Chapter 4
Rosebud
Woody peeled the jacket off his shoulders and hung it on a hook by the door. He still had a few hours before dawn and he wanted to take a look around the boat without his shadow looking over his shoulder.
It took him two hours to shake the pilot they called 'Bug'. What he lacked in subtlety, he made up for in tenaciousness. Woody had to hide in the water closet for a good thirty minutes before the man gave up and walked away. Woody knocked around his stateroom, making it sound like Mr. Hoyt, of the Memphis Hoyts, was turning in after a long night of drinking and gambling. He smiled when he heard a satisfied grunt from the other side of his door and the familiar sound of Bug shuffling away. He took a moment to lie down. He wanted to wait until he knew everyone was to bed before he went back out.
He's been on board the boat for two days and the only things he's learned was that the liquor wasn't watered down like on most of the boats that cruised the river and the curvy red haired singer and various members of The Marker's crew had an elaborate card scam running. The only thing he couldn't figure out who was the point man. They bounced around from hand to hand, table to table...and the play never seemed to fall to anyone's favor. Maybe he was mistaken...but he's seen one than one con in his life. And he could read them better than most.
He chose to ignore it. He had too. It would be something if he was here investigating a cheat. No, he was here because some up-river-blue-blood couldn't keep a short enough leash on his daughter and she ended up dead. The Pinkerton's were hired and since Woody had requested the next assignment away from the office, it was his case. Little did he know that case would be on the Mississippi. Alan Pinkerton requested discretion in respect for the family's standing in society.
A woman was dead was all that Woody cared about. He didn't give rat's ass that the manner of her death wasn't proper fodder for the drawing rooms of the city. Still, he honored his boss's request...even if it ultimately tied his hands. It wasn't easy to conduct an investigation when you had to pose as something other than a law officer.
Two weeks he'd been working and he was hitting a brick wall. He hated giving up. It went against his nature. He took the investigation broader. The Mississippi Princess yielded nothing. As did The St. Louis Dawn and The Gem of the Delta...
The Delta Marker was the next boat on his list. As sternwheelers went, The Marker wasn't the biggest or the finest boat on the river. But she was neatly trimmed and cared for ...as river boats went. Not that he really cared. Woody hated them. He hated everything about the river with its shifting sandbars and mucky water. He hated the river about as much as he hated New Orleans.
With its rodent-sized mosquitoes and horse-sized rodents, the Mississippi Delta didn't hold the exotic promise Alan Pinkerton told him it was going to have when the job brought him to the city for the first time five years ago. Woody was man used to the four seasons of the Midwest. The only thing New Orleans had to offer, besides the sloe-eyed beauties that lined the streets of the Gaslight district, was its coffee. In New Orleans, coffee was akin to a religious experience. Woody liked his coffee thick, light and sweet. But a man couldn't live on coffee alone.
For the first stint in Louisiana, Woody stayed in The Big Easy for a year. A year too long as far as he was considered. He never quite integrated himself into the lifestyle that was as slow as the flow of the river and just as mysterious. Alan was more than happy to call in Woody's request for a field assignment. That short one year gave Woody an advantage over most of the other operators in the field. As much as he disliked the routine of the idle plantation rich and river travelers, he could carry it off without batting an eye. As Alan put it, Woody could carry off the persona of the southern gentleman well enough that he could waltz into even the most esteemed drawings rooms the southern states could offer and fit in seamlessly. To Woody's good fortune, that chameleon-like talent included acceptance in the world of the river traveler.
Woody steered clear of the wheel house. He could make out the shadow of The Marker's chief pilot. Rumor had it the man was a washed up drunk when Miss Cavanaugh hired him on. Word had it that The Marker's crew was a rag tag group of misfits. Who else would work for a female? Woody had mixed feelings about a female proprietress. His aunt back home was the sole owner of one of the biggest spreads in the west shore of Lake Michigan. The business was struggling when his uncle died but now flourished under her guidance. His liberal views still didn't make him trust Jordan Cavanaugh any more.
Woody stopped in front of a series of locked storeroom doors he noticed earlier in the day. Jimmying the lock on the first one was easier than he had anticipated. Miss Cavanaugh was either very trusting ...or very stupid.
