Undercurrent of Secrets Read online

  “Tempting, but no. I don’t even have a theme yet.”

  “I can help you brainstorm. And also help with decorations. I have a good eye when it comes to that.”

  “But not for fluff.”

  “Fluff won’t win your award. You need something different than the standard. Something that will set you apart.”

  “You know this, how?”

  “Because I’ve done it. Walked among the routine and come out with something fresh. It was successful.”

  “Funny, I’ve never heard of you.”

  “You just don’t know where to look.” There was a magnetic dare in his eyes. But there was also something else—truth. He was convincing. Almost too convincing.

  As if sensing her resolve weakening, he stood a little taller and delivered the final boom. “And who knows? Maybe unlocking Hattie’s past will be something of key importance to the Belle’s history. Or it may be your ticket to inspiring the theme for your party.”

  She sighed. “I need to see some samples of your work before I agree to anything.”

  “Of course.” He dimpled. “How about over dinner?”

  Red flags hoisted so fast she felt the burn up her spine. “Purely a business dinner.”

  “Absolutely.”

  This man was still a stranger, therefore she needed to be extra careful. There was only one place she’d agree to meet him. “Do you like Skeeball?”

  “I give up,” he said on a breath of a laugh.

  “What?” Her brows lowered. “It was a simple question.”

  “No, it’s not that.” He crossed his arms, a smile tugging his lips. “I first meet you, and you’re waltzing to imaginary music.”

  “Not my finest moment.”

  “Then you launch into a spiel about an anonymous poet.”

  “You haven’t yet seen my full wrath when it comes to him, but you don’t know the specifics.”

  “Care to indulge me?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then when I ask you to dinner, I’m thinking you’re going to pick some fancy bistro, and here you are talking about arcade games. Point is, nothing you’ve said during this entire interaction was predictable. Are you always like this?”

  She was, once. But for the past several months it had been like she was just existing, just going through the motions. Maybe with this whole not-a-wedding anniversary behind her, she could move on. Feel like Devyn again. Not the Space Station Devyn, but the carefree girl with dreams as deep as the river beneath her.

  Instead of giving Chase an answer she wasn’t ready for, she held out her hand. “Can I see that photo again?”

  “Sure.” He handed it over.

  She could clearly see the painted word Idlewild in the background. A quick Google search would’ve led him here with ease. “Where’s the other half?” She motioned toward the rip.

  “I have no idea.”

  “So you don’t know if anyone else was pictured here?”

  “No.”

  Why was it ripped? And who had done it? Hattie? Or maybe someone else. Someone who wanted to remain unknown. Now that Devyn was looking closer, it appeared Hattie was speaking to someone or at least looking at someone. Her eyes were averted from the camera, her body slightly angled. But who? And why the challenge in her eye?

  She lifted the photo to the sunlight and noticed something peeking up from Hattie’s folded arm. A spark of recognition hit her. “I’ve seen that.”

  “What?” The curiosity in his voice was as noticeable as his compass tattoo on his left arm.

  “See what she’s holding?” She pointed at the picture.

  “A book?”

  “I recognize it from last year’s auction. It’s the songbook for the calliope. Maybe this woman wasn’t just a passenger, but part of the crew.” Or maybe Devyn had just made the biggest mistake in agreeing to help someone she hardly knew, with a mission that could be a major time-stealer.

  Devyn wasn’t the best at making choices. She had a track record to prove it. Another glance at the picture, and there was that stirring again. That call to adventure. Reviving something in her that had been comatose for far too long. It felt good to feel again. Good and terrifying. Who are you, Hattie?

  Chapter 4

  July 1926

  Aboard the Idlewild

  The river wore starlight like a jeweled gown, an ancient garment that never grew old. Meanwhile, I couldn’t keep my chiffon frock from snagging on the deck railing. With a sigh, I tugged the troublesome dress free from the splintery snare, leaving a sizeable rip to mend later. A trivial annoyance of steamboat life, but one I’d happily endured for all my twenty years. Because this river, like every other waterway, channel, and tributary carved into the dusty face of America, had embraced me when no human arms would. Except for Duffy.

