Silly as it seemed, she needed to see those stars tonight. So she dressed quickly, braided her hair, and then hurried up onto the deck.
The noise of the steam engines was much louder here, so she moved as far away from them as she could. Up front with the wind blowing and the seas lightly chopping, she felt miles away from the cramped and dark cabin below the deck. And though the deck was full of men in the employ of Morgan’s Steamship Company going about their work, in this darkened corner she felt blissfully alone.
The moon had just passed its first quarter a few days ago, and the full moon would not come until next week. Thus, the silver moonlight that danced over the waves was muted and pale.
Madeline gripped the rail and let the salt breeze and sea spray wash over her face as she looked up into the night sky to count the constellations. Times like this always brought Papa to mind, for he was the source of her first interest in studying the stars.
Papa had an encyclopedic knowledge of the constellations and stars, and he could answer almost any question the young Madeline had posed. Later she took up the amateur study of astronomy as a way to learn even more about the fathomless creation the Lord placed overhead.
“The Lord, He makes plans that we do not always understand, you know.”
Papa’s words, and yet as she felt the roll of the waves beneath her feet they became her words as well. Then came the verse from 2 Samuel that she had committed to memory so long ago, she had lost the number of years since she’d first learned it:
“For we must needs die, and are as water spilt on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again; neither doth God respect any person: yet doth he devise means, that his banished be not expelled from him.”
How easy it was to stand here on this vessel headed for Galveston and forget that there were higher purposes and bigger plans than her simple goal of finding the facts behind the myth of Lafitte the pirate.
Jonah was right in saying she had gone too far in questioning the reverend. And while she was not ready to admit she had made him cry, she did cringe when she thought of the relentless way she went about her questioning of him.
Even as she was uncomfortable thinking about the conversation, Madeline knew she would do it the same way if the same situation arose. The facts were the facts, and facts were meant to be discovered.
This was why she excelled as a reporter. It would be why she excelled at completing this investigation.
Something bumped against her leg, and she jolted. A plaintive yowl arose over the sound of the waves.
Madeline looked down to see a fat orange tabby cat that looked very much like the one that had been sunning itself on the dock at Indianola. “What are you doing here, little fellow?” she murmured as she knelt down to scratch the feline behind its ear.
“First you torture a preacher in his own church, and now you bring contraband aboard an oceangoing vessel. Where will it all end?”
Madeline looked up to see Jonah walking toward her, a broad smile on his face. She rose and swiped the backs of her hands on her skirt as the Pinkerton detective came to stand beside her at the rail.
“Hello, Madeline,” he said as he slid her a sideways look. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“Not when the skies are this beautiful,” she said as she looked back up into the heavens.
“When I was a boy, I would wait until my parents and sister were asleep then I would climb up to the roof and lie on my back to look at the stars. One morning I woke up with the sun shining on my face and the entire household in an uproar because I was missing from my bed.”
“You never told me this story, Jonah,” she said as she imagined her former fiancé as a child.
He paused to chuckle. “After doling out the punishment I deserved, my father bought me a book on astronomy and made me promise not to fall off the roof.”
Madeline smiled. “And did you keep that promise, or is that why you are so hardheaded?”
Jonah laughed again. “I did keep that promise, except for one memorable occasion that involved a bee.”
She thought of the bee that had caused her downfall—literally—while trying to decide how to best escape the palm tree and joined him in his laughter. “Bees are devious creatures sometimes,” she said.
“As are some females.” At her scowl, Jonah held up both hands as if attempting to fend her off. “I am making a joke, Madeline.”
“I know,” she said slowly as her smile faded. “Neither of us took our jobs expecting to work with each other.”
He reached down to pet the cat that was now weaving around his ankles. “I am beginning to wonder what her real reason is in hiring both of us.”
“I doubt you’ll ever get that information out of her.”
Jonah stood to return to his place beside her. “Much as I hate to admit it, you have been a decent partner on this trip, Madeline. You were shot at—twice—and you never once acted like it scared you.”
“Oh, I was terrified,” she admitted. “But I have learned that being afraid isn’t a bad thing. Acting afraid, now that’s another thing altogether.”
“For a nosy reporter, you’ve got some good advice,” he said as he slid her a grin.
“And for an irritating Pinkerton detective, you’ve got some good sense.”
“Touché,” he said with a grin.
They fell into a companionable silence until the watch bell rang and Madeline jumped. Jonah placed his hand atop hers to steady her, and instantly that connection tossed her back in time to a place where neither of them distrusted the other.
Where all they wanted was a future together.
For just this moment, that possibility did not seem as though it was a lifetime ago. Then Jonah lifted his hand.
“We ought to get out of their way and get some sleep,” he told her.
“I suppose.” Madeline took one last long look at the heavens and then followed Jonah back to the corridor below deck. “Good night, Jonah,” she said as she stepped inside.
“Good night, Madeline,” she heard him say as he opened his door down the hall. Just as she was shutting her door, she heard him add, “Oh come on in, then.”
