Heart of Lies (11 page)

She walked to the nearest window and looked inside. Shafts of sunlight sifted through holes in the roof. The place was empty, but Maddie knew plenty about hiding and hoisted herself in through the window. She carefully listened for any odd sound, searched every possible hiding place before she gave up. There was no sign of Penelope anywhere.

A few minutes later she was back on the road, headed for Smythe and Co., Inc., the one and only store in Clearwater. It was the place folks gathered to buy, to barter, and to chew on gossip. Three old trappers, permanent fixtures, lounged on the front porch. They fell silent when Maddie rode up.

Under their watchful eyes, she tied Anita’s horse to the hitching post and paused to wipe her muddy shoes on the iron scraper beside the step. She didn’t know the men by name, but she’d seen them most every time she’d come to the village. Nodding in greeting, she lifted the wide brim of her borrowed hat and smiled.

“Don’t suppose you gentlemen have seen a little girl around anywhere? About so high.” She held out her hand. “Eight years old.”

All three of them shook their heads in unison. One spat a stream of tobacco juice off the side of the porch. Finally the one in the middle volunteered, “'Nita was asking around. Already told her no.”

“Thank you kindly,” Maddie said.

She forced a smile and walked into the dim interior of the store where Gilbert Smythe was in the process of lining up tins of peaches on a high shelf. He turned when he heard Maddie’s footsteps against the plank floor and smiled down at her from his perch on a tall ladder.

“Hey, Miss Grande. How you doing today? What brings you to Clearwater? You bring any pelts with you?”

“None today. I have a few that will be ready soon, though.” She paused, pretended to be interested in a bowl of buttons. She sorted through them, shuffling them around with her fingertip, trying to appear casual, hoping her nervous impatience didn’t show. “I’m helping Anita look for her niece.”

Gilbert set the last can in line, turned it left, then right. Finally satisfied, he climbed down the ladder.

“No one’s seen her far as I know. I’ve been asking folks when they come in. Told them Anita’s nigh onto frantic. It’s a shame. I hate to think —”

With his unfinished thought hanging in the air between them, Maddie silently cursed Terrance. Because of him, Lawrence was dead and a child was lost somewhere in the bayou.

“She couldn’t have gotten very far on foot,” Maddie said, thinking aloud.

“'Bout all you can do is follow the road to Stonewood. Ask at places along the way.”

She thanked him and left the store, walked past the men on the porch, and stepped out onto the deserted road wishing she had an inkling of where to look next. She tried to keep her jumbled
thoughts focused on finding Penelope and collecting the reward, but the image of the child’s heartsick mother kept coming to mind. She knew the ache of Mrs. Perkins’s empty arms, knew the suffering of a woman’s longing for a child she had nurtured, cradled, and lost. She knew it all too well and wished she didn’t.

Don’t,
Maddie warned herself.
Do not remember.

She tried to shake off her dark thoughts as she unhitched Anita’s nag. Heading north, she followed the road toward Stonewood, an abandoned sugar plantation a few miles away. It was as good a place to search as any, though she’d never been that far herself.

She rode past the village blacksmith’s barn. Clement Stanton, bent over a sorrel’s hoof, smiled at her around a mouthful of nails, and waved. She rode closer but didn’t dismount as she asked if he’d seen Anita’s niece. She described Penelope. He shook his head no and shrugged.

“I’ll sure keep an eye out,” he mumbled around the nails.

Maddie turned the mare onto the road again, leaving behind the sounds of Clement tapping a nail into a horseshoe.

As she passed the last of the homes along the road, her gaze scanned the bayou along both sides. Her tension slowly eased. The swamp, even with its innate danger at so many turns, offered silent comfort. The varied shades and depths of greens, the songs of the birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of the palmetto fronds and cypress lace calmed her jangled nerves. She took a deep breath and rode on.

Please. Let me find her.

She had no idea how to pray. Dexter hadn’t been beholden to any god and had raised his tribe to answer to no one but him. Yet in her darkest moments, Maddie always found herself seeking solace, asking for mercy, asking for help from somewhere, someone, although she had no notion of whom that might be.