He lit a match so he could see what was inside and quickly blew it out when heard feet scuffing along the rail. He slipped inside the small cleaning closet and looked out through the thin slats that made up the face of the door.
It was the pilot, Macy, apparently making his nightly rounds. The river was too difficult to navigate during the night time hours so in the evening riverboats had to bow to the whims of the river and moor for the evening.
Woody knew from his time on working near the river The Mississippi was like a beautiful woman; the surface was placid yet striking but underneath she was fickle and unpredictable at best. One moment the hull of a boat could have up to 10 feet clearance, and the next it could be boxed in by the shifting sand bars leaving it helplessly floundering.
He listened as Macy manually raised and lowered the long thin pole he used to measure the water's depth. Up, down, plunk, drip...over and over he took his measurement along the rail where Woody was hiding.
Garret stopped directly outside the door. Woody sunk deeper into the shadows of the room believing Macy must have smelled the match's sulfur. He froze as Macy reached in the pocket of his jacket. Woody's own finger inched to the firearm he had concealed under his own.
Moonlight reflected off the metal of a flask instead of a gun. Woody let out the breath he was holding. Macy looked around before he lifted the container to his mouth. So, the rumors of the man's drinking problem were true. Woody could only wonder if the rest of the stories he heard were true. They said he drove his wife and daughter away and that he paid them to stay out of his life. He couldn't make much guiding this boat back and forth along the river. Woody doubted The Delta Marker even broke even. Not many people wanted to travel on a boat owned by a female...that alone piloted by a drunk.
Garret slipped the flask back in his coat and continued taking his measurement around the corner. Woody let himself out and continued what would prove to be a fruitless search.
Jordan found she could get a wealth of work done this time of the morning even though the lamp light was hard on her eyes. She closed her ledgers and rubbed her hands over the back of her neck. Money was going to be tight again this quarter...but not desperate. She eyed the tired, faded crazy quilt coverlet on her old ¾ brass bed. She had her heart set on an ensemble of soft lavender bedding she saw in a shop in New Orleans last fall. It was an extravagance she could ill afford even in financially healthy days, but her cabin was to only place on The Delta Marker that was hers alone. Her refuge. It was untainted by the ugliness that was her past and the single-minded prospects of her future. Outside those doors she had to be what was expected. Inside she could be herself. Less than a handful of people were privy to her inner sanctum. It was the way she lived her life. It was lonely, yes, but very necessary. Putting her pencil away, she sighed realizing her new bedding would have to wait...indefinitely.
She put the books back in the safe box and shoved them under her bed. She thumbed through her mental check list of things that needed to be done the next day. Beside the busy everyday tasks she needed to do, she needed to sit Lily down and talk to her about her signaling during the games...even if it was just for practice. She knew She, Nigel and the other involved would occasionally fleece a passenger. Jordan's learn to turn a blind eye to it. She knew it was just for fun and nine time out of ten the passenger deserved it. Still, they were getting careless.
The knock on her door was soft and familiar. She smiled. Nigel always seemed to know when she was feeling low. She didn't bother grabbing her robe and opened the door with a smile.
"Darling, there's been an...incident. You're needed in the main lounge immediately."
Jordan didn't hesitate and pulled a day dress on over her nightgown. She held her hair to the side as Nigel helped her button it up. "What happened?"
"The Thornton girl is missing..."
Jordan lips curled down into a frown. Outside of being a spoiled sixteen year old, the Thornton girl was a bit of a flirt. Jordan noticed the way she batted her eyes at most of the men aboard. It was like she was doing it just to prove the point to her father that she was a young woman...not a child. It was so noticeable that Nigel had commented about but they turned in for the evening.
"She's probably hiding in your closet Nigel, waiting for you to make all her dreams come true," she smirked.
Nigel didn't bite. At that moment, Jordan realized this wasn't a joke. This wouldn't be the first time a girl disappeared on the river. A chill went up Jordan's back thinking about the woman they found floating. This wasn't happening on her boat. It couldn't be.