Peering out into the corridor, she spied the fat orange cat’s tail as it slipped into Jonah’s room just before the door closed. “Contraband indeed,” she whispered with a smile as she bolted her door and climbed into bed fully dressed and ready to sleep.
That night she didn’t dream of digging holes and filling them. Instead, she dreamed of falling stars and fat orange cats.
And of Jonah Cahill.
The next afternoon, Jonah banished the thought of Madeline Latour standing in the moonlight beneath the stars and focused on the stack of telegrams and mail that had arrived in his absence. Unfortunately, that thought kept occurring, along with the feel of her hand beneath his.
“There you are,” his sister called from the doorway before joining him at his desk. “I thought you might want to see this.”
Jonah sat back and pushed away all thoughts of the nosy reporter. “What is it?”
She plopped a copy of the Galveston Daily News on his desk, sending the letters and telegrams flying in all directions. The fat orange cat that had followed him home from the docks yesterday, now aptly named Stowaway, chased after them.
“Hey watch out,” he said as he leaned down to retrieve the captain’s letter before Stowaway destroyed it.
Then he saw the headline: LOCAL HOME HIDES POSSIBLE TREASURE.
Jonah dropped the letter and snatched up the newspaper to read the article, which was thankfully brief and buried in the middle of the third page under an ad for Labadie’s Ten Cent Table. There was no byline, but he had a good idea of who might have written it.
Reaching for his hat, Jonah left the mess and his sister behind in the library and headed off to visit the first of the two possible suspects, that idiot Townsend. He found Townsend hurrying out of the Daily News building at 113 and 115 Market Street.
Madeline w
as walking by the reporter’s side.
Hello, Madeline.” Jonah stepped in front of the pair. “Townsend,” he added as he gave the reporter a look that let him know how difficult it was to choose to talk to him rather than throttle him.
“What are you doing here?” Madeline asked.
“Hold on here,” the Daily News reporter said as he stopped short to avoid a collision with Jonah. “First her and now you.”
“That’s right,” Madeline said to Jonah. “I got here first.”
“So I see.”
Townsend shook his head. “This woman believes some kind of nonsense about an article she claims I wrote. If that’s why you’re here, then you’re both wasting your time.”
“Because you don’t think you have to answer my questions?” Jonah asked.
“Well, I don’t,” he said. “I am a reporter and as such I am protected by freedom of the press, so that much is true.”
“I have no problem taking you down to the police station and allowing Officer Pearson to ask them. Is that what you want, or do you think maybe you can change your mind and speak to me first?”
“No, he will be speaking to me first,” Madeline said.
Jonah glared at her, but Madeline ignored him. He turned his attention to Townsend.
“I’m not talking to either of you out here on Market Street,” Townsend said. “Look around you. Do you think I want to say anything that could be overheard?”
“Then I suppose you need to make your choice,” Jonah said. “We can go back inside, we can go over to the police station, or we can walk around the corner to my house and talk there. No matter which of these options you pick, you and I will be having a conversation today.”
“You will be talking to me too,” Madeline said. “First,” she added.
He offered her a sideways look that told her to keep quiet. Again she ignored him.
“I suggest you choose the Cahill property,” she said. “Especially since you think you know so much about buried treasure. While you’re there, you can prove the article you wrote is true and dig some up to show us.”
“Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you, Madeline?” Jonah said, turning toward her. “Then you could have your story about Lafitte gold handed to you by this guy.”
“Not just gold, Jonah,” she snapped. “There could be silver, precious gems, and all sorts of other things. However, if I was going to get any information out of this man regarding Lafitte treasure or anything else, do you really think this is how I would choose to do it?”
The truth of that statement was hard to ignore. For all her irritating qualities, Madeline Latour was an intelligent woman. And an intelligent woman would know better than to draw attention to an investigation she wanted to keep secret.
Still, she was here. With Townsend. And she had gotten to him first.
Jonah glared at her and then returned his attention to the reporter. “Time’s up. Where is this interview going to happen, Townsend?”
“Shortest distance is to your place, Cahill,” he said as he started walking that way. “And for the record, when I followed you from the train station that day, I had no idea that was your family home.”
“Didn’t seem to matter.” Jonah fell into step beside him.
“Hey, all I knew was that a Pinkerton man was in town, and I figured he might be wanting to follow up on those reports of criminal mischief.”
They turned the corner, and the Cahill property came into view. A few minutes later, they had arrived.
“Can’t we wait until we get inside?” Townsend said, looking miserable.
“We aren’t going inside,” Jonah snapped. “You’re not fit to meet my family until I decide you are.”
Jonah paused to open the gate and then directed them all around to the back of the house where an outdoor table and chairs awaited. Townsend did as he was told and followed them.
He took the seat nearest Townsend. If the Daily News reporter decided to make a run for it, Jonah didn’t want anything—or anyone—to impede his ability to catch the man.
The fat orange cat hurried over from its perch beneath the fig tree to thread itself around his ankles. Jonah reached down and scratched its ears.
