Authors: Millie's Treasure
Kathleen Y'Barbo (50 page)
“Inside the cell? What are you talking about?”
Butler thumped Jefferson’s credentials with his free hand. “These here papers say you are Jefferson Tucker. Is that correct?”
He gave the man a curt nod. “It is.”
“So what you’re saying here is you are indeed the man whose name you have given to the guard here?”
“Yes,” he said, this time with far less respect.
“And that you have a brother currently incarcerated in our fine facility.” When Jefferson nodded once more, he continued. “And what is that inmate’s name?”
“His name is John Tucker,” Jefferson snapped as he sensed a shakedown of some sort in the offing. “William John Tucker. Look, I know how these things work, and I am not someone you can play
around with. My credentials will prove I am a detective with the London Metropolitan Police.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound like no foreigner, so I’m going to suggest you change your tune and own up to the truth.”
“Here’s the truth for you. Either let me see my brother or the warden or you can give me the reason why.”
Butler chuckled. “Oh, we will do better than that.” He nodded to the two men, who moved to stand beside Jefferson and then slapped handcuffs on him. “We are going to put you in his cell.”
“What are you doing?” he demanded as the two men jerked him out into the passageway.
“Taking you to the cell where you belong, Jefferson Tucker,” said the guard who was still in possession of his Navy pistol and pocketknife.
“I do not belong in a cell!” Jefferson protested, even as he was being dragged through the doors into a cellblock that smelled worse than it looked. And that was saying something.
Instantly a deafening noise began as prisoners shouted and banged whatever they could grab against the iron cell bars. The guard took out his pistol and fired one shot.
Silence quickly reigned.
Up ahead a door swung open. “Looky here, Tucker,” the other guard sneered. “Your room is ready. Welcome home.”
“Wait,” the man in charge said. “Let the boys say their howdys first.”
A prisoner in clothing so dirty Jefferson could not discern a color or what held it together stepped out of the cell. Legs shackled, the prisoner shuffled alongside the guard toward them. And then Jefferson knew him.
“John? Is that you?”
His brother broke away from the guard and heaved himself against Jefferson. Though the smell caused Jefferson’s eyes to water, he stood his ground as John held him tight.
“What have you done?” he said to the twin who had been born a mere three minutes after him.
“Just what I had to,” was John’s quiet reply. “I hope someday you will forgive me, Jeff, but I wasn’t built for a place like this.”
“Neither of us were. And rest assured Mother has no idea her baby boy’s in trouble. It would kill her if she knew.”
“She always did see the good in me,” John said.
“Still does.”
“Even though she never could see to give me Daddy’s gold pocket watch when I asked for it first. Wasn’t my fault I was born after you.” John looked down at Jefferson’s vest and spied the gold watch chain. “I see you’re wearing it now.”
He glanced over at the man calling the shots. It only took him a minute to reach down and rip the watch from Jefferson’s pocket.
“Neither of you’ll get it now.”
“The major will hear about this,” Jefferson said, earning him a punch in the gut that took his breath away.
The warden’s underling fixed John with a glare that shut him up quick. “All right, Will Tucker,” he said to Jefferson. “Are you verifying that this man here is your brother, John Tucker? And that he is your twin?”
“I am,” Jefferson said through the pain in his gut as he took in the sight of his always well-groomed brother with streaks of dirt on his face, his hair coated with grease and, from the look of this place, thick with lice.
“Well, I believe that is proof enough for me.” Butler tapped John on the shoulder. “You were right in saying you were that Will Tucker, John, and on behalf of the state of Louisiana, I hereby declare you to be a free man.”
He grinned like a fool and then nudged the bully. “Does that mean I get the watch that is rightfully mine?”
“Don’t press your luck, son. Just take off running while I am still in a mood to let you. Major James might insist on a trial to settle the facts, and you know how long those things take.”
“I know when I’ve been bested, so you can keep the watch.” John grinned and took off behind the guards without so much as a backward glance.
A minute later, the cell door clanged shut behind Detective Jefferson Tucker of the London Metropolitan Police, leaving him once again in the middle of a mess his brother had created.
