Wicked Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 3)

by Jordan Elizabeth

  “That Clark… Treasure.” The army had known him by that surname, not Grisham.

  “Exactly! That Clark Treasure robbed from this country. He took away that ability and spit in our face. The army should have hung him for treason before letting him run off that way.”

  An invisible rope pressed against Clark’s throat, and he gulped again. Most people he met said folly on the government for trying to use an innocent. He wasn’t exactly innocent, but at the time the worst thing he’d done was throw rocks off roofs with Mabel to hit the top hats right off the heads of gentlemen.

  “You were related to him?” Clark asked. The sun baked against his face. He pictured the hair dye dripping down his neck in black rivulets.

  “My uncle.” John Horan lifted his hand in greeting to a man in a red suit.

  “You were related to the Rancher Horan? I met him once, lovely man,” Clark added even though he wanted to spit fire. “Handsome as all get out.”

  John scowled. “Yeah, sure. It was my uncle who looked after me the most. I wasn’t the oldest. You know how it is on those ranches. The oldest gets it all and the youngest gets kicked out.” John lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe you don’t know, seeing how you’re dressed. First born?”

  Only born. “Yes.” Clark could have snapped his fingers. It made sense now why a circus would have stolen Jolene. They wanted to get back at Clark. “Getting back to that Treasure fellow for a bit, you hear the latest news?”

  “He turned himself over?”

  Never. “More like the daughter’s missing.”

  “That so?” Clark eyed John Horan’s face, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Brass glass. He was either a superb liar or had no idea. Maybe Horan’s wife did it to avenge her husband’s infatuation with his uncle.

  “Your wife must be pleased with this circus.” Clark rocked back on his heels.

  “Not married, but I’m sure pleased. Got me plenty of pretty girls jumping for a chance to be here.” John Horan winked. “I inherited this place from my dad. Thanks to those Treasures, I lost everything else. The government took our ranch and my older brothers are dead. Quite dead. I got this in the will—not even the president wanted a rundown circus—and look what a marvel I created.”

  Clark hated to give him props for it. “You said your father owned this?” The Horans had to be tied into Jolene’s kidnapping, and John Horan would have to be the one to spill those beans unless he gave a hint at someone else.

  “Stole it off that bloody Eric Grisham when the man died.” John Horan spit into the dirt, and Clark’s skin prickled anew.

  “Eric started all this?”

  “Years ago, back before he went away and Clark Treasure brought him back. You see that in all the papers?”

  The clockwork circus rightfully belonged to Clark’s father. Brass glass. “Does anyone from back then work here now?” One of those might have wanted Jolene, Eric’s granddaughter.

  “Not a one. It was a filth hole when my father took possession of the land. Reckon it had belonged to Hedlund, and my uncle gifted it over.”

  He could be lying. A man tended to loosen up when he had a bit of drink in him. “Say, there a bar around? I’d love to buy you a drink. You don’t meet too many sympathizers of Senator Horan around these days.” Clark chuckled to appear more at ease.

  “I do indeed have a bar here.” John Horan slung his arm across Clark’s shoulders. “Follow me to the beer caravan and we’ll chatter a bit.”

  Garth Treasure refrained from rubbing the tension from his forehead. It wouldn’t appear professional in front of his three advisors.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, “what the president expects Hedlund to do about the river water. We’re miles away, men.”

  The newest telegram glared at him from the tabletop.

  Senator Treasure, address this issue. Stop. Without delay. Stop.

  “I’m sure he’s addressed the issues with the east and come up empty-handed,” said Walter Knowles, his runner-up.

  “Garth.” Leonard Dyer shook his head. “We know you’re worried about your granddaughter, but there’s nothing you can do. Let the police handle the issue.”

  Garth forced himself not to scowl. The telegram from his wife let him know the children were doing their own research. As much as he hated that danger, he wanted to join in. Being a rancher meant he got his hands dirty. He’d expected the same with being senator, but instead he was stuck with paperwork and advisors who liked the indoors.

  Garth gulped from his glass of ice water to cool his veins. “Send inspectors to each factory along the Hedlund border. Make sure pollution isn’t seeping into the ground to contaminate the river hundreds of miles away.” Sarcasm leaked into his voice.

