Mississippi Bayou Belle

Chapter 3 – Tears and Handkerchiefs

The knocking on the state room door was persistent, like the knocking in his head. Neither would stop, no matter how much he willed them to. "Alright," he yelled, "I'm coming." He grabbed his robe and went for the door. "Yes?" he asked unhappily as he opened it.

Standing there with a distressed look on her face was the young woman from last night. In the daylight Bart observed all the things he'd missed in the dark; pretty, blonde, blue eyed, and well-dressed. Maybe twenty-two or twenty-three at the most. "I'm so sorry to wake you, but I must speak with you." She didn't wait for an invitation, just walked in and didn't seem in the least concerned that she was now in a man's stateroom unescorted.

"Certainly," he answered. He would have added "Come right in" but it was too late for that, she was already in. "Miss - ?"

"Mayhew. Emily Mayhew. Your name is Maverick, correct? Are you Bret or Bart?" She didn't waste any time. And how had she found them? Somebody on board had no problem divulging private information.

"I'm Bart. Bret is my obviously still asleep brother. What's so urgent that it can't wait for breakfast?"

"Mr. Maverick, I think someone wants to kill me."

Not an unusual assumption, considering that she'd probably witnessed the murder last night. "Do you have any reason for that, other than the obvious?"

"I went to breakfast this morning. When I came back my room had been broken into and everything pulled out and turned upside down."

He offered her a seat and then sat down himself. "Could be coincidence. Very bad timing on a thief's part. Why'd you think they were out to murder you?"

She reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a piece of paper, folded in half. As she handed it to him she explained, "Because of this."

Bart took the paper and opened it. 'You're next' was the only thing written on it. "Reasonable conclusion," was his only comment. "Who knows you're on board?"

"No one here," she answered. "Only my aunt in New Orleans. I'm going to live with her."

Bret's door swung open slowly and the older brother emerged, sleepy-eyed and yawning, which he promptly quit as soon as he saw their visitor. "Hello, have I missed something?"

"Late to the party, as usual," Bart remarked, then stood. "Miss Emily Mayhew, my brother Bret Maverick."

"The lady from last night. How do you do, Miss Mayhew?" Bret turned his attention back to his brother rather slowly, after taking a good look at Emily Mayhew. "What's all this about?"

"Take a look at this," as Bart handed him the threatening note.

"Ominous. You found this where?"

"In my room. After someone broke in and tore it apart." Emily looked like she was about to cry.

"Miss Mayhew, why did you bring this to us? Why not take it to the captain?" The question was from Bart.

"I did," she replied, sounding resigned. "He told me it was nothing, just a random threat."

Bart and Bret exchanged glances, then Bret told her, "Not so casual, I think."

"When I needed help last night, you were the only ones who came. Even the captain didn't seem that concerned. I thought maybe I could hire you to protect me." She looked around the opulence of the room and shook her head. "Now I think I can't afford you."

Bart laughed. "Don't let the room fool you. We're available for a price."

"All I have is one thousand dollars."

Bret didn't give Bart a chance to say anything. Protect a beautiful young girl, which they would have done for free anyway, and make five hundred dollars apiece? "Miss Mayhew, you have just bought yourself two bodyguards." He looked at his brother, who nodded in agreement. "Brother Bart, how fast can you get dressed? I need breakfast, and Miss Mayhew has already had hers."

"Give me ten minutes and some coffee," was the reply. Bart disappeared back into his room. Bret moved over to the other settee and sat across from Emily. "There is one requirement, Miss Mayhew."

"What is that, Mr. Maverick?"

"I'm Bret, he's Bart. Mr. Maverick is our Pappy."

She nodded in agreement. "Fine. Bret, please call me Emily. Miss Mayhew lives in New Orleans. She's my aunt."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Emily, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

XXXXXXXX

Bart took Emily's arm and steered her towards the dining salon. "Do you mind? I need coffee. How about some tea?"

"Coffee will be fine," she answered. She let Bart take her into the room and pull out a chair for her.

"Two coffees," Bart ordered from the waiter. He removed his hat and sat it on the table. "You said you're gonna live with your aunt in New Orleans?"

Emily nodded before she spoke. "Yes. Aunt Millie is getting older and is tired of living alone. Since she raised me I thought it best to go help her."

He understood that sentiment. The day was coming with Pappy and Uncle Ben . . . . . he shook the thought off and brought his attention back to the young lady before him. "Where were you living before?"

