The Bluebird

by Kristy McCaffrey

  In several strides, he was at her side and grasped her elbow.

  “Are you ill?” he asked, guiding her to Cora’s Restaurant. They needed to talk, and Miss Simms was clearly in need of a cup of strong black coffee.

  She shook her head then slumped against him. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the ground.

  “I take it things didn’t go well with Mabel.” He guided her up a set of wooden steps and into the restaurant, then settled her at a quiet table. He hung his hat on a hook and sat across from her. “What’s wrong, Miss Simms?”

  She shook her head and fought back a sob. “Robert is dead,” she whispered, pinning him with a bleak, horrified look in her eyes.

  Stunned, Jake asked, “Who told you that? Mabel?”

  She nodded, a tear running down her face.

  Jake reached inside his jacket, retrieved a kerchief, and handed it to her. “How does she know?” He wasn’t acquainted with Mabel personally, but Robert had fancied a girl at Bertha’s for a time. It must’ve been her.

  “She said a man named James Winston told her that Robert had disappeared for good.”

  Jake swore under his breath.

  “Do you know this man?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He leaned forward. “Look. I don’t think Robert is dead.”

  Hope lit up her features. “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons but I wouldn’t put much stock in what this Mabel knows. You should’ve just come to me.” But he feared there was a reason she hadn’t. It was why he hadn’t approached her straightaway.

  He smiled warmly when Cora, the elderly proprietress, appeared at their table, wiping her hands on the apron hugging her thin waist. She winked at him. “You’ve never had a young lady with you, Jake. What can I get you both?”

  “Evenin’, Cora. Coffee and pie.”

  “I’ve got apple, peach or cherry.”

  “I’ll have apple.” He looked expectantly at Miss Simms.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  “I think you should eat something,” he insisted. “How about peach?”

  “I’ll bring a slice of both,” Cora said. “It’s sure nice to see you courtin’, Jake.”

  “You know I’m sworn to you, Cora. Miss Simms and I are just visiting.”

  “Simms?” Cora exclaimed. “Are you related to Robbie?”

  Miss Simms nodded, tears welling in her eyes once again. Damn that Mabel for so callously delivering news that might not be true.

  “You haven’t seen him lately, have you?” Jake asked the older woman.

  “Well, let me think.” She settled bony hands on her hips. “I believe he was in here last week, but just this morning I heard Ivan mention that he’d run into him in the hills.”

  “When?”

  “I think he might’ve seen him yesterday.”

  Another customer signaled Cora, so she nodded and walked away.

  “There you go,” Jake said. “Robert’s not dead.” At least, not yet.

  Miss Simms swiped at the wetness on her cheeks with his kerchief, and her features hardened. “Would you mind telling me what Robert is involved in that’s so dangerous?”

  Dealing with pretty sisters was something that Jake had never aspired to. He didn’t want to explain to the young woman what Robert was up to these days. It was Robert’s business, and he should tell her himself.

  “I don’t think he’s in danger.” In all likelihood, Jake spoke the truth. At least, that’s what he told himself. “Robert and I have done a lot of prospecting in this area. I’m guessing he just lost track of time while in the hills. It happens. I think if you sit tight, he’ll be along any day now.”

  Cora returned with a tray of cups and saucers and a pot of steaming coffee. She set a plate of pie before each of them along with a fork. “I know Jake takes his black, but would you like cream and sugar, Miss Simms?”

  She nodded. Cora deposited both on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” replied Miss Simms.

  Jake dug into his pie. He hadn’t eaten since the noonday meal. Keeping an eye on Molly Rose Simms had consumed most of his time. He hadn’t been entirely sure that she hadn’t known the location of Robert, which was why he’d kept his distance initially. That, and the money. Since Robert had taken up with Bridget Lannigan, Jake wasn’t certain of Robert’s loyalties, and that uncertainty spread to his sister.