  “But, Senator, that will cost a fortune,” Walter protested.

  “It is our safest bet. The president should be pleased with that effort and so should the citizens. It is better to be safe. We might find something, and then we can stop it.”

  The woman lounged against a loveseat covered in gold-colored velveteen and blew cigarette smoke from her rose-painted lips. “So, doll, you want to join our lovely troupe?”

  Amethyst bit her lower lip to appear coy. “That’s my dream. All of this looks so perfect.”

  “It’s a wonderland,” whispered a girl from the doorway to the wooden caravan. The outside had been painted with images of cogs and watch faces, while the interior contained crimson brocade wallpaper.

  “I’m the matron for all of these gorgeous chickadees,” the woman purred. “Call me Lark.” She lifted her hand, her skin the perfection of alabaster. She painted herself, then.

  “Lark.” Amethyst matched the purr. If the matron thought Amethyst would deign to kiss her knuckles, that was without a chance.

  Lark twirled her fingers, black polish upon the nails and five jeweled rings per hand. Amethyst counted six strings of pearls and eight gold chains around the woman’s neck.

  “Call me Gemstone,” Amethyst said. None of the circus ladies had recognized her yet, but she’d dyed her hair a darker blond—black might wash or fade out—and her face had adopted more of a round shape since the pregnancy.

  Lark laid her hands against the loveseat’s armrest. “Do you have a family, Gemstone? Is this a passing flight for you?”

  “Family? Dear Lark, what is family when fame is here in the form of a clockwork circus?” Lark pressed her dark lips into a smile.

  “Well said. The contracts my girls sign are for a year. They do exactly as I say. Exactly.” When Lark tipped her head to the side, candlelight reflected off her scarlet bob.

  Amethyst bit her lower lip again. “So if a man asks to see up my skirt, I ask you first?”

  “Precisely. Then I tell you yes, for a fee. There are plenty of wagons back here, dear Gemstone, and each one can be rented by a gentleman.”

  Clockwork circus meant brothel. Amethyst nodded.

  “Of course, we do provide other entertainments and many are, as they say, family oriented. Depending on your skill level, you will have an act or sideshow.”

  “I’m in?” Amethyst pressed her hands into her waist and jutted her hip.

  “You’re gorgeous. I’d be a fool not to welcome you.” Lark leaned back, and her sleeveless gold dress shimmered.

  “I’d love to learn as much as I can about this circus and its people.” Especially those who kidnapped babies. “All of this fascinates me.”

  “I can arrange for you to board with a few of our girls.”

  “I can stay in town for a few days. I came with my brother’s friend.” Amethyst rolled her eyes. “You know how boys are. He thinks we’re more.”

  “You’re a tease then?”

  “Perhaps.” A flash of teeth always won a supporter.

  “Excellent.”

  audy and disgraceful. Alyssa shuddered as a woman dressed only in wide black ribbons somersaulted past. That poor woman had to be scraped up after having the dirt and rocks touch her body, not to m
ention the indecency.

  Jeremiah touched his hand to her back. “I remember this place.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Alyssa pressed her lips together. Thank the steam she’d chosen a subtle shade of gloss. The painted acrobats were worse than mining whores. A clockwork circus seemed far from her husband’s list of desired vacation destinations.

  Jeremiah scowled. “Years ago my father brought me here. There’d been a clockwork something around the farm. He wanted to see if it had come from here, but we didn’t find a trace of anything. Looks like people have been busy.”

  “What do you mean by a clockwork something?”

  “A leopard maybe. A mountain lion. It was… stalking around.” Jeremiah guided her around a clockwork wolf, its leash held by a woman dressed in sheer blue silk. Alyssa had never felt so overdressed before, and in just a blue dress and bonnet.

  “Do you think that has anything to do with Jolene’s disappearance with the lion?”

  “I don’t know.” Lines appeared around Jeremiah’s mouth as he frowned.

