by Lyn Cote
From where he stood by Dent’s window overlooking the street, Jack cleared his throat. “Corelli just walked into Penny Candy.”
“Don’t leave your room. I may be back.” Gabe released him.
Dent stumbled backward.
Within minutes, Gabe stormed into the empty and hollow-feeling Penny Candy and confronted Corelli beside the bar. “All right. What do you know about the kidnapping of Miss Wagstaff?”
Corelli leaned against the bar smoking a cigarette. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You called and told me to get here. I came over as soon as I was dressed.”
Gabe’s right hand clenching into a fist at his side, he pictured himself smashing the man’s smug face. “Don’t play dumb. Everyone in New Orleans knows who Meg Wagstaff and Del Dubois are.”
“So?” Corelli flicked the ash off his cigarette.
“I’m putting up a five thousand dollar reward for her safe return.”
Corelli gave a low wolf whistle. “That’s a lot of money. Sorry I can’t help you.”
Gabe would have paid five thousand dollars for a legal excuse to drag Corelli down to police headquarters. Instead, he slammed his fist onto the bar. He turned on his heel and marched out. Jack followed him.
Outside, Gabe looked up and down the afternoon street. Most of Storyville still slept. “Where do we go from here?”
Jack rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well, I would go to Mr. Sands.”
Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe Del or Meg had told him something that would give them a lead. “You’re right.” They got into Meg’s car and Gabe pulled out and took off with a squeal of tires.
Through the buzzing in her ears, Meg heard voices, men’s voices, arguing. She tried to straighten up, but couldn’t without making her head spin. She gave up and let her head loll weakly forward. She became aware that she was sitting on a chair, but held so tightly…I’m bound. She tried to speak but a cloth gag stopped her. Through the haze in her head, the voices intruded again.
“You’re a fool!” An unseen man’s sharp voice hurt her ears. “Did I tell you to kidnap anybody? Did I?”
A low voice that she thought she’d heard before tried to explain, “She was nosing around the club, then more showed up—the chief of police, the mayor—”
“So what?” the sharp voice demanded, sounding as though it were below her feet.
“I saw her go to Dent’s, then go behind the club. He may have told her something,” the familiar voice tried to sound reasonable.
“I got Dent in my hip pocket. He don’t tell nobody anything I don’t want him to. You’ve made a mess of things. Rooney made a mess and look what happened to him.”
A silence. “You mean that was you—”
“Sure it was. Rooney messed this up from the beginnin’. But yesterday in court was the last straw—”
“You went to court?” the familiar voice asked.
“I got someone who did. Rooney picked the wrong fall guy. That jazz player is more than just a cheap Joe. He’s got an education. He’s got a family behind him worth millions. The guy who raised him runs a high-class magazine that blows the whistle on people who do things he don’t like—one of those do-gooder muckrakers.”
“Who knew?”
“Rooney should have known! He bungled this whole deal from the beginning. Now, don’t you bungle this.” The sharp voice sounded stern. “Even if she is a Yankee, the death of a white woman, a lady will cause big trouble. And her father’s got enough money to make waves. I don’t want to kill her unless I have to.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. You’re the one who should be worried. I want this taken care of today. One way or the other! Don’t forget what happened to Rooney.”
“Sure, boss…”
The voices faded from her hearing and receding footsteps told Meg that they were leaving. She opened her eyes and scanned the room she was being held in. One small window let in the only light from high above. She could see no door, but it might be behind her. How long had she been unconscious? Lifting her aching head made her feel woozy. She lowered it fraction by fraction.
What happened to Jack? Did they kill him, too? Tears flowed down her cheeks. Kennedy, LaRae, Rooney had been murdered. Maybe Jack. Am I next?
Her heart beat so fast it hurt. She cried out against the gag. Oh, God, I’m so frightened. What can separate us from the love of God? Can bombs, mustard gas, barbed wire?
Colin’s face came before her eyes. Pain cut her in two. Her wrists and ankles pounded with sluggish blood. Only her bindings held her up. Her grief dragged at her like poisoned nails. Dear God, save Del. Save Gabe. Save me. Without you, we are lost.
