Madeline picked up her pace as the iron gate slammed shut behind her. When she reached the sidewalk, she found Jonah’s friend there.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked. “I’m Detective Donovan.”

“Another Pinkerton?” she said with a sigh.

“Guilty.” He offered a smile. “I tried not to listen, but I could tell you weren’t happy with my colleague. Cahill is good at what he does, but he can be a little rough around the edges. I hope you’ll accept my apology on his behalf.”

“I hope he doesn’t hear you saying that,” she said. “I doubt Jonah would agree.”

“That he’s rough around the edges?” he said as he leaned against the fence.

“No, that an apology is deserved.”

Madeline offered a smile and a wave and then hurried down the street. At the corner she turned, daring to look back to see if Jonah was following. He wasn’t, although he had once again stopped beside Detective Donovan in front of the Brown home.

Madeline turned down the alley and quickly found the back gate to Madame’s rented property. Casting a quick glance at the palm tree, she cringed and then hurried inside. Gretchen was waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Madame has asked for you more than once. Where did you go?” she demanded.

“You closed the window, Gretchen,” she said. “How did you expect me to get back inside?”

The maid gave her a half grin. “It must have slipped,” she said.

“Of course,” Madeline said with a heavy measure of sarcasm. “Please let Madame know I will be waiting for her in the parlor.”

“She’s already there,” Gretchen said as she turned and walked away.

Madeline hurried up the back steps to her room and retrieved her writing materials and then pulled the topmost journal off the stack. A few minutes later, she stood outside the parlor door.

“Do come in, child,” Madame said sweetly.

Pasting on a smile, Madeline stepped inside. She found Madame Smith seated in her favorite chair beside the window that faced Broadway Avenue. Her hair had been freshly coiled into an iron-gray bun on the back of her head, and she was dressed in an afternoon gown of pale green.

Once again, Madeline was struck by the older woman’s beauty. It was easy to see how she had once been the toast of New Orleans. Easier still to understand why the enigmatic pirate Lafitte would fall in love with her.

If only Madeline could find evidence of that love. She was determined to investigate further, and yet she knew Madame would reveal her secrets in her own way, in her own time.

A fresh bouquet of pink roses sat on the table beside her. Madeline focused on them instead of her employer as she took a seat. With care, she laid out the tools of her work: first the notebook and then the ink and pen.

“Gretchen said you wished to see me, Madame?”

The older woman regarded her impassively. Slowly a smile arose. “She also said you had returned, but that was some twenty minutes or more ago.”

“Yes, I had returned, but I had to go out again,” Madeline said. “I’m terribly sorry for causing you to wait. What is it you need? Perhaps another story recorded for the journals?”

“Where did you go, Miss Winston?”

“Go?” Madeline said, stalling for time. “Well, I went out to have a quick meeting with a friend.”

“I see.” She studied her bejeweled hand and then returned her attention to Madeline. “I did not realize you had friends in Galveston.”

“Nor did I, but I saw my friend this morning while I was shopping. Apparently, my friend is in Galveston on business.”

Madeline hated being so evasive. Her employer did not deserve half truths, and yet there was no reason for her to be concerned. Unlike the charge the Pinkerton made about her, Madeline was indeed thinking of the consequences of her actions this time.

Madame’s eyes were bright, and her expression appeared curious. “Was your meeting successful, then?”

“I am not sure,” she said. “I hope so, but one never knows.”

“That is true,” she said. “But the setting for the meeting must have been lovely.”

Madeline frowned. “It was. How did you know?”

She motioned for Madeline to approach and then reached over to pluck something from her hair. “This was my clue,” she said as she held out a deep red rose petal. “And since the only place in the city where this type of red rose is blooming right now is in my neighbor Mrs. Brown’s garden, I must assume you found the setting quite pleasing.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “It was truly magical.”

“As I recall, it is,” she said. “So please be seated again. I’ve a bit of my own business to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” she said as she complied.

“Do you recall that I told you I had hired some assistance in our hunt?” At Madeline’s nod, she continued. “I’ve had a preliminary discussion with my expert today. He has requested to view the journals we have been working on.”

“Oh,” she said. “Of course. May I ask what he thinks he will find in the journals?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Madame said. “He did not tell me other than to say that perhaps there is some insight to be gained in them. Thus, if you could please make them ready for him to view tomorrow. I told him to call here after ten.”

“Of course,” she said. “Would you like to add anything to them today?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I believe I would. Have I ever told you the story of how my son settled right here on this island and fell in love with a local girl?”

Madeline shook her head. “No, you have not.”

“Oh my,” she said with a chuckle. “I suppose I should tell that story before I get to the other one, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, I think so.” Madeline prepared to begin. “Whenever you are ready,” she told her. “I am ready to write your memories down.”

“But oh, Miss Winston, am I ready to remember them? That is the question. You see, it was a very long time ago when I learned I was to be a mother. In spite of the happiness of this news, it was a very sad time. A time when I had not expected to be the bearer of new life.”

