by Sharon Ihle
"And you're absolutely certain he said the man's name was Harry Benton?"
Brent recalled the night his brother, wild-eyed and trembling, related the story of the theft. "Yes. I'm positive the name was Harry Benton."
"But that's absolutely ludicrous," she said, more baffled than ever.
Spinning to face her, Brent gripped her shoulders. "Why do you keep saying that? What's so ridiculous about a crook like Harry Benton stealing a diamond and emerald necklace of considerable value?"
As Jewel stared up into his sensitive brown eyes, it became increasingly difficult for her to make the objective observations of a detective. Fighting the sympathetic woman inside, she tried to explain. "Please try to look at it from my side, Brent. I've made a thorough study of Harry Benton, and while he may be a lot of things, most of them unsavory, he is definitely not a thief."
"Excuse me?" Brent said, his brow high and incredulous.
"All right, that was a bad choice of words." She laughed. "But if you put him in the picture you're trying to paint, he simply isn't a thief of that sort. Harry has had a long and checkered career, to be sure, but he always takes his payments from ladies. That's one reason he's been so difficult to catch. Most of his victims do not want him prosecuted for one reason or another."
"Those reasons being?"
"Their husbands or fathers, for one. All of his victims were attached to very successful men." No longer able to look into his honey-brown eyes, Jewel blushed and glanced out the window.
"What's the other reason?"
"He, ah..." She sputtered around, her usually glib tongue unable to speak of Harry in such terms. "He apparently leaves most of them happy. The women generally decide that he's entitled to whatever he helps himself to."
In spite of his earlier dark thoughts, Brent burst out in laughter. "That definitely does not match Beau's story."
"No, it most certainly doesn't." Turning back to him, she pleaded, "Why don't you have a long talk with your brother and see if hasn't confused Harry with someone else?"
"Doesn't sound as if I have much choice," he said, sliding his hands off her shoulders and down her back to her waist. "What do we do if he has made a mistake, partner?"
"Why don't we worry about that later? For now, I'm just glad to hear he wasn't involved with your mother. I really couldn't understand how you could be so nice to him all the way out here. You can happily drop that little act now. It was beginning to get on my nerves anyway."
"It wasn't that much of an act. In spite of the fact that I still believe he stole my family heirlooms, I think Harry's a pretty likable fellow."
"Just don't become too enamored of him," she grumbled, disturbed by the idea of Brent and her newfound father becoming friends. "One way or another I intend to put that man behind bars for the rest of his life."
"Do you also intend to masquerade as his daughter right down to the end?"
"Yes, and don't you dare even hint that I'm only pretending to be the heir to his throne."
"Some throne," he laughed, pulling her close. "More of a gallows, if you ask me."
"Well, I didn't. You just go on downstairs and talk to your brother; then let me know what you find out. Can you manage that, partner?"
"I believe so." Brent linked his fingers, tightening his grip around her waist as she tried to back away. "Don't run off yet. What do you think of my family so far?"
Vaguely uncomfortable with the new direction the conversation was taking, and with the fact that she was so close to him, Jewel pressed her palms against his chest. "I think they wouldn't approve of you being alone with me in my room."
"And here I thought you didn't understand southerners." He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose before indulging himself with a quick taste of her mouth. "I've missed holding you, Jewel, missed touching your skin and kissing your lips. I've missed all of you. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in setting the guidelines for our partnership. Maybe this would be a good time to remove one of the more stupid rules," he murmured softly, hovering above her parted, trembling lips. "There's no reason I can think of that we shouldn't do this. No reason at all." And before she could agree or object, he covered her mouth again, this time in a deeply satisfying kiss.
The door opened at the same instant a young woman's voice called out, "Brent? Is that you?"
He released Jewel and quickly stepped back from her, but not fast enough to escape the inquisitive cinnamon eyes of his youngest sister. He turned, speaking in a hoarse voice, and scolded, "Good gracious, Brandee Leigh, you should know better than to walk into a room without knocking."