“Del?” Gabe stared in shock at his father who sat behind the desk in his office at home. “I need to question Del to find Meg? What could he know about this, he’s been in jail under guard—”
“Yes, Del,” Sands interrupted. “If you want the truth, son, you must go to him.”
Gabe felt hot and cold. His fears for Meg’s safety had shaken him to his core. He now knew the extent of his feelings for Meg. I can’t lose her. I can’t face the future without her. “You’ll tell me nothing, then?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I think Del knows more than he’s told me.” Father picked up the newspaper, folded it, then handed it to his son. “Take him this. I think the headline will loosen his tongue.”
Gabe took the paper and walked out.
Belle, with Dulcine at her side, accosted him at the front door. “Gabe, I need to know if you will take me to the Rex parade this evening—”
“Parade?” He stared at her.
“It’s Mardi Gras today,” Dulcine trilled. “Did you forget, Gabriel?”
Meg’s kidnapping had driven everything else from his mind. “Meg has been kidnapped.”
“What!” Belle exclaimed.
Dulcine looked startled.
“I’m on my way to try to get information from Del at the parish jail.”
Belle clutched his sleeve. “Kidnapped? Why!”
“Isn’t that a job for the police?” Dulcine asked in a brittle tone.
“No, Dulcine, it’s my responsibility because I’m the one who put her in harm’s way. Besides,” he went on rashly, “I intend to ask Meg Wagstaff to be my wife.”
Dulcine’s face went white except for two spots of red, one flaming on each cheek.
“I’ll be praying for her,” Belle murmured.
Gabe touched his sister’s shoulder, then left.
Gabe faced Del alone in the jail infirmary. The wall clock read quarter past three. Nearly four hours since Meg had been kidnapped. The clogged streets and a fruitless talk with the chief of police had gobbled up precious time. He’d had Del brought here so they couldn’t be overheard. Del’s bodyguard and Jack stood guard outside the locked door.
“Why did you want to see me alone here?” Del stared at him suspiciously.
“Meg was kidnapped this morning.”
Del reared up out of his seat, cursing Gabe. “Mr. Sands said you hired a good bodyguard for her! What happened?”
“Jack Bishop is a good bodyguard, but they took him by surprise. You can’t blame me more than I blame myself. I need you to tell me everything you know, so I can find her.”
“She might already be dead.” Del clenched and unclenched his hands as if he fought the urge to throttle Gabe.
“I hope, I pray not.” Gabe pushed the paper into Del’s hand. “My father told me to show you this. Read the headline.”
Del took it reluctantly, but one glance at the headline and shock spread over his face. “Rooney’s dead?”
Gabe nodded. “I saw Rooney’s body at the morgue before breakfast.”
Del slumped back into his chair.
Sitting down on a stool, Gabe bent over. Folding his hands together, he propped his elbows on his thighs. “Tell me anything you know that might help me to find her. Please.”
&n
bsp; Del glanced up. “Your father tells me that you and Meg are an item, is that true?”
“I have fallen in love with her.” Would Del be able to help?
Del looked at the paper again. “You say you love Meg. Rooney’s dead. Why does that mean I can trust you?”
“Because my father sent me. Because Meg trusts me. Because only the truth can free you and save Meg. Tell me. Please.” Dear Lord, make him confide in me.
Del stared hard at Gabe. “All right. I can talk now with Rooney gone. It took me a while to sort everything out, but…” Del paused, staring at the ceiling, then he looked down. He talked slowly as though exhausted: “As I’ve figured it out, Rooney framed me. Late one night, I saw him with Corelli and the man who wears a flashy diamond ring on his little finger. At the time, I didn’t even know who the three of them were.”
Del shrugged. “I didn’t put it together until after my arrest when I found out who Rooney was, then I asked other prisoners about the man with the ring. They told me his name is Mario Vincent.”
Gabe tried to take in what he was hearing. Kennedy, Rooney, Corelli, and Vincent? “Vincent runs most of Storyville.”
