by Joe Slade
Rick nudged him from behind. ‘Play nice, Doc.’
‘That’s good advice,’ Anderson seconded. ‘Your patients are in the back.’ He poured himself a cup of coffee from the blackened pot on the stove as the detective and the doctor eyed each other. ‘We can talk after you get them fixed up.’
Doc’s face colored up, his mouth working silently to form an argument. In the end, he walked past them and into the cellblock without a sideways glance.
Anderson waited for the rumble of voices to reach back to the office. ‘I thought I was vinegary until I met him.’
‘He’s a good man,’ Rick said. ‘Just give him the facts and he’ll come around.’
Anderson grunted. ‘You better go check on the clean up over the street. Tell Benson to send me his bill for the broken window and anything else that was damaged. After that, go down to the telegraph office and see if there are any messages, would you?’
Rick nodded, closing the door as he stepped outside.
When Doc emerged over an hour later, he looked tired and no less agitated. He threw himself down on an empty chair and accepted the coffee Anderson offered. Staring over the rim of the battered enamel mug, he seemed to be wrestling with something.
When seconds passed without the onslaught that the sheriff had been expecting, he asked, ‘Something new bothering you, Doc?’
He nodded. ‘That dark haired feller; who is he?’
‘His name’s Latimer. He’s a gun for hire, so they tell me, but I haven’t been able to find a poster on him. Until today, he hasn’t crossed my path. What are you thinking?’
‘Just something about him looked familiar,’ he said pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, ‘I must be more tired than I thought.’
‘Not too tired to tell me why the hell you think Archie is mixed up in all of this, I hope. The boy said you suspected Archie of killing Stanford and trying to murder Maggie O’Bannen. Care to explain?’
Doc rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not exactly what I said but I suppose it’s a place to start.’ He relayed his earlier conversation with Philips. ‘I told Leo to be careful around him.’
‘That was all?’ Anderson curbed his impatience. ‘Well, let me put your mind at ease. Archie’s given me a solid alibi for both times, the murders and the break in. He was here playing cards with my deputy.’
‘That doesn’t put my mind at ease. It just means the murderer is still out there and you’re still no closer to finding him.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. My best witness just woke up, didn’t she? What say we go back to the house and see what she has to tell us?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
Doc got to his feet. ‘You heard me. She’s in no fit state to—’
‘To get her story straight?’ Anderson finished for him.
‘And you called me a jackass?’
Archie stepped between them. ‘Gentlemen, please. Nobody’s calling anyone a jackass, all right? Doc, you’ve got to let the sheriff do his job. Let him speak to her, even if it’s only for a few minutes.’
Doc remained adamant.
The sheriff held up his hand in a placatory way. ‘Lets you and me talk for a minute, Doc. Maybe I can change your mind. Your visit from Andy Philips this morning, I’m going to assume he told you about Stanford’s will. About how his estate went to his wife after his death.’
‘He told me that much,’ Doc allowed.
‘Did he tell you who inherits her estate?’
‘Said he didn’t know.’
‘He doesn’t, but I do.’ Anderson grinned. ‘Lucille’s cousin. Emma Harris.’
‘The nurse?’ Doc sat down, as if the news had knocked the wind out of him. ‘She had the best opportunity to poison George Stanford, that’s for sure, but…you think she murdered Lucille?’
‘My gut sure does.’ Anderson explained his observations; the way she was always on the scene and damn insightful with her opinions. ‘When I heard her and Archie arguing this morning, it seemed a mite convenient her finding that letter after the affidavit disappeared.’
‘What letter?’ Doc asked, scraping his chair closer to the sheriff.
Anderson reached into his coat and handed it over. He helped himself to a sandwich from a plate on the desk while he waited for Doc to read it.
‘Do you notice anything unusual?’ he asked him.
‘You mean the fact that it looks like it was written yesterday?’
Anderson chuckled. ‘That’s right. Letters that travel get bent and creased. The ink fades, the paper changes color, especially over six or seven years.’ He pulled another sheet of paper from his pocket and showed it. On it was scrawled the name Fred Pingle in black ink. ‘I had one of my deputies go up to the house while you were tending your patients. He made this. He used her paper, pen and ink. You see?’
