CHAPTER FIVE

Where Did You Find the Crazy Children?

Renny slid the door shut. In the rear several hay bales had been stacked against the wall. I laid them flat to give Esther a comfortable place to sit.

“Well, isn’t that nice, boy,” said Renny. “You built a little fort for the young lady.”

His comment rankled. He spoke as if I was some kid making sandcastles at the beach. He wasn’t much older than I—early twenties, maybe. He had no cause to come off so superior. I was a dognapping arsonist gangster and he was simply a hobo. “I don’t need your approval. I’m not a kid, you know.”

“I know.” Renny plunked against a hay bale. “You’re a dangerous wanted fugitive.” He didn’t display the slightest concern.

His attitude ticked me off. “Well, I am.”

No reaction.

“I’m armed.” I pulled out the broken penknife.

He yawned. “Don’t cut yourself.”

“Hey—”

Esther jumped in. “Mrs. Hart says thanks for your help, Mr. Marchand.”

“Renny,” he corrected with a twinkle. “Traveling companions should always be on a first name basis.”

“Okay. My name is Esther Roth. He’s Peter Whistler.”

“Who says you’re a companion?” I scoffed. “We don’t know you.”

“Maybe I’m a fugitive, too.”

Esther shook her head. “Mrs. Hart doesn’t think so and she’s a good judge of character. She says to tell us about yourself. If Mrs. Hart thinks you’re a proper traveling companion, she’ll let you stay. If not, you have to go as soon as the train slows enough to jump. Fair warning, though, Peter can always spot a lie. So be truthful or Mrs. Hart will bite.”

Renny shook his head. “You three are the damndest group of hobos I’ve ever met.”

Mrs. Hart growled. “No cussing,” warned Esther. “Mrs. Hart is a lady and doesn’t approve. We aren’t hobos, either. We’re…” She paused, waiting for instructions. “Oh, I like that. Mrs. Hart says we’re adventurers.”

“You’d best begin,” I warned him, “before Mrs. Hart loses her patience.”

Renny threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, but I have a feeling your story is a hell of a lot—excusez moi—much more interesting than mine. If I pass Mrs. Hart’s approval, you must promise to tell me yours.”

Esther nodded vigorously, but I grunted, “We’ll think it over.”

“All right, then.” He settled comfortably against a hay bale. “I hail from New Orleans, though I haven’t been home in several years.”

“Run out of town?” I jeered.

“You do have a suspicious nature, mon ami. No, I left of my own accord.”

Mrs. Hart yipped and Esther translated. “She said you had to go, not because you wanted to.”

Renny gaped at her. “Cher, I cannot wait to hear your story.”

“Why did you leave?” I demanded.

Renny shifted position, obviously unsettled. “An expensive brooch belonging to my father’s wife went missing and then reappeared in a shop off Canal Street. The owner said I sold it to him.” His eyes flared. “I didn’t.”

Esther wrinkled her brow. “Your father’s wife isn’t your mother?”

“No.” His jaw clenched. “My mother died several years ago. My father remarried. I refuse to call Delphine my stepmother.”

“Why did they believe the store owner and not you?” I said.

Renny cleared his throat. “I was not unknown to New Orleans’ constabulary.”

“You’re a thief.”

He dismissed me with a wave of a hand. “Such a tawdry word. My father had many wealthy friends who played poker badly. Occasionally, I would hear a complaint when collecting on the debt.”

“And a card cheat.”

“Mon Dieu. You sadly lack in social graces, Peter. I would be happy to provide a few tips.”

“I don’t need—”

“Renny,” said Esther, “Mrs. Hart would like to know why you left New Orleans instead of staying to clear your name.”

“Delphine interceded with the police. The charges were dropped, but my father found out.” Renny scowled. “He was furious. There’s no talking to Jean-Baptiste Marchand when he’s like that. We argued. He threw me out. We haven’t spoken for two years, but lately I believe he may have had a change of heart.”

