Blessed Assurance

by Lyn Cote

  Gabe allowed her to draw him along. The tap of their heels on the paved banquette gave sound to their hurried pace, a counterpoint to the cacophony of human laughter and jazz trumpets in the distance. Gabe wanted to pull Meg into his arms again and forget about the parade, his mother…

  Soon Rampart Street was in sight. Gabe drew Meg closer to him. Sometimes, a young man will try to steal a lady from her companion. No one was stealing Meg from him tonight. They had too much left to discuss. Finally, he led her past the wrought iron double gate and inside the apartment, up the curved staircase to the noisy crowded second floor.

  At the top of the flight, Dulcine gazed down at them. “Gabriel’s here!” She ignored Meg pointedly and reached for Gabe’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

  Gabe evaded her hands as he bowed to her. “Good evening. Did my mother arrive safely?”

  Dulcine looked disgruntled. “Yes, she’s on the balcony.”

  Gabe nodded his thanks. Taking Meg’s arm, he led her to the balcony. He greeted his mother, then drew Meg to the end of the balcony where they could be more private.

  Meg leaned close to his ear again. “It’s fairly obvious Dulcine isn’t thrilled to see me. Go back inside—”

  A gin-flushed male voice came loudly from inside, “Did Gabe bring that Yankee with him? Doesn’t he know the truth about her yet?”

  Meg gripped Gabe’s arm. “Go sit beside your mother. I don’t want a scene.”

  He whispered back fiercely. “No one will tell me who I may or may not escort—”

  His mother rose majestically from her nearby wicker chair and reentered the room. “Charles DuPuy”—a hush fell over the festivity inside. Mrs. St. Clair proceeded—“You are, what we called in my youth, foxed. Please take yourself away until you’ve recovered your proper sense.” Then she returned and sat back down calmly.

  “Bravo, mother,” Gabe whispered beside Meg’s ear.

  “You should still go inside. Dulcine might…” Meg drew in a dismayed breath. She hadn’t meant to reveal she suspected Dulcine of starting the rumor Belle’s friends had overheard.

  “I’m to blame for encouraging her. I was so broken up I thought my mother was right and I should court Dulcine.”

  Meg tucked her chin low. “Perhaps it would be advisable for you not to make a clean break with her just yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe—though I could be misjudging Dulcine—that if she thought we were romantically attached, she would spread more rumors.”

  Meg’s every word rang true. How could his mother have wanted him to marry such a pedestrian and spiteful woman?

  The evening inched on. After his mother’s attack, no one dared slight Meg. Gabe argued back and forth inside himself over whether or not to give her the piece of paper, the name he’d been given. At last, he and Meg stood, alone, back home in front of his parents’ fireplace.

  “I should go up,” Meg said with a weary sigh. She didn’t move. “But there are things I want to say to you.”

  “Say them.”

  Meg drew in a ragged breath. “I feel such a presence of evil. Not just because of Del being wrongly accused.”

  Gabe pulled her closer. “Two nights ago when they shot at you, it was too fresh—”

  Meg’s voice went on, steady and calm. “I think if they had wanted me dead, I’d be lying in the morgue today. I was too easy a target. Someone wants me to leave New Orleans and wants Del convicted.”

  Gabe could say nothing. Frustration burned in his stomach.

  Tears collected in her throat. “I feel like crying and I don’t know why.” Meg buried her face in his stiffly-pressed cotton shirt. She breathed in Gabriel’s distinctive scented shaving soap, so reassuringly masculine. Gabe kissed her hair. She fingered one of the round buttons of his coat. “I don’t want you to suffer because of my friendship.”

  He circled her tiny waist with his hands, drawing her against him. Friendship? Meg, what I feel for you is much more than that. But how do I reconcile our relationship with my conscience over Lenore, over Del’s case? “I think my only course is to resign from the parish staff of prosecutors.”

  “No!” She stepped back, out of his hold.

  He gripped her shoulders and drew her closer again. “Now I would much prefer to enter into practice with my father. That wasn’t a possibility before…before you came.”

  “I don’t want you to resign.” She pulled from his grasp. “Don’t you see? Resigning from the case could put you in danger.”

