Kathleen Y'Barbo (26 page)

“Decently done,” she said as she moved her attention to the locket.

But the simple heart shape offered no challenge to her artistic skills. She set it aside and closed her eyes to consider what she might capture next.

Kyle.

Yes, she should draw him before she forgot him. And so she did, pausing occasionally to close her eyes and recall a certain feature. The cleft in his chin. The thick sweep of lashes that outlined dark eyes. The way his lips turned up in the suggestion of a smile long before he actually allowed an expression of humor. The way those lips felt against hers as they celebrated the new year.

Drawing quickly now, she shaded in his hair, his dark brows, and the smile that touched not only his mouth but also his eyes when he offered it.

When she was finished, her fingers ached and her wrist felt almost numb from the constant motion of pencil against paper, but the likeness was unmistakable.

The aviator grinned back at her from the page. Memories threatened.

“Stop that,” she said again as she took one more look and turned the page. “Draw something else.”

Again she looked around. Again, she lifted the heart locket off the bedside table.

“I think I will draw you now,” she said as she opened the locket to reveal the miniature portrait inside.

Only then did she see the resemblance. Were he twenty years younger, Father could have posed for this painting. They could have been brothers drawn at different ages and in different decades. The features that shaped them were similar and yet not exactly the same.

The locket tumbled from her fingers and landed on the floor. Setting her drawing materials aside, Millie reached to pick it up and accidentally snagged an edge of the tiny portrait with her fingernail as she lifted it.

“Oh, no,” she said as she attempted to press the portrait back into its frame. It would not stay in place, nor would the locket close with the frame now bent.

Finally giving up, she set the piece aside with the plan of returning it to Mr. Parker in the morning for a repair. “And this time I will wait while he works.”

Fifteen

January 18, 1889

Memphis

T
he next morning Millie escaped down the back stairs to walk to Parker’s Jewelry. Only when she turned the corner onto Second Street did she realize how early it was. Thankfully, Mr. Parker was unlocking his store when the building came into view.

“Has my repair not held?” the elderly jeweler said when she arrived at the door.

“Yes, it’s fine, but I am afraid I have another repair for you.”

Millie followed him inside and showed him the locket. “Hmm, you do have a problem. Who is this lucky gentleman whose face you carry with you?” He gave the piece another look. “The portrait is old, is it not? So my guess is your grandfather? Perhaps great-grandfather?”

“I don’t know. Mama said she was never told.”

“I see.” He shrugged. “May I?” he asked as he gestured to the back of the store.

“Yes, please.”

“As my assistant is not yet here, I fear you will have to entertain yourself while I work.” He paused. “Unless you would like me to deliver this later today?”

“No,” she hurried to say. “I do not mind waiting at all.”

Mr. Parker disappeared into the back room, leaving Millie to wander
over to the window. Watching the traffic heading up and down the street amused her until the jeweler’s assistant arrived.

“Did not Mr. Parker deliver your necklace, Miss Cope?”

“Yes, I did,” the jeweler called from the back.

Millie smiled. “I received the necklace yesterday as promised. However, I have another problem that needed addressing. Mr. Parker is...” She noticed the elderly man coming toward her. “It appears he has already made the repair.”

Holding the locket in his outstretched hand, Mr. Parker came around the counter to gesture toward the front window. “Come over here to where the light is best. I want you to see something.”

She did as he asked and then accepted the locket when he offered it to her. The frame was no longer bent, and the portrait had been removed completely.

“This is what I wanted you to see.” The jeweler retrieved the miniature from his pocket and placed it facedown in her palm. “You said you did not know who this man is? His name is Julian.”

She looked down at the tiny scribble of words and marveled at the old man’s ability to decipher them. As if he had guessed at her surprise, Mr. Parker reached into his pocket again and pulled out a magnifying device.

“Here. You will see it much clearer through this.”

Millie lifted the glass to her eye and then edged closer to the sunlight now streaming through the front window. Indeed, there were several lines of miniscule letters, though the print was quite blurred.

“How did they make this so small?”

“The same way the portrait was painted. With a tiny brush and much patience.” He gestured to the portrait. “Go on, read it. You may have to lift your head a bit or even move closer to get the words to focus.”

“All right,” she said as she brought the glass again to her eye. And then she saw them. Words that took her breath away.

Julian, the source of my treasure.

And beneath it a date that time and dampness had obscured. Then the last line.

“Oh, my. Does that say New Orleans? And then the date. It looks like 1837.”

“That was my guess. Does any of that sound familiar?”

