I’m dead asleep the next time the cell block door opens. I’m startled awake by the noise. I look up at the tiny barred window of my cell, and I see that darkness has descended on the island like an obsidian blanket. Crickets are singing just outside, and a gentle breeze from the ocean flows smoothly into my cell, cooling off the heat from earlier in the day.
I turn my head to see who’s coming, but it’s so dark in the cell block, it’s hard to tell. I can just make out two slight frames. One of them appears to be slightly hunched over. The other one is petite, but strong and shapely.
I sit up, tensing. After what the Candyman told me earlier, I’m not prepared to trust anyone who approaches. You never know when a dagger will strike out at you in the dark, and I want to be ready when that happens.
The two figures materialize in front of my bars, and I smile. It’s a doozy of a smile, too, and the weight on my shoulders seems as light as helium. Nessie and Trixie smile back at me. Their eyes betray their concern for me, but they’re genuinely happy to see me.
“How you doin’, child?” Nessie asks.
I want to gripe like there’s no tomorrow. Want to wail at the sky for the injustice of it all. Want to rage against whoever’s done the frame-up job on me. But one look into her warm brown eyes takes all my rage away. She looks so maternal in the soft light of the moon coming through my cell window. The last thing I want to do is show just how scared I really am.
“I’m as good as can be expected, I guess.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say that doesn’t make me sound utterly lost and hopeless. “Been better though.” I scrounge up strength enough for a wink. “Could use a shave and a long hot bath.”
She chuckles, then reaches into my cell, holding a brown paper bag. “I thought you might be hungry. Made you some curry chicken. D’ere’s a bottle of rum in d’ere, too, but don’t let d’ose greedy coppers know about it.”
I take the bag and sit it on my cot before turning my attention to Trixie.
“Hiya, Doll,” I say.
“Hi, yourself.” She’s having trouble looking me in the eye. “We would have come to visit sooner, but I had a show tonight. Had to wait until it was over.”
I nod. “Completely understand. Don’t want a riot in the streets when Trixie Faye fails to make an appearance.”
She laughs. It’s a quiet, sad laugh, and I want nothing more than to take her in my arms and comfort her.
“I need you two to know something,” I say, before the encounter can get any more awkward. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Angelique.”
They both look at me, and their eyes shine in the dim light. “We know,” Trixie says.
That throws me for a loop. “You know?”
She nods. “I overheard the Russians this morning, talking about the whole thing.”
“They admitted to framing me?”
“Not exactly.” She blinks as if trying to remember. “They were talking about Angelique…and some American that’s been hiding on the island.”
Morris.
“It was crazy talk, really,” she continues. “Stuff about how Angelique was a spy, and how between the two of them, they had some important information—a list or something—that they needed to get their hands on. They said that you were somehow involved in it all, too.”
“Me? Why do they think I’m involved?” Although I’m certain I can trust these two with the entirety of last night’s conversation, I think it best to play dumb for the moment. For their own protection more than anything else.
“They said you and the American are old friends,” Trixie answers. “Said the three of you were meeting in Angelique’s parlor last night when she was killed.”
I say nothing for a moment, rubbing the stubble growing across my chin, as I process. I already suspected the Reds had something to do with my current predicament. I even shared my theory with Inspector Decroux. But with the protections they’re enjoying from Governor Lagrange, I’m pretty sure the Inspector won’t get very far digging into the Reds’ stories.
Then, there’s the list itself. Uncle Sam needs to get a hold of it before the Ruskies do. I have no doubt it’s vital to national security, and while I’ve been living it up in paradise for the past decade, I’m first and foremost an American. I bleed red, white, and blue. And even though I’m currently fighting for my life with a murder rap, I’ve spent most of my adult life defending my country. It’s ingrained in me. No matter what happens to me, I’ve got to get that list before the KGB mooks do.
Besides, find the list and I might kill two birds with one stone. I might find evidence that will exonerate me.
I look at my two visitors, then glance around, making sure no one else is within earshot. “Okay, ladies,” I say. “I’ve got to get out of here. Tonight. And I’m going to need your help to do it.”
The two of them smile and lean forward. They’re all ears, as I pitch my escape plan to them in a hushed voice.