Annabelle had been nothing but conciliatory from the moment their world imploded. If their family was ever to mend, Caroline had to participate. She didn’t want to, but Gray desperately wanted a truce, and she needed to grow up and quit priding herself for holding on to a grudge. If a woman as fresh and cheerful as Annabelle could adore her boring older brother, she couldn’t be all bad.
“I have better taste than you,” she said to Annabelle, hervoice deliberately casual. “I’d love to take you shopping. We shall wreak terrible havoc on Gray’s bank account.”
The relief on Gray’s face was palpable. Patching their family back together might still have its rocky times. It was going to take effort and humility, but it was time for her to move beyond the trauma of the past year and into a season of peace and renewal.
A genuine smile began to tug, for she wouldloveto see Annabelle decked out in some pretty new clothes.
Thirty-Eight
It didn’t take Nathaniel long to learn the name of the third man in Key West. Ever since Captain Holland’s arrest, he had been singing like a bird, hoping to fall on the mercy of the court by revealing everything. He confessed to setting up the fraudulent account early in the Spanish-American War. When the war ended after only a few months, it was in his interest to keep money flowing into the armaments account, which was why he stoked the fire of the Cuban rebellion by funneling money to the rebels. Captain Holland wired funds from Foster’s bank to an accomplice in Key West, who then brought the funds to Mateo in Cuba.
That intermediary was Daniel Perez, a shrimp boat owner living in Key West. Records subpoenaed from the Western Union Telegraph station confirmed a lively correspondence between Holland and Daniel Perez for years.
“I want you to come with me to Key West to question Perez,” Wilkie said. “I need your eye for detail and familiarity with the case.”
They were in Wilkie’s office, the records from Western Union spread out on the worktable. Altogether there were over forty messages between the two men, along with eighteen banktransfers shifting thousands of dollars to Key West. It was the smoking gun Nathaniel needed, but there were other criminals out there.
“What about Milwaukee?” he asked. “Going to Key West will set my trip back a few days.” If he had to be delayed, he’d much rather spend that time with Caroline instead of sweltering in Florida.
“Key West first, then Milwaukee,” Wilkie said. “It will be like old times!”
But Caroline deserved more than Nathaniel had been able to give her lately. A great deal more. He needed to go after the Kestrel Gang, but he needed Caroline too.
“What if I was married?” he asked. “Could I bring a wife with me to Milwaukee?”
“Miss Delacroix?” Wilkie asked in surprise.
“That’s the one.”
Wilkie shook his head. “She would destroy your cover. You have a way of blending in no matter where you go. She doesn’t.”
That was true. And dragging her all over the country wouldn’t be fair to her. While Caroline had been happy living in a sleeping berth on the presidential train for months on end, he couldn’t see her adjusting to a tiny apartment in some Milwaukee neighborhood with nothing to occupy her time. She deserved better than following him around the country.
A piece of him had always doubted he was good enough for her, but since that afternoon in Buffalo, heknewhe wasn’t. Tackling crime and solving problems was the only way he knew how to put a bandage over the gaping wound in his soul.
“Quit looking so glum,” Wilkie said, cutting into his thoughts. “We leave for Key West tonight. I’ve already wired to the sheriff to expect us.”
“I’ll be ready,” Nathaniel said, and he could only pray that by the time he returned, he would have figured a way to be worthy of Caroline.
It was October, but it was still stinking hot in the sleepy island town of Key West. After disembarking from the steamer, Nathaniel and Wilkie headed straight to the small clapboard building that served as both the sheriff’s office and the jail. It wasn’t hard to find, for it was located on the town’s main street beneath coconut palms and bougainvillea vines. The explosion of fuchsia blossoms made Nathaniel’s fingers itch for some pastels to sketch them, but business came first.
“Bad news,” Sheriff Jackson said as the leathery-skinned man strode forward to greet them. He wore a uniform, but the collar and top few buttons were open, the cuffs were rolled up, and hair that was far too long brushed his collar. Quite a difference from the spit and polish of Washington. “The man you’re looking for cut himself hauling an anchor aboard his boat last week. No one thought anything of it, but an infection took root. He’s in bad shape. The doctor doesn’t expect him to make it.”
Nathaniel sagged. They’d come a long way to interrogate Daniel Perez, and the timing seemed suspicious. “Could he have gotten wind of the investigation? Could he be faking?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No way. His fiancée has been bawling her eyes out for days, and her little kid is just as bad off. Perez might have been a scoundrel, but he loved that woman and her boy and would never do this to them. Just lousy luck all the way around.”
“Can we talk to him?” Nathaniel asked. It was essential to get verification of Holland’s story. There might be more conspirators in Cuba of whom Captain Holland knew nothing.
“You can try,” the sheriff said, already heading outside. “Mourners have already started gathering. Daniel Perez was a well-liked man.”
The sheriff accompanied them down a street and across twoalleys to a small one-story shack with a sloping roof and a large front porch. Half a dozen men loitered on the porch, drinking beer and playing cards, but no one looked happy. Sheriff Jackson casually shook hands with a few of the men, then asked to be let inside.
“You’ll have to pry Marta from his side,” one of them said.
During the walk, the sheriff had told them about Marta, a young widow with a six-year-old son. Marta had been wanting to get married for years, but Perez insisted he would only marry when he had a house worthy of such a princess. Years had gone by, and she became a laughingstock on the island, but she steadfastly vowed she would someday be Mrs. Daniel Perez.
Their footsteps thudded on the dry plank boards of the porch, and the door squeaked as they stepped inside the dim interior. Every window in the house was open wide, but a foul stench hung in the air. The bedroom lay through an arched opening. A woman knelt by the bed, a rosary dangling in her hands. Two older women and a priest were there as well.
