by Madison Kent
"I wonder where our little waif, Marguerite, has gone to now. I suppose sitting in a tree somewhere, or perhaps hidden in an abandoned house," said Madeline.
"Of course, there is always the possibility she is at Belle Magnolia. The grounds are so spacious. They afford many sheltered spots of coverage, berries to eat off the trees, and cool well water. You never know," said Jonathan.
Madame Clarice had been carried off on her throne while they had their encounter with Pierre. There was nothing to be done now but return to the mansion.
She felt like all the men tried to shield her on the carriage ride home. They sat a little too close and made random compliments about her dress. She found it endearing knowing they were trying so hard to lift her spirits.
When they arrived home, Hugh had asked if she wished a brandy or an absinthe, but all she wanted to do was to return to her room and sleep, a deep, restful sleep without nightmares.
"I bid you all good-night. I hope to see you early for breakfast," said Madeline.
Father had given her morphine for her continued pain and stress, feeling once again relaxed; she positioned herself by the large, arched window that looked over the grounds. She had lit several candles that gave the room a warm, restful glow. The scent from the vase of gardenia's on her dresser sweetened the air.
She could not escape the thoughts of Madame Clarice stabbing the doll through its heart and found herself with a twinge of pain in her chest. Even though she knew it to be nonsense, she began rubbing her chest to alleviate what seemed to be a continued soreness.
She thought the only thing that might calm her mind was to write in her journal.
August 20th
Although I am so tired my bones ache, I think it will be difficult to sleep. I had believed Madame Clarice to be nothing but a charlatan. However, after this evening, when she attempted to curse me through the use of a voodoo doll, I found her alarming. There was something in the way she looked at me that was more than just a foolish performance. I truly felt threatened by her.
I cannot seem to stop staring out the window, believing I will see Madame Clarice or Marguerite lurking around the property. If Marguerite is missing, I wonder if she could have come to harm from the same person who murdered Anastasia. Although Marguerite's mind seems to be adrift enough that I could not imagine anyone would think her to be coherent in her thoughts to tell all she knows. Somehow I think she knows a lot. Locked inside her may be valuable information, but I suppose we will never find that out.
These lonely nights I think of you Russell, the warmth of your arms when you held me through the night. How I miss being loved like that! How I miss the hugs and kisses, I would have been getting from my little cherubs. I know somehow I have to move forward and leave my grief behind. Maybe someday I will begin again, maybe even have another child. I wonder if that is something either Hugh or Jonathan ever think about when they think of me. For lately, it is something I have thought about.
Tomorrow I will meet with Mario. I can maneuver him into speaking about Vinnie. I feel I can lead him into a conversation that will tell us more about the Mafia.
Despite having thought she saw someone running in the bushes, her eyelids began to close, and she curled herself up in the silky sheets of her bed and into sleep at last.
Chapter Twenty
Caught
In the early morning hour, Inspector Matthews appeared at Belle Magnolia. Madeline and Hugh had already had their breakfast and were sitting on the veranda when he came up the steps.
"I wanted to be the first to tell you the good news," said the inspector.
"Wait. Let's get Belle and Hannah. They should be here," said Madeline.
"Of course," said Matthews, as he puffed on his fat cigar.
Belle, Hannah, and Father quickly made their way down to where Inspector Matthews stood, leaving against the shining, white pillar that graced each side of the veranda.
"You'll be pleased to know we have made an arrest. Vito...Vito Scapoli, a known acquaintance of Vinnie. Although we were not able to get enough evidence on Vinnie, we have enough to put Vito behind bars for Wesley's murder.
"Some of his friends turned evidence against him when we gave them the opportunity to leave town without jail time, but it wasn't necessary. Under pressure, he readily confessed," said Matthews.
"We have not heard this name before," said Hugh. "You are certain he is the one?"
"Sir, I know you're not from these parts, but here we don't question the law. We don't take it lightly hauling someone in for murder," said Matthews.
"Inspector, I have confidence in you. I know you would not come here unless you were certain," said Belle.
"I'd like to say I feel the same way, Mother, but I too have my doubts," said Hannah.
"Don't you be worrying your pretty, little head, young lady, we have the man who did the heinous deed. You need not fret no more. Things have settled down. You haven't been bothered of late on the property?" Matthews asked.
"No, we have not," said Belle.
"I've been having patrols go by and rounding up anyone who even comes close to your property. I told you I would take care of you. Now, this brings an end to it," he replied.
Hannah and Belle shook Matthews' hand and offered him tea that he declined with a drawn out puff of smoke.
"I'd like to take your offer, but the business of this great city calls me. The Mafia never rests and neither will I," said Matthews.
He tipped his hat, nodding as he walked away, a smugly contented look upon his face foretelling that he thought all was right with the world.
Belle, Hannah, and Father retreated to the kitchen, proclaiming the happy news had made them eager to have a plateful of Mrs. Brown's delicious sausages, gravy, and biscuits. Madeline was enjoying the aroma, but as she and Hugh had already eaten, they remained outdoors.