  Duffy.

  I forced my gaze from the shimmering depths to the whitewashed boards beneath my scuffed oxfords. I couldn’t be distracted from my mission.

  I needed to find Duffy.

  The aged steamboat captain may have been unharmed from his earlier tumble down the staircase, but I’d discovered something that changed the mishap from accidental to intentional. The breeze swept the edges of my hair against my throat as I tightened my grip on the boot Duffy had worn during his plight. I made my way along the deck, the rhythmic churning of the paddlewheel muting my footfalls.

  The pale moon’s glow hiccupped over a masculine profile stepping out from the cargo hold. I flattened my spine against a support beam, a jagged nailhead biting into my shoulder blade. Until now, there’d been no cause to slink into the shadows. The crewmen of the Idlewild had been like a hodgepodge family, but someone had brushed oil onto the bottom of my adopted papa’s boot, casting every soul aboard into suspicion.

  Breath caged in my chest, I prayed whoever emerged would go opposite my direction. There was no reason for anyone to be browsing the freight at half-past midnight. Unless…they were up to no good. My raging heart punished my ribs like the waves pummeling the hull.

  Maybe I was being silly. Duffy was forever nagging me about my preposterous imagination. The oily boot could prove nothing more than a foolish prank by a deckhand. And the fellow cloaked in darkness before me could be no more than the engineer’s apprentice. That lazy man was always sneaking off to enjoy a cigar. This realization settled my pulse and lowered my shoulders from their spiked position near my earlobes. I rallied my courage to step forward and announce myself, but the shadowy silhouette moved, allowing me a better glimpse.

  The sharp angles and plains of his face were as unfamiliar as his large stature, branding him a stranger.

  A stowaway!

  I’d counted each passenger that had boarded this evening’s excursion trip, and subsequently had the exact same number of people disembark. Could I have been mistaken? I’d been distracted because of Duffy’s fall, though he’d rallied just fine for the four-hour river gallivant which seemed to please the locals of Paducah.

  As for the man before me, how easy it would be to slip away from the flurry of exiting passengers, skitter down to the hold all quiet like a field mouse, and duck behind the wall of crates. For his misdeeds, he’d be awarded a free trip to Evansville. The nerve!

  My feverish gaze remained on the trespasser who, judging from his lax posture, seemed unaware of my presence. But for how long? Right now, I held the advantage. Should I charge at him in hopes of shoving him overboard? My mouth twisted. I was just as tall if not taller than a few of the crewmen, but this fellow had the physique of one of those Greek statues from Duffy’s worn encyclopedias. And even if I could budge the stowaway, he’d likely drag me into the silvery river with him.

  I glanced at the boot in my hand, an idea forming. He leaned on the bull rails as if admiring the water. I lifted the shoe, bent my elbow, and—

  “Hope you’re not planning to hit me with that.” His casual tone disarmed me.

  How did he know I was there? The giant of a man turned on
his heel, facing me, and my breath seemed to forget which way it traveled.

  Must have been a trick of the moonlight. Otherwise I’d deem this man on the suave side of handsome. But a criminal, nonetheless.

  He jerked his head toward the Ohio. “Be a shame to pollute the river with an old boot.”

  “Only if I miss. And I won’t.” I added a growl to my tone, aiming for intimidation. And failed. The tall feather from my headband had wilted over my forehead thanks to the calliope’s steam. I sure loved playing the instrument and entertaining our passengers, but hadn’t had time to change to my normal, sensible attire. I huffed with enough force to stir the wispy plume, and I swore a fleeting smirk crossed the intruder’s face.

  His amusement only stoked my ire. “Your fifty-five-cent fee for the excursion didn’t include an overnight stay.” My chin notched higher. If I could pilot a thousand-ton vessel, then surely I could steer a two-hundred-pound troublemaker off the boat. “As I see it, you can either take a swim now or I’ll be forced to jail you in the brig. You’ll be mighty cramped in that four-foot cell.”

  Ebony clouds slid over the moon, blocking me from assessing his reaction, but I couldn’t mistake his low chuckle. “Neither of your options appeal to me. I think I’ll stay right here. As a matter of fact, I’m honored to meet you. You see, I’m—” He took a bold step forward.

