by Lyn Cote
Opening his eyes, father broke the quiet, “You’re upset by Miss Wagstaff’s influence on Belle.”
“I was.”
“The world is changing. I think the war, your war, changed everything.”
Whether we wanted it to or not. Gabe nodded.
“I want Belle to be ready to be a part of these new times.”
“And Meg Wagstaff is the woman of the future?”
“Yes, women may have the vote for this year’s presidential election. If so, in four years Belle will be old enough to vote in the next presidential election.”
Gabe tried to imagine Belle walking into a voting booth. A different vision came instead. “I can see Meg Wagstaff voting.” Meg is equal to anything. Gabe wished now he had given an honest answer to Meg’s question, “What was her name?”
A smile burst over his father’s face. “Exactly. I want Belle to learn from her.” Father grimaced suddenly.
Gabe wondered if this evening had brought on one of his father’s headaches, which might put him in bed for a day or two.
Father smiled ruefully at Gabe. “I’ve loved your mother since she was fourteen. But many times I have wished I could discuss my law cases and politics with her.” Father sounded as if the final words he spoke pained him.
This thought struck Gabe as revolutionary. “Do you think that will ever happen?”
Father shook his head. “She’s always insisted she couldn’t understand the law or politics.” Father sighed with audible weariness. “These social evenings take more out of me than a day in court.”
“I’ll get your man to help you to bed.” Gabe went into the hallway and froze.
His mother stood just a few paces from the doorway. He didn’t have to ask her if she’d overheard father. Fresh tears sparkled in her eyelashes. Her hands covered her mouth. His father would be grieved to know his words had been overheard by his wife and had wounded her. Gabe tried to think of something soothing to say.
She shook her head, then turned and slipped away, making no sound.
“Is there anything wrong?” Father’s voice came from behind Gabe.
Gabe couldn’t tell the truth. His mother had signified that plainly. But he couldn’t lie either. “Sorry. I’ll get your man.” Mother, oh, mother.
Gabe allowed Meg’s heavy, sweet fragrance to envelop him. Her French perfume made the gloomy parish jail less depressing.
“It’s very kind of you to arrange this for me.” Meg walked beside Gabe down the gray scuffed corridor to the cells.
“I knew you’d want to see your friend once he was moved out of the infirmary.” His guilt over the attack on Del had prompted him. Plus he couldn’t get the sensation of her leaning close to him on the street in front of Alice’s out of his mind.
“What did the doctor say?”
“Delman will make a full recovery.” In time to hang.
Meg glanced up at him as if she heard Gabe’s harsh thought. He recalled, as he had countless times, her parting question to him after their supper, “What was her name?” He didn’t believe in voodoo, so her needle-sharp insight must be because of their shared experience. Who was Colin and what happened to him?
Gabe nodded at the grizzled jailer who with a huge, old-fashioned key unlocked the last door before the cells. The man’s circle of keys clanked as the lock turned, a chilling noise.
Meg passed through ahead of Gabe. He recognized a tall burly man his father had often employed as bodyguard sitting outside a cell. He murmured close to her ear, “That must be Delman’s guard.”
As they walked down the cement floor toward the man, prisoners stood up in the cells and eyed them. A low wolf whistle came from a prisoner to Gabe’s right. Gabe glared at the man.
Meg looked neither right nor left.
He couldn’t help but admire her aplomb. Not many women could look as cool, as composed in this hellhole. His father had been more than correct in his assessment of Meg Wagstaff.
Del’s hired bodyguard stood up.
Gabe nodded to the man. “Miss Wagstaff, this is Mortimer Smith.”
Meg startled Mortimer by shaking his hand. “Thank you for taking this job. I’m sure you’re bored sitting here.”
The ex-prize fighter grinned, showing two broken teeth. “Always like to work for Mr. Sands. He’s a gent.”
