Whatever you do, please find Penelope and bring her home. She’s all we have.”
Tom reached into his pocket, held out his hand, and opened his palm. “Is this your daughter’s, Mrs. Perkins?”
The silver comb sparkled on his palm. Mary Perkins leapt to her feet. Her hand flew to her throat and lay there limp as a pale, fallen dove. Her eyes met Tom’s.
“Where did you find that?” she whispered.
“Is it hers?” he asked.
“Yes. She was wearing two of them when she left.”
Shaken, Mary slowly listed to her right. Her husband’s arm went around her waist, and he lowered her back into her chair. She sank onto the brocade upholstery.
“Where did you get that, Abbott?” Perkins’s expression was a study of a man grappling with anger tempered by fear.
“In a cabin on the bayou not far from New Orleans.” Tom was dealing with his own reaction to the verification, forced to accept that Maddie was an accomplice. She was part of the scheme causing these two good people so much pain.
“Penelope wasn’t there,” Tom told them. “But this is proof that she had been. I’m going back to find her. I wanted to make sure I was on the right track first.”
Perkins’s pent-up frustration exploded. “I want my daughter found. If you know where she is, where the perpetrators are, spread the word. I want everyone in Louisiana looking for her.”
“If we panic the kidnappers, Penelope could end up — “ He glanced at Mary and stopped. “We could place Penelope in verygrave danger. Not only that, but you would open yourself up to a host of extortionists demanding money for false leads.”
Tom knew it was up to him to convince the man to let him see this through on his own. He didn’t want Maddie panicked. He didn’t want everyone in the state breathing down on her.
“These are desperate times.” Tom hoped the man was listening. “People will do anything for money. If I knew exactly where she is right now, that would be one thing. But I don’t. I only know where she
was,
but now I have a solid lead to follow.”
“Listen to me, Abbott. If I have to, I’ll contact Pinkerton himself and—”
“Stop it. Both of you.” Mary Perkins’s voice might have been weak, but there was underlying strength in it. “Please.”
Tom and Peter both turned to her. Her gaze drifted to Penelope’s portrait before she eyed both men with a preoccupied detachment.
“Peter, Mr. Abbott knows what he is doing. Let him do his job. I want my daughter back, and the sooner you let the man be on his way, the sooner he can find her.”
Perkins’s anger still radiated but he held his silence.
Tom bowed to Mary and then offered his hand to Perkins. The man was slow to take it, but after a strained moment they shook hands.
“Thank you for understanding.” Tom turned to Mary. “Thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your confidence.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott. Only faith has gotten us this far. I pray God will guide you to our Penelope.”
“I do too, ma’am.” Tom bowed again and made his way out of the house.
It wasn’t until he mounted up and was halfway down the drive that he realized instead of handing over the silver comb, he had slipped the proof of Maddie’s guilt back into the watch pocket of his vest.
Penelope’s fate might still be unknown, but one thing was nowcertain: Maddie Grande was involved. There was no way he could let her walk away now.
T he handful of buildings that made up the hamlet of Clearwater lined the road that ran along the banks of the bayou. The homes were modest, some fashioned in the old Spanish style of moss and mud, others weathered, gray shanties or more substantial raised cottages surrounded by shady galleries.
Palmettos and willows lined the banks as well. Beyond, silent cypress stood surrounded by jutting knees poking up through the water. Water hyacinths bloomed in floating lavender blankets.
A small sugar mill, abandoned since before the war, showed signs of neglect. Weeds grew
Tom reached into his pocket, held out his hand, and opened his palm. “Is this your daughter’s, Mrs. Perkins?”
The silver comb sparkled on his palm. Mary Perkins leapt to her feet. Her hand flew to her throat and lay there limp as a pale, fallen dove. Her eyes met Tom’s.
“Where did you find that?” she whispered.
“Is it hers?” he asked.
“Yes. She was wearing two of them when she left.”
Shaken, Mary slowly listed to her right. Her husband’s arm went around her waist, and he lowered her back into her chair. She sank onto the brocade upholstery.
“Where did you get that, Abbott?” Perkins’s expression was a study of a man grappling with anger tempered by fear.
“In a cabin on the bayou not far from New Orleans.” Tom was dealing with his own reaction to the verification, forced to accept that Maddie was an accomplice. She was part of the scheme causing these two good people so much pain.
“Penelope wasn’t there,” Tom told them. “But this is proof that she had been. I’m going back to find her. I wanted to make sure I was on the right track first.”
Perkins’s pent-up frustration exploded. “I want my daughter found. If you know where she is, where the perpetrators are, spread the word. I want everyone in Louisiana looking for her.”
“If we panic the kidnappers, Penelope could end up — “ He glanced at Mary and stopped. “We could place Penelope in verygrave danger. Not only that, but you would open yourself up to a host of extortionists demanding money for false leads.”
Tom knew it was up to him to convince the man to let him see this through on his own. He didn’t want Maddie panicked. He didn’t want everyone in the state breathing down on her.
“These are desperate times.” Tom hoped the man was listening. “People will do anything for money. If I knew exactly where she is right now, that would be one thing. But I don’t. I only know where she
was,
but now I have a solid lead to follow.”
“Listen to me, Abbott. If I have to, I’ll contact Pinkerton himself and—”
“Stop it. Both of you.” Mary Perkins’s voice might have been weak, but there was underlying strength in it. “Please.”
Tom and Peter both turned to her. Her gaze drifted to Penelope’s portrait before she eyed both men with a preoccupied detachment.
“Peter, Mr. Abbott knows what he is doing. Let him do his job. I want my daughter back, and the sooner you let the man be on his way, the sooner he can find her.”
Perkins’s anger still radiated but he held his silence.
Tom bowed to Mary and then offered his hand to Perkins. The man was slow to take it, but after a strained moment they shook hands.
“Thank you for understanding.” Tom turned to Mary. “Thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your confidence.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott. Only faith has gotten us this far. I pray God will guide you to our Penelope.”
“I do too, ma’am.” Tom bowed again and made his way out of the house.
It wasn’t until he mounted up and was halfway down the drive that he realized instead of handing over the silver comb, he had slipped the proof of Maddie’s guilt back into the watch pocket of his vest.
Penelope’s fate might still be unknown, but one thing was nowcertain: Maddie Grande was involved. There was no way he could let her walk away now.
T he handful of buildings that made up the hamlet of Clearwater lined the road that ran along the banks of the bayou. The homes were modest, some fashioned in the old Spanish style of moss and mud, others weathered, gray shanties or more substantial raised cottages surrounded by shady galleries.
Palmettos and willows lined the banks as well. Beyond, silent cypress stood surrounded by jutting knees poking up through the water. Water hyacinths bloomed in floating lavender blankets.
A small sugar mill, abandoned since before the war, showed signs of neglect. Weeds grew
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