Lost in her thoughts, she let the mare plod along at her own pace, unwilling to push the old nag and have it drop dead under her. Suddenly, not far from the outskirts of Clearwater, she saw a
flash of color in the foliage along the road. Something unnatural to the surroundings. Something that gave her pause.

She reined in but remained in the saddle, scanning the undergrowth just beyond the road.

Nothing.

Thinking she’d been wrong, she was about to ride on when she saw it again.

There.
A flash of bright red against the green winding its way through the forest.

Silently she slipped off the mare and led her over to a willow with a broken branch. She found it strong enough to hold the reins, wrapped them quickly. Grabbing her shotgun, she began to carefully pick her way through the marsh. She brushed aside curtains of leaves, pausing now and again to scan her surroundings, to listen for the crack of a twig or the rustle of debris.

Nothing. Nothing … until she heard someone humming. Afraid of making a single sound, she crept toward the music. Within a few feet she saw it again — scarlet against the green.

She reached out, gently pushed aside an overhanging willow branch.

In a small clearing, Penelope sat on a log with her back to Maddie. She was humming “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” then softly chatting and pretending to pour tea for a rag doll seated across from her.

Maddie’s heart pounded. She took a step closer … and snapped a twig beneath her shoe. The sound was overly loud in the silence.

Without even glancing back, the child jumped to her feet and started to run. The rag doll fell face down into the decaying leaves. Maddie stepped over it as she burst into the small clearing. Holding her shotgun tight in one hand, she took off after Penelope.

The way the girl evaded her astounded Maddie. She zigged and zagged through the trees and undergrowth as if she’d been born in the swamp. But Maddie’s longer stride gave her advantage, and before they went hopelessly deep into the forest, Maddie reached out and made a grab for the child. Not only did she catch
hold of the cape, but she managed to get a firm grip on the little girl’s arm.

She whipped the girl around … and stared in shock at the face of a child she didn’t recognize. Surprise loosened her grip long enough for the girl to bolt and run again. This time Maddie was close enough to grab her. She whirled the girl around and stared down into the upturned, dirt-streaked face. The hood on the cape fell back, revealing strawberry-blonde braids.

“Who are you and where did you get that cape?” Maddie demanded. It was definitely Penelope’s. There was no one in Clearwater who could afford such a well-tailored garment lined with such fine fur.

“I never stole it.” The girl stuck out her lower lip and tried to pull out of Maddie’s grasp.

“I never said you did. Where did you get it? I know it’s not yours.”

“It
is
mine.” The girl nudged the toe of her worn shoe in the decaying leaves on the forest floor.

Maddie gave her arm a shake but softened her tone. “You may as well tell me. I’m not letting you go until you do.”

“My pa will kill you if you harm one hair on my head.”

“Your pa isn’t here.”

“She
gave
it to me.”

“Who?”

“That girl. Penelope. She said I could have it if I —”

“If you what?”

“If I helped her get away.” Tears began to trace muddy tracks down the child’s face as she eyed the shotgun.

Maddie was afraid the child would start bawling, so she calmed herself down and led the girl back to where she’d been having her tea party. Maddie set down her gun, picked up the rag doll, and handed it over. The girl clutched it close.

“What’s your name?”

“Betty.”

“Betty what?”

“Betty Stanton.”

“Clement your daddy?” Maddie pictured the blacksmith.

Betty was wise to look frightened. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Well, Betty, I know your daddy real well, so you don’t need to be scared of me. Let’s sit a spell, and you tell me all about Penelope. Start at the beginning.”

Betty’s breath hitched. She sat down on a log and rested her chin on her cupped hands.

“Go on,” Maddie prompted. “Tell me about how you got the cape.”

“I found her in the old shed behind the house.”

“Penelope.”

“Yep. I found her after the storm. I was looking for my cat. She just had a whole passel of kittens and—”

“I want to know about Penelope, not the cat.”

Betty wiped her nose on the back of her arm. “She told me she was headed to Kentuck', to her mama’s kin, and asked if I could help her get there. I said we should ask my pa for help. She begged me not to tell nobody, that her mamma and daddy had enough troubles lately and that she wanted to surprise them by gettin’ there on her own. Said I should help her, seein’ as how we’re the same age and all. Said I could have her cape if I helped and didn’t tell nobody.” Betty shrugged. “So I found her a way to Kentuck'.”