She listened in silence as Madame told her the story of having been a young bride, her groom much older and of a different social group than her own. “My parents, they were particular as to whom I could be seen with. To spend time in the company of a gentleman who was not approved by them was considered most improper.”

Madeline wondered again if Madame ever knew that her father had paid for an investigation to be done on this man she loved. There had certainly been no mention of the lengths Madame’s papa had gone to in order to prevent this union. Obviously, he had not been successful.

She decided to risk a question. “Did your father do anything to come between you and Monsieur Smith?”

“Oh, indeed he did. In fact, I knew he would stop at nothing to see us permanently apart.”

“I am sorry,” Madeline said. “It does sound like his efforts failed.”

“Indeed they did.” Madame paused to look out the window for what seemed to be a very long time. Finally she returned her attention to Madeline. “Perhaps that is not something you can understand, but in my time a father and mother, they chose for you when it came to things such as marriages. It was considered an act of love from a father to a daughter and a mother to a daughter when that daughter’s future was carefully planned for her. What do you think about that?”

Madeline tried to imagine her parents planning the rest of her life and failed miserably. Rather, they had raised her to be strong and independent, a woman capable to make good decisions and follow through with them.

Very much the opposite of what Jonah Cahill thought of her.

“Miss Winston?”

“Oh,” she said as Madame’s voice drew her back from her thoughts. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I think that sounds awful.”

Madame laughed. “So did I,” she said. “So I rebelled. Only later did I realize that, at least in part, my parents were right. Marrying a man who is unlike anyone you’ve ever met will take you down a path you may not be expecting.” She paused to smile as if thinking of some particular but private memory. “Oh, but what an adventure it can be.”

Her heart lurched. Was this the connection to the Lafitte family that she had been hoping to find? Jean Lafitte had certainly been much older than Madame.

“Madame,” she said gently. “You have provided few details regarding your husband.”

“Oh, but I have,” she said sweetly. “He has been with me on every adventure I’ve had. In a way, he is still with me today.”

This was not the answer she expected. In fact, it answered nothing she’d asked.

“You think I’ve gone daft.”

“I think you have precious memories as yet unrecorded,” she said to cover her surprise. “Perhaps we should start with that premise and begin our session with more information about your husband.”

“Miss Winston,” she said slowly. “Have you ever been in love?”

Another unexpected response. “I thought so once, but I was wrong.”

“Oh, my dear, I do highly recommend it.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Eventually, Madame sighed. “I do believe I will put this off until another time. I find myself suddenly tired. Are you terribly disappointed that you will not find out the answers to your questions?”

She was, of course, but there was nothing to be done for it. “I will ring for Gretchen,” she told Madame. “When you’ve rested we can start again with this topic.”

But as Madeline packed up her writing materials, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. The information she was looking for—the link to Lafitte—felt so close.

And yet so far away.

The next day, Jonah knocked on the door of Mrs. Smith’s home at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. A maid let him in and guided him to a library where a stack of leather-bound black books had been laid out. He also found writing paper, pens, and ink.

“Will there be anything else?” the maid asked.

He glanced around the room and then shook his head. “No, I believe Mrs. Smith has provided me with all I need.”

“Very well, then,” she said as she turned to leave. “Should you change your mind, please use the bellpull and someone will assist you.”

Sorting through the books, Jonah soon realized there was no rhyme or reason to the stories. It appeared Mrs. Smith told her tales to the writer and the writer recorded them as they were told. Putting a date to these tales or a time line to her memories would never be possible.

He reached for the top book on the stack and began to make notes regarding names and locations. When he completed his reading of the first book, he had a half page of names but only one location: New Orleans. The second and third books yielded a similar result.

By the time Jonah got to the third book, he was almost ready to decide that taking the time to read all of these journals would be a wasted effort. Then he arrived upon a story of a storm and a ship lost at sea along with a family and their child.

Jonah sat up straighter in his chair and went back to reading. Unfortunately, there was no indication that this lost child had any relation to Mrs. Smith. Nor was there anything to indicate the date or location of the tragedy.

Frustrated, Jonah continued to turn the pages even as his stomach began to growl. The clock over the mantel struck half past eleven and then, seemingly only a few minutes later, struck noon.

Gradually, Jonah became aware of the smell of something delicious. Something that smelled very much like fried chicken.

He set the book aside and reviewed his notes once more. He had read every one of these journals once and had gone back to look at sections he had marked. There was nothing else to be done here.

Jonah rose and pulled the bell then returned to the table to put away the writing tools. A moment later, rather than a maid, in walked Mrs. Smith.

“I do hope you’ll join us for lunch, Detective Cahill.”

Again his stomach growled, and he hoped his host’s hearing was poor enough to miss the sound of it. “I couldn’t really.”

“I insist,” she said as she stepped away from the doorway and indicated he should follow her. “I believe you’ll enjoy the company today.”