  Miss Simms poured a dollop of cream into her coffee along with a half teaspoon of sugar, then stirred the brew slowly. “Exactly how long have you known Robert?”

  “I came to the area last year, and Robert and I hit it off.”

  “And you search for silver veins in the mountains with him?”

  “Yep, that’s about right.” He scooped his cup up by the rim and took a large swallow of coffee.

  Miss Simms dawdled over her meal, and Jake eyed her piece of pie. She must have noticed because she pushed it across the table to him. He nodded his thanks and scooped a large bite into his mouth. “You really should eat something,” he said around the food. “Cora has a decent stew.”

  “Do you always talk with your mouth full?” She bunched her eyebrows together. “You’re not at all concerned that something has happened to Robert?”

  A smile tugged at his mouth from her chastisement. “No sense counting eggs before they’re hatched. I’ll do more checking and see if I can find him. Why don’t you go back to your hotel and rest? I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”

  She watched him as if he’d been the one to lay the eggs. After a sip of coffee, she crossed her arms across her ivory blouse and leaned back in her chair.

  Cora reappeared and retrieved the empty pie plates. “Would you both like anything else?”

  “Miss Simms?” Jake asked.

  “No, I’ve had quite enough.”

  * * *

  Molly rested on the bumpy mattress in her hotel room, the thick quilt laying heavy on her. The sensation of smothering eventually prompted her to sit in the rocking chair in the corner. As the night lengthened, she oscillated forward and back, her mind filled with Mabel’s words, ricocheting like an errant bullet. Tears filled her eyes repeatedly.

  With desperation, she clung to Mister McKenna’s pronouncement. Robert’s not dead.

  It had to be true; the alternative was too horrific to consider.

  She stood and paced, the hem of her nightgown tickling the top of her feet.

  But then why didn’t Mister McKenna know about Robert’s whereabouts? They were partners, after all. While her brother had mentioned Jake McKenna a few times in letters home and had seemed happy with the partnership, the truth was she didn’t know the man, and she had to wonder if he’d had anything to do with Robert being missing.

  She’d been to Robert’s room in a boardinghouse three times already to check if he’d returned, but more and more, the idea pressed on her that she should search the premises. And she preferred to do it without anyone knowing, least of all the boardinghouse proprietor, a gruff man who’d been annoyed every time she had inquired if her brother had yet returned from wherever he was.

  Mabel’s words whispered back at her, and Molly suppressed a shudder. She prayed that Mister McKenna was right—that Robert was simply distracted in the hills and had forgotten her arrival. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t. How could she possibly convey such news to her folks? Her mama would be utterly heartbroken.

  A sob hitched in Molly’s throat. Her mama wouldn’t be the only one.

  She’d always been close to Robert since they were very young. Only two years her senior, he’d been her constant companion, at least as long as she could trail after him without him becoming cross. As they’d gotten older, he’d tolerated her because she’d proven herself to be as tough as the other boys in town, learning to shoot and rope and ride a horse like any good cowpuncher. It had made her pa proud, while her mama had simply shaken her head at Molly’s bullheade
dness. Thankfully, her mama still had Evelyn, the youngest and a good deal sweeter and prettier than Molly.

  Molly made up her mind and quickly donned her darkest attire—a black skirt and a dark brown blouse—then tied an equally dark bonnet to her chin, the wide brim hiding the pale skin of her face. She slipped from her room and quietly let herself out the front entrance of Zang’s Hotel, careful to close the door with as little sound as possible.

  A glance up and down the street showed it to be empty although lights blazed from several establishments, all of them saloons, from the look of it.

  Did this town never sleep?

  She crossed the street then cut a path between two buildings so that she could make her way behind the buildings along the edge of Willow Creek. The water flowed briskly from the newly-melting snow of winter. Steep cliff walls loomed just beyond, lending an oppressive atmosphere to the already bustling mining camp. Robert’s boardinghouse wasn’t far. He’d reserved her a room at the hotel because it was nearby to him.