Maddie lowered herself to the log across from Betty and sat down heavily.

Penelope was headed to Kentucky on her own as if it was the next town down the road. Maddie was astounded by Penelope’s pluck.

“Where is she now?”

“On the way to Kentuck', of course.”

“On foot?” If she kept to the road, Maddie was certain she could track down the child in no time at all — if someone else hadn’t already picked her up.

But Betty shook her head. “Nope. My grandpa was going to Parkville, up north of here.”

“He agreed to take her?” She couldn’t imagine a grown man with any sense letting an eight-year-old talk him into taking her anywhere alone. Then again, there were some men — unscrupulous, dangerous men—who wouldn’t have thought twice.

Betty shook her head no. “He didn’t know nuthin’ about it. I put her in the back of his buckboard and covered her up with a tarp. He was haulin’ cane to Parkville.”

“How far away is that?”

Betty shrugged.

“When did they leave?”

“Hours ago. Just after first light.”

“Headed north?”

“Yep.” Betty rubbed the ermine cape lining against her cheek and sighed. Then she unfastened the silk frog at the neck of the cape, slowly slipped it off, and handed it over to Maddie.

“I ‘spect you’ll want to give this back when you find her.”

Maddie took the cape and folded it over and over. It felt a bit damp but was no worse for wear.

“Didn’t your folks ask where you got this?”

“I never showed it to them. Kept it out here at my secret spot.” She picked up her doll and held it close again. “I surely do love that cape.” Betty sighed.

“It’s lovely, that’s certain.” Maddie forced herself to be patient. Having dealt with Penelope, Maddie knew it wasn’t Betty’s fault that she’d been badgered into helping. Given enough time, Miss Penelope Perkins could probably talk a muskrat out of its pelt.

Maddie smiled down at Betty. “Now, why don’t you tell me what your grandpa looks like and where he usually stops along the way to Parkville?”

I
t took Tom hours to return to the bayou and Maddie’s cabin.

He tried to imagine what she would say when he confronted her with Penelope’s silver comb. Obviously an accomplished liar, would she continue to feign ignorance?

It was almost dark when he reached the shanty on the water. The interior of the place was shadowed. He called out and knocked on the door, finding it unlocked. And the place empty.

Frustrated by imminent nightfall, he stabled his horse in the shed and made himself at home. But Maddie never returned. After a restless night trying to sleep with one eye open, he rummaged through her larder until he found soda crackers and cold biscuits and helped himself. Then he mounted up and headed for Clearwater.

Along the way he noticed a white poster nailed to a tree up ahead. He nudged his horse into a canter, thinking it might be one of Perkins’s reward posters. What he discovered was not a reward poster but a playbill announcing performances by a troupe of actors. The poster touted them as being “well versed in the works of Shakespeare and various original plays.” They were touring the back roads of Louisiana hoping “to ease the woes brought on by the chaos and upheaval that once descended over the land.”

Tom rode on. The closer he came to the small settlement, the
more dwellings he saw lining the road. When he finally reached Clearwater and began to nose around, he realized the local inhabitants were highly suspicious of outsiders. Inside the town’s trading post, he asked the owner for directions to Anita Russo’s cabin.

“I doubt she’s there,” the man replied. “She been out searching for her runaway niece. The poor child went missing a few days back.”

“Her niece.” Tom rested his elbow against the counter.

“She was through here asking if anyone had seen the girl, about eight years old.”

Hiding a rush of anger, Tom studied scuff marks in the oak countertop. He recalled how Russo’s sudden appearance had had Maddie acting as nervous as a sparrow in a nest of crows.

For a moment he pictured Maddie’s sure hands, her confidence in the swamp, her fleeting, wistful smiles. If she had let him go along with her in order to soften his heart, it had worked. His attraction to her had tainted his objectivity. She’d been part of the blackhearted scheme all along, and she’d managed to keep him from getting to the truth.

The twins had left the girl with Maddie and the Russo woman, and somehow Penelope had escaped. He wondered if Maddie was worried about the child wandering around the bayou alone or if she even had a conscience.