by Mike Blakely
Joshua Lagarde didn’t stay in town long. He took the mangled safety valve from the Glory of Caddo Lake back to New Orleans as physical evidence. His investigation would eventually prove that Kelso had blown up the Glory for a price.
I didn’t find. out about that until years later, and by that time, the proof was worthless, seeing as how Kelso was already dead. He was knifed to death in Carol Anne Cobb’s room and nobody to this day can prove who did it. But I’m getting ahead of myself, because Kelso wasn’t killed until September—after the rise and fall of that wondrous event called the Great Caddo Lake Pearl Rush.
7
THE GANGPLANK BENT AND SPRANG UNDER THE WEIGHT OF TREVOR BRIGginshaw as he bounded down it to the Port Caddo wharf. He carried a large leather satchel, buffed with age around the corners, etched everywhere with hairline cracks, and stuffed to bulging with unknown contents. In spite of the July heat and humidity, he wore a white cotton jacket that strained at the seams around his bulk, like an overfilled grain sack.
He looked like a huge animated hero from a romantic painting, his neck rigid, beard full and jutting, chest barreled, legs consuming ground in great, powerful strides. He hummed an Australian marching song as he strode up the bayou bank to the cobblestones, where the business district of Port Caddo began.
People stopped to watch him pass. His size alone made him conspicuous. He stood six-foot-five and carried two hundred fifty pounds as if chiseled from a great trunk of oak. Despite his size, he did not appear fearsome. In fact, there was something engaging about his energy and lively swagger.
“You there!” he shouted to Robert Timmons, the tinsmith, as he reached high ground. “You, mate! A word, please.” His deep Australian brogue pinned Timmons in his tracks. Brigginshaw swept his panama hat from his head as he descended on the local informant. “I’m looking for a Miss Carol Anne Cobb. Where can I find her?”
Timmons pointed up the street as he tried to take in all of Trevor Brigginshaw and make some kind of sense out of what such a character would be doing in Port Caddo, Texas. “Snyder’s store,” he said. “The building with the red brick front, up the street. She works there.”
“Good man!” Brigginshaw said through a toothy smile. He slapped the panama back onto his curly head and hiked up the street on swinging cassowary legs.
The brass bell on the door of Snyder’s store jingled in alarm as the huge Australian burst in. His size in the doorway brought the darkness of storm clouds into the building. Pearl stepped back from the counter in surprise and three wives looked up from their shopping lists.
Brigginshaw’s eyes fell on the exquisite form of Pearl. “Miss Cobb?” he said.
She nodded.
The worn leather satchel blew dust from the cracks as it hit the hardwood floor. Brigginshaw dragged his panama from his head and onto his gigantic heart. He strode as if entranced to the counter between himself and Pearl. “Billy Treat is a bloody fool to have understated your beauty.” He reached for her fingers, bowed over the counter, and kissed the back of her hand.
Pearl pulled her hand away. The three customers were agog, watching from the aisles between the store shelves.
“Who are you?” Pearl said.
“Captain Trevor Price Brigginshaw—Sydney, London, and New York.”
“Well … . What do you want?”
“I’ve come to purchase your pearls.”
“You’re the pearl-buyer?”
“The pearl-buyer?” Brigginshaw bellowed. “Is that how the wretch refers to me? The pearl-buyer? Doesn’t he have the common decency to name me? He that saved Billy Treat from pirates among the Pearl Islands of the Southern Seas? I’ll thrash the lout when I see him again!” He laughed to keep from shocking her.
“I don’t think he meant anything by it,” Pearl said.
“You think not? Billy’s a calculating bloke, Miss Cobb. He doesn’t do anything without purpose. Now, where do you keep this collection of exquisite pearls? If they are as beautiful as you, I promise I cannot afford to buy them.”
“Now? I’m working right now,” she said. But when she thought of ridding herself of all those angel tears, as Billy had said the Romans called them, she couldn’t wait. “Oh, all right, I’ll get them.” She turned to the customers. “You ladies make your own change,” she said, and swept past Trevor Brigginshaw to the door.