Nigel cupped his palms over her shoulders. "She's probably sitting somewhere right now eating...baguettes and sipping cocoa wondering if her father is sorry enough now for not buying her some...trinket at our last stop."
"I hope you're right," she smiled emotionlessly.
Jordan was hastily pinning her hair up when she entered the room. The Thornton chit's father was standing in the middle of the room. If the situation wasn't so serious Jordan would have laughed at the way he tied the sash of his paisley dressing silk robe with a neat little bow perched on his rotund middle.
"Madam, I hold you entirely accountable!" He was so outraged that, even from her distance, Jordan could feel spray of his spittle.
It was just that evening Jordan had to dodge away from Mr. Thornton's subtle little touches and leering grin. Now it looked like he was ready to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.
Jordan tried not to watch as the ears of the belly-bow bounce while he talked.
"I'm sure there is some logical explanation Mr. Thornton," Jordan started.
"You sound like Mr. Hoyt..." Mr. Thornton bellowed. "My daughter is not in some other room. Nor did she stroll off the boat on her own. I've heard the stories. She's been taken and since this is your boat madam,...I hold you responsible!"
At the mention of Woody's name Jordan looked around the room and found him leaning against the wall just behind her. Propriety told her to keep her attention focused on Thornton. But she couldn't shake the eerie feeling of him standing there...behind her...watching. Jordan was suddenly and acutely aware that she as only wearing a thin, cotton shift under her dress.
"Of course, I'd never consider the notion that Miss Thornton would be that brazen. The idea is preposterous! But maybe the air was too...stagnant...for her on board and she just went for a breath and wandered off by mistake. We'll immediately form a search party. I'm sure she's at this very minute standing on the shore feeling more than a little foolish."
Jordan turned her head and whispered over her shoulder. "Nigel, could you find Garret for me. He was on watch tonight..."
Nigel touched her elbow in acknowledgement before he quietly slipped out of the room. He returned less then a minute later with Garret in tow.
"This is the man who was left in charge!" Thornton bellowed. "I've seen how he looked at my daughter! How do we knew he didn't have anything to do with this!"
Before everyone could blink, Thornton charged at Garret pinning him against the wall by the throat. "WHERE IS MY DAUGTHER YOU DAMN DRUNK!"
Woody was the first to react. He pulled Thornton off the pilot, and with Nigel's help, they duck-walked him to one of the galley chairs by the windows.
"Mister Thornton!" Jordan snapped. "I will not have you accosting members of my crew! Must I remind you, you are a gentleman sir! Please act as such."
Thornton slumped down in the chair. "The bastard has my baby..."
Once she was satisfied Thornton wasn't going to attack again, Jordan approached Garret and laid a hand on his forearm. She was almost floored by the smell of alcohol on his breathe. "Are you alright?"
Garret nodded. "I didn't see...or hear anything. I'd never. You know that, Jordan. He's talking crazy. She could have just snuck off for all we know. Girls like that have been known to run away..."
Jordan squeezed his arm gently. Garret's own daughter had run away at about the same age. His wife never forgave him from not tracking her down and dragging her back. With n a few months she left him alone with a bottle and his regrets. Quietly, she asked him to wake up Bug and go on shore to see if there was any sign of the girl.
Jordan turned back to Thornton. Nigel stood behind him with his hand resting on the man's shoulder. Jordan had no doubts that if Thornton even twitched Nigel's grip would turn into a vise.
"Mr. Thornton. I need to ask you a delicate question, if I may?" She didn't wait before she launched into it. "Does your daughter have a...paramour or maybe a new gentleman caller that you are aware of?"
"Are you suggesting that she ran away?"
"No, but it maybe possible she could be ...charmed...and had a moment where her natural common sense could have been clouded."
Jordan's voice was full of compassion and concern. Woody's lips twitched wondering if she was showing true sympathy ...or she was play acting.
"Please Mr. Thornton," she added ringing her hands hopelessly. "Is there anybody special that's caught your daughter's eye lately?"
"There was this one gent she met at a party in New Orleans. He sent her hot house roses the next day and wrote her he being seeing her again. I told her that would be impossible. He wasn't an acceptable caller. Besides we were leaving to go back home to St. Louis. She pouted of course...but the morning of the trip she seemed quite eager to be leaving for home."