She smiled slightly; she had a charming smile. "In St. Louis. I was a nurse to a family with two little girls."

He winced at the mention of the little girls, thinking about the hallucination he'd had when Donnie Monroe held him prisoner. She saw the reaction and wondered what it meant. Was there more to these two men than met the eye?

"Do you have children?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Not married. Neither is Bret. It doesn't work with our particular profession."

"And what is that Mr. . . . Bart?"

"We're professional gamblers, Emily. Does that bother you?"

"Not at all," she replied. "The people I worked for – Mr. Lewis was a gambler."

He hesitated, then asked the question anyway. "Jerome Lewis?" Lewis was at one time a well-known card sharp – master of the art of deception with the cards. Some time back he'd 'gone straight' – quit the cheating and played honestly, due to his marriage and fatherhood. From what Bart heard it had worked out well – for a short time.

"Yes, Jerome Lewis. Do you know him?"

Bart tempered his answer with understanding. "I know his reputation with the cards."

Unfortunately, Lewis was nowhere near as skilled with honest poker playing as he was with cheating. Whether it was the decrease in income or just pride, the man had recently reverted to his old ways. If he kept it up the two little girls might soon be orphans.

"What does that mean?"

"I've never met him," Bart answered, hoping no further explanation was necessary.

Emily let it drop. "Where do you and Bret live?"

That question elicited a chuckle. "Wherever the cards take us. Currently on the 'Bayou Belle'."

"Oh."

"Are you done?" his last question, as he finished his coffee.

"Yes." She set her empty cup down. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Let's go see this room of yours, shall we?" He stood and pulled out her chair for her, then accepted her arm through his and escorted her out of the salon.

XXXXXXXX

She was right, everything had been pulled apart and turned upside down. They were looking for something, the question is what?

"Any idea what they were after?"

Her expression was puzzled and her head shook 'no.' "Why would someone do this? I don't have anything worth taking."

He disagreed with her. "Yes, you do. Your life. But what they wanted here – who knows?"

She began to pick clothing up from the floor and the furniture, everywhere that it had been tossed or dropped. Bart bent over to help her, judiciously avoiding anything that might prove embarrassing to one or the other of them. In just a few minutes they had order restored to the room; that's when Bart saw the small wooden box still laying on the floor. It had been smashed to bits and the lid ripped off it. "What was in here?" he asked as he showed her the remaining pieces.

"Oh no!" she cried as she took the pieces from his hand. "Not that!" It was evident from the sound of her voice that she was close to tears; whatever it had held once upon a time was important to her.

"Emily. What was in it?"

She looked up at him, eyes bright, shiny and wet. "My . . . my mother's locket. And my father's letters to her before they were married. And his cuff links."

That was not the answer he expected and the 'cuff links' part hit him hard, thinking of the pair he wore from his own mother. "Were they worth much?"

"Not money," tumbled out of her. "To anyone but me." It was finally too much and she put her head in her hands and sobbed. Bart moved closer to her and put his arms around her to comfort her, much as he had last night. She let go and now that she was safe in his arms, cried for long minutes as she clung tightly to him. Embarrassed or distressed or both, she reigned in her sobbing and backed away from him. "Sorry," she mumbled as she attempted to wipe her eyes.

Bart took the handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dried her tears. She gave him a very small smile and mumbled "Thank you." Uh-oh, he knew the look in her eyes and quickly backed away from her.

"Anything of value in the letters?"

"No," she insisted. "Just letters. Those are the only things I had from my parents." She looked like she was about to start crying again and he rushed to change the subject and distract her.

"Have you noticed anything else missing?"

Emily looked around the room, at all the now neatly stacked piles. "Everything else seems to be here."

If these were all her worldly possessions she was definitely poorer than the Mavericks.

"No fancy dresses, pretty gowns, nothing like that?"

"None of that. What did I need it for?"

Funny, he thought all big city women needed clothes like that. Evidently not.

Just about that time there was a knock at the door. He pushed her behind him and pulled out his gun. "Yes?"

"It's Bret. Let me in."

Bart opened the door to her room without lowering the gun. Bret took one look at it and put his hands up. "Don't shoot. I come in peace."

"Yeah. Careful you don't come in pieces," Bart remarked as he holstered his gun. He opened the door wider. "You missed all the work."

"Ah-ha. Just the way I planned it."