  No. Couldn’t let him within grasping distance. I hurled the boot with all my strength. The man angled away, the shoe smacking his spine, giving me time to act. I lunged onto his back and wrapped my hands around his thick neck, squeezing. Maybe I could make him pass out, then tie up his sorry carcass.

  The man grunted, but otherwise remained stoic. My foot connected with the back of his knee, though he didn’t buckle. He didn’t even try to fling me off. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

  I was glad he wasn’t. Because pressed against his frame, I was now acquainted with the solid muscles that the darkness—and his sportscoat—had deceptively hid. All he’d have to do was shake like a wet dog, and I’d go flying into the river.

  Maybe if I yelled loud enough Ludwig would hear me from the engine room and help haul this miscreant to the brig. In all my years on the water, I’d witnessed Duffy imprison only a few rowdy drunkards on the previous steamboats he’d mastered. And here I’d caught a stowaway. My very first captive! It was thrilling! It was—

  “Hattie!”

  I glanced over at the familiar—if not stern—voice.

  Duffy seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He stood slightly hunched from his arthritis, but there was nothing feeble about him. Or the scowl on his weathered face.

  “I caught a hitcher.”

  The stranger grunted again.

  “Let him go.” Disapproval marked Duffy’s tone. “The man you’re choking happens to be my new first mate.”

  Duffy’s words struck so hard, I released the mystery man and fell onto my backside in a tangle of tulle and humiliation. The blamed headband slid over my eyes. First mate? Since when did Duffy hire crewmen without seeking my advice?

  “Miss Louis.” The stranger’s deep timbre tickled my enflamed ears. “I’m honored to meet you.”

  He repeated the phrase he’d spoken before I attacked him. Only this time humor glinted off each syllable. I yanked off the headband and peered at the gentleman. The shifty darkness forbade me from distinguishing his eye color, but I spotted a twinkle beneath his lashes. He outstretched his hand, and my gaze snagged on his suit jacket sleeve. Why wasn’t he in uniform? If he’d been outfitted like any normal officer, I wouldn’t have launched myself at him. With a shake of my head, I refused his assistance and climbed to my feet, nearly tripping forward when my heel got stuck in my frock’s hem.

  Duffy approached with ginger steps, joining the mystery man’s side. “Hattie, let me introduce you to Jack Marshall. As of tonight, he’s second in command.”

  The wheel wash behind the Idlewild had always captivated me.The bucket planks spun round and round, troubling the river’s serene countenance, leaving a wake of glittering ribbon. A beautiful disturbance.

  My mind was troubled but not in the beautiful sort of way. I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen the crick in my neck from a sleepless night.

  “You knew some day this would happen.” Duffy spoke above his tin coffee cup. He joined me at the rails, watching the swish of water. “I couldn’t keep you in the role as mate. You haven’t taken the exam.”

  My head whipped to face him. “And whose fault is that?” Oh how I’d begged Duffy to let me take the officer’s test. To become a licensed mate.

  But despite all of Duffy’s gruffness, he wavered on the side of convention. A woman being a licensed riverman? Shocking! But I knew every part of the Idlewild like my own reflection. Better than. For even my own eye color wasn’t dependable, changing shades from gray to green depending on the clothes I wore. Same with my hair, bleaching golden within the summer months. But this boat, she was constant.

  A weathered hand cradled my shoulder, and though my annoyance was as present as the sun cresting the treetops, I welcomed Duffy’s fatherly touch. He didn’t often give affection. Especially lately. So I softened. If only a little.

  “I never expected life on the river to be your future, child.” His weighted gaze channeled on me. “There’s a world out there beyond all this.”

  I took in the prominent ridge of his brow. Eyes that, not so long ago, could strike terror into any crewman with a single glower. But Duffy had never intimidated me. From childhood, I’d been able to peer beyond his tough exterior. I’d see my only friend who’d sit on the floor and play jacks with me. I’d heard the voice of my first tutor, teaching me port and starboard while other children in one-room schools learned left and right. I became fluent in the language of rivermen. Could splice and tie a line before I could thread a needle. “This is the life I love.” I couldn’t help the plead in my voice. “Is this about the rumors?”