"What do you make of it?" asked Hugh.
"It would be wonderful to think this is all at an end, and the killer brought to justice. But, it seems too convenient. I suppose they may have had this fellow, Vito, under suspicion and did not inform the press, but there was no word on the street of it. Did you hear anything while you were at the bookstore?" asked Madeline.
"I didn't. Perhaps Jonathan or Walter did, but I think they would have mentioned it," said Hugh.
"It will be interesting to see what Mario has to say about all this."
"You're not still going to see Mario? Then you must truly believe Vito is not the guilty party."
"I can't say for certain what I think at this moment, but I don't want to miss the chance of being with Mario and meeting his Sicilian family. They'll be some interesting stories and even more interesting people there. I'm certain of that."
"Be careful. I feel uncomfortable about your going without any of the rest of us around."
"I'm sure the event will only last until the early evening. Besides, I will be surrounded by his Grandmother, aunts, and others. They won't all have a criminal background."
"That's true, I suppose. Still, I will worry about you."
"Thank you for that. I think I will go up and have a soak and sort my thoughts out about Vito."
"I will see you for the luncheon meal."
"I look forward to it."
She let the gardenia's float inside the cool bath that scented the refreshing water. Peaceful―is what she hoped she would feel after receiving the news about the arrest, but she was unsettled. However, she was looking forward to seeing Mario in a few hours.
Luncheon proved to be entertaining as the group of friends could not agree about whether Inspector Matthews news could be considered to be the closure of the case that involved Wesley.
"Madeline," Belle said, "You've received a letter. It just arrived by messenger...unusual," she continued as she handed her the crisp piece of black paper.
Because of the nature of the unusual paper and the scent of smoke that drifted off of it, Madeline felt compelled to leave the kitchen with her mysteri
ous note. She decided she wished the privacy of her room to reveal its contents.
Closing the door, her hand trembled as she opened the strange parchment. Inside she found an elaborately penned note, written in garish, burgundy ink. She believed the sender intended it to appear as blood. Its effect was noted as she shook off the feeling that someone had just stepped into her room.
The answers you seek are in the darkness. Be near the bridge at the ten o'clock hour. Seek where three Oaks meet. There will be set a fire for you to see the truth. If you dare to confront that which haunts you, you shall be given what you seek most. The innocent shall be forbidden to set upon this ground, as those who are not intended. You must come alone or nothing you will not gain anything.
It was signed with an elaborate script, appearing to be initials of some sort, but they intertwined and had scoring beneath making it impossible to determine what was written. Her immediate reaction is that it must be from Clarice. However, Clarice was so forthright and aggressive in her behavior; she wondered why she would be so cryptic in her note. But, she surmised, it might be from one of her moronic followers, like Madame Chatka. Either way, nothing would keep her from setting into the woods this night to find out what poisonous creatures might be about.
She placed the note in her satchel, the smell of the smoke permeating the interior cloth. Knowing everyone would wish her to reveal the contents, she wasn't certain how she would respond, but knew she would not let anyone be privy to the message. They were all surely prevent her from going to the indicated rendezvous.
They were all staring at her when she returned to the lively group. She had not heard the kitchen so erupted with chatter in a long time.
"Well, I think as your Father, I should be the first to know your little secret," requested Dr. Donovan with a sly, teasing smile.
"And, of course, you would, Father, if it were anything of importance at all. Just another silly, threat from one of the hundreds out there who wish us all harm," replied Madeline.
"May I see it?" asked Hugh.
Of all people, she would hate lying to Hugh the most.
"It was so inconsequential, I tore it up and threw it into the trash. When will these people learn that we will not be deterred so easily, especially with idle threats?"
"Then you agree it was a threat?" chimed in Jonathan.
She knew now that it would not be so easy to put these hounds at bay. Why couldn't they just let it be!
"Truly, it is nothing. Now, if you will excuse me I must ready myself for my engagement with Mario."
They could tell she had dismissed any further discussion on that matter. She was excited to have this secret and made a plan as to how she would get to the woods.
Mario was early. She heard him speaking with Jonathan in the foyer. She was ready but did not wish to appear anxious in seeing him, so she deliberately delayed in her room some twenty minutes.
When she finally arrived downstairs, Mario was dressed casually, appropriate for a garden party. His olive skin against his tan garments suited him, as did the flower in his lapel. Somehow he did not look the foreboding, brooding youth now, but someone that could pass for a preacher's son.
She noted Hugh and Jonathan's disapproving eyes. Jonathan remarked that perhaps later they could all meet up at one of the saloons on Bourbon Street.
Mario was most agreeable to that suggestion, but Mario didn't know she had other plans for their evening. She would tell him soon enough.
The carriage ride proved enjoyable. It was a particularly lovely summer day. People were about the streets in abundance. Most singing, dancing, painting, or playing chess in the market area. Gaiety abounded in this city. It had a way of masking the deep seeded problems of crime that had become embedded ever so slowly. This was not a city of people that relished that side of life. It seemed when one heard news of a tragedy, the revelry in the evening was even louder and sweeter. They wished for nothing to dampen the spirit of this robust atmosphere.