Unable to help himself Woody stepped in. "Can you tell us about this man. What was his name? What did he look like?"
Thornton was over come with a cough and asked for a drink. Jordan asked Nigel to get him a brandy. Thornton downed half the snifter before he spoke again.
"I never caught his name. It was Palmer or Portman," he said with a wave of the hand. "He had an accent, like he was from one of those damn New England states. His tongue ran his consents together so tight they grated on a man's nerves. I didn't like the way he looked at my daughter. I told Natalie that she should discourage him. Men like that are just out for one thing. I assumed she did and that was the end of it. That was until the flowers came. I made her throw them out. She's too young to accept favors from strange men."
Portman...Palmer... accent...damn.
Jordan could feel the hair go up on her arms. She received hot house roses from a charming foreign stranger. Many times in fact. She too, had been captivated. Enough to find herself in his bed. That was until she found out all he really wanted was her boat. Could his tastes have changed to innocent young heiresses?
"Can you describe him? Was he tall? Short?" Jordan asked leadingly.
"All those foreigners look the same to me," Thornton said looking at Nigel. "Dark haired, tall. I guess he cut a good figure. Or he has a good tailor. Dark eyed, like one of those crazy Cajuns, but not as dark skinned as that Injun you have running around here. I don't know! I don't see what this has to do with my daughter missing! I want this boat torn apart and that sorry excuse of a pilot of yours locked up until she is found!"
"It'll be light shortly," Jordan said looking out the east bank of windows. The idea of disturbing the other passengers didn't sit well with her. Her business was sluggish already. If it got out that she dragged people out of their beds in the middle of the night looking for lost girl her reputation would be completely shot. "We'll do a through search of the boat at that time. In the meantime, we'll increase the search party on shore. We'll find her Mr. Thornton." She assured him. "Nigel, do me a favor and take the dingy up around the curve. The Belle should be there. Captain Brandau likes that spot. See if...if they've had any trouble..and please be discreet."
"I always am," he nodded knowing. The Delta Belle was own by a New Orleans business man named Pollack...a man that sounded suspiciously like the Thornton girl's caller. Nigel slipped quietly out the door and into the night.
"I'll gather some more of the passengers," Woody whispered over her shoulder. "We'll start searching the boat quietly..."
"No, Mr. Hoyt. I'd like to speak to you myself. Would you follow me please?"
So she was going to start questioning the passengers with him, Woody mused. If the roles were reversed Woody would be doing the same thing. Only, he wasn't ready to show his hand yet. Miss Thornton's disappearance could very well be just a coincidence, but Woody didn't miss Jordan's silent gasp when Mr. Thornton was describing the man who took an interest in his daughter. If he were a gambling man...which he was... he'd bet his last dime Jordan not only knew where the Thornton girl was...but was connected in some way.
"As you wish," he nodded, holding the door open for her.
Jordan led him out on the deck away from the open cabin door and into the waning shadows of the deck. It probably wasn't one of the safest moves Jordan ever made. With Nigel on shore and her derringer setting on her dresser she was quite alone with the stranger. She smiled, if he made any move against her she'd just toss him over the side. It wouldn't be the first time she's rid herself of a problem like that...and it probably wouldn't be the last. It was a risk she needed to take. Why wasn't Mister Hoyt sleeping off his night of debauchery at the tables like the rest of The Marker's passengers?
"Where were you when Miss Thornton disappeared?"
"A sleep in my cabin. Sadly...alone," he said folding his arms "Can you say the same?"
If he thought he could distract her with some flirting and a charming smile he was sadly mistaken. "I'm not the one under suspicion here, Mr. Hoyt."
"Like Mr. Thornton stated, this is your boat, madam. Her passengers are your responsibility. I suggest we end this discussion and concentrate on finding this girl...that is unless you're stalling. Is that the case Miss Cavanaugh? Is that why you sent three of your men on shore? Are they looking for the girl or are they doing something else?"
"Are you insinuating that one of my people would actually help this girl to run away?"
