The Bad Luck Wedding Cake (16 page)

“Yes,” Emma said. “We plan to pour it into sweet iced tea we’ll give to our uncle and the woman we want him to love.”

Maribeth piped up. “That won’t hurt it, will it? Sweet tea won’t interfere with its magic?”

Madam LaRue smiled as she picked a small bottle from the shelf and turned around. She set it on the table with a flourish and said, “No, iced tea won’t damage the love potion at all. In fact, I suspect the flavors will complement. Your money, child?”

Maribeth frowned. “Twenty dollars is a whole lot of money. That looks like an awful tiny bottle to be worth twenty dollars.”

“And how much is your uncle’s happiness worth to you?”

Man opened the bag, removed the bills, and counted them out carefully as Emma reached for the love potion. She tilted the clear glass bottle to one side, studying the dark, toffee-colored liquid. “How many doses is this? How much do we use?”

“One spoonful per glass is enough,” Madam answered, scooping up the money and sticking it down into her bodice.

Emma contemplated the bottle, and her gaze must have given her thoughts away because Maribeth snapped, “Don’t. You’re not going to use it on Casey Tate, Emma McBride. You’re too young for love potions.”

A quick-thinking businesswoman, the priestess turned back to her inventory, this time removing a pink crystal from a jar. “This is a love charm, a more appropriate tool for a young woman your age. It’s two dollars.”

“Mari?” Emma asked.

Mari snorted and dug into the money pouch for the coins. “Don’t forget we have to save four dollars for Miss Blackstone’s vase.”

After that, nothing would do but to buy something for Kat, too, so they waited another five minutes while Madam LaRue cast an arithmetic spell over the youngest sister. Emma had almost fainted when the priestess glanced up at the animals hanging above their heads.

Thankfully, Madam LaRue chose a stuffed owl to use in her spell, not the hog, like Emma had feared. Finally, to her relief, they finished their business and departed the shop.

“I feel smarter already,” Kat said, her chin lifted smugly in the air. “Wasn’t Madam LaRue wonderful?”

Maribeth yanked her sister into the shadows and out of the streetlamp’s glare. “I sure hope she’s not a fake, and the whole spelling bee plan wasn’t a waste of time.”

“A fake!” Kat protested. “Why would you say that? You saw her read the stones and learn what we came for. You’re not very nice to call her a fake, Maribeth McBride.”

“I didn’t call her a fake. I said I hoped she wasn’t one. She could have figured out why we were there if this love potion is the only thing she sells for twenty dollars.”

“I believe in her,” Emma said. “Casey says she has the power and that’s good enough for me.”

“Someone’s coming,” Kat said, and they flattened themselves against a wall of a small house similar to Madam LaRue’s. From inside, Emma heard a woman moan and a man groan, and something about the sounds made her put protective hands over Katrina’s ears. A group of laughing cowboys passed their hiding place, followed by a man weaving his way up the street. Emma recognized the banker, Mr. Reece, and slowly shook her head. When Papa got home she’d have to tell him to count his money closely next time he dealt with Fort Worth National.

Emma jumped at the pop of a cork being released beside her. “Mari, what are you doing?” she whispered fiercely.

“I want to see what it smells like.”

“Well, don’t taste it, whatever you do.” Good heavens, Emma thought. All she needed was a sister in love with Mr. Reece. “I’m not stupid. I just want to…oh my.”

“Oh my, what?”

“The smell.”

“Is it awful?”

“No, it’s wonderful. Really wonderful. Smell it, Em.”

Maribeth shoved the bottle beneath her nose, and Emma took a whiff. So surprised was she that she forgot to keep her voice down. “My stars. This love potion smells exactly like Miss Donovan’s Magic.”

Then Emma forgot all about the love potion when a man’s voice came out of the shadows.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Emma knew the voice. She knew the voice and the stink of whiskey that swirled around them. Big Jack Bailey. Their mother’s gravest enemy. The man who shot Uncle Tye and almost killed Mama and the baby growing in her tummy. “Run, sisters!”

Maribeth jerked the love potion away from Emma’s nose and slammed the cork back into it even as her feet took off running. Emma pushed Katrina forward, following right on her heels. For the space of a heartbeat she thought they had safely escaped, but the painful yank at her scalp told her he’d caught her pigtail. He tugged her backward, and she fell at his feet. Gazing upward, all she could see of his face was the eerie gleam of his eyes. Her heart leapt to her throat.

