The Gravedigger's Brawl by Abigail Roux Page B

It wasn’t even a main port in the 1830s. Why here? Why not Charleston? Why not Boston or New York?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œThis area, the Fan area? It was mostly untouched farmland until after the Civil War.”
    â€œWait a minute.” Ash held up one hand. “Are you trying to tell me you think the LaLauries really fled to Richmond after they left New Orleans and then started it all up again here? That’s a bit out there.”
    â€œSo is thinking that they just up and stopped their experiments after they were caught the first time.”
    Ash stared at him. A woman at the other end of the bar called his name, and he glanced down and nodded. “Let me think,” he said to Wyatt as he moved away.
    Wyatt watched him, sipping his root beer as Ash prepared the woman’s order. Several more followed, and Wyatt passed the time by just admiring the way Ash worked. The graceful way he moved, the easy way he interacted with the patrons, the way he danced to the music a little when he became too distracted.
    A half hour later, Ash slid back up in front of Wyatt. He flopped his towel over his shoulder and leaned on his elbows. “So why are you really here?”
    â€œWhat?”
    Ash tapped the plastic-covered article and met Wyatt’s eyes. “It’s very interesting. And you may very well be right, even though the leap in logic is like Evel Knievel caliber.”
    Wyatt laughed and shook his head.
    â€œBut I still don’t see why you had to come here and tell me about it.”
    Wyatt’s smile fell as he stared at the well-polished bar. Then he met Ash’s eyes, and his stomach tumbled. “You were the only other person I could think of that might find it interesting.”
    â€œBut Noah—”
    â€œFound it interesting.” Ash frowned. Wyatt smiled. “Come on. You telling me this information won’t bring crowds into the bar in droves?”
    He was unable to admit that it had been the only way he could come back in here and see Ash again.
    â€œWe’re not really hurting for business.”
    Wyatt shrugged. “I’m sorry. I figured every little bit helped.”
    Ash studied him as if he were trying to measure him up for a painting. “Yeah, okay.”
    â€œThere’s more,” Wyatt said with a smirk. Ash raised an eyebrow, and Wyatt pointed at the bar. “Get my bag, will you?”
    Ash knelt and retrieved the bag, setting it on the bar with a grunt. He excused himself to fix several orders, and Wyatt took the time to find the rest of the documents. They outlined the history of the Fan, and Wyatt had retained copies of anything that supported or refuted his theory.
    He had the land records from when it had been parceled up to create a town that had never materialized, and the deed for the block now occupied by Gravedigger’s, and for roughly four blocks around it.
    When Ash returned to him, Wyatt showed him the papers. “All of the lots were bought by the same person. A French doctor.”
    Ash raised an eyebrow at him.
    A man came up beside Wyatt and leaned over the bar. “Got a light?” he asked Ash suggestively.
    Wyatt turned his head toward the flirting patron as Ash reached into his pocket and produced a lighter. He tried to analyze his jealousy as he watched Ash light the man’s cigarette.
    â€œYou’ll need to take it to the patio,” Ash said with a jerk of his head toward the door. The man thanked him and left, looking downcast for having his advances ignored.
    Wyatt peered at Ash and tried to hide his smile.
    â€œGo on,” Ash said, completely oblivious.
    â€œWhere was I?”
    â€œThe French doctor. You think it was LaLaurie?”
    â€œDr. Louis LaLaurie, yeah. I mean, in the 1830s, if you have a medical degree, you’re not just going to close up shop and thumb your nose at the income, you know?”
    â€œEspecially if they had to leave all their