This pleased Gabe. His father’s reputation had always been a shining example. If only he might not be a disappointment to his father. Rooney’s recent behavior had caused Gabe, for the first time, to doubt his wisdom in taking a public position. “I’ll leave now, but will be back in ten minutes to walk you out, Miss Wagstaff.”
Meg nodded her assent. The man seemed almost human today. Mortimer motioned her to take his chair, then leaned back against the bars, staring at the other prisoners. The oppressive atmosphere of the bleak, damp jail cells settled over her. She sat down sideways on the straight-back chair, so she would be closer to Del as she faced him. Then stiffening her courage, she allowed herself to peer at him through the iron bars separating them. “How are you?” The phrase sounded pathetic in her ears.
His face looked drawn and ashen. He held himself stiffly. “I’m alive.” Del’s voice came out low. He cradled one of his arms in his lap.
“Is there anything you need or want?”
He stared at her, his expression stating clearly that she couldn’t give him what he wanted—his freedom. She reached between the bars.
Del leaned away from her hand. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered.
“Can’t keep your hands off him, can you?” One of the white prisoners taunted her with a vulgar name.
Meg turned to look at the man. Now she understood Del’s warning. Her relationship to Del could only bring him abuse here.
And Meg had come because she needed information about LaRae. She whispered, “LaRae met me at the French market.”
Del’s head jerked up. “Where’d you meet her?” He hissed.
Meg kept her voice so low. “I went to Penny Candy.”
“I’d like to shake you.” Del’s face contorted with frustration. “Don’t you ever go there again.”
When they were children, he’d always tried to protect her, too. She whispered, “I couldn’t just sit here and let you wait for the noose. I will go wherever I need to and do whatever I need to.”
“Leave it to Mr. Sands.”
“Let me tell you what LaRae said. She wanted me to leave New Orleans. Why?”
“Because you should.”
“Is Corelli the man LaRae’s afraid of?”
“You met Corelli?” Del looked appalled.
“He introduced himself to me when I was at the Penny Candy.”
“Don’t you ever go there again.”
“You’re repeating yourself,” Meg snapped. “How did Corelli get ownership of the nightclub after Mitch Kennedy was killed? Did Corelli kill—”
“Corelli is a poisonous snake. I told you to let Mr. Sands handle this.”
Meg shut her mouth down tight and glared at Del. Why did men—even Del—have to be so stubborn? Should she ask Del about Pete Brown? No, he’d just tell her to stay away from him. A thought occurred to her. “Is LaRae in danger?”
Del gave her a troubled look. “I hope not.”
“Del, how close were you and LaRae?”
His mouth straightened into a line. “That’s not for you to ask.”
“If she’s dear to you, should I get her out of town? I could send her to my father.”
Frowning, Del looked uneasy. “She thinks she’s in love with me. I was letting her sing a song or two with us so she could get off the street.”
That sounded like her Del. Always looking out for others. “Then should I send her to San Francisco?”
“You might put her in danger just by trying to contact her.”
A cold stone dropped in the middle of Meg’s stomach. “What if someone saw her talking to me?” Had Corelli, Pete Brown been there? Meg stared at Del. “If she
’s in danger, I think—”
Del shifted his position and pain crinkled up his face.
“Where can we get in touch with her?” Her oldest and dearest friend had been snatched beyond her control. She couldn’t even bring him a cup of water here.
“I’ll tell my lawyer to handle LaRae. I don’t want you getting in any deeper.”
“Del, I’m not a girl just out of school.” Meg fought tears. “This is life and death for you. Do you think this is the first time I’ve faced death?”
A strange expression passed over Del’s face. He stared back at her, then bent his head. “Do you ever think of my grandmother?”
Meg knew he was remembering the day they lost her…Aunt Susan, the day they’d faced death together.
“Meg, do you ever pray anymore?”
The question had startled her, but she had to admit the truth, “Yes.” New Orleans had forced her to her knees. But her prayers had no power in them. She poured out her anguish and anger to God. Hadn’t she and Del suffered enough?
