place now."
Jessica started to protest but was interrupted.
"I take it that you and Travis are still separated."
"You don't have to tell me that you warned me against him,” said Jessica glumly.
"I'm not here to say I told you so. I wish it had worked out for you."
Jessica felt her heart twist. Anne hadn't trusted Travis, and rightly so; her instincts had been sound, and yet she had hoped for Jessica's happiness, something Penelope had never done.
"I realize that your housekeeper has your interests at heart,” murmured Anne. “I had a long talk with that young woman, and I must say you've been lucky in her. Still, she's not family...."
As Anne continued to talk, Jessica acknowledged another of the differences between her real mother and her stepmother. Penelope had hated Rainee; Anne saw her worth immediately.
"...and we all want you to come home where you'll be safe and loved."
What a temptation it was. Jessica and her father had had the best talk of their lives before she left Fort Worth; if she went home, she could build on that understanding, and she could see her beloved brothers again and Frannie, who could probably use an older sister now that she was growing up. There were so many reasons to do what Anne wanted, but one overwhelming reason not to. Oliver Duplessis had offered Jessica the responsibilities of adulthood and then made sure she accepted them by leaving her his wealth. “I can't, Mother. I have too many obligations."
Anne sighed. “The inheritance,” she guessed. “I could almost wish he'd passed you by, but I can understand why he didn't. Your grandfather was a brilliant man in his way; even Justin always said that, although they were usually at odds. I suppose Mr. Duplessis couldn't bear to see what he'd built squandered."
"I couldn't bear it either, Mother. It's a trust. You can see that."
"But you could go to Fort Worth. That's where the business is. At least you'd be closer to home that way, and safer."
"That's where Penelope is,” Jessica muttered.
Anne's face paled. “She's an evil woman,” Anne said urgently. “Always remember that."
Anne's vehemence made Jessica even more certain that she didn't want to go back to Fort Worth. “It's not so terrible here,” she said reassuringly. “We've got a safety committee now, making and enforcing all sorts of rules we should have had long ago. Heavy fines for lighting matches in the field. Safe drainage from the wells—a lake of oil caused the first fire. No saloons within a thousand feet of a well."
"Jessica, I can see what sort of place this is. I've known rough frontier towns in my time, but this is worse. The men here—” She shook her head. “To be safe, you'd need to carry a gun."
"Y
ou're wrong about that, Mother. Gunfighters are ostracized on Spindletop, and anyway I could never shoot anyone. Could you?” Jessica thought she had come up with the unanswerable argument.
"I have,” said Anne firmly. “Several—all of whom needed shooting."
Jessica's mouth fell open. “No one bothers me here,” she stammered. “If that school Papa sent me to taught me anything, it was to freeze an improper advance in its tracks."
"Oh, my dear child, a cold look won't always suffice.” She took both Jessica's hands in hers. “Is there no chance of your reconciling with Travis?"
"Mother!” exclaimed Jessica. “Surely you know what he was up to."
"Yes, your father told me, and I suppose he must have been very badly hurt as a boy."
"He was,” Jessica admitted.
"I remember Will Parnell—a gay, reckless man—mostly reckless after his wife died. Your father thought a lot of Will; they were boys together in the war.” Anne looked closely at Jessica. “Do you still love Travis?"
Tears welled in Jessica's eyes. “Yes,” she admitted. “Isn't that pathetic?"
"There's nothing pathetic about love. Doesn't he want you back?"
"He did."
"Then go back to him. You're married, and you love him. The rest can be worked out. Surely by now you see that he had reason to hate Hugh and Penelope. Don't hurt yourself for their sakes."
"I doubt that he wants me anymore. We—we've quarreled badly."
"Listen to your heart, Jessica,” Anne advised. “You'll be a happier woman for it. But if you don't go back to your husband, come home to us."
"I'll think about it, Mother.” Jessica knew she wouldn't be going home; she was long past the stage of living as a dutiful daughter in her father's house.
Travis heard of Anne Harte's visit and decided that, no doubt, they'd had a fine time blackening his name. Anne must have been suspicious of him from the start. It was she who insisted on a year's engagement. Then he thought of his wife, unprotected in that field of derricks and gushers. Gritting his teeth, he took his mind off his worries by purchasing more land out toward Sour Lake. A man was better off with money than with a woman who gave him nothing but trouble, he told himself. Too bad she hadn't gone home to Daddy. No doubt that had been Anne Harte's mission.
Well, Jessica should have gone. He wasn't going to look out for her any longer, even if this was a place no sensible woman would live in by herself. Jessica had left him, so she was on her own—stupid, distrustful girl. She'd actually thought he was buying favors from a poor dimwit like Lissie, whose hair looked and felt like the back end of a mule, whereas Jess's hair was as silken as clear, clean water sliding through a man's fingers on a hot day. Damn. He was the fool for thinking that way.
"Why, Sheriff Landry.” Jessica smiled to see the lawman on her doorstep. “What can I do for you?"
"Well, Miz Parnell, we—ah—need to talk to you."
Behind Ras Landry stood a man who looked familiar. “Of course. Come in, Sheriff. Rainee and I were about to have our midday meal. Will you join us?"
"No, ma'am."
Jessica thought Landry looked uncommonly nervous. Was it improper to invite a sheriff to one's table? The mistresses at the Mount Vernon Seminary probably wouldn't have known what to do with a sheriff, had they ever had the opportunity to interact with one socially. Jessica had to suppress a desire to giggle at the thought of Sheriff Ras Landry and the headmistress of the Mount Vernon Seminary trying to make conversation over cups of tea. Rainee had remarked several times in the last week that Jessica was getting silly. Perhaps it was true.