She giggled into her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company in here. I thought I heard your voice, so I've been running up and down the hall looking for you." Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck and peeked behind her brother's shoulders, then acknowledged Jewel's presence with a little curtsy. "Excuse me, ma'am."
Her cheeks in full bloom, Jewel managed a quiet "That's all right."
Brent beckoned his sister to cross the room as he said, "Jewel, this is my nosy sister, Brandee Leigh." Addressing the young woman as she approached, he explained, "Miss Poindexter and her father are our guests for the night. See if you can't mind your manners and stay away from their bedrooms until after they leave tomorrow. Mr. Poindexter is in the teak room. I'm sure he wouldn't want you barging in on him the way you just burst in on us."
She giggled again. "He didn't mind too much."
"Pardon me?"
"It wasn't my fault," Brandee said, lowering her gaze. "I told him I was looking for you. How could I have known there was a strange man in the house?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Brent complained again, this time under his breath.
"Don't worry about it," Jewel said. "I'm sure my dear faathah has been through much worse."
Brandee's cinnamon eyes lit up and she blurted out, "Did you hear that, Brent? She said 'faathah.' How exciting these two are. When I looked in the teak room, the man said, 'Goodness, my dear,' or something like that. Oh, golly, you both sound so deliciously foreign. Where are y'all from?"
Her mouth curved up at one corner, Jewel glanced at Brent, then addressed the girl. "Chicago."
"Chicago?" she echoed in a sigh. Clearly disappointed, Brandee pulled one of her caramel-colored curls across her shoulder and began to twirl it. "But your daddy sounded so—"
"Foreign. I know. But that's understandable," Jewel explained. "Faathah has traveled extensively in Europe. I suppose some of the accents he's been exposed to have just naturally become a part of his speech."
"Doesn't matter whether Harry's got an accent or not," Brent grumbled, as he bore down on his sister. "To Brandee Leigh, anyone who comes from east of Kentucky is a foreigner. And for a young girl of fifteen—"
"Sixteen," Brandee interrupted with a pout.
Brent raised his brows. "Since when?"
Brandee's gaze drifted around the room as she gave him a tiny shrug. "Next month."
"As I was saying," Brent continued, taking Brandee by the arm. "For a girl of fifteen, this one spends entirely too much time thinking about foreigners and about men in general." As he started toward the door with his sister in tow, he whispered a warning into her ear. "I don't want to see you making a fool out of yourself in front of Miss Poindexter's daddy. Behave yourself, you hear?"
Brandee turned mournful eyes on him and slowly nodded.
"Good." Brent glanced across the top of her head to the window where Jewel stood grinning. Keeping his gaze locked on her laughing green eyes, he said to Brandee, "I'm afraid we left our luggage on the Delta Dawn. Go get Mary Mildred. Mama says you gals can find an extra dress for Jewel to wear to supper."
"Oh, sure," she said with high-pitched exuberance, forgetting her reprimand, looking ahead to the events of the evening instead. "I won't be but a minute, Miss Jewel. We have a pile of gowns you can choose from."
Brent waited for her to brush past him and scurry on down the hallway before he bowed slig
htly at the waist and said, "Welcome to Sumner Hall, Miss Flannery. There's two more just like her on the way in here as we speak. Think you can manage them?"
Through her laughter, Jewel said, "I think Brandee and Beau are delightful. I'm sure I'll enjoy the rest of your family as much."
"Mary Mildred and Trilonnie Georgette are older and more formidable than Brandee Leigh," he warned. "I suppose you ought to count yourself lucky that my married sister, Mildred Mary, who lives in Vicksburg will not be joining us this evening."
Still laughing, she said, "Mary Mildred and Mildred Mary?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am. We southerners do like to keep our names going 'round and 'round."
Jewel's chuckles eased, then increased just as suddenly when she recalled her earlier meeting with Brent's brother. "I guess," she gasped, "that holds true for you boys, too, then. I noticed you both have the same initials—B.S."
Through his laughter he said, "So the detective in you has not been completely disarmed by my charms. Yes, there are two B. S. Connorses. Until the Yankees robbed him of his pride and his mobility," Brent explained as he stepped out into the hall, "my father was not without a sense of humor. See you at supper, and good luck with the Connors gals. You'll be needin' all you can get."