“Why?” she asked.

“My sister Amelie and I keep in touch. I write and tell her where I’m headed and she sends a letter to me in care of General Delivery at the post office. I found one waiting in Atlanta post-marked nearly two months ago. Amelie informed me Father had been preoccupied lately. When she asked what was on his mind, to her surprise he wondered where I was. Amelie encouraged him to write, but he refused and quickly changed the subject. However, she believed Father was softening and would be willing to speak again.” Renny plucked a piece of straw out of his hair and flicked it away in disgust. “I’m willing, too. You would be surprised how quickly a carefree existence on the road loses its charm.”

“You’re headed home to see your family?” I asked.

“Mostly Amelie.”

“And tell your father you’re sorry?” My skepticism was obvious.

“If my father is willing to talk,” Renny grumped, “then I might be willing to listen. He has to apologize first, though. I have nothing to be ashamed of. The man threw me out of the house on the say-so of a stranger.”

Esther crossed her arms. “Mrs. Hart says if you had been a better son to begin with, your father would never have felt the need to ask you to leave.”

He narrowed his eyes. “For a cute little pooch, Mrs. Hart is rather harsh with her criticism.”

“She says you have loose morals, a blatant disregard for the law, and are not as charming as you think you are.”

“Don’t be silly, of course I am.”

“She also says being on the road forced you to grow up. You’re not spoiled like you once were.” Obviously confounded, Renny opened his mouth to say something but Esther jumped in. “If Peter agrees you’re not lying, you can stay.”

Renny appealed to me. “What do you say, mon ami? Take pity on a fellow traveler down on his luck. Save me from the harsh judgment of Mrs. Hart.” He patted the newspaper in his pocket. “I know you of all people understand what it is to be falsely accused.”

He had me there. “He’s not lying,” I reluctantly conceded.

“Bon! Everything is settled. I will share your spacious quarters for the next day. The train won’t stop until we reach New Orleans. Now you must tell me your story. How did such a ruthless band of fugitives come to cross the path of Renny Marchand?”

“Tell him, Peter,” Esther urged. “You’re a good talker.”

“He won’t believe me. He might try to turn us in for the reward.”

“Mrs. Hart doesn’t think so and a deal’s, a deal.”

I ceded the argument. If I didn’t spill to Renny, Esther surely would. So I told him the whole story starting with Esther’s remarkable sight and my gift for lying and ending with our escape from Pike.

When I finished, Renny cleared his throat. “You spun some fine tale.”

I bristled. “You see, he doesn’t believe us.”

“We’ll prove it, then,” insisted Esther. Renny watched in amused silence as Mrs. Hart, Esther, and I argued back and forth as to the best method. Finally, Mrs. Hart suggested Renny try to lie to me. She reckoned he was good at it. He was, but he couldn’t put one over. Next, Esther had Renny read a newspaper article silently. She followed along with his eyes repeating word for word. Convinced of a trick, his doubts wavered when he held the paper to Mrs. Hart. Her paw pointed to a word Esther nailed every time. They died completely after the terrier calculated a series of square roots. Renny muttered a startled curse. After a disapproving yip from Mrs. Hart, he quickly apologized for the impolite outburst.

“Y’all got a conjurer on your tail, for sure.”

Esther wrinkled her brow. “A what?”

“Conjurer…witchdoctor…traveler on the dark road—a very dangerous person.”

“Why does he want me to open the door? What’s inside?”

“That I cannot say, mon petit, other than I’m sure it is nothing good.” He rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I know someone who can help. You need to speak with Odile, my old Cajun nurse. She’s a shaman.”

“What’s a shaman?” I asked.

“A shaman travels the white road and knows the ways of healing magic. Odile’s family goes way back to the very first shamans who found sanctuary in the bayou. Maybe she knows what’s behind the door.”

“A witch doctor worked for your father?”