"This is Lieutenant Hartwig from Fort Worth, ma'am."
"Sir.” Jessica nodded politely and invited the men to be seated. “Perhaps you'd care for a cool drink,” she suggested hospitably.
"No thanks, ma'am.” Ras Landry frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “We're here on business, as you might say. About your grandfather's death."
"Really?” Jessica was mystified.
"There's some thought that he might have been smothered in his sleep."
"Why—why would anyone think that?” asked Jessica, shocked.
"Because a maid in his house said she seen it,” said Lieutenant Hartwig. “Matter of fact, she says she seen you smother him."
Jessica gaped at him. Rainee, who had been standing by the kitchen door at the edge of Jessica's vision, moved out of sight abruptly. “But—but—"
"Lieutenant Hartwig wants to take you back to Fort Worth, Miz Parnell. I told him you didn't strike me as a woman who'd be likely to harm a soul, but seein’ as they got an eyewitness..."
"That's impossible,” cried Jessica. “There couldn't be a witness to something that never happened."
"Your mother says as how no one had a better motive than you,” added Hartwig.
"What motive? I loved my grandfather. I couldn't believe it when I received word that he had died."
"You inherited a pile of money, Miz Parnell,” said Hartwig. “Greed's a mighty powerful motive."
Jessica shook her head helplessly. “No one knew he'd changed his will—well, his lawyer did, but the rest of us were shocked, especially me.” The person who had expected to inherit was Penelope. And once upon a time Penelope had tried to smother Jessica—although who could say if that story was really true?
Jessica considered telling them, but she had no evidence that her mother had done anything all those years ago or at the time of Grandfather Duplessis's death. If she spoke up, they'd think she was trying to save herself by casting suspicion on her mother. Nor could she make an accusation with no proof.
"Even if I'd known that I was his heir,” said Jessica earnestly, “I would never have—” She stopped because it seemed obvious that they wouldn't take her word, not with a witness accusing her. How could she clear herself? “Sheriff, except for my grandfather's funeral and an excursion to the beach some weeks before that, I haven't been off Spindletop or out of the Beaumont area since I came here in March."
"Is there anyone could swear to that—that you was here the night your grandfather died?” asked the sheriff. “Does your housekeeper live here?"
"No,” said Jessica.
"Then no one knows where you were that night,” Hartwig concluded.
"I know, Abe,” said Travis.
The three of them looked up in surprise at the figure in the doorway.
"She spent the evening with me and the Hamil brothers, and she spent the night with me—in bed,” Travis said, entering. “I was here when she got the telegram the next morning."
Flushing uncomfortably, Jessica looked from Travis to the Fort Worth officer. Travis had called the man by his first name. So she had seen Lieutenant Hartwig before, and she remembered where. At the Labor Day picnic.
"I thought you an’ your missus was separated,” remarked Hartwig suspiciously.
"Some of the time we are,” Travis replied, his voice as cool as Jessica's face was hot. “Ask her housekeeper."
"He come here,” Rainee confirmed. “Saturday night mostly. He here night old man died. After he take her to depot, he come back. Tell me she go to Fort Worth for funeral.” Both the Jefferson County sheriff and the Tarrant County policeman looked intrigued at this information. Jessica thought she'd almost rather be accused of murder than have her unconventional marital arrangements revealed so bluntly.
"If you're looking for someone with a motive to kill Oliver Duplessis, it's his daughter, Penelope Gresham, you should be talking to,” said Travis. “Everyone, including Penelope, thought she'd get his money."
"Travis, we got a witness who says your wife smothered the old man,” said Hartwig.
"Then you got a witness who's lying, and you got a daughter of the victim, Mrs. Gresham, who tried to smother someone in the past."
The two lawmen stared at him.
"Ask Justin Harte,” said Travis. “Better yet, ask an old black woman at the Rocking T Ranch in Parker County. She saw Penelope Gresham try to
smother her own baby."
"Calliope saw it?” whispered Jessica.
"Thank you for your time, ma'am,” said Lieutenant Hartwig. “Travis, if we could have a word with you."
Jessica watched them go. Travis hadn't said a thing to her, not even good-bye. He hadn't so much as glanced her way as he left. “How did he know to come?” she wondered out loud.
"He out back at derrick. I go get him,” said Rainee.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jessica hung up the telephone with a trembling hand. She took business calls from Fort Worth each morning on the newly installed line to her house, but the most recent communication had not been about business.
"Whose voice walk on wire with bad news?” asked Rainee.
"Henry Barnett,” Jessica replied. “My father's lawyer."
"Something happen to father?"
Jessica shook her head. “To my mother."
"Good mother or Great Cannibal Owl?"
"Penelope."
Rainee smiled. “So. Voice like arrow from bow carry news of enemy."
Jessica frowned at her housekeeper. “She's been arrested for Grandfather's murder."
Rainee looked unsurprised. “Travis right. Now you take him back?"
Jessica shifted uneasily. Had Travis's remarks to Lieutenant Hartwig been responsible for the investigation that led to Penelope's arrest? “The maid who implicated me—they brought her in again and put a lot of pressure on her. Now she says it was Penelope she saw holding a pillow over Grandfather's face, not me."
"Why she not tell truth before?"
"Who knows what the truth is?” murmured Jessica, deeply troubled. “The maid—her name is Grace—says Penelope had come over to take care of Grandfather when he was sick."
"Not sound like Great Cannibal Owl."
"I know,” Jessica agreed. “I can't remember Penelope ever doing that before—for Grandfather or anyone else. In fact, she raised money for the hospital in Fort Worth but wouldn't go near the patients. Anyway, Grace claims Grandfather went to sleep much earlier than usual that night—right after he and Penelope had supper together in his room."
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