Diane T. Ashley (32 page)

Grabbing up the brightly colored material she’d come for, Jasmine tucked it into her pocket. “We need to leave.”

David’s smile disappeared. He raised both hands this time, a mock surrender.

With a huff, she opened the door. “Come on.” Stepping into the hallway, she waited for him to close the door.

“What are you two doing down here?” Vance’s accusing voice startled Jasmine.

She whirled to face him, wishing she’d looked to make sure they were alone before leaving Tabitha’s room. “I … I …”

“Miss Barlow’s hinges weren’t working properly. She complained that they squeaked like a herd of pigs whenever she opened or closed her door. Jasmine brought me down to see what I could do about them.”

“Where are your tools?” Vance’s suspicious gaze looked like it might bore a hole into David’s head.

Reaching into his pocket, David produced an oil can, a wrench, and a hammer. “Any other questions, Mr. Hargrove?”

Jasmine breathed a sigh of relief. David was prepared as always. She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Anything for you, Sis.” Whistling a merry tune, he walked away.

After putting her hand to the cheek he’d kissed, Jasmine shot a glance at Hargrove. “Excuse me, I have to get back to Clem.”

By the time she’d negotiated the separate hallways, her heart had slowed its furious pace. She slipped through the door to the costume room and pulled out the scarf. “Will this do?”

Clem studied the material and pursed her lips. “I think so. What did Tabitha say about donating something for Angelica?”

“She doesn’t know.”

Clem reached for the scarf. “What do you mean?”

“She wasn’t there.” Surrendering the cloth, Jasmine giggled. “I helped myself.”

“Are you saying you stole something from our star?” Clem’s smile teased her. “I knew you weren’t as sweet as you pretend to be.”

“She did offer it to me.” Jasmine resumed her seat. “All I did was wait a day or two before accepting her gift.”

“As soon as I finish this, we’ll talk about your costume. I have some ideas I want to try.” Clem stitched as she talked, her fingers seeming to fly. “How daring are you feeling?”

Excitement curled in Jasmine’s stomach. The Fourth of July pageant might be her ticket to stardom. She would do almost anything to ensure her success.

T
he blue waters of the Ohio River mingled with the chocolate waters of the Mississippi at the town of Cairo, ensuring its importance both during and after the war. Fort Defiance still guarded the port, and plans had begun to build a customs house because of the volume of goods passing through the area.

Jasmine wrinkled her nose as she picked her way across the mushy ground between the ship landing and the open area where the Fourth of July celebration would be held. On one side of the field, a group of men worked with saws and hammers, building a raised platform for the stage. As she drew near, they stopped their work, one by one, elbowing each other and grinning.

One would think they had never seen a lady before. Cairo might be little more than a swamp, but it was not the very end of the earth. She lifted her chin and turned her back on them. Where was everyone? Mr. Easley had said they would begin rehearsals precisely at 10:00 a.m.

The buildings of the town were huddled against the clearer waters of the Ohio. She put her hand above her eyes and looked in that direction to see if she could spy any of the others. Had they gone to the fort instead of meeting here? Had she misunderstood the directions?

After several moments, she saw Clem walking in her direction and waved a greeting. At least the two of them could talk while they waited for the rest of the actors to appear.

The clanging and banging of the workers began again as Clem reached her. “What is all of that clatter?”

“Progress.” Jasmine had to shout over the noise. “Shall we try to find a quieter spot?”

They strolled in the opposite direction of the workers until the sound diminished a bit.

Clem scuffed at the dirt with the toe of her slipper. “Have you been here before?”

“Yes, although we didn’t land here often. My brother-in-law has family and several friends in Cape Girardeau, so that’s where we usually stop.” Jasmine looked back toward the tree-lined bank that hid the Mississippi from their view. “What about you?”

“Yes, many times. Did you know three states come together here?”

Jasmine pointed to the Ohio River’s blue water, busy with small flatboats ferrying goods from the riverboats and railroad to destinations on its far side. “Kentucky. And the mud beneath our feet is in the state of Illinois.”

Clem nodded. “The Mississippi River separates Illinois from Missouri. The first time we stopped here, I didn’t believe the person who told me.”

Trust Clem to find something romantic about Cairo. “Even if ten states met in this same space, Cairo is still so flood-prone that it’s little more than a mud hole at times.”

“True.” Clem laughed. “I like to think that one day it will be a beautiful town with wide streets and stunning vistas.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Clem.”

“What’s that?”

“You always look for the best in life.” Jasmine linked arms with her friend, and they walked along in silence for a moment.

“Has anyone seen your costume yet?”

Jasmine looked down toward her knees. Her dark brown skirt was narrower than what she was used to, but that was not its most noticeable feature. It was short, ending right below her knees. Below its hem her limbs were encased in brown leggings. The outfit was daring, making her feel bold, brave, and intrepid. “I don’t know yet, but I think I was the topic of conversation over by the stage.”

Both of them giggled.

“Not everyone could carry it off.” Clem stepped back and looked at her.

Jasmine held out her hands and turned around to model her dashing clothing. “What do you think?”

“You’ll turn every head in the town. The women may hate you, but the men will flock to see you from all over.”

“Do you really think so?” Jasmine turned back in the other direction.

“I guarantee it.”

They reached a lane of sorts and turned to follow it. Jasmine looked over her shoulder and realized the workmen had stopped their labor once more. “If they take this many breaks, we won’t have a stage to perform on until August.”

Clem didn’t look back. Her gaze focused on a man walking toward them. “Here comes David.”

Jasmine smoothed the skirt of her gown. What would he think?

She didn’t have long to wonder as he pointed at her knees. “What on earth are you wearing, Jasmine?”