“A shaman,” he stressed. “It’s no big thing. In New Orleans, all the best families engage one when a child is born. We live in a dangerous world and parents can’t watch over a baby all the time. Odile is one of the best.”

I snorted. “She didn’t keep you from becoming a thief.”

Renny regarded me severely. “That was a choice—a bad one, granted, but not the result of black magic. Moreover, I’m reformed.”

Esther broke in before I argued the point. “Where do we find her?”

“I’m not certain. Odile retired once my sister reached school age, but my father knows how to reach her. He knows everyone. I guess I will talk with Jean-Baptiste Marchand sooner than I thought.” Renny clapped me on the back. “Once I have cleared things with my father, I swear I will help you find Odile.”

Esther bubbled over with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to meet a shaman.”

“You’ve never heard of one until today,” I snidely pointed out.

“It’s not much different from wanting to meet a princess and I always wanted to meet one of those, too. So there, smarty-pants.”

To my surprise, Mrs. Hart was all for the plan. Then I remembered she was a dog. Perhaps a shaman might have an idea or two on how to return her to normal. Funny how quickly Esther and I got used to Mrs. Hart being a dog and all. The peculiar situation didn’t seem to bother Renny. Of course, considering how nonchalant he was about having a voodoo nurse as part of the household staff, swapping bodies with an animal might be downright ordinary.

We settled in for the rest of the trip. Renny didn’t grasp the concept of sit quietly and wallow in your own thoughts. He regaled us with stories of New Orleans, most of them involving him. Esther was enthralled. I tried not to pay attention except every now and then felt compelled to interject a comment.

“That’s a lie. You didn’t steal a streetcar.”

“Technically, no. I borrowed it for an hour or two.”

I gaped at him. “Why?”

“Mon ami, the streetcar was there, and Magnolia LeBlanc bet me a kiss I wouldn’t.”

“Mrs. Hart says a bet is a stupid reason to do anything,” chirped Esther.

“Mrs. Hart is quite right, but…” He winked. “It was a very nice kiss.”

We had no time to purchase food before leaving Atlanta, but once the sun set Renny cheerfully shared what he brought with him. We dined on a can of Vienna sausages and a loaf of hard crusty bread he swore tasted like sawdust next to the baguettes available in New Orleans. I remarked the statement was a lie. He argued it was merely an exaggeration and, therefore, completely allowable under Mrs. Hart’s rules.

Finally, I caught Esther stifling a yawn and insisted Renny shut his trap long enough for all of us to get some sleep. I wrapped my jacket around Esther and she curled next to Mrs. Hart. Renny made himself comfortable on a couple of hay bales and wished us all bonne nuit.

“He’s mighty full of himself,” I noted to Mrs. Hart. “Are you sure going along with him is a good idea?”

“We have to,” Esther whined. “I want to meet the princess.”

“Shaman—not princess. What does Mrs. Hart think?”

“She doesn’t know if Odile can help, but thinks we should try. She believes Renny is sincere, but agrees he is full of himself.”

Renny propped up on one elbow. “I can hear every word. I’ll have you know, I’m considered quite good company by the most cultivated ladies of New Orleans—and you can tell Mrs. Hart to mind her own business.” He rolled over in a huff.

Late morning sun streamed through the boxcar when Renny roused us from sleep. By the sound and movement, the train had slowed considerably. “We’re on the outskirts of the city,” he said. “I know a place where we can jump.”

I gathered our meager belongings. Renny pushed the door wide open. I was hit in the face by a buffet of warm, moist air. Everything about New Orleans smelled different, earthy and damp with a faint undertone of decayed vegetation.

The brakes hissed. The train lurched and slowed to a crawl. Renny jumped first. I helped Esther to the edge of the boxcar and he lifted her to the ground. I tucked Mrs. Hart under my arm and followed right behind.

Renny threw back his head and breathed in a lungful of air. “Ah, I missed the smell.”