“I do not want to intrude on guests,” he said. “Just let me take my notes and be on my way.”

“Nonsense. You leave those notes right there,” she said as she linked arms with him.

Without another word, she urged him toward what he figured was the dining room. Just outside the door she paused once again. “Remember, you can leave the service of your duties here at any time.”

He shook his head. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t expect you will, though I do not wish to keep you in my employ under duress. I am well aware of the fact that you have serious doubts as to whether you are able to complete the task I have hired you for.”

“That is not true,” he said. “I will complete the task. What I have doubts about is whether you will like what I discover.”

“Well now,” she said with a chuckle, “that is an entirely different matter, isn’t it? Yet I will give you one last chance to escape this with your reputation intact and no hard feelings from me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” he said. “But I believe I will stay and see how all of this turns out.”

“Excellent,” she said with a broad smile. “Then come in and meet your partner in this search.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I was not under the impression I would be working with a partner.”

She paused for just a moment, her smile radiant. “That is because I am only just telling you now.”

Jonah followed Mrs. Smith into the dining room and helped her to her seat at the head of the table. Unlike the book-filled library or the rose-filled parlor, this room held all the grandeur of a formal dining room.

From the deep-burgundy-papered walls and golden curtains that held back the noonday sun to the massive chandelier that cast a brilliant light over the crystal and china on the table, they might well have been in a castle somewhere in Europe.

“Do please sit down,” she said and then cast her gaze around the room with a frown. “I wonder where your new partner has gotten off to.”

Mrs. Smith rang a bell, and the maid appeared. “Gretchen, please tell Miss Winston we are waiting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“And who is Miss Winston?”

“Miss Winston is my assistant. She is the author of the journals you read this morning, and she is a very knowledgeable woman. I do believe you two will make quite a team.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Smith. I don’t mind working with a woman. In fact, I sometimes prefer it as females tend to be able to get things done in a situation when a male might fail.” He paused. “However, unless your Miss Winston has training equivalent to a Pinkerton detective or police officer, I fail to see how she and I will work well together.”

“Oh,” she said sweetly, “I know the answer to that. You two will work well together because that is what I am paying you both to do.” She paused, her expression just as congenial as it had been since she intercepted him in the library. “I do hope I make myself clear.”

“Crystal clear,” he said, slightly in awe of the elderly lady’s spunk.

“Excellent. Oh, look, here’s Gretchen with our lunch.”

The maid set a silver tray laden with food, chief among the dishes being a platter of fried chicken, on the table in front of them. She offered Mrs. Smith a smile and Jonah a look of undisguised curiosity.

“Gretchen, were you able to find Miss Winston?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith,” she said as she kept her attention focused on Jonah. “Miss Winston was not upstairs, but no one has seen her leave, so I am sure she must be on the grounds somewhere. Or perhaps outside. I will have the stable boy hunt for her.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Smith said as she moved her attention to Jonah. “So in the meantime, would you like to bless the meal, Detective Cahill?”

Jonah obliged and then his host joined him in saying, “Amen.”

Once their plates were filled, Jonah decided to plunge forward with the question foremost on his mind. “So, Mrs. Smith, what can you tell me about my new partner, Miss Winston?”

“Well now,” she said slowly, “Miss Winston has been in my employ since February. She responded to an advertisement in the Picayune for an assistant to record my memoirs and serve as a companion of sorts.”

“And in that role, she has been a satisfactory employee?”

Madame took a sip of iced tea and then returned her glass to the table. “Indeed she has. You appear to be enjoying the chicken.”

“It is delicious, and I am thankful to be enjoying such a grand meal.” He paused, unwilling to let go of the topic of the mysterious Miss Winston. “What do you know about Miss Winston’s background?”

“Goodness, Detective Cahill. You have a curious nature, don’t you?” she said with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You are paying well for my curious nature. So humor me, if you please. I would like to know more about this assistant of yours.”

“I suppose I am.” She gave him an amused look. “As I said, I met her through an advertisement. If you were to bother to check, and I suppose you just might, you would find that I posted several advertisements over the past few years until the right person for the job finally applied. Miss Winston has become a valued employee.”

She was hiding something. But what? “And that is all you’re willing to tell me?”

“That is all I will tell you,” she corrected. “Although you are more than welcome to quiz my assistant at length regarding this topic and any others you might think relevant to your assignment.”

“I will.”

Mrs. Smith offered a broad grin. “I have no doubt. Now do try those mashed potatoes. My cook makes the best I’ve ever tasted, and at my age I have tasted plenty.”

The front door opened and then shut again. Jonah heard footsteps in the hall behind him. Before he could turn around, Mrs. Smith called out.

“There you are, Miss Winston. Do join us for lunch and say hello to Detective Cahill of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

Jonah turned then and came face-to-face with Madeline Latour. He pasted on his most welcoming smile and aimed it at the nosy reporter. “Hello, Miss Winston.”