Del stared at the floor. “I’ve been praying. I know my grandmother’s offering prayers for me at the throne of God. I know God doesn’t judge us here for what we do, but I think sometimes he tries to get our attention. Well, he’s got mine now.” His glance asked for her understanding.
She nodded, moved by his confiding in her.
“Would you find a church and ask for prayer for me?”
The question startled Meg. Del hadn’t attended church since a few years before France. But she replied, “Yes.”
Chapter 10
Gabe walked into the breakfast room, shadowy in bleak morning light, and sat down near his father. “What does the Times Picayune say today?”
“Prohibition is coming in days.”
“I know. We’re invited to the Demon Rum Ball.”
Father made a face. “The Picayune barely mentions it. This Eighteenth Amendment should never have been passed. It will create an enforcement nightmare. New Orleans is a world port. Liquor will be shipped in illegally—by the fleet. The city should be hiring new officers right and left.”
Gabe shook his head. “I don’t see that happening what with the post-war depression we’re in. Nobody would dare raise taxes to hire more police and that’s what it would take.”
Frowning, Father lowered the paper, his eyes pools of worry. “The body of an unidentified young black woman has been found in an alley behind Mitch Kennedy’s club. She was shot in the back of the head.”
Gabe put his coffee cup down. “An unfortunate coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.” Father tossed the paper onto the table. “Miss Wagstaff must go see that body.”
Gabe came up out of his chair. “No!”
Without a backward glance, Father rolled out of the room with one wheel squeaking as though mocking Gabe.
Two hours later, between Meg and Gabe, Father pushed his chair the few yards to the imposing brick building. Gold-leaf lettering read, “Morgue.” They entered and the coroner in a white lab coat glanced up over gold-wire glasses. Gabe hoped this ordeal wouldn’t be too much for Meg. She seemed all skin and nerves. A tenseness grew in him, keying him up. He tried to shake it off.
The bleak, unadorned room was making Meg’s heart skip in funny little jerks. Please, Lord, don’t let this be LaRae.
“Shall we get this over with, then?” Sands asked.
His heels tapping on the cement floor, the coroner led them over to a high metal table, which had been covered with a dingy white sheet. He folded back the sheet enough to expose the woman’s head.
Meg forced herself to look. Dark, bloodless skin against white cloth. LaRae lay silent on the cold, metal table. Black spots wavered and danced before Meg’s eyes.
Gabe caught her. She didn’t push him away. The side of her slender body pressed against him, her perfume overriding the clinical odor.
“Miss Wagstaff, I take it you are able to identify this unfortunate young woman,” the corner asked her.
“Her name is…was LaRae.”
“Her surname name?”
She shook her head. “Del…”
“Del would know?” Sands supplied, looking stern.
She nodded.
“Just because they knew each other,” Gabe objected, “that doesn’t mean the two deaths are related. It’s just a coincidence.”
Father looked to Gabe. “Not deaths, murders. I told you, Gabriel, I don’t believe in coincidence. I’ll go over to see Del now. If he and this young woman were more than mere acquaintances, I think it would be better if he heard the news from me. Would you take Meg Wagstaff back to her hotel?”
Though Gabe nodded, he expected Meg to insist on going with his father. Instead, she remained leaning against him. Outside once more in the mist, Gabe sat in his car, his nerves spinning like a propeller. Beside him, Meg sat huddled next to the passenger door. Where had his sleek cat gone? I can’t leave her like this. Or did he need her, too?
He started the engine and headed away. How much more could happen before Mardi Gras 1920?
“I saw her just days ago. So lovely,” Meg murmured.
Death had made a mockery of the young black woman’s beauty. No sweet words could rub away what they’d seen today.
“I’m so afraid I caused her death.”
He sent her a sharp glance. “Why do you think that?”
She rubbed her forehead. “I spoke to her…about Del. Maybe someone saw us together.”