Esther inhaled deeply. “I just smell train and Mrs. Hart.” Always mindful of her appearance, Mrs. Hart appeared insulted.

“I’m afraid everyone could use a bath and a change of clothes, mon petit. Come, a streetcar stop is near. Once at my father’s house, we can all get cleaned up and a hot meal, including Mrs. Hart.” Those words were the first out of his mouth sounding pretty good to me.

An hour later we stood on St. Charles Avenue across the street from the Marchand home. The white mansion was the swankiest house I’d ever seen. A deep front porch supported by massive wooden columns ran along the entire front. The balcony off the second story mirrored the porch below. An inlaid brick walkway led to a mahogany front door flanked by shiny brass entrance lights. Around the house was a meticulously landscaped garden enclosed by an ornate black wrought iron fence. The old carriage house was three times the size of the one at Little Angels. The building had been converted to a garage and a big black car was visible in an open bay. The driveway ran to St. Charles Avenue. Positioned inside the wrought iron gate was a small guard house large enough for one man.

“Not bad,” I muttered offhandedly.

Renny chuckled. “Don’t let my father hear you sound so blasé. He is inordinately proud of the family homestead.” He frowned. “I see Father made changes. We never had a guard before.”

I eyed him askance. “Are you sure waltzing through the front door as if nothing ever happened is the way to get into your father’s good graces?”

“Humph. You’re very astute. My father is not the most reasonable man. Perhaps the best plan would be to contact Amelie first. We’ll go to the kitchen. You can wait there while I speak with my sister.”

Renny boosted us over the fence and we dashed across the yard and through the kitchen door. A woman with her back to us bent over the stove stirring a cast iron pot. Spicy exotic odors filled the room. My stomach growled in response.

She called out, “Well, it’s about time you decided to eat, Amelie. I made your favorite. Ain’t no good skipping meals. Lord knows, you need all your strength for tonight.”

“I’m not Amelie,” said Renny.

The woman turned with a start, dropping the spoon to the floor with a clatter. She clasped her heart and I thought for a moment she’d faint. “Renny,” she said in a choked voice.

He greeted her with bear hug. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You gave me quite a start, boy, that’s for sure.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her apron, clearly moved, and then examined him at arm’s length. “You’re a might thin, and those rags you’re wearing would have caused your poor mama no end of distress, bless her soul but, otherwise, I reckon you’ll do. After the first year, Amelie and I were afraid you’d never return. As it is…” She glanced toward a rear staircase. “Does Delphine know you’re here?”

“No one knows, Ruby, except you.”

“Best keep your homecoming a secret for now.” Ruby then noticed us standing behind Renny. “Well, I declare, who all is this? Y’all look like you were dragged behind a train.”

“You’re not far from the truth.” Renny made introductions. Esther commented something sure smelled good. Ruby pounced on the words and hustled us to the large wooden table in the center of the room all the while berating Renny for letting us starve in her kitchen.

“Ruby, I must talk to Amelie.”

“She’s in her room. You sit first and have something to eat. I’ll tell her you’ve arrived.”

“Maybe I should—”

“No, Renny.” She barked at him in a no-nonsense voice with no allowance for argument. “I’ll fetch her. If I take the rear staircase no one will notice me. Things have changed here since you’ve been gone.”

Renny raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Distress flashed across Ruby’s face. “You best talk to Amelie. Now sit. No one’s going until y’all get fed.” Ruby bustled about the stove. She doled heaping ladles of the spicy-scented mixture into china bowls filled with fluffy white rice. Then she cut huge slabs of bread and laid them out with a brick of butter and big glasses of sweet ice tea. She offered a hambone to Mrs. Hart nearly the size of the dog’s head. Not the most dignified meal, but Mrs. Hart accepted with a grateful woof. I tasted a spoonful of the stew. The mixture was salty and chewy with a tangy heat felt in the back of the throat.