“That’s what I’ve found out—since being jailed.”
“When did you see them together?” The enormity of what Del was revealing shook Gabe.
“Two days before Mitch was killed, about an hour after closing. I think they thought everyone else in the club had gone home but Mitch. But I was in the back in what we called the dressing room. I heard raised voices—”
“They were arguing?”
Del nodded. “I didn’t think anything about that. I came out, ready to leave. I just nodded at them and left. They were talking to Mitch. The thing is I don’t think I would ever have put it altogether if they’d just let me go north.”
“They needed someone to charge with Mitch’s murder.” Gabe burned with the injustice of Rooney’s treachery. He’d betrayed the public trust. For how long? Dear God. Corruption this close to the chief of police.
Del nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Do you know why Mitch was murdered?” Gabe looked into Del’s eyes.
“I pieced that together, too. I think someone is trying to challenge Vincent for control of the new gin trade.”
Gabe repeated, “New gin trade?”
“There’ll be more dirty money made than ever selling illegal liquor. Storyville will be a boomtown with cash rolling through it. What I’ve heard in jail is that someone from New York City wants in. Mitch must have decided to back Vincent’s competition. I think they were trying to convince him not to when I saw the four of them together. Evidently Mitch went with the competition. That must be why he was killed—a warning to the other club owners—to remember who they paid protection to and why.”
“I’ve been afraid of what Prohibition might bring.” God, how can something meant to do good, do so much harm?
Del’s jaw hardened. “Well, whatever you have imagined, the reality will be worse. Big money draws tough predators. It will be a bloody fight over the control of the smuggled liquor trade.”
“It’s already brought three murders and a kidnapping.” Gabe stood up, suddenly restless. Meg, where are you? How will I find you?
“You’ve got to find Meg. She is one in a million.” Del stood up, kicking his chair back. “You realize they killed LaRae just for talking to Meg. Probably a warning to me and Meg.”
Dear Lord, help me find her alive. But Gabe asked, “Did you tell my father about Rooney and his criminal connections?”
“No, I didn’t tell anyone.” Del looked at Gabe as if he were insane. “What I knew had gotten me arrested for murder. Why would I sentence someone else to death?”
Gabe faced Del squarely. “My carelessness in regards to your case makes me as culpable as Rooney. I want you to know that I intend to resign my position as parish attorney. If I had taken the time to do any investigation of you, I would have known that evidence had been planted on you.”
“You thought I was just another colored jazz player in Storyville,” Del said bitterly. “But I was as foolish as you. I thought I could come home and bury myself in my music here and forget the Klan and Jim Crow. I was a fool to come home to face the same old bigotry. France was the first place I’ve ever lived where I wasn’t judged by my color. That made coming back ten times worse. Meg told me I should have stayed in France. She was right.”
Gabe could say nothing. Hearing Del’s bitterness for the first time, Gabe felt ashamed. But Gabe could right no wrongs now except to free Del and find Meg. The mystery is solved, but that doesn’t help Meg. Gabe shoved his hands into his pockets. “Who do you think kidnapped Meg?”
“Corelli. He may have panicked. Or Vincent himself. I don’t see that anyone else has a motive, do you?”
“No, but I’ve missed so much of what is going on around me I don’t trust myself. And how do I go after them?” Gabe slammed his fists onto a nearby cot. “I have no evidence against either of them. Even if I bring them in for questioning, that won’t protect Meg! I could have them here in front of me and someone could…” He broke off unable to say “kill Meg.” “What are we to do? Every minute lessens her chances.”
“Well,” Del let out a deep breath, “my grandmother always said there’d come a day when I would be pushed beyond what human flesh could bear. I know what she meant now. We’re there. We can do nothing in our own strength.”
“What did your grandmother tell you to do then?” Gabe ground the words out in a voice that didn’t even sound like his own.
“You either give up and go down in defeat or…”
“Or?”
“Or you hand everything over to God and take whatever He decides.”
