Kathleen Y'Barbo (46 page)

“And if Silas Cope is tangled up in the case you are working? What are you going to tell that pretty little lady?”

“That pretty lady and her father are not exactly on speaking terms. And after what he has done to her, I welcome the chance to prove he deserves
jail time.” He paused to let out a long breath. “However, as I sit here right now, I can look you in the eye and promise I will not allow any of this to affect the job I have been paid to do.”

Henry took it all in and then nodded. “And this link to Lafitte?”

“Miss Cope has found a map.” When Henry’s brows rose, Kyle continued. “Which I will turn over to you if you believe that is the right thing to do.”

“And where did she find this map?”

“In a charm her grandmother gave her, a piece of paper was folded around a key. Until a few days ago, that paper appeared to be blank. In fact, we thought any clues to the treasure might have been lost with the locket Silas Cope gave to Tucker.”

“And how did you discover that was not the case?”

“I allowed Miss Cope the use of my workshop while I was occupied elsewhere, and during the course of her experiments on the paper she uncovered the hidden image.”

“What, if anything, do you or Miss Cope plan to do about this treasure map?”

“We plan to follow it to see what is there.” He shrugged. “And yes, I will keep the agency informed of anything we find.”

“Admirable,” Henry said. “However, I am less concerned with what you find than I am with how it got there.”

“Well, sir, I am not sure how any of that could be determined.”

“I see your point.” He leaned back and appeared to be concentrating. Then he met Kyle’s gaze. “I think I can help you with that.”

“Oh?”

“We are in a gray area here, son, so here are the rules. I don’t need to know about anything found with a date before 1812. If Louisiana was not a state, then there is no basis for claiming a tax, understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“And if Miss Cope owns the map by virtue of the fact her granny passed it down to her, then whatever she finds using that map belongs to her unless someone can prove otherwise.”

Kyle nodded. “A clarification, then. Theoretically, if we find coins or some such treasure, how would we prove someone else owns them?”

Henry’s expression remained neutral, but Kyle couldn’t help noticing what appeared to be a gleam in his eye. “Unless there is a receipt, I do not suppose you could.”

He held Kyle’s gaze a moment longer. “I wish you well in your retirement, son, whenever that might be. Unless there is something I can do to change your mind.”

“No, sir. There is not.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded toward the door. “Go get your fellow agents.”

When McMinn and Callum returned, Kyle settled back into his chair. Henry stuffed all but one of his file folders back into his satchel and then stood.

“Just have a few things before we adjourn to Antoine’s for that fish. Callum, first thing tomorrow morning I will be putting in for a transfer for you from the Denver division to the one in Chicago so that you will be under my direct supervision.” He held up his hands to still any protest. “It’s temporary, mind you, but with McMinn already out the door and Russell heading that way soon, I need my best man...er, woman...on the Tucker case until the judge makes a final ruling.”

“With all due respect, sir, Will Tucker is back in jail. All’s well that ends well.”

“I’ll agree with that statement as soon as the judge rules on the extension to Tucker’s sentence. I need a Pinkerton representative present at those proceedings, and you are the only one of the three agents who have worked the case that I can guarantee will still be in my employ a few months from now.”

“So I’m not required to stay here in New Orleans until trial?”

“Not at all. The agency will inform you when you are needed here. Until then, you will continue to work the other cases you have been assigned.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, relief evident in her voice.

“One more thing. As of this moment I am officially removing Russell from the Silas Cope investigation due to a conflict of interest. He will transfer all his files on the matter to you by the end of the
business day tomorrow.”

Relief flooded Kyle as he managed a nod. “Yes, sir,” came a moment later.

Henry retrieved the last remaining file from the desktop. “Callum, you are now the lead agent on the case. If you’re lucky, you may get Agent McMinn to stick around long enough to give you some assistance. Otherwise, it’s all yours.”

Kyle looked at his friend just in time to see Lucas shake his head. “Not unless you can convince my wife. And good luck trying to talk sense to a woman who is in the family way.”

“It seems as though the investigation is all mine,” she said as she took the folder from Henry’s hand.

“Any more questions?” Henry asked. “Then I move we adjourn this meeting and reassemble over at Antoine’s.”

Kyle grinned as he offered to pick up the tab. Deep inside, he was thanking the Lord for the blessings that had been bestowed and the grace that had been given.

But most of all he was praying that if Jean Lafitte left Millie any gold or jewels, the pirate at least had the good sense not to leave a receipt.

Twenty-Six

February 13, 1889

New Orleans

T
he treasure hunters left for Bell Island one week later. When Millie was not fending off Mrs. Russell’s attempts at taking her out for teas and other social events, she had been spending her time in one of two places: the library or the workshop.

Twice she had convinced Kyle to drive past Mrs. Koch’s home on Royal Street, but both times the windows were dark and no sign of life could be seen.

Today began well before dawn with a trek through the dark to the vessel Kyle had hired for their trip down to Bell Island. Heedless to the wind chilling her face, Millie stood on the deck of the little vessel and watched as the sun rose on the horizon.

With each mile that passed, she was that much closer to whatever lay beneath the cross on the map. Kyle came to stand beside her, and for what seemed like a very long time, they remained silent.

Finally he turned to face her. “Are you sure you are ready for whatever we find?”