Readers Guide to Millie’s Treasure
T
hank you for joining me on a whirlwind trip through the South with Kyle and Millie! I hope you enjoyed reading this book at least as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Treasure hunting lore abounds, and Jean Lafitte is at the center of many of the tales. A legendary pirate (or privateer, as the case may be), a patriot during the battle of New Orleans, and an enigma long after he sailed out of exile at
Maison Rouge
in Galveston and disappeared into history in the mid–1820s. There were sightings in Cuba and around the Caribbean, but some believe he lived many years—decades perhaps—under assumed names and in multiple far-flung locales.
Growing up on the Texas coast just a stone’s throw from Louisiana, tales of Lafitte and his men abound. Many of those tales center around lost treasure. Time, tide, and hurricanes have churned up much of the landscape, leaving some to believe pirate treasure is all along the coast. Some even believe Lafitte came inland to hide his loot. One story even has the pirate aiding conspirators bent on stealing Confederate gold. That is the tale I’ve borrowed in part for this book.
In addition to researching people, I also learned so much about the locations in this story. Memphis is such a wonderful city, although when Millie lived on Adams Street, the town was still struggling to come back from a terrible epidemic of yellow fever that left Memphis without a city charter for more than a decade.
I had a great time researching the city, and I was surprised at how much Memphis had changed since the turn of the last century. While both the Peabody Hotel and the Cotton Exchange still exist, neither are in the same building they were in 1889, nor were their addresses the same. In a few instances, I have added places to the story that are fictional, such as Parker’s Jewelry and the Arnaque home. Others, such as the Davies Mansion, are real and still standing today and open to visitors.
Further south in New Orleans, the homes in the Garden District and French Quarter still look as if nineteenth-century men and women might live inside. Stately, lovely, and well-preserved mansions are the highlight of the city tour and one I highly recommend taking. And while I enjoyed visiting the sites in New Orleans, I also loved seeing the Louisiana bayou up close. From New Iberia down to Barataria, the cypress trees, Spanish moss, and murky water give way to some of the loveliest spots in the state. Even today it is easy to see how Lafitte and his band of pirates slipped into the dark bayou and remained concealed; easier still to imagine there are untold riches in the form of treasure hidden in the coves and inside cypress knees.
As with all my novels, whether historical or contemporary, I endeavor to be as correct and accurate in the research and writing as possible. To that end, any mistakes made are mine alone. However, this is a work of fiction and much license was taken to create characters and a story that departs from known fact.
But no story is written alone, and I am grateful to the many people who assisted in seeing this book to publication. Many thanks to the amazing Wendy Lawton, Janice Thompson, Cara Putman, Betty Woods, and Kathleen Fuller for reading this manuscript and offering encouragement and advice while it was a work-in-progress. You all are such a blessing to me. In addition, I also owe a debt of thanks to Jeane Wynn of WynnWynn Media for her tireless work spreading the word about my novels.
I also wish to thank the fabulous team at Harvest House Publishers for making the experience of turning my idea of a science-loving Pinkerton agent who meets his match into reality. I am blessed to be considered a member of such a wonderful and supportive family.
Speaking of family, I cannot forget my husband Robert Turner, who
played chauffeur, tour guide, caterer, and roadie as we traveled across six states in search of material for the Secret Lives of Will Tucker series. Later, he added line editor and brainstorm expert to his list of skills as he read through the manuscript and helped me get unstuck when a scene or character refused to cooperate.
And, finally, to my readers. Without you there would be no Millie or Kyle or even Will Tucker. If you would like to find out more about me or connect with me on social media, please visit my website at
www.kathleenybarbo.com
.
Thank you, thank you, and thank you!
1. The story opens with Millie’s curiosity sending her to investigate a crate full of curious objects that eventually lead her to Kyle and love. Because she was looking in out-of-the-ordinary places, she found something that changed her life. Has this ever happened to you? Looking back, did you almost miss something—or someone—that ended up being important? How would your life be different if you had missed this?