Kathleen Y'Barbo (45 page)

“Goodness, I have no idea where that man has got off to. He said something about having a surprise for me and then away he went.” She nudged Millie. “That is what a man will do, darling. They will run if you give them a chance, and don’t you forget it.”

“You are being dramatic again,” Kyle told her, and then he took Millie aside. “Do not let her distract you. Keep in mind situational awareness.”

Millie waved his comment away and then followed his mother inside. Kyle gave the ladies a couple of steps lead time before falling in behind them.

Never had he wished for Pinkerton backup so much as when the doors opened to reveal the entire ground floor of the French Opera House filled with party guests enjoying a brisk waltz. Somewhere among them Will Tucker was lurking. Or he could have figured out that this ball was given by the mother of a Pinkerton agent bound and determined to see him tossed back in Angola and avoided the event.

Either was possible.

Rows of empty theater seats cascaded up into the rafters like layers on a cake. Behind any chair a convict with a weapon could be hiding.

Kyle looked around to find each of the fourteen policemen he had met with this morning. All appeared comfortably dressed as guests. As
he buzzed each one with his contacting device, they took turns nodding almost imperceptibly.

Finally Kyle drew a relaxed breath. Until something happened, now all he could do was watch.

He faded into the shadows and leaned against the wall as the orchestra ceased their playing and his mother took the stage. Kyle had his weapon at the ready, his gaze roaming the crowd.

“Dear friends,” Mother said when the applause died away. “I have made such a wonderful discovery recently, and I had to share her with all of you.”

He prayed the unpredictable woman would keep to the script upon which they both agreed. To say the wrong thing in Tucker’s presence could ruin everything.

“I wish to present to you a young lady new to this city but very dear to me and my family.”

Kyle frowned. She was not supposed to refer to him even in such general terms. He moved closer, with a clear view of the stage and yet out of sight of anyone who might look in his direction.

With three steps he could reach the risers. Three more and he would be center stage protecting the women who stood there. And still he felt impossibly far away.

“Mildred Cope, I would like you to meet four hundred of my nearest and dearest friends.”

He rolled his eyes and then, as Millie stood beside his mother, found he could not move. He could not take his attention off of the woman who had stolen his heart.

This time the applause lasted much longer, or perhaps it just seemed that way. When she finally stepped forward to offer a smile, he held his breath.

“Thank you so much for such a wonderfully warm welcome. I may have been born in Memphis, but tonight I feel as though I am a New Orleans native being welcomed home to family.”

Again the cheers arose. Again Kyle waited them out, his nerves taut.

“So, because we are all family here, I would like to make a special introduction.”

Kyle froze. What was she doing?

“Sir William Trueck, have you arrived yet?” She shaded her eyes as she looked out into the crowd. “Sir William?” she repeated.

Just as Kyle was ready to pounce and remove the crazed woman from the stage, the crowd parted. And there he was. Will Tucker in all his glory.

“Dear friends,” Millie said with a smile, “please give my English friend a warm New Orleans welcome.”

Tucker apparently relished the spotlight more than he allowed for caution. A moment later he had pressed past Kyle just quickly enough to prevent being collared. With three steps up the risers and three steps across the stage, he reached Millie.

What they said, Kyle could only guess at, for her smile never left her. Tucker shook hands with Mother and then waved to the crowd.

“Thank you all,” Mother hurried to say. “Now shall we dance?”

As the music began again, Kyle punched the button to alert the deputies that plans had changed. Once the men had made their way up to the second level, he pressed a second code to warn them to have weapons at the ready.

He then stepped out of the shadows and traced Tucker’s steps up to center stage, keeping just far enough out of the crook’s peripheral vision to keep himself from being spotted.

By the time he reached up to move Millie into a place of safety, he had a tight grip on Tucker’s arm. “I have fourteen deputies stationed around the perimeter of this room. One false move and you’re a dead man, Will Tucker.”

Tucker looked past him to Millie, who was watching them closely. “So this was all a setup.”

Kyle didn’t bother to respond.

“Well, good luck finding that locket, Pinkerton, because I’m not going to tell you where I hid it.”

“I don’t need it,” Kyle said as he discreetly moved the criminal toward the risers and then down the steps. From there two of the New Orleans Police Department’s finest accepted custody of him.

“Nice job, sir,” one of them said as he placed handcuffs on Tucker.

Millie came up to stand beside Kyle, watching quietly as the officers hauled the defiant man away. She gently took his hand in hers. Much
less gently, he freed his hand to pull her into a close embrace.

“I made a dangerous decision,” she said, her face pressed against his chest.

“Yes, and just as soon as I can manage it, I am going to have a tantrum. Understand?”

“Completely,” Millie replied as she attempted to smile through her tears.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

“What in the world? Papa?” Kyle shook his head as he held his companion at arm’s length. “Millie, are you ready to return to the party? Because my father is on stage, and I have no idea what he is about to do.”

“I am sure you all thought this little party was for our dear Millie,” Papa was saying. “But those of you who have known me for any length of time will recall that I had the good fortune to marry a woman of certain vocal talents.”

A smatter of applause, politely given but not sincere.

“Josey, come here,” he called to Mother. “You have gifted me with your lovely voice for almost thirty years. Tonight in front of all our friends, I would like to return the favor.”

Mother was beet red, her expression somewhere between shock and apoplexy. For once, she appeared to be speechless.

But when someone brought out a chair and set it on the stage, Mother settled there comfortably. A queen on her throne might have been an apt description.