  “Danger?”

  “Mitch Kennedy was killed—by whom and why? Del was stabbed by his cellmate, but why? LaRae was killed probably because of her talking to me. Someone ordered that attempt the other night—”

  “I’m not frightened!” Gabe’s hands balled into fists.

  “Of course you’re not! You faced death in France! But what about your parents? You once warned me about kidnapping. Would your family be safe? What about Marie? She needs you. She needs to come to a calm, a happy home, not one filled with mourning—”

  “Stop!” He wrenched her to him. “I refuse to be frightened by evil. I will do what is right. I will serve justice.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He reveled in the abandon of her kiss and swayed with her in his embrace. Her kiss shouted her trust in him, the possibility of a future. He deepened and prolonged the kiss. Finally, breathing hard, he drew back a fraction from her lips. “I will resign. We won’t be afraid of the future. And I will give you and father a chance to prove Del’s innocence.”

  Meg stopped breathing. “What are you saying?”

  His decision made at last, he pulled a slip of folded paper from his pocket. “I visited Storyville not long ago to try to find a new informant. This man may be able to help you or he might be worthless. I haven’t spoken to him about Del’s case, so I don’t feel that it is dishonorable for me to give you his name. I pray he will help you.”

  She accepted the paper, gratitude swelling inside her. “Thank you. I want to ask you many questions, but I won’t ask you to do anything against your conscience.”

  “I’m frightened for you. Be sure to go in daylight and take Jack with you.” He cupped her now unwavering chin in his hands. How could he have thought her less than beautiful when first they met? He wouldn’t let this woman go down into disaster or slip from his life. “Right now I can’t say all I’m feeling, but know that you are dear to me.”

  The next morning, parked at the curb on a misleadingly quiet street in Storyville, Meg glanced at Jack beside her in the plush leather front seat of her Cadillac. “I’ll be fine. I told you I got this man’s name from a trustworthy source. You’re armed. My derringer’s in my purse. I’ve entrusted you with the cash, so he won’t be able to get it unless he gives us some good information.”

  “I don’t like you hobnobbin’ with lowlife kind of people who live in this neighborhood,” Jack grumbled. “Can’t this wait? Court doesn’t resume until tomorrow afternoon.”

  Meg opened her own door and got out. The warmer breeze spread a brackish odor from the nearby Mississippi River. “Wait for me!” Looking affronted, Jack scrambled out and hurried to Meg’s side. “We should-a told Mr. Sands we were comin’ here.”

  “I didn’t want to bother him unless we actually get lucky. The person who gave me Asa Dent’s name wasn’t sure this man would have anything worth paying for.” Meg tugged her black velvet hat more firmly in place.

  “Storyville is no place for a lady.” Jack grimaced. “But I can see I’m not going to change your mind. Give me that address—please.”

  Meg chuckled. “Here it is. It’s broad daylight and you’re with me. What harm could befall me?”

  Jack grumbled wordlessly to himself, but studied the address and the doors along the dead-looking street where Penny Candy was. “Looks like he across the street at the far end.” Jack led her to the corner.

  As they waited to cross, Meg reco
gnized an open car as it turned farther down on the street and pulled into a parking place in the next block. Shocked, she said, “Look there, Jack, that’s Mr. Gabriel’s Franklin, isn’t it?”

  Jack followed her gaze. “Yes.” Then he whistled low.

  “What is it?” Meg asked, staring as three men got out of the car along with Gabriel. All the men in suits gathered on the banquette beside the car and began talking.

  “Mr. Gabriel keeps high company. That’s the chief of police and the mayor with him.”

  “Really?” Meg’s brow furrowed. “Why would he be with them here and now and who’s the fourth man?”

  Jack shook his head. “I don’t have a clue why they’d be here. The fourth is probably a plainclothes cop. I think I seen him with Rooney. Here, let’s cross now.” He took her in hand and escorted her to the other side of the shabby street.

  Meg hesitated looking down the street. Penny Candy, Kennedy’s club, lay between Meg and Gabriel. What had brought Gabriel to Storyville this morning and in such company? Meg could think of no logical answer.