“That doesn’t sound…hopeful.” Gabe stared into Del’s eyes and saw his own fear and despair reflected there.
“We can always trust God—even in the face of death.”
Del’s last words froze Gabe inside. I can’t face losing her, God.
“Are you ready to accept God’s will?” Del stood up.
“Are you?” Gabe countered.
“I already have. I’ve been powerless since Rooney framed me six weeks ago. I’m still powerless—even though Rooney’s dead.”
Gabe rubbed his forehead. “I have no choice.”
Del lowered his head, then raised his hands. “Oh, Lord, you know our sister, Meg, you have tried her like gold and found her pure and faithful. She’s in your hands, Lord. Bring her safe through this testing. Please, Lord, please.”
Gabe stared at the floor, pressing his fingers to his eyes, forcing back tears. “I know you have the power, Lord.” He prayed silently, I’ve buried my head in the sand too long, Lord. Please help me find Meg or let someone else find her before it’s too late.
Staring up toward the dimming light of day, Meg ached within her tight bounds. The blood in her wrists and ankles throbbed from the pressure of the ropes. The sensation of pins and needles prickled in her hands and feet. From outside came loud jazz, laughter, and shouting. Mardi Gras. New Orleans was celebrating while she waited alone to see if she would live or die. Oh, God, help me. I don’t want to die—not when I’ve just found hope again.
You did not forsake me in the Quake or in France. Trust in the Lord and lean not on your own understanding—Father taught me that years ago. Why did it take a war, a death, a murder charge, a kidnapping to make me really know it? Trust in the Lord while he may be found. “I do trust you, Lord. Am I too late?” She hung her head and sobbed.
Gabe paced his office. Night had closed around him. The shouts and laughter of Mardi Gras reached him through closed windows. Jack sat, slumped in a chair, his head down in defeat. He and Jack had searched for Meg for hours—by car, then on foot. But Mardi Gras had clogged the streets and banquettes of the French Quarter and Storyville.
The police search for Meg, desultory at best, had given way to crowd control. When Gabe and Jack had returned to Penny Candy, they�
�d found Corelli gone and received evasive answers to their questions. “Come back tomorrow after Mardi Gras” and “We’re too busy trying to keep up with business.”
Mardi Gras had become Gabe’s adversary and in the end, it had won.
Someone banged on the outer door of Gabe’s office. Startled and wary, Gabe opened it.
Dent faced him. “Still offerin’ five G’s for information about the Yankee woman?”
Gabe’s heart jerked; he hauled the man inside by the lapels of his coat. “Do you know where she is?”
“Sure do.” Dent smirked. “What about the reward?”
“Tell me where she is and if I find her there alive, you’ll have your money.”
Because of the holiday, it took Gabe four excruciating hours to get a search warrant. It was nearly eleven at night when Jack Bishop, O’Toole, Asa Dent, and one uniformed policeman accompanied Gabe. They pushed their way on foot through the Mardi Gras revelers jamming the French Quarter. Dent had fingered Corelli as the kidnapper and had given Gabe an address of a house on Royal Street.
The Rex Parade was in full swing snaking its way through the Quarter. All around them people in shimmering and outrageous costumes and masks greeted one another and danced to the music which filled the air. Prohibition had been forgotten for the day. People openly shared bottles of liquor and toasted Mardi Gras.
Because of the din, Gabe pointed to the number that matched the one on the search warrant. The uniformed policeman pounded on the door. When no answer came, he tried it, found it locked, and kicked it in. Gabe rushed in first with his gun at the ready. The house had a musty, closed-up odor and no electricity. Fireworks burst over Royal Street and lit their way as Gabe led the search through the first floor. No one. “I hope you didn’t bring us here for nothin’, Dent,” Gabe growled.
“She’s here, just go on.” Dent pointed to the next flight of stairs.
Gabe nodded and started up. Second floor. No one. Gabe turned to Dent, ready to rip his heart out.
Another rapid explosion of fireworks lit the sky. Jack pointed upward. Though the din from outside was muted, he still had to raise his voice, “An attic?”