“The M-M-McBride M-Menaces. This must be my l-l-lucky day.”

The way Big Jack slurred out his words cued Emma to the fact he was drunk. That and the eye-watering stink of whiskey. When he reached for the gun at his side and placed its barrel against her temple, she almost wet her pants.

The sounds coming from the house escalated, and Emma knew the people inside didn’t hear the drama taking place on the other side of the wall. Her gaze darted up the street, then down, as she prayed to see another pedestrian.

Big Jack growled. “The two of you over there behind the water barrel. I see you hiding. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to use a rain barrel for anything but catching water? Dries up rain for six weeks, it does. Now, you two get over here so I don’t have to hurt your sister. It’s an omen you fell into my hands tonight of all nights. An omen. I owe your new mama, you know. She brought grief to my family. Y’all bein’ here now is a sign I can finally pay her back.”

He gave Emma’s hair a vicious yank, and she yelped.

“Don’t hurt our sister!” Maribeth cried from behind the water barrel.

“Then get your butts over here.”

Slowly Maribeth and Katrina did as he asked. Emma heard Kat crying softly, and she wanted to yell at them to run. But to her shame, she couldn’t force her lips to form the words.

Big Jack Bailey’s gun hand remained steady, pointed to kill, as he said, “Come along. My wagon is back in the alley. Menaces, we’re going for a ride.”

***

EARLY-MORNING sunlight painted the eastern sky a candy-colored pink-and-gold when the welcome bell at The Confectionary rang with a jarring clang. “Claire!”

Her hands sticky with bread dough, she jerked her head toward the front of the shop.
Tye?
He sounded panicked.

She heard Brian say, “Hey, you can’t go back there.”

As she reached for a towel to wipe her hands, he rushed through the door. Fear knifed through her as she stared up into his anxious face. “What is it, Tye?”

“The girls,” he panted, his expression tight. “Please tell me they’re here, that you’ve seen them.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

His hands curled into fists. “Not at all this morning? Or last night?”

Claire’s father broke the silence he’d maintained since she had showed up at The Confectionary three hours earlier and refused to leave. “What is the reason for this disturbance? We have business here to run.”

She ignored her father and her brothers and asked, “Last night? Goodness, Tye, what’s happened? I haven’t seen the girls since they told me good night and went up to bed.”

He mouthed a curse, then heaved a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. She could barely make out the words he muttered. “I don’t know what made me think I could take care of those children.”

She grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him out the back door, away from the Donovan males. “What happened? Tell me.”

A mockingbird sang from its rooftop perch as Tye clenched his fists, then flexed his fingers, then clenched his fists again. “I checked on them both times I came home last night. I saw three lumps under the covers and thought everything was fine. I should have known better. I had that feeling, but I thought it was you. And Ralph slept on the back porch last night instead of in Maribeth’s bed like usual. It slipped right on by me at the time. When I went to get them up for school this morning, I found pillows instead of people beneath the blankets. I searched the house. I searched the yard. I went to their school and the apartment and your shop. Where else should I look?”

Oh, no. Poor man
. “Have they ever gone missing before?”

“Not from me, but I hear they did it to Trace a number of times.” He caught Claire’s arm and squeezed it. “The train station. Oh God, Claire, they’ve run away. That’s what they needed the money for.”

As he dropped her arm and pivoted toward the end of the alley, Claire said, “Wait. You’re jumping to conclusions. This is probably just one of their pranks and they’ll turn up safe and sound back at Willow Hill any time. As for the money, did you check the safe? Was it missing?”

“I didn’t think of it.” He grimaced and added, “I should have checked their room for clues, too. Trace said whenever they run off, they almost always leave something lying around that tells him where to look.” His manner distracted, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Claire.”

As Tye took off down the alley in a loping run, she rushed back inside to wash her hands and strip off her apron. Those Menaces, God bless them, had offered her the perfect distraction from her own problems. She could use a break from the wall of silence the Donovans deployed as their weapon of choice this morning. She seriously doubted the girls were in danger. In fact, they probably had guessed their Uncle Tye was onto their little spelling bee caper and had chosen to go into hiding.