Esther heaved a blissful sigh. “This is the most delicious thing I ever ate.” I heartily agreed.

“Ruby makes the best gumbo in all New Orleans,” Renny bragged.

The cook beamed. She wiped her hands in the apron, untied the strings, and hung it on a peg. “Eat hearty. I’ll fetch Amelie. Stay here, Renny. I may be a while. I need to wait until she’s alone.” She climbed the narrow staircase.

I was so busy eating, I hardly noticed she left. We polished off the contents of our bowls, the entire loaf of bread, and most of an apple pie Renny discovered in the pantry before I heard soft footfalls descending the stairs. A girl my age entered. She had piercing green eyes like Renny. Long dark wavy hair cascaded in loose curls down her back. She would have been a real dish if her expression wasn’t that of someone about to spit out a mouthful of nails.

Renny didn’t appear to notice. He smiled broadly and held his arms open wide. “Amelie!”

His sister stormed over and slugged him in the jaw. Renny staggered. I was impressed. Amelie was at least a foot shorter than Renny and packed a roundhouse punch that would have done a middleweight boxer proud.

Renny rubbed his chin. “What was that for?”

“How dare you!” She stamped her foot. “You disappear for two years and then parade in here as if nothing was the matter. You ran and left me alone, Renny. You should have stayed and made Father believe you. You have no idea what life has been like.”

Instead of being upset, Renny’s gaze softened. He opened his arms. “I’m sorry for everything, Amelie. Please forgive me. I beg you.”

The fire in her eyes dulled to an ember. She threw herself into his embrace. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, cher.”

“When you didn’t answer my last letter I thought…” Amelie buried her head in his shoulder. “Why did you take so long to come home? Where were you?”

He kissed her gently on the top of the head. “Here and there. I was delayed getting to Atlanta, but left for New Orleans as soon as I read your letter. I’m here now and see…” He gestured toward us. “I brought friends.”

So intent on her brother, Amelie hadn’t noticed our presence until now. Her eyes played over us in a second. Apparently, she didn’t like what she saw. “You are all filthy.”

“Yup,” Esther happily agreed. “We left in a hurry ‘cause we’re on the lam from Pike’s flaming eyeballs and Mrs. Hart is a lady so she doesn’t lick herself clean.”

“Renny,” Amelie demanded, “where did you find the crazy children?”

“We aren’t crazy,” I yelled, “and we’re not children…well, Esther is, but I’m as old as you.”

“Mrs. Hart isn’t crazy, either,” insisted Esther. “She’s a lady inside a dog. The conjurer put her there.” I hissed at Esther to keep quiet. She didn’t help the we’re-not-crazy argument.

Instead of scoffing, Amelie immediately demanded of Renny, “What is this about a conjurer?”

“It’s a long story, cher. Trust me when I say they’re perfectly sane. They saved me from a beating by the railway bulls in Atlanta and I am returning the favor.”

Amelie’s sternness softened. “In that case, I apologize. But I’m afraid, you couldn’t have brought them at a worse time.”

“But why? Even if Father won’t forgive me, surely he understands the necessity to repay an honor debt. He wouldn’t turn them away—”

“Father’s dead, Renny.” Her voice choked.

He paled and sunk into a kitchen chair. “When?”

“Right after I sent the letter. The doctor said he suffered a heart attack.”

He protested angrily, “His heart was strong.”

Dark emotions flitted across her face. “So, it appeared.”

“What happened?”

“When he didn’t show for breakfast, I went to wake him.” She blinked away tears. “Father struggled to breath. He tried to tell me something, but the pain made speaking difficult. He collapsed. I sent for the doctor, but it was too late.”

“Where was Delphine?”

Amelie’s jaw set in a hard line. “Conveniently away.”

Renny took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Amelie. I should have been here. You should not have had to go through this alone.” The grief was heavy in his voice. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I’ll never have a chance to say I’m sorry. He must have hated me.”

