And a damned fine job the old man had done of that! If Lucius’s heart hadn’t given out, King would like to shoot his useless bookkeeper the same way he’d just shot his dog. Curse the man’s incompetence! Or was it that at all? Had Lucius meant to blackmail him with this? He shook his head, frustrated that he would likely never know.
One thing he did know was that Mary Shae must have been here, must have seen her mother’s jewelry. King knew what she must think, knew how this must have made her suspicions crystallize into what she took for facts.
He would never get her back now, would never have the chance to protect his daughter! Would never keep her clear of the awful sins that had consumed her mother . . . and his love.
Though Glennis was long gone, the memory of the snickers never died for King. Snippets of overheard gossip had lodged inside his heart like poisoned thorns. The taint of the whispers and the laughter had made him put away his brushes, had made even the jewelry he crafted a pale imitation of what it once had been. The sting of humiliation had made him unable to show love to his daughter, the daughter that he treasured above all else.
Glennis, dear, weak Glennis, had destroyed him. The woman, his beautiful, dead wife, had never been able to deny him anything. She had not denied him when he had sought to compromise her virtue in his family home. Hadn’t told him no when afterwards he had suggested an impossible marriage to legitimize the child she’d conceived. But neither had she been able to deny her favors to other men who admired her. And God help them both, she had a never-ending stream of devotees. Damn the slut, she was a wanton creature. Or else, so lonely for her lost home and family that even the basest contact could substitute for love.
Raindrops slapped against the bedroom window, but he barely registered their increase. Staring at the wedding band inside the box, he knew he’d truly loved Her once. But curse his pride, he’d pretended he had wed her only out of duty. He’d never been able to show her how he felt in any other way than crafting trinkets for her.
And that hadn’t been enough.
Neither had it been enough for Mary Shae to buy her paints, a cage of finches, a fine velocipede that he had ordered all the way from England. Foolishly, he’d repeated the same mistakes he’d made with Glennis. He’d thought if he gave the right gifts, they would show his love. And if he and Alberta were only stern enough with Mary, they could save her from the stain of her mother’s beauty.
Only now, when he knew he’d truly lost her, did he see how wrong he’d been. Only now did he recognize his actions as the cause of the disaster. Every move he’d made to control Glennis had pushed her toward the final chasm. Every move he’d made to dominate his daughter had driven her farther from his grasp.
And into what? Where had she been these last two nights and with whom?
A quick search through the remainder of the house answered his questions. The bed in the next room was rumpled; apparently, his daughter had returned last night to sleep here.
But not alone. Good God, she had not been alone.
A man’s wallet lay beside the bed. King’s heart pounded as he reached for the rectangle of leather, flipped it open.
Inside, a calling card read, “Phillip Payton, Payton Enterprises.” He would kill the bastard.
King felt sick, as sick as when he’d first discovered Glennis’s deception. All his efforts with Mary Shae had been in vain. She might have inherited his talent, but as he’d feared when he had realized her resemblance to her mother, she shared the Irishwoman’s unchaste appetites.
Holy Christ above!
But perhaps not all was lost. One dalliance might not meanperhaps he could yet save her, perhaps he and Alberta could break her of this
No, it would be best if his sister never knew.
He must find his daughter. Find her and convince her to return home, where he could help her. Where God willing, he could save her from herself.
But find her where? He peered into the gloom outside the window. Already, water was collecting in the street. Where would Mary Shae have gone on such a miserable morning?
Of course. She could only go one place. To him. After discovering the box of jewelry, she would sooner or later come to him. They simply must have missed each other. She would come by herself, he hoped, to try to force him to admit he’d killed her mother.
If she were alone, with no one to stand beside her, there might yet be time to convince her of the truth. There might yet be one last chance to reclaim his daughter’s love, to save herto save them both from utter ruin.
And if she were with this Payton, he thought as he slid the wallet into his own pocket, he would have to put a stop to that.