“It’s my Princess Pocahontas outfit.” She twirled once more. “Do you like it?” When she stopped moving, she looked to gauge his reaction.

If a thundercloud had landed on his brow, it could not be any darker. “I don’t know why I expect you to behave with any decorum. If Lily could see you right now, she would be ashamed.”

His words tore at her like the bite of a rabid animal, but she raised her chin and glared back at him. “You obviously need to build a house and raise a family in Cairo. We all know what it’s like here when it floods. What better location for someone who is a stick in the mud.”

David’s jaw tightened. “Get back to the
Ophelia
and put on something less shocking, or I’m going to put you over my shoulder and throw you on the next boat to Natchez.”

“I’m tired of your threats, David Foster. You’re not going to intimidate me any longer.”

Clem’s eyes widened. “But I thought you were Jasmine’s brother.”

Jasmine bit her lip. She should not have let her anger loose. Now she’d ruined everything.

“I am.” David took off his coat and wrapped it around Jasmine. “My full name is David Foster Anderson.”

Jasmine was grateful he had managed to cover her gaffe, but it still didn’t excuse her stupidity.

“Oh, I see. I misunderstood.” Clem’s wrinkled brow smoothed out. “I have an idea that may resolve your problem with your sister’s outfit.”

His hands squeezed Jasmine’s shoulders, a warning to keep silent. “What is that?”

She leaned forward and turned up the edge of Jasmine’s skirt. “I made a wide hem because I wasn’t certain how short the dress should be. I can let it out and add a layer of lace to the bottom of her leggings so they look more like a flounce than … well, you understand.”

“But I—” Another squeeze stopped her protest. Jasmine fumed but acquiesced … for the moment.

“Don’t you realize you’re asking for the wrong kind of attention from men? Is that the kind of reputation you want? Can’t you understand yet there’s a reason for rules? A reason to guard your reputation? I know you don’t want to shame our whole family with your actions, so I have to wonder if the reason you do these kinds of things is a lack of confidence in your acting ability. Do you think you have to stoop to sensationalism to draw attention?”

Shame and anger mingled in her blood. Was David right? Had she gone from daring to scandalous? Or was he being too old-fashioned?

“Let out the hem.” David’s hands relaxed, kneading the taut muscles of her shoulders. “We’ll see if the change will allow her sufficient modesty.”

David pulled her up close to his body, shielding her from the glances of the workers as the three of them started back toward the showboat. Clem chattered nonstop about the weather, the town, and the patriotic celebration in an attempt to fill the silence.

Jasmine thought back to the day Tabitha had first offered to help her. She’d mentioned being snubbed. Was that what David was trying to protect her from? Should she care? Jasmine had her morals, her boundaries. For all he knew, the ill will of others might spring from jealousy rather than moral indignation. It might be part of the payment for the notoriety she craved.

They crossed the gangplank, and David removed his coat. “Don’t forget to show me the outfit first.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. She would not let him see how ambivalent she felt. Reaching their bedroom, she unbuttoned the shirtwaist and jerked it off.

“I’m sorry.” Clem sat on the edge of her bed.

“It’s not your fault.” Jasmine summoned a smile for her friend. “I wanted to wear it.”

“It would be acceptable on the stage in a big city, but David may be right in thinking that the people here won’t be as progressive in their attitudes.”

Jasmine snorted. David didn’t know everything. He wasn’t an arbiter of decorum or fashion.

“He only has your best interests at heart.” Clem’s face shone with admiration. “I wish he were my brother. I would love feeling so cherished.”

“You can have him with my blessing. “What Clem didn’t understand, what she couldn’t explain to her, was that the man posing as her brother had only one goal—to ruin her life. And he was doing a fair job of it.

Jasmine pulled on her most conservative dress. His condemnation had stung. She would show David Foster—Anderson—that she would do as she pleased.

Jasmine still refused to speak to him by the end of the week. At least her anger ensured she wouldn’t try to help him with his investigation. Not that he’d intended to make her angry, but that girl knew how to push every boundary to its utmost extent. He refused to stand aside and watch her self-destruct, and if her enmity was the price, he considered it worth the cost.

This morning he had finally gained entrance to Angelica Fenwick’s bedroom, the last on his list. He glanced around the crowded room. Were all actresses clotheshorses? Although David could understand that they might need a few extra items to supplement the costumes they wore, he was amazed at the number of outfits both Miss Fenwick and Miss Barlow carried around with them.

Even Camellia wasn’t this bad. At least he didn’t think she was. Of course, Jonah had once claimed that his wife had enough outfits to avoid repeating any particular one for a year. At the time David had thought the man was exaggerating. Now he was less certain.

He picked up an armful of crinolines to search the bottom of one of her trunks, his eyes widening to find a child’s doll dressed in a pink gown and matching bonnet hidden under the actress’s undergarments. He would never have thought Miss Fenwick the nostalgic type, but the proof was before him. The doll must be a treasured reminder of her childhood.

Replacing the contents, he moved to the dressing table in one corner of the room. The drawers were filled with brushes, perfumes, and bottles of rouge. Nothing to indicate that Miss Fenwick was guilty. Not that he’d really thought she would be. He couldn’t imagine a female working with a gang of hardened thieves and murderers. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be involved in some way—as a go-between or accomplice of some sort. As hard as it was to invade a woman’s privacy, he had to be thorough.

Mentally reviewing the list of suspects one more time, David slipped out of the actress’s room. He was beginning to agree with Jasmine’s assertions that no one on board was connected to the robberies. What was he missing? The
Ophelia
had to be the clue Charlie Petrie had tried to tell him about with his dying breath. David shook his head. It didn’t make sense.