Heart of Lies

by Jill Marie Landis

“Go on, then.” She indicated the hitching post again with a tilt of her head. “Tie up your horse.”

  He led the animal to the post, looped the reins, and then glanced again at the cabin. She ignored his curiosity.

  “Now start talking,” she ordered.

  “Your brothers were suspected of kidnapping. They were wanted for questioning by the New Orleans police.”

  She tried to hide her shock. The twins had always gotten away with their crimes. What he told her hardly rang true.

  “You keep saying ‘were.’ Did they confess?” Careful, Maddie warned herself. Be very careful. “Where are they now?”

  “Well, as I said, Terrance has been jailed.”

  “For kidnapping?” She hoped she looked disbelieving. She could see Abbott was hedging.

  Finally he said, “For resisting arrest, shooting a police officer, and murder. He hasn’t confessed to the kidnapping yet.”

  “What about Lawrence? Is he in jail.”

  “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Maddie took a deep breath. “Say it, mister.”

  “Lawrence is dead.”

  Her mind raced as she tried to grasp it all. Terrance hadn’t confessed to anything and Lawrence was dead.

  “How? How did he die?”

  “He was shot. By your brother.”

  Terrance killed Lawrence? Was it an accident? Or had Terrance made certain his twin held his silence? It was nearly unthinkable, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Do you know anything about a kidnapping, Miss Grande?”

  She nearly blurted everything out until the intensity in his stare stopped her cold.

  “I … they didn’t much tell me what they were up to.” Not a lie. Not the truth. “You’re a policeman?”

  “No. I’m a Pinkerton.” He held up one hand. “If I may …” He carefully opened his jacket to reveal the Pinkerton Agency badge pinned inside.

  “A Pinkerton.” She was still trying to wrap her mind around Lawrence being dead, and now this.

  “A private detective.”

  “I know what a Pinkerton is.” Just as she knew good and well that if she told him about hiding the child for the twins, if she led him to Anita, both of them would be implicated in the crime as accomplices.

  “If you do know anything about a missing child, you could make it easier on yourself by confessing. Your cooperation might help lessen your time in prison.”

  Her ears were ringing, but not so loud that she didn’t hear him mention prison.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Abbott.”

  Abbott was still watching her closely. She pictured Lawrence, dying of a bullet wound. Had he known Terrance shot him? Lawrence couldn’t abide having as much as a hangnail. If he’d been arrested, the police would have gotten the truth out of him without hardly trying. Terrance hadn’t talked or the law would be here, not just one Pinkerton.

  The minute Abbott found out Penelope Perkins was being held against her will, then she’d be as guilty as her brothers.

  Sweat dampened her hairline and trickled down her temple. The heavy gray sky hung so low it looked close enough to touch the tips of the cypress trees. It was too sultry to think. She wished there was at least a lick of breeze.

  Aware of the detective, she knew she had to pull herself together. If she could just get rid of him, demand a ransom for the child, and then turn her over to her parents, she would have a stake for the future. It wouldn’t have to be much. Just enough to help her start over on her own.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when Tom Abbott touched her shoulder. She took a step back and wondered how he’d managed to sidle up so close.

  “Miss Grande? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m trying to wrap my mind around what you just told me.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother. Mind if I have a drink of water?”

  He didn’t look sorry. She doubted he was really thirsty.

  “You said your piece,” she told him, “and I thank you for bringing word. Help yourself to some water out of that rain barrel at the corner of the cabin and then be on your way.”

  He shrugged and looked around the unkempt yard.

  She wanted him gone. She wanted to go inside and collect herself. To come to grips with Lawrence’s death and the notion that Terrance was in jail. If it wasn’t for Penelope, she’d be free to do whatever she wanted. Her stomach was in knots.

  She turned, forgetting that he was so close, and nearly ran into him. His dark eyes gave away nothing. His stare was completely disarming. She found herself inexplicably drawn to him and took a step back.

  “I’m real sorry I had to bring you bad news,” he told her.

  “I thank you,” she said, “for your trouble.” He had come a long way to deliver it. It was a far piece back to the city too.

  “It’s obvious you’re innocent.” His conclusion surprised her but she tried to relax, to appear as if he was right. She needed to keep him believing she had no knowledge of the kidnapping. No part in it. With Penelope safely out of sight at Anita’s, there was no harm in putting his mind at ease.

  “I guess you may as well come in and have some coffee. I fixed up some biscuits earlier. You’re welcome to have some.”

  “What about my gun?”

  She’d forgotten all about it. He could have grabbed it but hadn’t.

  She walked over to where it lay on the ground, bent, and picked it up.

  “I’d prefer to hang on to it for a while,” she told him and then added, “if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re one suspicious lady.” He lifted his hat and wiped his brow with the stained cuff of his sleeve.

  “It’s a dangerous world, Mr. Abbott. A body can’t be too careful.”