*
Shae held her breath and squeezed through the hard-won gap she’d made. A nail hooked near her waist and rent the soiled fabric with a six-inch tear. She cursed her luck and blinked at the light of the outdoors.
Not that the sun was shining. Though the carriage house offered her some shelter, heavy rain quickly soaked her upper body.
Shae gathered up her skirt into one hand, but the gesture was in vain. The water here reached almost to her hips.
She tried to guess the sun’s position to judge the time, but thick clouds made the task impossible. She had no idea how many hours she had passed inside.
All around her, drops splashed into pooled water. Yet another sound, far deeper, drew her attention down a street that led to the gulf shore. There, though it was blocks away, she heard a heavy crashing that brought her a sick shudder. Waves, smashing against the narrow peninsula as if they meant to beat its bulk into the sea. Though the rain made distances look misty, she could just make out the frothing crests, far higher than they should be. Higher, she thought, than she’d ever seen them in her life.
Keeping to the shelter of the overhang above the door, Shae wondered if this storm, clearly tropical in nature, might be building into something more severe. Scanning the sky nervously, she shook her head after a moment. She didn’t have time to concern herself with the vagaries of weather. She had to get to Phillip as soon as possible. And afterwards, perhaps with Phillip’s help, she would confront her father about the jewelry she had found. No, she didn’t have time at all to worry about a few waves and a little water.
*
“You think you got troubles now,” Ross Dawson threatened, “you ain’t seen the half of it. Your life won’t be worth a plugged nickel once the regular workers hear about this pack of niggers roustin’ a white man outta bed for no good reason.”
Phillip glared at the figure slumped between two strong, black dock workers, each of whom grasped one of the man’s arms. The pressure of their fingers must have increased at Ross’s offensive words, for the big man grunted sharply and squirmed against their grip. He sported a bloom of purpling brown along his jaw, as if he’d needed some convincing to come visit this morning.
Phillip’s hands fisted in frustration, and only the thought of finding Shae prevented him from bashing the sorry miscreant. Despite the fruitless hours he’d spent searching for Shae, the sun, thwarted by roiling gray clouds, had barely lightened the sky. The rain hissing against the window sounded almost as miserable and mean as Phillip felt.
“You tell us what happened to the girl, and maybe you can get back to that bed.” Frindly, perched on the edge of his desk, made the offer.
Maybe, Phillip thought, rubbing his sore shoulder, but I wouldn’t wager on it.
“If you won’t say,” Frindly continued, as if he sensed his employer’s mood, “I’m certain that the kindest consequence Mr. Payton might consider would be jail.”
“No use botherin’ with the law.” Tiny Lewis, one of the two men holding Ross, had a voice that boomed like thunder from the storm outside. The man, whose hugeness belied his moniker, still dripped from the rain, just as did the other two who’d come in with him. He glanced toward the second black man, smaller, but well-muscled from years on the docks. A long scar, remnant of a loading mishap, creased the
shorter man’s dark scalp.
Pete Wilson nodded in agreement. “We’d be happy to take care o’ this cracker for you, Doctor Payton. Our pleasure, you might say.”
Though Phillip had never known either Pete or Tiny to be violent men, he didn’t think that they were bluffing. From the nervous jerking of his shaggy head, he could tell that Ross Dawson had the same misgivings.
“I ddon’t know wwhat the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Ross stammered. “These two bucks tell you where they found me? I been there all night.”
“Over at Mattress-Back Lilly’s,” Tiny grinned, “with a whore a blind man’d run from.”
“Old enough to be his mama,” Pete added, warming to the game. “You know, Tiny, these white folk mostly look alike to me, but I do believe I see some family-type resemblance. Hell, that mighta been his mama.”
All restraint gone, Ross erupted into a string of expletives impressive even by dock standards.
“You ask me,” said Tiny, “this no ‘count piece a trash couldn’t even afford a whole night with his mammy. Not unless she give him some kinda family discount.”