Even to an untrained eye, the pages were identical, the depth of ink the same.
‘You think the nurse wrote it?’ Doc asked.
‘I can’t say for sure but she seemed pretty eager to put the blame on your friend. I say if it looks like a skunk, walks like a skunk and smells like a skunk…sorry, Archie, no offence.’
‘None taken, I guess.’ Nevertheless, he didn’t look too happy about it.
‘There’s only one problem.’ Doc eased back in his chair. ‘Maggie said Emma told her to run.’
‘She what? When?’ Anderson demanded.
‘She asked if you’d arrested Lucille then she asked if Emma was safe. Said Emma told her to run.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’ Anderson steepled his fingers against the bridge of his nose as he mentally recalled what he had been told on the night of the murders. ‘According to everyone at the house, Emma came into the room afterwards, behind the men that broke in the door.’
Doc shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what Maggie said.’
‘You realize if she is right, that makes Maggie a probable eye witness to both murders,’ Archie pointed out.
‘And puts a rope around your fiancé’s neck.’ Doc shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Cavanaugh.’
He shrugged. ‘If she’s guilty, she has to pay for her crimes.’
‘And she will,’ Anderson agreed, ‘but without any other witnesses or physical evidence, I’ll need a sworn statement from Miz O’Bannen before I can arrest her.’
Doc pushed to his feet with renewed vigor. ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’
Anderson grabbed his hat from the desk and jammed it on. ‘I told you I’d change your mind about letting me see her. Maybe you’ll—’ He inclined his ear towards the sound of gunshots coming from somewhere along the street. ‘What the hell’s going on now?’ he asked, grabbing his shotgun from the rack on the wall before running outside. ‘Stick around, Doc. There might be some more work for you.’
Chapter Eighteen
Gunfire.
Maggie jerked awake, lay still, hearing only the raggedness of her own breathing. Had the gunshots been real or dreamed? Her head ached, making her thoughts fuzzy. She forced herself to concentrate. The last thing she remembered was talking to Doc but now she was alone.
Where? Not at the hotel. The room, with its pretty floral curtains and colorful patchwork comforter was too homely for that. On the nightstand, beside a pitcher of water and a glass, someone had placed a vase of yellow wildflowers. Frank’s holstered Schofield hung from the bedpost. Her hat with the colored braid hung from a peg on the back of the door.
How? She had been up at the house. She remembered that much. Her father was dead. Lucille had suffocated him. She got stuck on that, unable to shake the heartache. Bitterly, she pushed it aside. Emma had told her to run. She remembered jumping through the window. They had tried to stop her. She touched her temple, wincing as her fingers found a tender spot. She had been shot.
She called for Doc, barely able to muster more than a whisper.
No one came. The room slanted as she started to get up. When the sensation passed, she eased from
beneath the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed, fighting nausea. Trembling, she poured herself a glass of water and drank thirstily.
‘Rick? Leo?’ Her voice sounded stronger but it didn’t disturb anyone. For a long time, she just sat and tried to remember.
A loud, persistent banging made her jump. She held her breath to listen. Footsteps moved swiftly through the house.
‘Who’s there?’ someone called.
Maggie recognized Leo’s voice and relaxed a little. She didn’t hear the reply but the sound of a key turning in a lock and a door creaking were clear enough.
‘I just want to know how she is,’ a female voice said.
‘I have my orders: no visitors. You’ll have to come back when Doc’s here, or Rick.’
‘Surely you can tell me if she’s awake.’
‘No.’
‘If I could come in for just—’
‘No!’
The argument continued, sounds of a tussle adding to the tension.
She drew the Schofield, sagging under its weight. It took determination to pull back the hammer before she tottered towards the stairs. She let the weapon drop to her side, too weak to aim it. With her palm pressed against the wall, she descended the stairs, two feet to one step at a time. She was halfway down before they noticed her.