  From the Idlewild’s creation in 1914, it had belonged to the West Memphis Packet Group. At first, they’d run cargo with an occasional excursion trip. Though the past few years, the boat had been employed as a ferry in Memphis. But a new highway bridge stripped away that humble job, leaving the Idlewild—and all of us—in limbo.

  There’d been talk about selling the steamboat. With magnificent vessels like the Majestic, the De Soto, and the G. W. Hill already cramming the Mississippi, the Idlewild wouldn’t get a passing glance for excursion trips. Duffy had appealed to the owners, asking if they could set course along the Ohio. The uppers allowed it, for who’d turn down a chance to rake in money? But the crew was skeletal. I had to add muscle to the limp places, taking on tasks wherever needed. Not that I minded.

  “You know that it’s not just a rumor,” Duffy at last remarked. “This could be the final season with Memphis.”

  “Then we’d move on with her.” I patted the rails. “No owner in his right mind wouldn’t take you on as captain.” And me by default.

  His heavy exhale spoke volumes. I shouldn’t exasperate him with my persistence. Not when we had a full day ahead of us—unloading the freight at Henderson followed by a noon excursion. Then up the river to Evansville for a few days starting with a moonlight trip. Though I didn’t want to leave things unsaid. If I didn’t say my piece now, I’d have to wait until nightfall.

  “Duffy.” The word sprang from my lips like one would say Papa with all the sentiment and love my girlish heart could hold. I opened my mouth to begin my spiel, but Duffy spoke first.

  “Once we reach Pittsburgh and I deliver the goods there, my obligation’s over.” Sunlight shone on the brass buttons of his uniform, but his expression was shadowed. “Then we need to start thinking differently.”

  And there it was. Everything locked into place like the custom fittings in the engine room, roaring to life this new realization.

  Duffy was retiring.

  No wonder he’d brought on a first mate. He’d be grooming him to take ov
er. While no one felt any qualms about my taking on the responsibilities, there wouldn’t be a soul around who would take me seriously as a female captain. Besides, my loyalty remained with Duffy. I owed him that and more.

  “You can’t quit.” The bite of tears made my nose sting. “You have many good years left. Think of all the adventures we’ll miss if you hang up your cap now.”

  “Adventures for you, maybe. But not on a steamboat.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was Duffy’s arthritis worse than he let on? My gaze fastened on his left hand still holding his coffee mug. The tremors in his grip didn’t seem more violent, rather he seemed less shaky today. “How could you give up something you love so easily?”

  He flinched. I’d gone too far and broken the unspoken rule about rivermen. Their devotion to the waters was never questioned. It was in their blood, part of them.

  Duffy’s mouth pressed into a grim line, and he turned from me. After three heavy steps, he glanced over his shoulder, an unmistakable sadness in every line of his beautiful, old face. “Sometimes life doesn’t give you a choice.”

  Then he slowly trudged up the stairs on his way to the texas roof. Every step he moved higher, my heart sunk lower, scaling the rocky bottom of my soul. We’d reach Pittsburgh in a little over four weeks. It was hard to imagine this could be my last trek on the Idlewild. Along the river. An ache stretched in me, a grieving almost.

  I had to figure a way to keep him from changing the course of our lives.

  Chapter 5

  I want all these crates and barrels opened and checked before we offload them.”

  My jaw slacked at Jack Marshall’s outrageous commands. “You’re not serious.” From the looks of the crewmen, they hoped the same thing.

  “Perfectly.” He glared into the cargo hold as if something menacing might emerge.

  This was the first time I’d been close to the new officer since my embarrassing assault on him last night. When we landed at Henderson, I remained at a distance. I was still upset from my awful conversation with Duffy and hadn’t wanted to worsen my mood by watching this outsider take my usual spot on the wing bridge, assisting our pilot Clem, and commanding the deckhands. Even in my stateroom, I’d heard his authoritative voice, more fit for a naval officer than a steamboat first mate.