Mario made the driver stop twice, once to purchase daffodils for her, and once for pralines laced with chocolate and honey.
"Mario, you continue to surprise me with your thoughtfulness. Thank you," said Madeline.
He smiled at her. She supposed something in her manner gave him the boldness to take her hand in his. At first, she felt the impulse to pull away but realized everything she had done since she met him was to encourage him to pursue her. It wouldn't make sense or suit her purposes to be coy and deny his attention.
How strange, she thought, so many times she imagined herself on a carriage ride just like this, holding hands, enjoying the day, but those daydreams included Jonathan and Hugh. It was easy to hold Mario's hand. As handsome and charming as he was, he claimed no hold on her heart or head and was purely a mechanical business decision. If he had no hint of criminal activities in his life, she wondered if she would have felt the same.
After a half hour drive, they came to a grand mansion, almost as luxuriant as Belle Magnolia. However, there were few that could rival her.
There looked to be over a hundred people milling about the grounds. They built several pits for roasting lamb or pig over them.
"My Aunt Rosie will be in the kitchen. She is in charge. We hire outside help to serve, but my aunts, cousins, and Mother do all the cooking. There will be a multitude of pasta dishes. The men will be playing card games in the library; more prominent figures will play in the library behind locked doors. Some will be at the nearby lake fishing, hoping to bring their catch up to be fried up in one of those heavy pans placed over the stones," said Mario.
"The aroma from the flowers is wonderful. However, it does have a rival in the garlic that I smell," said Madeline.
"You cannot say the word Sicilian without speaking the word garlic soon after, "he laughed, an easy, boyish laugh that she liked.
"Let me introduce you to our host, My Aunt Rosie. After that, there are so many people, we can just mingle as you can meet them as we go along," said Mario.
The kitchen consisted of at least eight women cooking, singing, and laughing in loud voices. Aunt Rosie was a short, rotund, figure with dark eyes and gleaming, black hair. Her smile surrounded you with its warmth.
"Welcome, welcome. We have plenty to eat and drink. Enjoy yourself while you are here. I hope we can properly meet after the dinner," said Rosie.
"Thank you for the invitation. I can't imagine a person not having a wonderful time under these circumstances," said Madeline.
"I like her already," said Rosie to Mario.
They walked back onto the grounds, Mario pointing out which were his relatives and which were his business acquaintances.
"There's Vinnie over there under the tree with my cousin, Tony, and my Uncle John."
They look a brooding sort. There's not a smile among them."
He smiled and stated simply, "They look to be having a meeting of some sort. It is unusual to see anything but stern faces during those conversations. It's not always like that. When the business is over, they sing and dance as if festival is all they do."
"It would be hard for me to imagine Vinnie behaving in such a manner."
"He has a wife and a baby daughter. He's quite different around them."
"Hmmm...I find that hard to believe. He may outwardly put on a persona that appears that way, but I don't think people can change that much."
"Please don't mention opinions like that in this crowd," he said with a tight smile.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sure he is a devoted cousin to you."
"He is. My cousin, mentor, but mostly he is my friend. I respect him."
With such a strong rebuttal to her statement, Madeline knew she would have to tread carefully in her manner and her remarks if their time together were to be successful.
"This pasta is marvelous. I don't think I've had anything quite like it."
"Sicilians take cooking seriously, as serious as their Catholic religion. It is an art and a labor
of love."
"It tastes like it."
With that statement, he smiled and seemed to relax again, taking her arm as they walked through the crowd.
She could see that there were groups of men huddled together under sprawling trees, playing cards but talking in subdued tones. Others played lawn games with the children, and still others were singing in quartet fashion. From all outward appearances, it was nothing more than a lovely family gathering, but she knew better.
"Father Mark, let me introduce my friend, Madeline Donovan," said Mario.
"How do you do? I hope I may see you at next Sunday's Mass with Mario. Our Mario has been remiss as of late," said Father Mark.
"Father...," began Mario.
"My son, I do not need to know you excuses. You can explain them to your Father in heaven, but I will be looking forward to your presence...and not in the last row," he said laughing.
Then several other men walked towards Mario.
"You certainly owe Vinnie a lot. He is as good a cousin as any man could hope for," said one elderly gentleman.
Then another said, "You should be grateful for such a family." He then patted him on the back and left.
"May I ask what that was all about? Has Vinnie paid off your gambling debts?" she asked teasingly.
"I wish that was all there was to it. I mean I have nothing to say really. He just is a good man and better friend."
She could see that once more she had spoken to something that was to be left unsaid and continued no further in her pursuit of this.
"Madeline, I've had enough of this already. Would you be game for a little horseback riding?"
"I would, indeed, and I have a request of a curious nature to make of you."
"I love a good mystery. Tell me."
"After we have ridden into the field, we shall stop by a stream somewhere, and I will say more."