“Only the date,” she said as she handed the looking glass back to Mr. Parker. “I seem to recall a marriage recorded in that year in my mother’s...”

No good would come of mentioning the Bible, even though the likelihood Mr. Parker might somehow transfer that information to Father was extremely small.

“Miss Cope?”

She returned her attention to the jeweler. “Yes? I am sorry.”

“Would you like me to put this back in the locket?” As if guessing her next question, he said, “And I will be sure to show you how to remove this portrait should you want to look at the message on the back again.”

Though she watched what the jeweler did, it took several attempts to replicate his ability to slip the miniature out of its place and then return it again. That finally accomplished, she bid Mr. Parker goodbye and hurried out of the store, the question of Sophie and the letter weighing heavily on her.

Such was her concentration that she might have missed Kyle had she not run directly into him going the opposite direction. Hanging on his arm was a lovely fair-haired woman who barely spared her a glance as she released her grip and kept walking.

“You’re in a hurry,” Kyle said as he steadied the pretty society scientist, decked out for the day in a gown of crimson that matched the color rising in her cheeks.

Millie gave a passing glance to Agent Sadie Callum of the Denver Pinkerton office before looking at him. He’d seen that look before. She was jealous.

How about that?

“Yes, well, I...” With another glance in Detective Callum’s direction, she began to fiddle with the lace at her collar. “I was just going home. If you will excuse me...”

He gently captured her arm and held her still before she could flee. “I got your message,” he said softly.

“Um...yes, about that...”

With another glance behind him where, Kyle assumed, his fellow Pinkerton agent was now waiting, Millie returned her attention to him. She seemed to have difficulty recalling her next thought.

“And...?” he prompted, smiling in an attempt to help her feel a little more at ease.

“I just wanted to apologize for shooting your...” She shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said as he moved out of the way to allow a trio of matrons to pass.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see that Agent Callum was watching closely, her cover as his ladylove in full effect.

“Am I interrupting something?” Millie nodded toward his companion, a vision in pink with a winter coat and hat to match.

What to say? “Actually...”

“Of course.” Two words and yet they spoke volumes. “Then I will bid you goodbye.”

With a nod she turned away. Long after Millie disappeared around the corner, he remained standing there, hoping like a fool she might return.

She would not, of course. Not since she surely figured he was sporting around town with Agent Callum. And that
had
been the plan. For who would expect that a stroll on a nice January afternoon would be, in actuality, a business meeting between two of the Pinkerton Agency’s best agents?

She sidled up beside him and placed a gloved hand on his sleeve. “I think I may have caused you some trouble with your friend.”

“That one is trouble enough without your help.” The detective would get no further response on the subject. He took her arm and walked in silence until Kyle felt it safe enough to stop. “Where were we?”

“I was about to give you your marching orders and remind you that, although your original assignment was to chase down rumors of
Confederate gold, you are now following the trail of a different type of smuggler.”

“Why not turn this one over to local law enforcement?” he wondered aloud. “If our suspect used stolen Confederate gold to fund his empire, then why not just go in and shut him down?”

“I asked Henry the same thing. Apparently he’s hiding behind a dead
mother.” At Kyle’s confused look, she continued. “There is a connection to Lafitte on his mother’s side being claimed as the source of their income, or at least that is what Henry’s informant is saying.”

She paused to adjust her pale pink gloves and then turned her green eyes back in his direction. “Our informant says otherwise, and if he is right and our suspect built his empire with funds that came from stolen gold...”

“Then it all belongs to the government, which makes our mystery client very happy.”

“Exactly.” She reached into her handbag to offer him an envelope. After a quick glance around to be certain they had not been followed, Kyle tucked it into his pocket.

“Field work suits you,” he said when they resumed walking. “Or has your move to Denver meant you are no longer in the field?”

It was Agent Callum’s turn to shrug. “Not as much as I would like, but that is the nature of our career, is it not? I mean, who among us isn’t either planning our exit or still trying to justify why we joined up in the first place?”

“Agreed.”

“We do what is asked of us so that someday we can do what we wish.”

“Deep thoughts, Agent Callum,” he said.
And far too close to true
, he did not say.

They were turning toward the dock now, and the wind blew raw and dirty off the Mississippi. To her credit, Sadie appeared not to notice.

She gave a passing nod to the ancient vegetable seller who plodded by atop an old gray mare and then continued. “In the meantime, it’s not a bad way to get even with the bad guys.”

The way she held his gaze told Kyle she was speaking from personal experience. Just what that experience might be was anyone’s guess. And he certainly did not intend to ask.

“How long has it been since you went home to New Orleans?”

“Too long,” she said. “You?”