“I got more money than either of you two niggers ever seen!” Ross shouted, “And my mama’s no two-bit who”
“ Who gave you the money?” Phillip interrupted. “That’s who we want, not you. Tell us who gave you the money and what happened to the girl. Then you can ship out of here. Anywhere we sail. A new life. Fresh start.” Unless you hurt Shae, Phillip thought. Then I’ll tear you to pieces with my own two hands.
Ross stared at him, considering, then scraped together just enough bravado for a shrug. “Mister Lowell it was. That Ethan fella. Said at first to put a scare in you, ‘til he realized you don’t scare so good. I’m tellin’ the gospel truth, Payton, so you better not be lyin’ either. That girl you’re talkin’ about. She the one in the buggy? We didn’t do a thing to her, I swear it. She got spooked, that’s all. That wreck was pure accidental, I swear to God. Nothin’ nobody coulda done to stop it. She made the corner and that two-wheeled contraption was right there in the way.”
Ethan. Phillip reeled with the news, not wanting to believe it. But he did. Some part of his tired brain jammed the piece into a puzzle and found the fit too perfect to deny. Ethan, who’d already proven his need to take whatever Phillip had. Ethan, the sort of friend who made enemies redundant.
Phillip stepped closer to the man his former friend had hired, so close that he could smell the scent of bay rum only half-obscuring perspiration. “That was my sister in the buggy, and I already know of your part in her ‘accident.’ Now tell me about the other girl, the one on the velocipede.”
“She all right? Your sister, is it? I wanted to stay and see to her, but” Ross caught himself in time.
“ Tell us about the second girl,” Frindly insisted.
“I tried to help her up and see if she was all right, but somethin’ musta skeered her. She busted me in the chops and then bolted like a jackrabbit. Never could catch up with her to see if she was hurt.”
“You’re a regular saint,” Phillip growled through clenched teeth. Grasping the man’s collar, he glared as if he might see the truth in the blue eyes gone round with terror. “If I find out you’re lying . . .”
“I ain’t!” Dawson’s voice sounded choked, but Phillip didn’t loose his grip. “She run off! I swear it!”
“That face o’ his seems to alarm them young gals,” Tiny said. “What with both Miss Payton and Miss Rowan runnin’ from him.”
“No wonder the fella gotta pay for his lovin’,” Pete added, “if he has that effect on womenfolk.”
Ross Dawson wheezed, and John Frindly laid a hand on Phillip’s arm. “You might have a hard time getting answers if he chokes to death.”
Reluctantly, Phillip let go of the man and stepped back. Too agitated to speak, he turned toward the window and stared out into the rain. If Ross and his compatriots hadn’t taken Shae, where would she have gone?
“Why’d Ethan Lowell pay you to attack Payton?” Frindly asked.
Ross shrugged. “To my way of thinkin’, it don’t profit me to ask too many questions.”
“How many others worked with you?” John continued.
Another shrug. “Couple of the boys.”
“Names.”
“I don’t give a damn what happens to Lowell, but I got my loyalty. Them fellas are my pals. Besides, they’d cut my throat.”
“Great pals,” muttered Pete.
“You won’t be running into them where you’ll be going.” Phillip whirled to face the man, and his voice grew dangerous in a way that surprised him as much as anyone. “And if we find out you lied about that girl, if we find out she’s had some ‘accident’ or come to any harm, you won’t be running into anybody. Do you hear me?”
Ross flinched, then nodded insistently. “She’ll turn up. If she don’t, it don’t have a thing to do with me, I swear it.”
“You’d better hope she turns up soon,” Phillip threatened.
“Fellas,” Frindly turned his gaze on Pete and Tiny, “there’s an empty storeroom down the hall. Keep him out of trouble until we find out if he lied. He makes any noise or gets to be a nuisance, the sharks and crabs can feast tonight.”
Tiny grinned. “No problem, Mr. Frindly, Dr. Payton. We’ll take real good care of him.”
The two black men left with Dawson still between them. As they moved down the hall, Phillip heard them continuing to harass the man about his taste in prostitutes.
Frindly shut the door and turned to Phillip. “You think he told the truth about Miss Rowan?”