When she came back from her room with the tobacco tin, she found the pearl buyer opening his satchel on the store counter. “Not in here,” she said. “Over at Widow Humphry’s inn. Billy works there.”
“I insist on business before pleasure, Miss Cobb. Let’s have-a-look at the pearls and strike a deal, then we’ll see Billy.”
“Let’s see Billy first,” Pearl said, sternly. “I don’t know anything about grading pearls. You might swindle me.”
“I? A cheat?” Brigginshaw roared.
Pearl looked away, as if bored.
The big Australian began to laugh. He laughed so loud that one of the customers covered her ears. “Has Billy mentioned only my vilest characteristics, Miss Cobb? I’d brain another man for less, but with a skull as thick as Billy’s, it would benefit him no more than it would a hammerhead shark.” He buckled the leather satchel. “Is the Widow Humphry as beautiful as you?”
Pearl Cobb and Trevor Brigginshaw caused a sensation crossing the main street of Port Caddo together. Robert Timmons had already alerted the town to the arrival of the big Australian. When Pearl and Trevor reached the inn, the women in Snyder’s store dispersed without buying anything or making any change, and went to spread the news.
The buyer and the seller found Billy in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner mess.
“My God, can it be?” Brigginshaw said. “The king of Mangareva’s become a lowly galley rat!”
Billy wheeled. His eyes fell on Pearl first, momentarily. Then he shifted his pale gaze to the Australian. “Trev,” he said.
Pearl saw a new Billy. Life leaped into his eyes and molded his face with a smile. He wrung his greasy hands on an apron as he marched forward and fell into the crushing embrace of Trevor Brigginshaw. They shook the whole inn, hopping in each other’s arms like boys, each slapping the other’s back as if trying to put out a fire.
A couple of the most avid gossips in town happened to come visiting at Widow Humphry’s just as Pearl and the two men retired to Billy’s room. It was scandalous. The two men went down the hall laughing and talking, and Pearl followed them into the room with her tobacco tin.
When Captain Trevor Brigginshaw took off his white jacket, Pearl almost gasped at the revolver stuck under his belt, its handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Nothing to fear,” he said, sensing her apprehension. “The weapon is intended strictly for security of the company’s property. I rarely have to use it.”
“The company?” Billy said. “What company?”
“International bloody Gemstones,” Trevor said with a snarl.
“I thought you were independent.”
“The company’s only a temporary inconvenience, mate. Until I can afford another boat and get back among the Pearl Islands.”
“What happened to the Wicked Whistler?”
“Hurricane, last year on Jamaica. Now, let’s not take up any more of Miss Cobb’s valuable time with our personal business. I’ll tell you all about it later.” Captain Brigginshaw opened his satchel, took out a rolled piece of black velvet, and spread it across Billy’s table. “The pearls, if you please, Miss Cobb.”
She gave him the tobacco tin. He opened it, poker-faced, and shrugged as he poured the pearls onto the black velvet. He began sorting them, as Billy Treat had done in her room. He hummed as he made piles, his rich baritone voicing an occasional phrase. Pearl looked at Billy. He smiled at her.
“They pale in comparison to your loveliness, Miss Cobb,” Trevor said after several minutes of sorting. “I’m afraid they disappoint me.”
Billy scoffed and chuckled.
“Let’s start wit
h these small ones. They’re little better than seed pearls. I can pay no more than thirty-five dollars for each.”
Billy laughed. “Seed pearls! There’s not a pearl there smaller than ten grains! Even the baroques are worth eighty dollars each.”
“You’ve been out of the business too long, Billy. These dogtooth and wing pearls are virtually worthless on today’s market … .”
They haggled for fifteen minutes and finally arrived at a figure of seventy-five dollars apiece for the first batch of ten pearls. Trevor removed a ledger book from his satchel and mumbled as he penciled in the first purchase:
“A clutch of ten seed pearls … seventy-five dollars each … Miss Carol Anne Cobb.”
His thick fingers picked up the ten pearls one by one and put them in a case with velvet folds in it to keep the gems from rolling around. “Now, for this group of seven, I’ll pay eighty dollars each. They’re hardly superior to the first clutch.”