  “Have you seen reason and changed your mind?” Jack asked in a hopeful tone.

  “No, let’s see if Mr. Dent is at home and awake.” Meg started walking again. She felt as though she were being watched. She glanced around, but couldn’t discern anyone interested in them—just a few drunks lying in doorways and closed cars driving through Storyville.

  Jack followed her to the address, where Meg tapped the peeling green front door. An old black woman in a faded red house dress, the landlady, greeted them warily and sent them up her stairs to Dent’s room. Meg sensed her suspicious black eyes following their every move.

  The smell of stale smoke and coffee hung in the sour air. Being in such a rough boardinghouse made Meg uneasy, but she pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. She had to find more evidence to clear Del. Even after Rooney’s biased testimony, Del’s life still hung in the balance.

  Jack knocked on Asa Dent’s door hard enough to wake the dead. A careless, tobacco-rough voice called out, “Don’t break it down. The old girl will take it out of my hide. Who’s there?”

  “Jack Bishop.”

  “I don’t know any Jack Bishop.”

  “Well, you might know my friends, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, even Andrew Jackson—”

  The door swung open. “You got some friends I like.”

  The landlady called up querulously, “Remember rent’s due today!”

  “You’ll get it, old lady!” Asa Dent in wrinkled trousers and a stained T-shirt looked to be in his thirties, thin, with yellowed brown eyes. “Come on in.” Then he spotted Meg standing behind Jack and his eyes widened.

  Jack stepped aside and let Meg enter first. She glanced around. The sparsely furnished room was tidy but dusty. A cigarette burned in an ash tray by the still-rumpled bed.

  “What brought you to me?” Dent’s eyes assessed them.

  Pulling out his wallet, Jack slipped out a five-dollar bill. “We’re looking for information.”

  “What kind?” Dent’s gaze roved over them and back again, puzzled.

  Meg turned her eyes on him. “Anything to do with Mitch Kennedy or Corelli.”

  “Mitch is dead. Corelli’s the new owner. That’s all I know.” He folded arms over his thin chest.

  Meg couldn’t have told anyone how she knew he was lying. But Dent was. Why would Gabriel send her to someone who wouldn’t cooperate?

  Dent looked nervous, too. “I don’t know nothin’ about no whitey club owners.”

  Jack took out another crisp five-dollar bill and added it to the first.

  “Can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Dent said sullenly.

  Jack flashed a twenty-dollar bill.

  Dent snorted and glanced away.

  “Mr. Dent, we need information for my friend, Del DuBois.” A bad feeling grew inside her. Dent had knowledge, but he wasn’t going to sell any to them.

  “I can’t tell what I don’t know.” He turned and picked up his cigarette.

  “That’s true,” Jack replied in a quiet tone. “But I hate to put these presidents back in my wallet.”

  Dent’s yellow eyes turned greedy. He took a step closer. “Maybe you’re interested in bettin’. I can line up some action for you, hot wagering. Better odds than the on-track bookies.”

  Jack shook his head and folded the bills back in his wallet. “Sorry we can’t do business.”

  “Maybe you know someone who could help us,” Meg ventured, her hope shrinking fast, but grabbing at any chance that remained. “I’d pay you a finder’s fee.”

  Dent shook his head. “No can do.”

  Jack took Meg’s arm. “We’ll be leaving you, then. Sorry we wasted your valuable time.” He led her out.

  Dent clicked the door closed behind them and turned the lock.

  Meg’s tender optimism of this morning hit the floorboards. Her insides started folding up, shutting down.

  Jack and Meg walked down the steps, bid the landlady farewell, and stepped out into the balmy day. Numbly, Meg paused and looked up the street again where Penny Candy lay between them and Gabriel’s car. Another hope dashed. Why couldn’t anything turn out right for a change? Had Del been just a convenient party to pin a murder on? Or when he’d insisted on being paid, had he unknowingly stepped on someone’s toes?

  Back on the street again, a black newsboy neared them, shouting, “Extry! Extry! Read all about it! Deputy found dead in Storyville!” Across the way, Gabriel and his companions emerged from another doorway and vanished inside Penny Candy. Had Gabriel seen her? “What’s going on here?”