  Alyssa touched her gloved hand to her lips. Jolene didn’t belong around cheap performers and mechanical animals; she needed her family. Yes, Amethyst was flighty, but she protected the baby girl. Alyssa felt in a knot. Amethyst and Clark had to feel far worse.

  “We’ll find her,” Alyssa murmured.

  “I’m going to go ask someone.” Jeremiah pushed away from her to march toward a man swallowing swords.

  She grabbed his arm, hissing a breath through her teeth. “You can’t do that! We can’t be so outright.” She loved Jeremiah for his bluntness, but the man lacked all tact.

  “Lys, I’m not going to paddle around—”

  “We know your siblings and Clark are here somewhere. The innkeeper told us they departed early this morning. We will find them and regroup.”

  “Lys—”

  She straightened her wide-brimmed, white bonnet. “Trust me, honey. Our niece needs us to be rational. That doesn’t involve pummeling that man with your fists.”

  “I wasn’t going to pummel him.” Jeremiah’s growl said otherwise.

  “Of course you weren’t, honey, but I feel it would be best if we found the others first. We’ll look rather than be run over by… vixens.” Yes, that word seemed polite enough for those scantily clad sluts.

  Jeremiah hated his corduroy suit. He should have never allowed Alyssa to dress him in it. He needed his cotton and denim so he could fight. If he saw one of the hooligans stride by with Jolene in his arms, was Jeremiah supposed to poke him with a single finger? He couldn’t do much else in the bloody brown suit.

  His wife led him by the hand into the next tent. This one had better not have popcorn, candied apples, and more cotton candy. He’d never seen cotton candy before, but he hated it already. Some little boy had gotten a hunk of it latched to Jeremiah’s leg, and the food still stuck to the fibers like the worst of kind of spider web. If the new tent had more of the nasty stuff, he was grabbing a handful just to jam at Jolene’s kidnapper.

  “No food,” Alyssa said as if reading his thoughts. Benches lined the large, circular tent, with a wooden platform erected in the center. Poles ran from the platform to the ceiling to help support the silk tent, but ribbons had also been wound around them and a girl dressed in a short sequined dress writhed against one.

  Most of the crowd happened to be male. They leaned forward, and one man whistled at the dancer. She slid up the pole, lifting her leg as if to wave her foot hello instead of using her hand.

  “Disgraceful,” Alyssa muttered.

  Lanterns hanging from the ceiling lit at once and two spotlights turned toward the platform. A drumbeat sounded from the sudden shadows. Jeremiah turned toward the entrance, but Alyssa squeezed his hand.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “We can’t run through the circus or we’ll never learn anything.”

  “I can run through this as if a rattler chased me,” he muttered. She couldn’t want to see what would happen next, but her eyes had grown wider and her lips parted a little.

  The back of the tent shifted as someone lifted a flap, and young women entered in a row, their hands on each other’s shoulders. Gears and beads hung from fringe that danced with each of their movements. The dresses themselves ended at mid-thigh, lacking sleeves, and hung low in the front. Vulgar. He’d like to see one of them at the ranch trying to muck out a stall in that getup.

  A guitar added to the drumbeat for a fast tempo. The audience clapped and stomped their feet; a few men whistled.

  “Take it off,” one hollered.

  “Now we are in a strip joint.” Jeremiah caught his wife’s arm. “Come on, Lys. Let’s see what’s in the next tent. Pretty sure this one doesn’t have clockwork lions or stolen babies.”

  “Look,” she said.

  Jeremiah groaned as he searched the dancers for whatever had caught Alyssa’s attention. One of the young women stood at the forefront, twirling with two long, scarlet ribbons. She dragged them around her knees and up her body, throwing back her head as if it felt incredible. Dancing for strangers couldn’t be that delightful. She almost reminded him of…

  Saliva thickened on his tongue. Bloody gears.

  The dancer winked at the crowd and bit her lower lip, flashing a bit of white teeth. Her.

  The tent didn’t contain disgusting cotton candy.

  It contained his disgusting sister.

  Clark lifted his tankard for cheers with John Horan. “I’m glad I came back again today. You were right. Each day is an adventure.”