‘Leo,’ she croaked. She cleared her throat, trying to sound stronger than she felt. ‘What’s going on?’
He released his grip on the door to help her as she sagged against the wall. ‘You shouldn’t be out of bed.’
‘I heard a noise.’ Past his shoulder she glimpsed Emma, her father’s nurse, watching her from the doorway.
‘I came to see how you are,’ Emma offered stepping forward. ‘I was trying to explain to your friend here but he’s quite the watchdog.’ She smiled but the friendliness didn’t reach her dark eyes.
Maggie noticed the way Leo stepped between them. That he didn’t trust the woman was obvious. Feeling mentally sluggish, Maggie was inclined to trust his instincts.
‘Doc said I wasn’t to let anyone in,’ he said by way of explanation.
‘After what happened, I suppose he has a right to be suspicious, but I worked for your father, Maggie. Surely, I’m an exception.’
The illusion of trust didn’t sway Maggie. ‘I appreciate you calling but I’m not ready to entertain.’
‘Of course,’ Emma agreed, without moving. ‘Do you remember what happened? Has the sheriff told you anything? Or the doctor?’
Why so many questions? Maggie’s hackles started to rise. ‘No. I’ve only been awake for a few hours.’
‘Nothing?’ Emma pressed. ‘Nothing about your father or Lucille? What about the men that tried to kill you; did they say anything?’
Beyond the unshakeable grogginess, Maggie grasped one fact. Emma wasn’t there. That’s what Doc had told her. Emma wasn’t there. But the way Maggie remembered it, Emma was there. And now she was here, almost fighting with Leo as she pushed in closer, demanding answers.
Suddenly, Leo winced and shoved Emma away. She fell against the wall. Maggie glimpsed something, slim and shiny in her hand before the other woman could conceal it within the folds of her skirt.
The Schofield weighed like a rock in Maggie’s hand and she adjusted her grip, not knowing if she could lift it. Emma’s gaze darted towards the movement, a grin tweaking the corner of her tight little mouth. That she was prepared to strike, Maggie had no doubt.
Leo renewed his stance between the women. He was a good kid. For sheer guts, Maggie knew there was no one she’d rather have with her, but was he ready to kill? As she looked into eyes that glistened with intent, she knew Emma was.
‘You should leave,’ Maggie said. ‘Don’t worry about manners, Leo. Throw her out.’
Leo grabbed her arm and flung her outside, slamming the door in her face before she could push back. He pressed his shoulder to the wood until the locks were in place.
‘Well done, Leo.’
He blew out a long breath. ‘That’s one scary lady.’
‘Is the rest of the house locked up?’ Maggie asked.
He ran along the narrow hallway, breathless and nodding when he returned.
‘Good. Now help me back to bed.’
Despite his tender age, he scooped her up like she was no more than a child herself and carried her upstairs. Attentively, he tucked her in before pulling the chair in closer and settling himself.
‘Did you see the blade in her hand?’ he asked.
‘I was hoping you had. She meant to do us both harm, that’s for sure.’ She shoved the gun towards him. ‘You hold this, just in case.’
His shied away. Maggie never let him handle the Schofield. She gave him a nod of encouragement and he reached for it.
‘Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to fire,’ she warned. ‘Now, tell me; where is everyone?’
‘Over at the sheriff’s office. Rick was in a shootout and Doc had to go over there and—’
‘Rick’s hurt!’
‘No.’ His big bony hand pressed against her shoulder as she tried to rise. ‘He shot another man, the one who was trying to kill the attorney. He was trying to leave town but when I told the sheriff that Doc suspected Mr. Cavanaugh, they went after him. Good job they did because it turned out Mr. Cavanaugh wasn’t the one trying to kill him.’
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, Leo,’ Maggie said, as much for the sake of her headache as his need to draw a breath. ‘Tell me everything from the beginning, slowly.’
After admitting he didn’t know much, he outlined what he had been able to piece together. ‘And Doc said not to let anyone in. That’s why I was arguing with that lady,’ he concluded.
‘That was no la—’ Maggie’s heart skipped a couple of beats as below them a door banged. ‘You locked the door?’