“All right, Townsend,” he said. “Spill your guts. Why did you write that article?”
“I already told you,” the reporter protested, “I do not know what you are talking about.”
Jonah held his temper in check as he responded. “We are talking about the article regarding the property where you are now located, Mr. Townsend. Why did you write it and on what is your information based? And I warn you that while Miss Latour got to you first this morning, I assure you I am the one you need to be answering first.”
Madeline shook her head. “I believe Detective Cahill and I have similar questions. I propose that I will be asking them much more nicely than he will.”
Jonah let out a long breath. “All right. I am sorry, Miss Latour, for the slight. Mr. Townsend, do not ignore your esteemed colleague from the Picayune, but also do not forget you are here to answer to me.”
“Wait.” He turned to Madeline. “You work at the Picayune?”
“I do.”
“Well, how about that? I always wanted to work at the Picayune. Do you think you might put a word in for me? I’ve done some serious journalist work since I got here, most recently—”
“Most recently the piece on the Lafitte treasure that lies beneath Cahill soil,” Jonah interjected. “Let’s get right to it, Townsend. Where did you get your information for that article, and are you missing a shovel?”
Townsend opened his mouth to speak. Jonah held up his hand to silence him.
“And before you answer, I want you to think about this carefully. Remember, you have just sold yourself to us as a reporter of some considerable skills, have you not?”
At Townsend’s nod, Jonah continued. “And a reporter of some considerable skills ought to be able to give me the answer to that question, especially given the fact that you are employed by that paper, wouldn’t you think?”
Townsend sighed. “One would think,” he agreed. “Look, you can ask me as many times as you want, and all I can say to you is that I do not know who put that article into the paper today.”
“Do you know who wrote it, then?” Madeline asked.
“I can find out,” Townsend told her. “I just need to do some digging.”
“And speaking of digging,” he and Madeline said together as the cat jumped up into Jonah’s lap.
Jonah set Stowaway back on the ground and then fixed Madeline with a look before turning his attention to the man he’d brought here to question. “As you know, someone has been digging holes on this property. Who was it?”
Townsend leaned back in his chair and held out his hands as if physically fending off the question. “Hey now, I am the one who told you about that, and I am also the one who asked you if you knew who it was.”
“Well, I don’t,” Jonah said. “So who was it?”
He looked around, first at Madeline and then back at Jonah. “Why would I ask if I knew?”
“To throw one of us off?” He glanced at Madeline. “Miss Latour is somewhat of an amateur treasure hunter. Do you think she dug those holes?”
“Of course not,” Townsend said.
“You said that awfully quickly.” Ignoring Madeline’s look of outrage, he focused on Townsend. “How do you know?”
“Because if she had, she would have covered them back up.”
Jonah shook his head. “Why do you say that?”
Townsend’s laugh held no humor. “Reporters are trained to be as unobtrusive as possible. We blend in and we do our jobs. Now maybe I’m still learning how to do that, but I would bet Miss Latour is pretty good at it. So given that, if she’s investigating treasure, maybe she would dig holes to see what she could find, but wouldn’t she cover them back up afterward to keep anyone else from knowing she’d been there?”
The truth of
that statement hit Jonah in the gut. All this time he had been so focused on Madeline as a possible suspect, he’d missed the clues that told him it could not be her.
“Thank you, Mr. Townsend,” Madeline said gently, picking up the thread of the questioning. “As a fellow reporter, I understand the need to protect a source. I also understand that it is a matter of journalistic integrity to verify the information we receive. Would you agree?”
“Oh, I definitely would, Miss Latour,” he said eagerly. “Why, all it takes is for some folks to find out you’re a reporter and the next thing you know they’re giving you all sorts of information that may or may not be the truth.”
“And how do you decide what is true from what is not true?” Jonah interjected.
Townsend seemed happy to be asked a question not directly related to the matter at hand. He grinned and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Well, you see,” he began, “first and foremost a reporter has to develop a gut sense for when someone’s telling him the truth. He’s got to know that what he is writing and putting out there in the paper for the world to read is the facts as they truly exist. That’s the kind of reporter I am, Miss Latour.”
Madeline looked at Jonah and rolled her eyes. Keeping his expression neutral, Jonah continued.
“So who dug the holes, Townsend?”
“I told you I don’t know,” he shouted as he stood.
“Sit down,” Jonah told him.
“Something going on back here?” Officer Pearson called as he walked around the house.
“We were just having a conversation with Mr. Townsend of the Daily News regarding these holes that have been dug on the property.”
“Is that so?” the policeman said as he joined them.
Jonah turned to Madeline. “Miss Latour, this is Officer Pearson of the Galveston Police Department. He is the gentleman who was kind enough to watch over my mother and sister while we were away being shot at.”
At Jonah’s statement, the police officer’s brows went up. “You didn’t mention anything about being shot at, Jonah.”
My Heart Belongs in Galveston, Texas Page 12