Billy laughed again. “You see what he’s done, Carol Anne? He’s separated your best pairs. See these two pear-shaped specimens? They’re perfectly matched, and worth more when sold together, for making earrings. But Trev here has put them in different batches! Same with these two egg-shaped pearls.”
The haggling commenced again, and went on for half an hour. The men regrouped the pearls several times and finally agreed on a clutch of five that would sell for one hundred twenty dollars each. Billy looked at Pearl. She nodded. Trevor made the notations in the ledger book.
The eight finest pearls remained on the black velvet. In an hour, Billy and Trevor had agreed to put six of them in a batch to sell for two hundred each. Billy looked at Pearl for approval.
“Not that one,” she said, indicating the pearl of living visions that Billy had given her. “It’s not for sale.” She removed it from the group and held it in her hand.
Billy’s face revealed nothing to Trevor Brigginshaw.
Only two pearls remained unsold. Brigginshaw tried to group them together, but Billy insisted on bargaining for each separately. He graded the yellow oval at nineteen grains. Trevor said it was only fifteen. He took the pieces of a small scale from his satchel, put it together, and weighed the pearl at almost exactly nineteen grains. Billy mentioned its superior shape, luster, and overtone. He would settle for no less than three hundred dollars. Pearl agreed. Trevor relented after forty-five minutes.
They spent a full hour dickering over the smoky-blue teardrop that had begun Pearl’s collection six years before. Thirty grains, Billy said. Trevor shook the inn with laughter. But the scale and the pearl’s shape, color, and orient ultimately demanded seven hundred and fifty dollars, despite the Australian’s fiercest negotiations.
Brigginshaw sighed as he made the final entry in his ledger. “Miss Cobb, my trip to Port Caddo has hardly been worth my time at these high prices. What little gratitude Billy has shown me for saving his life from pirates in the South Pacific.”
“Don’t let your conscience bother you, Carol Anne,” Billy said. “This man’s a pirate himself when it comes to pearls. Those big hands have held more pearls than all the royalty in the world put together ever did.”
Brigginshaw chuckled. “Now, about that last pearl,” he said. “May I have another look at it?”
Carol Anne opened her hand and put the pearl on the black velvet. The buyer picked up a pearl case and probed through a few of the folds. “No, not that one,” he mumbled. “No, too small. Wrong color. Ah! Here it is. A perfect match.” He removed a white sphere, identical to the one on the velvet cloth. “This one came from Pennsylvania. Since it matches yours, I can offer an extra fifty. Two hundred fifty dollars, Miss Cobb. What?”
Carol Anne took her pearl back into her hand. “This one’s not for sale,” she said.
“Three hundred?”
“No. It was a gift.” She folded her fingers around it protectively.
Billy remained silent.
Carol Anne was about to ask how International Gemstones would pay for the pearls when the Australian lifted a stack of bills from his satchel. He slowly and methodically counted out thirty-four one-hundred-dollar bills.
Before handing them to her, he said, “I insist on one stipulation before making this deal complete.”
“What now?” Billy asked.
“Both of you must keep your mouth shut about these ridiculous prices. I won’t be taken this badly again if there are any other pearls to be purchased about here. Agreed?”
“I’ll agree,” Billy replied.
“Yes, that’s fine,” Carol Anne said.
After the money changed hands, Trevor wanted to celebrate. But Carol Anne said she had to get back to the store. Mr. Snyder was probably furious at her for taking the entire afternoon off. And Billy had to prepare supper for the boarders.
“Just as well,” Trevor said, covering his weapon as he put on his jacket. “That will give me just enough time before supper to do a little business in town. Set an extra plate, Billy. I hope you’re a better cook than friend.”
The inn’s parlor had seldom seen as much socializing. When Carol Anne and the two men left Billy’s room, a hush enveloped a dozen or more town gossips, men and women. Carol Anne went out first, ignoring the eyes that followed her.
“Who’s your friend, Mr. Treat?” someone asked, before Billy could turn into the kitchen.