Claire knew Tye would worry until they were home safe and sound. He had helped her last night. As friend, neighbor, and woman he’d kissed senseless on his front porch, she could do nothing less than return the favor today.

She made quick time to Willow Hill. Under the circumstances, she didn’t bother to knock, but went straight inside and trailed the sounds of a search to Trace McBride’s office. Tye stood inside in front of an opened wall safe. The money bag Claire recognized from the night before lay open, its contents spilled across the desk-top. Tye’s head was bent as he counted the money. When he finished, he sighed and lifted his head.

Claire asked, “Is it all there?”

“I think some of it’s missing, but I can’t remember the exact amount.”

She did. She always remembered money. “Three hundred twenty-seven dollars and sixty-four cents.”

Tye dragged his fingers through his hair. “Then thirty dollars is missing. What would they want with thirty dollars?”

Claire shook her head, baffled.

For a long moment Tye’s harsh breathing and the tick of the mantel clock were the only sounds heard in the study. Then he swiped a hand across the desktop, sending bills flying and coins pinging to the floor. “Why did I think I was good enough to care for those precious little girls?”

Ralph bounded into the room and headed directly for Tye. He scooped the whining pup off the floor and absently scratched him behind the ears.

A thought occurred to Claire and she asked, “Did you check the mercantile? A music box in the window had Emma fascinated and that’s all she talked about one day last week in The Confectionary.”

“No,” Tye replied. “I didn’t go that far downtown. That’s a good idea. I’ll check the mercantile and every store on Main Street after I search their rooms. Maybe we could write out handbills to put up, too. Surely someone in this town has seen them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. They’re just up to some mischief and you’ll discover what that is any time now.” Claire’s lips twisted in a sad smile as she watched Ralph crawl up Tye’s chest and lick him on the cheek. She wondered just who was comforting whom.

“You’re probably right,” Tye said, his gaze turning hopeful. “Tell you what, though. Would you come upstairs with me first? Perhaps a pair of feminine eyes would spy something important I might overlook.”

She followed him out of the office and up the stairs. Tye paused outside a bedroom door, explaining, “This is Emma’s room. They spend most of their time here. This month, anyway. Last month it was Maribeth’s. Trace says they all wanted their own rooms until they got them. It’s musical beds around here most nights, and I thought it peculiar when I came to wake them. It was my first clue something was wrong; they never stay in the same bed all night long.”

Emma’s room was a feminine fantasy. Pink organdy decorated the windows and draped the bed. Pink rosebuds adorned the wallpaper. Beautifully dressed china dolls stood on shelves that lined one wall. Claire wondered if Jenny McBride had sewn them for her stepdaughter.

Tye disturbed her musings by saying, “Emma is the planner of the three. If any clue as to what they’re up to does exist I expect we’ll find it here.”

Claire took a seat at the vanity, pulled open a drawer, and considered the items inside. A hairbrush, a comb. Three pennies, a doll’s dress, and a bead necklace. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Tye crossed to a rosewood wardrobe and pulled open the door. As he poked and prodded among the clothes, Claire heard him mutter, “I should have paid closer attention to the clothes they wear. I can’t tell if anything is missing. I should know what they’re wearing. The girls are my responsibility.”

Claire prayed they’d find a clue as to the Menaces’ whereabouts soon. She expected they’d turn up somewhere with a thirty-dollar prize of one sort or another hidden among their petticoats. In the meantime, however, Tye needed some reassurance. He looked as if he’d aged ten years overnight.

He finished his search of the wardrobe and moved to the window seat where a stack of pillows and books made a cozy little reading area. Claire continued her exploration of the vanity, pausing over the train schedule cut from the newspaper. Her pulse sped up. Surely this couldn’t be the clue they were looking for. Surely the Menaces hadn’t truly run off. What reason would they have for doing so? They certainly hadn’t appeared upset or in distress the previous night when they said good night.

Tye whispered an ugly epithet, catching Claire’s attention. He’d been searching a bookcase and now half a dozen books sat stacked beside him on a round table. In his hands he held a small cedar box, and even as she watched, it slid from his hands and fell to the floor with a bang, followed by a rain of white paper. But not all the paper fell. Tye held on to one sheet. Held on to it and crushed it, his knuckles gone white from the force of his grip.