She sighed. “Father didn’t hate you, Renny. I know he was ready to grant forgiveness. He spoke of you the day before he died, wondering where you were and if you were well. Delphine also noticed. She came to me that night and wanted to know if she should prepare your room.”

“What did you tell our dear stepmother?”

“Stepmother.” She spit out the word. “I tell that hell-born serpent nothing.”

Mrs. Hart yelped a warning and Renny stifled a grin. “Best mind your manners, young lady. Mrs. Hart doesn’t approve of rough language.”

“Please, Renny, no more of your jokes.”

“It’s no joke, cher.” He proceeded to tell the story of our meeting and showed her the Atlanta newspaper. As Amelie read the article, her eyes grew wide. I squared my shoulders, trying to be the desperate hatchet man in the picture. I expected to see a flicker of concern in her cool demeanor after discovering she harbored a dangerous criminal or at the very least awe, but instead she let out a derisive snort.

“How can the authorities be so stupid? Who is this Chauncey Edwards the reporter quotes? ‘Peter Whistler had the eyes of a killer.’ What nonsense. Look at the picture of the boy. Admittedly, he appears constipated, but certainly not psychotic.”

“I told you,” I sputtered, “I’m not a boy—and I wasn’t constipated. How would you know what a psychotic killer is like? You ever meet one?”

“No, but…” Amelie reached under the hem of her dress and retrieved a razor sharp blade hidden in a thin leather sheath strapped to her leg. “I would certainly know what to do if I did.” My penknife was a toothpick by comparison.

“Put the dagger away, Amelie,” Renny soothed. “We’re all friends here. Esther, show my sister what you can do.” Esther happily complied by reading the paper through my eyes. She agreed the picture made me look constipated. I grabbed the paper and stuffed it in the rucksack. Renny placed one of Ruby’s cookbooks in front of Mrs. Hart and Esther read a recipe for lemon icebox pie word-for-word. By now our impromptu routine was rock solid. Seriously, Esther, Mrs. Hart, and I could have developed a dynamite vaudeville stage act and hit the theater circuit.

We didn’t take long to convince Amelie of the truth. She declined to personally test my ability to recognize a lie, noting if Renny couldn’t lie to me that was good enough. Having her brother’s support was a plus. Renny may have been a bit of a rogue, but brother and sister clearly respected each other’s opinion.

“Pike is a conjurer, for sure,” said Amelie.

“I thought Odile could help. Do you know where she is?”

“Odile? She moved somewhere in Terrebonne Parish to be near her son and his family. They have no telephone lines so far into the swamp, but Father and Odile exchanged letters. The address will be in his book in the study.” She scowled. “Getting inside will be a problem. Delphine keeps the room locked.”

Renny’s eyes flared. “She had no right.”

“She has every right.” Amelie’s voice hardened. “The house is hers, now. Father left Delphine in charge of everything.”

He gasped. “Tell me you joke.”

“Unfortunately, not. His will named her as my legal guardian. She has control of all father’s assets and full charge of running the household. Not until I turn eighteen do I inherit the estate.”

“If any money is left,” he snarled.

“There will be. As guardian, Delphine must produce a report each month to the bank trustees of all expenditures. I’m entitled to a copy. She objects, but rest assured I insist she account for every penny.”

“Father may have been angry and cut me off entirely, but how could he have been so blind as to give Delphine control of everything?”

“Renny, the original will named you as guardian, but she was here and you were not.” Amelie’s tone dripped contempt. “Father was besotted with her since the day they met.”

Renny stormed across the kitchen. “You should not have to pay for my sins.”

“Keep your voice down,” she cautioned. “Delphine dismissed servants loyal to father and me, and staffed the house with her own people. They are all armed. Not obviously, but I can tell. You saw the new gatehouse? Guards patrol the grounds at night. Delphine says the added security is for our protection, but her people seem as if they have more experience breaking into a household rather than running one. The one trustworthy person left is Ruby. Delphine is not stupid enough to get rid of the best cook in New Orleans—not with her social aspirations.”