  She was beside him again. Together they turned to walk toward the cabin.

  “This is a far cry from New Orleans,” he said.

  “I feel safe here.” As they continued to dance politely around each other, she was forced to keep her stewing emotions hidden. She pointed to the rain barrel. “There’s the water.”

  Abbott walked over to the barrel, took the ladle down off the nail on the side of the cabin, and dipped himself a drink. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it in three long gulps.

  Just then thunder ripped through the air and the sky opened up, shaking the ground beneath them. Across the yard, his horse reared and strained against the reins. Its eyes rolled wildly.

  “Put him in the shed,” she hollered over the pelting rain. “Looks like a bad one.”

  Together they dashed across the yard. Abbott untied the chestnut gelding and followed Maddie into the small shed that smelled of muck and old leather. She watched him move with purpose in the shadows. She wasn’t exactly a petite woman, but Tom Abbott was still a good head taller. His wide shoulders filled out his jacket, straining the seams. Unlike the twins, this man was fit and firm. He had no gut hanging over his waistband.

  She glanced outside to where rain fell in sheets. She thought of the pirogue tied at the dock and the crabs in the bucket. She couldn’t afford to lose the craft.

  “We’ll have to make a run for it,” she told him. “You go first.”

  She nodded toward the door on the back wall of the cabin. Abbott didn’t hesitate as he took off running with his hand on his hat.

  By the time they reached the building they were completely drenched. Maddie stepped inside the back door, aware of the way the worn fabric of her sopping dress clung to her. She ignored her discomfort, afraid to call unwanted attention. Her long hair was heavy, dripping down her back.

  She turned away from Abbott, propping her gun against the wall near the sink. When she glanced over her shoulder she caught him looking around the shack. With his attention elsewhere, she quickly slipped his Colt behind a large tin of flour on a shelf. He took off his weather-beaten hat, brushed off the water droplets, and continued to gaze around. He gave the impression he wasn’t really inte
rested in what he saw, but she had no doubt everything he did was with purpose.

  “You can put your saddlebags on one of the twins’ beds.” She pointed across the room.

  He turned, his expression one of surprise.

  Color rushed to her cheeks. “It’s just temporary, Mr. Abbott. You won’t be sleeping here.”

  “I never assumed so, ma’am.”

  “It’s Madeline. Folks call me Maddie.”

  His stare never wavered. “You’re welcome to call me Tom.”

  She went over to the stove, stirred the coals to life, and put a Dutch oven over the front burner. While she was still soaked, she figured she might as well go back out and check the lines to make sure the pirogue was tightly lashed to the dock. She left the door open as she hurried out, glancing back now and again to keep an eye on Abbott. He’d walked to the door to watch her through the rain as she grabbed the crab bucket. He stepped aside to let her back in.

  “Now you’re really drenched.” Abbott looked around until he noticed a towel on a peg near her bed. He grabbed it as she stood just inside the threshold, her rain-soaked skirt dripping on the floor.

  The rain pelting against the tin roof sounded as if it would bring the cabin down. Thunder cracked again, closer this time.

  “Thank you.” She raised her voice over the din. His gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed. Neither of the twins would have lifted a finger to get her a dry towel, or anything else for that matter. She warned herself not to let her guard down, not even a fraction. “A body might take you for a gentleman, Mr. Abbott.”

  “Tom. And I’m hardly a gentleman.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “I hope you’re enough of one to have a seat and turn your back while I put on some dry clothes,” she told him.

  He pulled out a chair and sat with his back to her. “I never argue with a lady when she’s got a shotgun within reach.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Tom listened to Maddie’s footsteps as she moved around the room. She’d been a surprise since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He hadn’t really known what to expect of a woman raised the way she had been, a woman who had grown up on the wrong side of the law. He certainly hadn’t expected Madeline Grande. She appeared to be in her mid-to late twenties, long limbed, lean and elegant, despite her faded dress. Her rich, dark hair was nearly black. Thick and wavy, it hung loose past her shoulders. Her eyes were huge, deep brown with a hint of hazel. They were full of intelligence and speculation. Pale copper freckles, prominent across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, dusted her skin all over.

  Miss Maddie Grande was actually a pleasant surprise. The minute he laid eyes on her, he realized she fit the description of Megan Lane, except she appeared younger than thirty-two. Finding Penelope Perkins was more important right now. He’d question Maddie about Megan Lane later. The fact that Penelope Perkins was nowhere to be seen was a heavy disappointment. As far as he could tell, there was no place to have hidden her in the cabin, no side rooms, no closets or armoires. There had been no cupboards, no hidey-holes in the shed. If Madeline knew about the kidnapping, she wasn’t about to let on. If her brothers were involved and she knew nothing of it, she had nothing to tell, but if she did know where Penelope was, if she was hiding the girl for them, then sooner or later he’d find out. For now he couldn’t afford to have her panic and do anything rash.

  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.