  She covered her nose as the stench of urine blasted her, and then covered it again when the odor of rotting food replaced it. Moving swiftly to escape, she gasped for air. She counted the buildings to make certain she located the correct one since, from the rear, they all appeared similar. Earlier in the day, it had occurred to her that such an excursion might be necessary, and she’d scouted the possibility before her visit to Mabel . . . and the subsequent pie respite with the rugged Jake McKenna.

  Shaking off that thought—what did it matter that she found him brawny in an oddly compelling way—she peeked around the building to make certain it was the correct boardinghouse, then crept back to the side window. When she’d come by in the afternoon, she’d unlatched a hallway window from the inside. Only now she realized that the opening was higher from the outside than she’d anticipated. She scanned around for something to stand on. A search in back—near the offending stench she’d just passed through—revealed a wooden crate.

  She carried it to the window and pressed it into the ground, trying to get it as flat as she could, then carefully stepped up on it. Molly strained to lift the frame until it finally released in a sudden upward motion. At the same moment, the crate collapsed beneath her, and she clung to the window’s edge, feet dangling.

  She attempted to find purchase with her heels against the side of the building without making a ruckus, while the muscles in her arms began to strain. She didn’t have much time before she’d be forced to drop back to the ground.

  With a low grunt, she heaved herself upward and managed to haul herself high enough that she could swing a knee onto the wooden frame. She hoisted her torso into the boardinghouse and fell against the floor head first. Lying on her back and momentarily stunned, she took several steadying breaths before standing on shaky legs. She listened for anyone she might have alerted. When it seemed the coast was clear, she pushed the window down and closed it.

  The boardinghouse entryway was dark although she spotted a few pieces of furniture. She tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor, cringing at the squeaking wood.

  Three doors down was Robert’s room. It would be locked, but she’d stolen the proprietor’s extra key copy when she’d been by during the afternoon.

  Her mama wouldn’t be happy with all her subterfuge. Neither would Robert, for that matter, despite that it was for his benefit.

  She pulled the iron key from her skirt pocket and unlocked the door as quietly as she could. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, heaving a sigh of relief. Sneaking around was exhausting on the nerves.

  In order to search properly, she would need light. She fiddled with the heavy curtain nailed in place above the window and tucked the edges tight to create a seal. She located a lucifer on the nightstand and struck a flame then lit the oil lamp, immediately turning the wick as low as possible. Carefully, she set the lamp onto the floor.

  Where to start? The previous three times she’d been here, she hadn’t actually been inside his room. And this was Robert’s room, all right. Her brother was still a packrat. Filthy clothes lay in a pile in the corner. A narrow wooden table held a multitude of ore samples and various mining picks. The bedcovers were in disarray, and Molly found a partial loaf of dried-out bread on the floor beneath his bed. If their reunion had gone as planned, she would’ve been in here cleaning up for him instead of searching for a clue to his disappearance.

  Lifting the lid of a trunk revealed more clothing, several books, and letters from her and Evie, as well as their mama. She held up A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. What a boring tale. The only thing Molly had liked about it was the descriptions of London and Paris, places she hoped one day to visit. But Robert had always gravitated to such morally angst-filled stories. Their Aunt Tess had started them young with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Molly preferred more adventure. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea suited her better, or Alice in Wonderland. She especially loved the tales of Ali Baba, Sinbad the Sailor, and Aladdin and his Magic Lamp from the Arabian Nights. She tossed the novel back into the trunk.

  She scanned the ore table, but really, it was just a collection of rocks. She picked up the dirty laundry to see if anything was beneath it. Nothing. She wrinkled her nose at the odor and dropped the mess back to the floor.

  She glanced at the crusty bread and dropped to hands and knees to retrieve it. It was as hard as the ore samples. Robert was lucky he didn’t have ants yet.