  John Horan relaxed in his chair, his feet propped on a table. The trailer held sparse furnishings, but it stank of cigar smoke, sandalwood, and sex. Brass glass, did that ever bring back memories of his mother at Tangled Wire. Clark fought to keep his jaw from clenching. How much sex did this man have with his employees? Clark shifted his position on the velveteen settee. John probably took them right on there.

  “Tell your business friends.” John grinned before drinking his mead.

  Clark pretended to take a drink. “You need investors?”

  Last night, Clark, Amethyst, and Zachariah had discussed the next plan of action. Amethyst would join the ranks, Zachariah would keep observing, and Clark would get John Horan drunk enough to wag his tongue. He’d have to befriend him, too.

  “Is getting to John Horan the best way to find Jolene?” Amethyst had asked her fortuneteller. The man had jerked on his bed, his eyes rolling back, and Clark had wondered if he looked like that when he saved the dead.

  “John Horan holds secrets,” the fortuneteller had gurgled. “He does not tell all he knows.”

  That much had been obvious, but Amethyst had nodded as if those two sentences made all the difference in their search. If she needed a fortuneteller to keep her grounded, so be it.

  “Oh, I got me a pretty snazzy investor.” John stretched one arm across the back of his chair. A clock ticked from the wooden trailer wall. “I’ve got the president behind me.”

  Clark pretended to take another drink. Why would the president go in with John Horan when Senator Horan had caused so much mayhem? Maybe it had nothing to do with politics and all with profit. No one could deny the circus its success.

  “I’ve also got me the prince.” John wiggled his eyebrows.

  No one talked about him. “The prince you say? What’s he got? Last anyone heard, he and his mother were stuck down south.”

  “Sure, sure. Now that the president’s in charge of the country, they don’t have much to do other than cause trouble.”

  That gossip hadn’t reached Clark. Hedlund might have been more occupied with Bromi natives and farming the land, but from what Amethyst had let on about the east, those people didn’t care about the retired royalty, either. They pasted Amethyst on the newspapers, not the middle-aged prince.

  “What’s the royalty doing these days?” Clark nodded to his tankard before walking to the bar to refill. He kept his back to John so the man wouldn’t s
ee how little he added from the spigot.

  “You didn’t hear it from me now.” John giggled like a schoolgirl. “There’s rumors afoot that the prince is sick of being just a figurehead. He’s sorry his old dad ever signed away the country to a governing body.”

  Brass glass, how much did Clark know about the country’s history? History didn’t hold much weight around mines. It was work or be trampled. “There was… a rebellion.”

  John scoffed. “Don’t we all know. The prince, now, he’s thinking about starting up a new one, and this time he’d be the victor. Everyone’s ignored him off alone on some Southern plantation, but now he’s coming back, and I reckon he’s going to make this whole country bleed.” John lowered his voice, his lips stretched wide in a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the prince is the one who took off with the Grisham baby.”

  he Grisham baby. Clark laughed to seem nonchalant. He could pretend they were both in Tangled Wire, so he could throw down his tankard, pull the knife from its sheath on his ankle, and stab John Horan until the man begged to tell him the truth and let it be over.

  Why couldn’t the clockwork circus be like a dusty mining town? Would anyone hear him torture John Horan?

  Amethyst and Zachariah might be in danger if Clark didn’t act the suave businessman.

  “What do you think the prince would want with a baby?” Clark took a gulp. It had better help dull that rage, make him care less about seeing the man bleed.

  “Well,” John drawled, “think about it, eh? That baby’s fortune is made through the Grisham and Treasure name. The royals don’t get much in money, just what they can rake in from their plantations.”

  “They get a small portion of our taxes.” He’d learned about that from Garth. It wasn’t common knowledge, but the politicians who knew about it wanted that to end. The queen and late king had turned over their titles to squelch a revolution; why did they deserve free money?

  “Think how much they can get for ransom.” John Horan winked.

  Clark’s gut became a rock. No ransom had come through—Georgette would have sent a telegram if it had—but John was right. They would pay anything for Jolene. Clark would also kill anyone for her. If the prince did think it would be a good idea, then he didn’t know how tough a westerner could be.