“Captain Trevor Price Brigginshaw,” the big Australian said, letting Billy go with a wave.
“Staying with us tonight, Mr. Brigginshaw?” Widow Humphry asked.
“I would be pleased to, Madam. I was hoping you would have accommodations available.”
“Oh, yes. We haven’t filled up since before the war. Shall I have the boy take your suitcase up?”
“No, thank you, my good woman. It never leaves my side. It’s because of this bloody case that I have never married. It’s a terrible burden in bed.”
Some of the men laughed, a couple of ladies giggled, and the others gasped. Widow Humphry urged the owner of the case in question to sign the register.
“Whatever you’ve got in there, it must be important for you to take it to bed with you,” said Robert Timmons.
“It is filled with things of great value and beauty,” Brigginshaw said. “Things that I am bound to protect with my life.”
“Your accent is delightful,” said an infatuated young woman. “Do you mind our asking … ?”
“Not at all. I’ve heard that you Texans are a great deal like us Australians—never pass up an opportunity to boast whence you hail. Sydney, Australia, is my home, though I keep residences in New York and London as well.”
“Put the name of your firm here, if you wish,” Widow Humphry said. She made knowing faces at the locals over the big man’s back as he bent to write in the space she had indicated. “Your room will be upstairs. First on the left. Supper at six.”
“Thank you, my good woman. Now, if someone will direct me to the local newspaper office …”
Several volunteers rendered the directions and the pearl-buyer left, tipping his panama as he stepped out. There was a general rush to read the register when he was gone.
In two minutes, Trevor Brigginshaw had found the offices of the Port Caddo Steam Whistle. John Crowell knew about him already, and had been receiving reports from news-gathering spies all afternoon. He was busy setting type, however, and couldn’t get out of the office to do any snooping on his own. He was happy to see the news come to him for a change.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you,” Crowell said, shaking the stranger’s powerful hand. “I’ve been saving a place for you at the bottom of page one. My instincts tell me some import accompanies your visit.”
“God bless a bloke who follows his instincts. Mine have kept me alive for many years. Getting an issue together soon, are you?”
“Going to press tonight, as a matter of fact. Your timing is very good.”
“Between my timing and your instincts, we may just benefit each other, Mr. Crowell. W
e very well may.” He sat down in front of the editor’s desk, holding his satchel in his lap. “I’m here to buy pearls. I’ve already made one confidential purchase this afternoon, and I’d like to advertise for more in your paper. What are you laughing at, mate?”
“I’m sorry,” Crowell said, wiping his inky hands on his apron. “It’s just that everybody in town already knows about your ‘confidential’ purchase.”
“That I gathered. But the details will have to remain confidential. I can say only that the local collector had many pearls valued at about ten thousand dollars.” .
The smile slid from John Crowell’s face. “Did you say ten thousand?”
“Roughly. Don’t press for details, Mr. Crowell. I can’t tell you any more than that. The collector insisted.”
“Ten thousand dollars! How many pearls did she have? She couldn’t have had more than twenty or twenty-five.”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” The editor got up to look at the hole in his front-page plate. “I had no idea those pearls would bring such high prices.”
“I wish I could give you more details of the sale for your front-page story, Mr. Crowell, but the collector wants to avoid publicity. I, on the other hand, want to feed it. I wonder if a quarter-page advertisement might make a good start.”
“It might,” Crowell said. “But a half-page—and a story at the top of page one instead of the bottom—might attract a good deal more publicity. Yes, a good deal more.”
Trevor Brigginshaw smiled as he opened his money case. “A sensible newspaper man is more difficult to come by than the finest paragon of pearls. You, mate, are a gem!”
8
YOU KNOW WHEN I GOT RELIGION? WHEN I FOUND OUT JESUS WAS A FISHERMAN.
I have lived within casting distance of water all my life, and I guess I’ve caught fish every which way known to man. I’ve sailed the Gulf of Mexico and hooked tarpon bigger than calves. I’ve climbed the Rocky Mountains to fly-cast for rainbow trout in waters barely ankle-deep. I’ve waded the mouths of big rivers and speared flounder by lantern light with a pointed stick.