  “Paper, lady? Paper, gent? Deputy found dead in Storyville.” The boy waved the single sheet special at her. Absently, she took it and handed the boy a nickel. Meg’s eye caught the name, Rooney, in the headline. She cried out, “Jack, look here! That’s why Gabriel’s here!”

  A soft curse. Jack fell to the banquette in a heap. Meg gasped. Searing pain. Her head! She was falling…

  Chapter 17

  Stepping outside of the Penny Candy with his companions, Gabe glanced at his wrist watch. Half past eleven. Mardi Gras festivities would soon fill the nearby French Quarter.

  “Mr. Gabriel!” Jack Bishop waved to him and charged across the street.

  “Jack! Where’s Meg?” Gabe froze, an awful premonition rising within.

  “They took her! The paper boy distracted me!”

  “Who took her?” Gabe gripped the large man’s shoulders. “When?”

  “Here! I can’t have been out long.” Jack struck the air with clenched fists. “How could I be so stupid? I told her we shouldn’t have come here!”

  Gabe knew why Meg had come. By giving her Dent’s name, he’d set her in danger’s path. I’m a fool. How could I have exposed her like that?

  “Who’s disappeared?” the chief of police demanded.

  “Miss Meg Wagstaff.” Gabe looked up and down the somnolent street, anger igniting in his belly.

  “You mean that young woman whose name has been linked to that black boy who’s on trial?” the mayor asked.

  “That rumor, sir,” Gabe spat out the words, “is scurrilous. His grandmother was her old nurse.”

  “I see.” The mayor nodded, still eyeing him.

  “Is Rooney really dead?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, that’s why we’re down here,” Gabe replied. “We wanted to question Corelli about it.”

  “What was she doing down here?” the chief demanded. “Storyville is no place for a lady…if she is a lady.”

  Burning, Gabe held himself in check, but it cost him. “Miss Wagstaff is every inch a lady. This must be connected with Rooney’s death.”

  “How is Rooney’s death connected to Miss Wagstaff’s disappearance?” the mayor asked.

  “They must be connected,” Gabe insisted, his stomach rioting. “Why else would Rooney be found dead in Storyville and Miss Wagstaff kidnapped on the same street the next morning? Bot
h of them are involved with Del’s trial.”

  “Well, we can’t argue with that,” the mayor said.

  The chief of police looked as though he’d like to, but he turned to the fourth man who’d remained silent. “O’Toole, you better call into the station and give them the particulars about this Yankee woman who’s gone and gotten herself kidnapped.”

  Gabe bridled at the chief’s belligerent tone. He couldn’t reveal his feelings for Meg, so he used the only tack he thought they’d understand. He declared in a heated voice, “Miss Wagstaff is a guest in my family’s home. The St. Clair honor is at stake. I’m going to advertise a reward for her quick return—five thousand dollars.”

  O’Toole, the plainclothes police officer, gave him a startled look. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Instead of calling, you may take the chief and Mayor Behrmann back to headquarters in my car. Just leave it in my assigned spot.” Gabe handed the man his key. “I’ll go with Jack in Miss Wagstaff’s auto.”

  The police chief glared at him. “You should leave this investigation to the department, St. Clair.”

  Gabe fought the impulse to break the chief’s jaw, but his voice came out stiffly polite, “I’m sorry, sir. The lady is a guest in my home. Southern chivalry demands that I do all I can to find her and bring her home safely.”

  This left the three men nothing to say, which was exactly what Gabe had intended. He watched them retreat, then he turned to Jack. “Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened—from the time you picked Meg up this morning until she was kidnapped.”

  Within minutes, Jack helped Gabe retrace Meg’s movements, straight to the informant they’d come to question. Upstairs in Dent’s boardinghouse, Gabe grabbed the front of Dent’s shirt. “You’ll tell me the truth, tell me what you know about the lady’s disappearance or you will regret it.”

  “I told you I don’t know nothin’. Getting rough won’t change that.” Dent clutched Gabe’s hands to keep his balance.