Kyle placed a protective arm around Millie and led her to a spot near the stage where he could have a better view of both his parents. If a man’s family was acting the fool, it was best to get a good look at them.

The orchestra leader raised his baton and nodded to Papa. Then the music began. And Papa began to sing.

The room fell silent.

Stunned silent as Papa sang to Mother from the fourth act of the
Barber of Seville.
His notes were perfect, his phrasing brilliant, his stage presence mesmerizing. Kyle could only watch in awe
as the man they had all underestimated brought the crowd to tears as he sang of his love and devotion.

To Mother. In public.

“Oh, Kyle.” When the song was over, Millie reached up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Your parents are so romantic.”

He groaned. “I think I need to have that tantrum now.”

She shook her head. “I think you need to have that dance now.”

And then the woman he loved took him by the hand and led him to the dance floor. After ten seconds in her arms, he forgot all about the fact his parents had just made fools of themselves with all of New Orleans watching.

February 7, 1889

New Orleans

The meeting between the four Pinkertons took place the following Thursday in the downtown office Kyle used when he needed complete privacy. Formerly Papa’s suite of law offices, the space was rarely used unless his father decided to take on a case or needed some time out of the house.

Allowing Henry Smith the place of honor behind Papa’s oversized desk, Kyle situated himself in one of the wingback chairs flanking the desk with Lucas McMinn claiming the other. Sadie Callum found a spot on the settee under the painting of Grandfather Harry Kyle, the original lawyer in the family and Mother’s father.

His stern Scottish demeanor and the rimmed spectacles behind which his eyes followed all who walked past gave him the nickname Scary Harry. That Harry Kyle had a namesake in Kyle was but a small testament to the sway the old man held over Papa and Mother.

And though he had been dead almost twenty years, Kyle still looked at the painting and recalled crossing to the other side of the room rather than coming too close to Scary Harry and invoking his wrath.

“It looks like we are all here,” Henry said as he slid a file from his satchel and opened it. “So let’s get this meeting underway, shall we?”

Two items were on the agenda that day: Will Tucker’s arrest and the pending conclusion of the government-requested treasure hunt. While Kyle was anxious to discuss the first, he was reluctant to report on the second.

“First of all,” Henry said, “I want to congratulate all of you for a job well done. And an extra thanks to you, McMinn, for agreeing to this brief return to the agency to help us with the case.”

“Glad to do it, sir,” Lucas said. “It has always been a source of vexation that he slipped away on my watch and I couldn’t go after him.”

It happened on Kyle’s watch too, but unlike Lucas, he hadn’t taken any bullets in the process. That the Tucker case had caused Lucas to leave the Pinkertons due to injury was what kept Kyle on the job.

“I received word this morning that Tucker is officially back in his cell and will not see the light of day for many years, thanks to that escape. The boys up at Angola send their regards, and I plan to take the whole lot of you out to Antoine’s for a nice thick steak and some
Pompano en Papillote
just as soon as we finish here.”

Indeed the
Pompano en Papillote
was a favorite of his, but Kyle’s stomach was tied up in too many knots to be concerning himself with the thought of the fish the Alciatore family somehow cooked to perfection inside a paper pouch. Instead, all he could think of was the grilling he was about to receive.

Lucas reached over to clasp his hand on Kyle’s shoulder, drawing him back from his thoughts. “We have Agent Russell here to thank for that.”

“Actually,” Sadie Callum said, “the way I heard the story, we have Agent Russell’s lady friend, Miss Cope, to thank. And his mother gave the party that drew Tucker there in the first place.”

Heat rose on Kyle’s face. It figured Agent Callum would point out the accomplishments of the females.

“Well, nonetheless,” Henry said, “Tucker has been captured. And much as that makes me happy, it also makes me wonder how much longer you will be with us, Agent Russell.”

Kyle shifted positions, grateful that his boss had so smoothly changed the subject. “As I understand it, sir, I am still working a case, so that question would not yet be appropriate to ask until after its conclusion.”

“Through March four,” he said, “and duly noted, Agent Russell. Which brings us to our next order of business. Where do we stand on the Confederate gold investigation?”

Finally a question simple to answer. “From what I have been able to determine, any gold that fell off a wagon or generally went missing is long gone. Not a single contact in any of the Southern states could find any trace of it.”

“Could it be that people are covering for each other?”

“Possibly, but without digging up every cow pasture and backyard south of the Mason–Dixon line, I don’t see how we are going to find any of it.”

Henry seemed to think on that a minute. Finally he nodded. “Then that is what I will tell our client. I’ll wait until the deadline just in case one of your informants comes up with something, but am I correct in understanding you do not hold any hope in pleasant surprises?”

“You would be correct,” Kyle said. “However, I will follow up with telegrams and let you know.”

“Thank you.” Henry consulted the document in front of him and then sat back and steepled his hands. “McMinn, would you and Agent Callum kindly give Agent Russell and me a minute alone?” He went over to open the door and then closed it when the pair had made their exit.

Kyle released long breath and waited for Henry to return to his seat. A moment passed before the chair squeaked and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

“All joking aside, I can see you are in this up to your eyeballs with Silas Cope’s daughter.” He paused. “What I cannot see is where your loyalty lies. That I need to hear directly from you.”

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but his boss waved him off.

“Understand I am questioning neither your dedication to your duties nor your loyalty to the Pinkertons. But, son, you need to let me know if you are having any doubts about your ability to bring this matter to a conclusion.”

Kyle gave the request the thought it deserved and then shook his head. “No, sir, I am not.”