Leo nodded and brought the gun up, his hand steady.
‘Leo!’ someone bellowed.
She recognized Doc’s voice and pressed the muzzle of the gun down. Footsteps thumped on the stairs and then Doc was standing at the end of the bed. He looked tired, his ever simmering irritability close to the surface. His quick appraisal took everything in, lingering on the gun in Leo’s hand.
‘Are you all right? I saw the Harris woman leaving.’
‘She came for Maggie,’ Leo offered. ‘She had a knife.’
‘What?! Are you all right?’
‘I am, but Leo’s bleeding.’
Leo waved the gun around as he lifted his arm and peered where she indicated. Blood spotted his sleeve near the elbow. ‘I didn’t even feel it.’
Carefully, Doc took the weapon from him, easing down the hammer before placing it on the bed. Then, he poked at the two-inch slash in Leo’s shirt. ‘It’s not deep,’ he said opening his bag. ‘I’ll clean it up and you’ll be fine.’
Downstairs, the door banged again. ‘Doc? Where are you?’
‘Upstairs, Sheriff.’ His gaze didn’t leave the job in hand. ‘It’s all right, Maggie. You can trust him.’
Trust wasn’t a natural instinct for Maggie but she was willing to go on a little faith if Doc was prepared to vouch for him.
‘What happened?’ the lawman asked, stopping on the landing to peer in.
‘The Harris woman decided to take matters into her own hands,’ Doc said. ‘She came here to kill Maggie. Luckily Leo was here but…’ He didn’t elaborate. The boy’s injury said enough.
The lawman eyed the Schofield lying on the bed near Maggie’s hand. ‘I didn’t hear any shots.’
‘It didn’t come to that. Although if I’d had the strength to pull the trigger, it might have done.’
He allowed his gaze to linger on her. For the first time since she had woken up, she remembered the scars and her milky eye. Embarrassed, she shielded her face behind her hand.
‘You’re a brave woman, Miz O’Bannen,’ he said, thoughtfully, then more gruffly, ‘I can arrest her now but just tell me one thing; was she in the room the night your fa
ther and his wife were murdered?’
Still covering her dead eye, she met his gaze. ‘She was and she had a gun.’
‘Do you think she was the one who killed Lucille?’ Anderson asked.
It seemed likely. ‘All I can tell you for sure,’ Maggie said, ‘is, I didn’t kill Lucille. I heard a shot as I jumped out the window but that bullet didn’t hit me.’
‘I’ve been over the room several times. Rick has too. There’s no evidence that she fired a shot towards the window.’ He nodded his head decisively. ‘If you’re prepared to testify to that and the fact that she came here to kill you, I’ll round her up and send for the judge from Durango.’
Maggie nodded. ‘The sooner we put this whole business to rest, the better.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘Damn woman’s just disappeared,’ Sheriff Anderson complained a few days later. He had become a regular visitor to Martha Peters’ kitchen and picking up a cookie he shoved it into his mouth. ‘Nobody’s seen or heard from her,’ he said around it. ‘Even Cavanaugh’s at a loss. It’s like she just vanished into thin air.’
At three o’clock in the afternoon they were alone in the house and Maggie was glad of the company. She poured a cup of coffee from the pot that always seemed to be heating on the stove and handed it to him. Despite her initial mistrust of the man, he had proven himself to be a diligent lawman.
‘My guess is, she’s left town,’ he concluded. He swallowed the hot coffee and handed her the empty mug. ‘I’ll let you know if anything changes,’ he said, slicking back his long grey hair and replacing his hat. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to give you this.’ He reached into his coat pocket and handed her an envelope, lingering while she opened it.
Dear Miss Stanford,
I will be at your father’s house to take inventory between 2 and 4 this afternoon. I would be most grateful if you would join me. Perhaps we could start talks about your future plans.
Yours faithfully,
Andrew Philips
Attorney at Law
‘It’s from my father’s attorney,’ Maggie said, noting the question on the sheriff’s face. ‘He wants to see me this afternoon.’