“Why would that have caused her death?”
“I can’t speak about this anymore. Not to you.”
Gabe understood. Meg believed someone other than her friend, Del, had killed Kennedy and now she believed that same mysterious someone had killed Del’s friend. Why?
“Don’t you have to be at your office or court?” she asked, sounding half asleep, so unlike the decisive Meg Wagstaff he’d come to know.
“It’s Saturday.”
Closing her eyes, she leaned back. “Saturday. My days have all lost their identity. I don’t have a life here.”
Her sentence put into words what he had been feeling since he returned from France. Gabe glanced ahead. “Do you want to go back your hotel?
“No.”
He drove west. The reason he wanted to keep her with him still fluttered vague, insubstantial in his consciousness. Somehow this woman had become key, but to what? “I’m taking you to Over the Rhine, a restaurant. It will take us out of, away from—”
“From this place of death?”
He refused to respond. Death happened everywhere, not just in France. Pushing away thoughts of Lenore in her lonely grave, he drove on. He parked his car to the rear of the restaurant, a one-story building in the Louisiana style—many chimneys and a low porch across the front of the white restaurant.
Gabe gripped her arm and drew her inside. Seated at a table for two beside a cozy fireplace, Gabe ordered coffee for him and tea for her. He waited for their drinks to come before he spoke to her again. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to her yet, but she drew him irresistibly.
Meg sipped her tea and, finally, looked up into his face. “Thank you.”
He nodded. Did he want to speak to her about Lenore, Marie? Words floated just beyond his reach. Instead of opening this painful topic, he reached for her. She let him fold his fingers around her black kid-gloved hand. Touching her took the edge off his need. “You’re cold.”
“How is Belle?”
The question caught him off-guard.
“Is your mother still angry over Belle’s haircut?”
He said honestly, “I thought the whole fuss was ridiculous. Belle’s bob is not world-shattering news.”
She smiled at him.
This was the first true smile she had ever given him—not mocking, not teasing. It warmed through his heart down to his toes. He yearned to draw her fingers to his lips. With his thumb, Gabe traced the soft flesh beneath Meg’s thumb.
Meg slippe
d her fingers between his, weaving their two hands together. This took his breath away. She craved his touch, too.
She leaned back in her chair. “Do you know of a Negro church? Del wanted me to find him a church and to ask for prayer.”
With his fingertips, he traced her knuckles in circles, the kid leather like butter. “I believe the largest black church in New Orleans is the Mount Zion A.M.E. I believe that’s where our servants worship.”
The waiter brought their generous bowls of rich creamy soup and a basket of warm hard-crusted rolls, white and pumpernickel. “You seem to know all the best places to eat,” she teased.
“I was hungry.” More words, intimate ones ribboned through his mind. Finally, the reason he’d wanted her with him stood out in his thoughts. She drew her hand from his. He felt the loss of her touch. He watched her draw off her gloves, finger by finger. For the first time, he recognized how intimate this simple act could be. He asked, “Who was Colin?”
Chapter 11
Shocked, Meg searched Gabriel’s intense gray eyes.
“I asked you a question that evening.”
“You asked, ‘What was her name?’”
“And?” Meg prompted, hoping he’d be candid.
“You won’t tell me who Colin was, then?”
All right. I’ll go first. “Colin Deveril was a son of Viscount Lynton of Derbyshire.”
Lenore Moreau was from Versailles near Paris. “Did he make promises to you he didn’t keep?”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had Gabriel made promises he hadn’t kept? “Gabriel, talking about Colin is too deep for casual conversation over lunch.”
He nodded. “I apologize. Eat. My mother says a light breeze could blow you away.”
“For once, I agree with her.” Meg closed her eyes, savoring the chicken soup with its celery and sprinkle of nutmeg. Maybe after lunch, she’d be able to think about how to help Del, how to judge what was evolving between her and Gabriel, Del’s adversary.