Renny’s jaw tightened. “Cher, you can’t stay here. I could convince the trustees to put pressure on Delphine to send you to boarding school. You don’t have to live under her thumb.”

“No.” Her response was short, but emphatic. “I won’t run. This is my house—our house, Renny. It will be again someday. The instant I turn eighteen Delphine will be shown the door. Until that time, I intend to stay put and keep watch.”

“I don’t trust Delphine.”

“Me neither.” She patted her blade. “I can take care of myself. I have had to, you know, for some time.”

Renny sighed. “You have Mother’s stubbornness. Very well, but understand I am not leaving New Orleans again. I may not be welcome in this house, but I will always be nearby should you need assistance or a shoulder to cry on.”

“That, too, I haven’t done for some time.” She glanced at the door. “For now, no one except Ruby and I should know you are here. I have forbidden Delphine’s servants near my room, and they never go in yours, so everyone can hide upstairs. Delphine is having a soiree this evening.” Amelie curled her lips in distain. “Apparently, a few weeks is long enough to grieve the death of a husband. The guests will be preoccupied in the dining room. If you can get the door to Father’s study open, and find the address book, tomorrow morning Ruby and I will help everyone leave through the kitchen before the rest of the staff wakes.”

Renny nonchalantly rubbed his thumb against his fingertips. “Unlocking the door should pose no concern.”

“The plan is settled then. You will all come upstairs. Each one of you is in desperate need of a bath. Renny has old clothing to fit the boy—”

“Quit calling me, boy. My name is Peter, and you don’t smell so hot yourself.”

“I’ll find something for Esther…and I smell wonderfully.”

She did, actually. Kind of like the lilacs in Mrs. Hart’s garden, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Amelie led us quietly up the staircase to the second floor where Ruby waited.

“The coast is clear,” the cook whispered. “If you need me, Amelie, I’ll be in the kitchen spitting in Delphine’s teacup.”

Amelie ushered us to the end of the hallway. Renny and I ducked into the corner room overlooking the front of the house. The girls slipped into the one next door.

The room had a big mahogany four poster bed smack dab in the center, surrounded by fancy oriental chests and bureaus. All the furniture was polished to such a high degree my face reflected in the wood. Renny motioned to a door. “The bathroom is through there. Clean up while I find something for you to wear.”

He had his own bathroom? Nobody I knew had more than one bathroom in an entire house. Inside was a porcelain sink sporting solid brass fixtures and a huge claw foot tub with a shower attachment. I peeled off my dirty clothes, took a hot shower, and then wrapped myself in the fluffiest towel I ever touched. I tucked my dirty things into the rucksack and crammed everything under the bed.

Renny handed me the old clothes and went to shower and change. Old clothes…funny term to describe the nicest outfit I ever wore. I donned a white silk shirt and a lightweight linen suit. He even found a pair of barely used leather shoes. I fingered a tie, not quite certain what to do with it.

Renny exited the bathroom. His suit had been tailored to him. Clean-shaven, with not a dark wavy hair out of place, no remnant of the hobo on the train was visible. He scrutinized me up and down. “Well, Father was right. Clothes certainly do make the man.” He secured the tie around my neck in a Windsor knot. I felt awkward, but at the same time grownup. “You are less like a gangster and more like a charming young man of society.”

“You mean I no longer look constipated.”

“Don’t mind Amelie. For a young lady of means, she can be sadly lacking in the social graces, and has had much on her mind lately.”

“Like your stepmother?”

“Exactly, I—” The sound of a car horn distracted Renny. He parted the drawn curtains a crack. “Well, speak of the she-devil…”

The sun had set since we arrived. A shiny Packard pulled through the gates leading a caravan of several other cars. As it passed the gaslights lining the driveway, I could see a uniformed chauffer in the front seat. Before She-devil Delphine became visible, the Packard drove around to the front and the balcony blocked my view.