He pulled the door shut on her laughter and carried the sound with him as he negotiated the hallway and staircase and headed for the study. Finding the double doors open, he stepped inside, then closed them behind him when he spotted his brother working at the rolltop desk in the far corner.
"Got a minute, Beau?" he said as he strolled over to the side table set up as a bar.
"Huh?" Beau looked up from the column of figures and grinned as he saw his brother take two glasses from the shelf. Pushing away from the desk, he sauntered across the room. "I've always got time for a snort with you."
Brent chose a bottle of Kentucky bourbon from the row of decanters, then poured two fingers neat into each glass. After handing one drink to his brother, he raised the other and said, "To the brothers Connors, and to truth." He fixed Beau with a narrow gaze as he tapped the rims in a quick salute.
"Truth?" Beau said before taking a long pull on his drink.
"Yes, brother, the absolute truth." Brent sipped the bourbon, testing the flavor, then downed it. After a long sigh, he explained. "I have been chasing up and down the Mississippi looking for this Harry Benton fellow you told me about. It has come to my attention during my travels that the thief in question could not possibly have stolen our mother's jewels from you in New Orleans, or anywhere else for that matter. One of us is mistaken about the name of the man who robbed you. Now which is it, you or me?''
"Gee, Brent. I don't know. I'll have to think on that some."
"You have five minutes," he said, refilling both glasses. "I'm always happy to give anybody five minutes to come up with a story. Just make sure the one you come up with this time is the God's honest truth, you hear?"
Keeping his head down, Beau glanced up at his brother, then nodded before he slowly turned around and walked over to the fireplace. Resting his elbow on the lace runner that covered the oak mantel, he closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair.
Keeping his word, Brent waited in silence for several long minutes. Then he joined Beau at the fireplace. "Well?" he quietly said. "Surely your memory's had a chance to return by now. Just exactly what did happen to Mama's emeralds, Beauregard?"
After finishing the last of his drink, Beau lowered his head and muttered, "They were stolen, just as I said, but maybe I got the name wrong. Now that I think about it, I guess it wasn't Harry Benton after all."
Brent clenched his teeth, waiting until he could speak in a calm rational vice. "Why did you give me Benton's name if he wasn't the thief, Beauregard?"
The younger Connors shrugged and picked at a loose strand of thread hanging at the edge of the runner. "I read about him in one of those mystery books. It said he liked jewels and fancy ladies and made his living off'n them."
Knowing any display of anger would spook his overly sensitive brother, Brent swallowed his rage and went on. "Why? Why did you give me a name in the first place? Why in the name of all that's holy did you have me peeking into hotel rooms and places I had no right to be, searching for a man who never did our family wrong? Answer me that, Beau."
"I can't! I don't know."
Forcing a coolness he didn't feel, Brent took a deep breath and placed a gentle hand on Beau's shoulder. "Take it easy, now. Don't get yourself all in a stew. Just tell me the truth so I'll know what to do next."
The younger Connors glanced up at his brother's expression, then furrowed his brow. He began tracing the brick patterns along the low hearth with the toe of his boot as he tried once again to explain. "I didn't think you'd really go after Benton. And I never believed you'd actually find him." Beau's next thoughts lifted his chin and popped his eyes open. ''Did you find him? Oh, glory be, is that it? What happened?''
"That's what I've been asking you, little brother. I'm still waiting for an answer."
"Oh, glory be, glory be," Beau muttered as he began wringing his hands. "I went on down to New Orleans. I was gonna—''
"I know all that. What happened to Mama's jewel's?"
"Well... damn it all, Brent." Beau stepped away from the fireplace, away from his brother, and circled around behind his mother's gold velvet settee. "I only wanted to show Mama I was as good as you. I wanted to help in a big flashy way, like you done when you won the Delta Dawn. I never thought..." His words trailed off as he tried to find a way to explain his incredible stupidity.
Brent slowly made his way to the couch and stood facing Beau. Keeping his tone low and nonjudgmental, he said again, "What did you do with the jewels?"