“I sure as hell hope so. And there’s only one way to find out for certain. I’m going to go and find her.”
“But where? Do you know where she’d go?”
Phillip nodded, thinking of the place he’d been certain she was heading when the accident occurred last night. To her father’s house, no doubt with the intention of forcing King’s confession to her mother’s murder. “Unfortunately, I believe I do.”
“What do you mean, ‘unfortunately?’” Frindly asked. He pulled his flask out of his desk drawer and offered it to Phillip.
Phillip shook his head, knowing he’d need to stay clear-headed if he meant to face King Rowan. “Because, if she went where I think she did, she’s not much safer than if Ethan’s men had caught her.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Shae cringed as she sank to her knees in cool, salt water that rippled as the raindrops slapped it. Strange, how it would make a difference. Soaked through as she was, she could barely imagine that a swim would leave her any damper.
Squinting into the skies, Shae felt her stomach flutter with apprehension at the storm. Though she’d been in Port Providence eight years, she’d experienced four storms bad enough to be called hurricanes. The worst, four years ago, had collapsed the Catholic church her mother once attended and killed several men. She shivered at the memory and hoped that this one wouldn’t be as bad.
She skirted what appeared to be the deepest portion of the street and continued wading toward her goal. There, just two blocks from the overpowering grandeur of the Lowells’ Fairwater Haven, stood a lesser, if still lavish, home. Villa Rosa, which she now remembered from one of Ethan’s droning travelogues as the name of the Payton home.
Just now, the roses for which the house was named were bowed against the same deluge soaking her. Floating petals softly blanketed puddles collecting beneath each bed.
Shae shivered uselessly, wishing for a warm blanket of her own. As she imagined the heat of Phillip’s body pressed against her, she quickened her pace. She might not achieve that goal, but as soon as she found Phillip, she would beg at least a warm bath and dry clothing. Hot food would be even better. She hadn’t eaten since the poor meal she’d shared with him last night Trailing sodden skirts, she trudged up onto the front porch and was nearly run over by a solid, middle-aged woman stepping toward the stairs. The woman froze and stared at
her.
Shae wasn’t surprised. She doubtless looked like a drowned rat.
Sweeping cords of wet hair from her face, Shae gathered what little dignity she could muster. “Is Mr. Payton at home?” she asked, as if soaked young women came calling every day.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” the woman asked. When Shae could think of no suitable answer, she continued. “I’m Mrs. Kelso. I run the Paytons’ house. You must be Miss Rowan.”
Confused by the reaction, Shae’s answer was the barest nod.
“Doctor Payton just stopped by to get a fresh horse. He said something about going to look for you at your father’s. He left didn’t care a jot about this rain. I tried to tell him it was too foul, but he wouldn’t”
“ He went to my father’s?” Shae echoed. She thought of the box, left on the bed at Lucius’s. Had Phillip seen it there? Had he come to the same conclusion that she had last evening? If Phillip confronted her father . . .
“I must borrow a buggy!” Shae insisted.
“Of course you can’t. We’ll get some coffee into you, Miss, and let me get some towels and blankets. You’re soaked through to the bone!” the older woman scolded. “I was just about to take some things to Miss Lydia at St. Michael’s, but she can wait a bit.”
“Lydia? Phillip’s sister? She’s alive?” Shae asked.
Mrs. Kelso nodded, eyeing her curiously all the while. “A bit banged up, I understand. But how did you ?”
“ Please,” Shae interrupted, “I must go to Phillip right this instant!”
“I couldn’t let you go out. We’ll send a message to someone in authority down at Dr. Payton’s office. We should leave this to the men. Come in. I’ll find you something dry and fix you some hot soup.”
Though the offer sounded like a holiday in heaven, Shae ignored it. “You say you were about to leave to see to Lydia? Then there’s a buggy ready?”
Mrs. Kelso nodded. “I suppose it’s nearly ready now. I was just expecting Adam to bring it down here from the carriage house.”
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