Renny cracked open the door to listen. The chatter of laughing voices wafted from below. Another door closed and the house was quiet again. “They’re in the parlor. The party has already started for Delphine and her guests.”

His bitterness surprised me. Feelings about Delphine ran deeper than mere dislike. “What bugs you so much about her?”

“Other than the fact she considers no one except herself?”

“Your father didn’t think so.”

“Father was a fool.”

“That’s a lie.” The words were out of my mouth before I could call them back.

Renny grinned wryly. “I forgot to whom I spoke. No, my father was not a fool. He was both smart and sensible, but even the most reasonable man can be deceived by a beautiful face and a charming demeanor.”

The door across the hall opened. Amelie motioned us over. Before we joined the girls, Renny removed a small leather case from a dresser drawer.

I raised my eyebrow. “That’s not a manicure set.”

He flashed a cheeky grin before tucking the lock pick kit into a pocket. “Like a good Boy Scout, Renny Marchand is always prepared.”

We slipped across the hall. Amelie’s bedroom was the same size as Renny’s, but everything about the decor from the white lace curtains to the floral wallpaper to the quilted silk coverlet on the bed screamed Girls Only—All Boys Will Be Stabbed To Death On Sight With My Very Sharp Knife. I nervously adjusted my necktie.

Esther perched on a divan, seemingly right at home. She was scrubbed clean, her plain cotton frock swapped for a pink taffeta dress with matching shoes. A bow decorated her hair. Renny complemented her on the outfit.

“Yeah,” I added, “you look real nice, Esther. I never saw you so done up.”

Esther jumped off the divan and gave a twirl. “Isn’t the material bee-yoo-ti-ful? It’s the softest thing I ever wore. Amelie wanted to put a bow on Mrs. Hart, too, but Mrs. Hart said pink wasn’t her color.”

With a twinkle in her eye, Amelie whispered to me. “Today is the first time I’ve ever received fashion advice from a dog.”

Esther tweaked my sleeve. “The jacket feels nice, too. Mrs. Hart says you are every inch the gentleman.” She cocked her head. The action conveyed to me she shared the little dog’s eyes. “She’s right.”

I tugged again at my collar. “Thanks. Wearing a tie is strange, though. I’m not used to having anything around my neck. Now I understand how Mrs. Hart felt about the dog collar.”

Amelie examined me with a critical eye. “Nevertheless, your appearance is much improved. Very respectable.”

Her green eyes lit with approval and my cheeks warmed. I cleared my throat. “What’s the plan?”

“Once Delphine and her guests are in the dining room, Renny will slip into the study. The address book used to be on the desk, but Delphine moved everything around after Father died.” She gasped. “I hope she didn’t throw it away.” Mrs. Hart and I exchanged worried glances.

“She wouldn’t,” Renny asserted. “Father knew many important people. Delphine would want to keep the names and addresses. You know what a social climber she is.”

Mrs. Hart, who had been intently focused on the discussion, now hopped off the divan and scampered to the door. She scratched at the panel.

My face reddened. “Um…does she have to…you know…go?”

Esther giggled. “No. She already used the bathroom.” I quickly wiped the mental picture of Honey Bun squatting on the toilet from my head. “Mrs. Hart says she’ll listen at the foot of the stairs and let us know when they move to the dining room.” Renny opened the door wide enough for the dog to slip outside.

“Now we wait.” Amelie flounced with a pout onto the divan. “I hate waiting.”

“I don’t mind,” Esther chirped. “You hear the best things when you’re waiting. People think if you’re blind, you’re also stupid, so they stick you in a corner and forget you’re there. I overheard lots at the Grimaldi’s.” She drew herself up proudly. “That’s where I found out Mrs. Hart killed her husband.”