She looked up into eyes that were kind and concerned. “No,” she said honestly, “but I cannot imagine anyone I would rather have with me right now.”

They stood quietly for a moment, and then Kyle glanced her way. “The agency took me off your father’s case.”

Millie could only nod. She had given very little thought to Silas Cope since escaping his home, and the reminder of him prodded what was a nearly healed wound.

“Sadie Callum is taking it over.”

She smiled then, no longer concerned that the pretty Pinkerton agent might have designs on Kyle.

“Mr. Russell,” the vessel’s pilot called. “A word, please.”

Before he turned to go, he traced her jaw with his knuckle and offered her a look that promised more. She watched him walk away and knew that no matter what was at the end of this treasure hunt, she would be much richer for the experience of having known Kyle Russell.

By the time the sun was above the trees, the little fishing village of Santee came into view. Kyle ushered Millie onto land that was mostly marsh but just dry enough to walk on.

All around her the greenish brown waters of the bayou flowed lazily into the distance. Cypress trees pointed skyward, their bald knees jutting up here and there while gnarled fingers of Spanish moss teased the water’s edge. A cabin not much bigger than the carriage she had ridden to the docks in was nearly hidden under a stand of pines. Kyle asked her to wait a moment as he moved to the door. When he approached it, a light flickered in the lone window.

It wasn’t long before he was coming back to her with a gray-haired man at his side. The pair walked toward a stack of pirogues, those flat Cajun boats that allowed passengers to glide easily across shallow muddy water.

When Kyle beckoned, she hurried to his side. “We can take it from here,” Kyle told the older gentleman.

But he appeared not to have heard. Instead, he was staring intently at Millie. “You have returned,” he said softly as if awe was modulating his voice. “I told you that you would be back, but you did not believe me.”

Millie inched closer to Kyle and grasped his hand. “I am sorry, sir,” she told him, “but I have never been here before.”

“Yes, you have,” he protested. “I was just a boy, but I remember you.” His gaze narrowed as if the vision were escaping. “Like sunshine on
the brown bayou, your eyes.” And then he shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “That was so long ago. And yet, those are her eyes.”

“Her?”

The man nodded. “Sophie’s.”

Millie’s grip tightened. “Sophie? Did you know Sophie?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I only saw her the once, but I never forgot her. My granddaddy, though, he knew her. Always had a kind word for us, she did. Last I heard, she went up north and married up with some rich man. I always wondered if Julian knew.”

“Julian?” Millie asked carefully. “Can you tell me about him?”

“He was something, that Julian Girod. Could catch fish like nobody’s business, and when he put his mind to it, he could trap a month’s worth of pelts in a weekend. He taught me how to fish and hunt on account of my granddaddy liking the bottle too much and me having to fend for myself.”

“Sounds like quite a man,” Kyle said. “Whatever happened to him?”

The old man shrugged. “Guess he’s still living. Don’t travel into New Orleans much.”

“But the last time you heard from him, where was he?” Millie asked.

“That I do remember. Had him a nice house on Royal Street.” He repeated the address, and Millie nearly fainted. Mrs. Koch’s house.

When further questions of Julian Girod were met with no answers, Kyle supported Millie with an arm around her and then nudged her toward the pirogue, making his goodbyes as they walked.

“Just get the boat back before dark,” the old man called. “Else the gators might make a snack out of you.”

“No danger in that,” Kyle said as he rowed toward the gathering shadows.

“Sophie and Julian were from Bell Island?” Millie asked when they were far enough from the cabin not to be overheard.

“And there appears to be a connection with the house on Royal Street.” Kyle shook his head. “But one puzzle at a time, all right?”

“Right.”

With each stroke the pirogue jolted forward, cutting through the coffee-brown water and leaving a rooster’s tail of ripples in its wake. Here and there patches of sunlight told Millie that somewhere outside the bayou it was still midday. But in here it might have been late afternoon or, perhaps, gathering dusk. Long shadows danced across the water and
teased the sides of the ancient wooden boat.

Kyle abruptly pulled back on the oars, halting their progress. “Where now?” he asked as he gestured ahead. Two paths beckoned, but only one could be correct.

Millie retrieved the map. “Left.”

He steered in that direction until he found another crook in the bayou. This time he knew the direction was to the right. A few minutes later, Kyle gestured to the cypress stump shaped like a violin.

Had there been an
X
, it would have marked that exact spot. The pirogue came to a stop as Kyle reached to grab the ancient wood.

“What now?” Millie asked.

“I am going to see what is inside that stump.” He reached down into the water while she prayed nothing would snap up his fingers before he could find the treasure.

“I have something.” He began to pull up what appeared to be some sort of chain. At the end of the chain was a loop attached to a metal box. A small padlock secured it.

“Oh, Kyle!” Millie exclaimed. “The treasure!”

“Not so fast,” he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Let’s see if we can get this thing to open.”

He held out his hand, and Millie placed the tiny key from the cypher into his palm.

“I always wondered what kind of lock such a small key would fit.” She paused to watch Kyle insert the key into the lock. “Now I know.”

“It fits,” he said, “but rust is keeping the lock from opening.” He sat back and seemed to be studying the lockbox, oblivious to rivulets of dark bayou water staining his trousers. When he looked up, Millie expected to find discouragement. Instead, his expression brightened.