Beau lowered his head and voice before he was able to admit the truth. "I lost them."
"Lost them? How did you do that? Did you put them somewhere, then forget where?"
"I used them to cover the biggest pot I've ever seen. Ten thousand dollars."
"You wagered Mama's emeralds on a game of chance?" Brent's color rose, and his mustache began to twitch. "What in God's name were you using for a brain, if you don't mind, my asking?"
"Glory be," Beau cried, once again wringing his hands. "If you'd been there, you'da done the same, I swear. I had it won. I knew I did, Brent. God Almighty, wouldn't you bet the farm on a full house, queens over nines? Wouldn't you?"
"Depends, little brother," Brent answered, his nostrils flaring. "Where did you find this little game and who were the other players?"
"I told you. Down to New Orleans. I was at a place called the Purple Turtle."
"Oh, good Lord," Brent said with a heavy sigh of resignation. "Who—and believe me, I'm almost afraid to ask—was running this game?"
Beau looked up at his brother, then averted his gaze and said in a very quiet voice, "Skinner. That was his whole name. Just Skinner."
"Oh, Beau," Brent shouted, his vow to remain cool dissolved in a flash of white-hot anger. "He's the biggest crook this side of the Mississippi. What could you have been thinking?"
"I told you," Beau shouted back, his voice high, wavering. "I just wanted to win big, like you."
Brent held up his hands, acknowledging that his anger wasn't really directed at his brother. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and said, "I know you did, Beau, but couldn't you have thought about the difference between us? I was the manager of the Gilded Bird when I won that ship. I knew the players, and I ran the game myself. I knew it was an honest poker game, because I was in charge. Understand, Beau?"
He nodded slowly. "You were Skinner."
Brent winced. "In a manner of speaking, yes, but never mention my name in the same breath with his again, brother, you got that?" At Beau's miserable nod, Brent sighed and circled around behind the settee. "I know you only wanted to do something big to help the family, and I do appreciate that fact. Next time, however, make sure it's something you're an expert at. Understand what I'm s
aying?"
Again Beau nodded. Then he glanced up at his taller brother. "I think I understood right after it happened, but it was too late." His honey-brown eyes pleading, he faced Brent. "You aren't going to tell Mama, are you? Please don't."
"'Course not. I'll make some inquiries about the necklace when the Dawn pulls into New Orleans. Maybe we'll get the emeralds back yet."
Beau's eyes lit up. "I know what Skinner did with 'em. Let me help you get 'em back."
His mustache twitching again, Brent paused and sighed. "I'll have to think on that awhile. What did Skinner do with the jewels?''
"He gave 'em to that Cajun gal who runs the upstairs trade at the Purple Turtle. She's right fond of me. Maybe I could—"
A light tapping at the door cut off his words. Then Miriam stepped into the room. "Did I hear my boys scrapping in here?"
"No, Mama." Brent assured her as he squeezed his brother's arm. "Beau and I were just having a little fun."
"That's some powerful noisy fun you were having—I could hear your voices all the way down to the kitchen." Miriam shot her older boy a perceptive look, then addressed her younger son. "Beau, darlin', do me a favor and run out back to the garden. Loanne is picking some vegetables and gathering fresh eggs. I think she could use your help. After that, you go on up and dress for supper. It's getting late."
"Yes, ma'am." Beau's eyes sparkled, and his expression reflected open admiration as he took a moment to smile up at his brother. Then he practically skipped out of the study and down the hallway to the kitchen.
After he was gone, Miriam closed the doors and approached her firstborn. "Everything all right 'tween you and your brother?"
"Things are just fine, ma'am. Nothing for you to worry your head about."
Lifting the flounced hem of her wrapper, Miriam settled down on the couch and regarded her son. "I have a few minutes to spare before I have to dress for supper. Isn't there something you want to tell me?"
Staring into his mother's intuitive gray eyes, he wondered how long she had been outside the door to the study. Had she heard the conversation about her grandmother's emeralds? His voice uncharacteristically hesitant, Brent shrugged and said, "I don't think so."