"No, I believe one of your crew did something to this girl and are now hiding the evidence..." His voice was cold; his cultured Memphis lilt gone. It was like she heard him speak for the first time.
Jordan's eyes narrowed and she looked down at his worn shoes. "Just who are you Mr. Hoyt?"
A scream shattered the silence of the river. Showing no concern for her personal safety, Jordan took off running in the direction of the commotion as fast as her bare feet could take her with Woody hot on her heels.
They found Lily standing at the stern of the water gripping the rail like it was the only thing that kept her from what was lurking in the dark waters below her. Jordan was almost afraid to see what Lily was staring at. She pointed her finger, but Jordan didn't need help seeing what had Lily so terrified. Even in the pale light of the predawn they could make out the shape of a body tangled in the paddle wheel.
"I'll find somebody and we'll get her out," Woody said calmly and turned away with a curse.
They didn't need to see her face to know it was the Thornton girl. Her arms were bound behind her like the other girl. Her body was half draped over the wood like she had been tossed there. Apparently whoever did this wanted to make sure she was found on The Marker.
A few minutes later the sound of oars could be heard rounding the side of the boat... along with the whispers and cries of the few passengers that had been awaken by Lily's scream. Jordan tried to get them to go back to their cabins but her voice fell on deaf ears.
Just as the sun peaked though the tree along the shore Jordan watched as Nigel and Woody pulled the broken body of Natalie Thornton over the side of the dingy. Apparently Nigel didn't make it to the The Delta Belle.
All for the best. She needed him. She needed Nigel by her side. Now more than ever.
Jordan told Lily to go back to her room and ran around to the gangplank as they carried the girl onboard. Mr. Thornton pushed his way through the group on onlookers. The pain in his yell cut Jordan straight through to her soul. She was so worried about what this would mean to her and her business she forgot that a young woman was the one laying there staring with unseeing eyes. Someone had the fore thought to bring a blanket and cover the body.
"I'm sorry for your loss Mr. Thornton," Jordan said gently resting her hand on the man's back.
He reared up and once again Woody blocked him from striking out.
"Mr. Thornton, we're all as shocked as you are over this tragedy. Let's not make it worse."
Thornton looked like he was ready to cry. He nodded once and straightened his suit jacket. "We need to get her away from all these prying eyes..."
"Of course," Woody agreed compassionately, patting the man lightly on the shoulder. "If you show me her room I'll bring her a long directly."
Once Natalie Thornton was laid out on her bunk, Woody grabbed Jordan by the forearm and dragged her bodily away from the scene and to a marginally quiet spot on the boat. Jordan pulled away the second they stopped.
"Would you care to explain this," he hissed pulling a sheet of soggy paper from his equally as damp shirt.
Jordan gingerly opened the sheet:
Get off the river Rosebud.
You know what you have to do.
Do it or you're next
Jordan's face blanched. She hadn't heard that endearment in a very long time. Woody instinctively wrapped his hands around her arms as her started to sway.
"Don't you touch me! Don't you EVER touch me again!" she spit, twisting out of his grasp.
Woody quickly snapped back. "You didn't answer my question, madam."
Jordan gripped the note again and closed her eye tightly hoping it would go away. "I can't."
"You can and you will."
"Why?" she cried. "What difference does it make to you?"
"Because, as of this moment, you and your crew are the key factors in my investigation."
Jordan's eyes snapped open, her question blatantly in them.
"My name is Hoyt. I'm with the Pinkerton Agency."
By the time the sun was over the tree tops the word of the murder had been spread to the rest the ship. Against Jordan's better judgment, Mr. Thornton demanded that she steam the boat to the nearest town. He disembarked with most of the passengers in tow. Before Jordan could even consider what she was going to do next the local sheriff, flanked by Detective Hoyt, climbed on board and demanded that Garret surrender himself for the murder of Natalie Thornton. Jordan steadfastly refused to acknowledge the request until both Garret and Nigel convinced her it was best until they could figure out what happened.
She watched as Garret was led away in cuffs and turned to Woody with her hands on her hips.
"I don't know who killed this girl...but I know who's behind it."