  As she sat back on her heels, her hand caught at the dusty rug beneath her. She tugged the edge back and noticed the flooring beneath didn’t line up exactly. Positioning the oil lamp closer, she scooted back and pulled the rug away. Running her hands over the wood, the unevenness seemed odd, but trying to pry up one of the edges with her fingertips proved futile. She retrieved the smallest mining pick she could find on Robert’s messy table and wedged the end into the space between the floor planks. After several tries, one finally popped out.

  She pulled it up and away from its nesting spot and looked inside, but she couldn’t see anything. She tugged at another plank, and it came free after a bit of wiggling back and forth. She picked up the oil lamp and peered into the crevice.

  A small metal box was tucked farther back. She set down the lamp and reached her arm in and grasped the prize, dragging it from its hiding place.

  It made her think of a story her Aunt Molly had told of her of a similar box she’d hidden near her ranch in Texas the night her folks—Molly Rose’s grandparents—had been murdered. It was a dark tale, one that her aunt had shared only one time with her when Molly Rose was eleven and had come to Aunt Molly and Uncle Matt’s ranch, the Rocking Wren, to visit for a summer.

  Aunt Molly had hidden important and secret items inside her box, including a slingshot she had named The Wren. That summer, Molly Rose had made her own shooter, in an effort to emulate the aunt for which she was named.

  Molly wondered what she’d find inside her brother’s secret treasure chest as she lifted the lid. Gold pieces? Money? A handmade weapon similar to their aunt’s?

  A pile of papers greeted her, filling her with a twinge of disappointment.

  She began to skim the documents. They were all mining claims, and they all seemed to be in Robert and Mister McKenna’s names. The last one, however, caught her by surprise.

  Jake McKenna and Molly Rose Simms were the proud owners of the Chigger Lode.

  * * *

  Jake watched from the shadow of a building as Miss Simms shimmied her way out of the window of Robert’s boardinghouse. He’d been impressed when she’d hauled herself inside after the crate had given out. While she was proportioned just the way he liked a woman, he now had an appreciation of her strength.

  He might’ve helped her except that in addition to him following her, another man also lurked nearby. And then there was, of course, the question of why she was slinking about in the first place. Was she searching for clues about her brother, or were the two of them cooking someth
ing up? Perhaps it had something to do with the five thousand dollars Jake was missing.

  Jake hadn’t planned on spying on her. When he’d dropped her at her hotel after their less-than-productive meeting at Cora’s, he told her he’d be in touch as soon as he knew something. From there, he’d headed to the Orleans Club for a night of faro and his favorite rye whiskey. The saloon and gambling hall regularly cheated customers, but Jake felt it was worth it to see if he could glean any information about Robert. He’d come up empty.

  When he left the establishment, he’d taken a path that led right to Miss Simms’ hotel. He couldn’t say exactly why—if he’d needed female company, there were plenty of girls at the Orleans Club that would’ve filled the bill—but here he was, nevertheless.

  And then he’d seen the dark profile of a person hustling across the street. He’d known it was her immediately. He never forgot a fine figure, and this one ranked near the top.

  Miss Simms dropped from the window. Her feet crashed into the broken crate, and she let out a muffled squeal. Without thinking Jake stepped forward to help, then paused. If he exposed himself, he might not be able to stop the other man if he should decide to attack. Jake hadn’t been able to identify the third party in this covert dance.

  Miss Simms untangled her feet from the crate and stood, brushing her hands down her pitch-black skirt. Then she glanced upward, and Jake understood her dilemma. She was unable to close the window. She stood for a moment and contemplated her situation. Jake watched the other man, the barest hint of his presence in the shadows.

  The sound of a noise inside the house made her jump. She fled behind the buildings once more, abandoning the open window. The other man followed her, and Jake got a better look at him. A bandanna covered the man’s face and his hat was pulled low, but Jake knew it was Chip Westfield. Chip and James Winston were thugs for Shep Lannigan.