In many ways, Trisha and Edgar had become her inspiration. They’d taken a chance putting all their savings into the Great West Café, experimenting outside the normal roast, stew, meatloaf, and steak. Those could be had at almost any town in the west.
Each week, their clientele grew. At some point, she suspected they’d need to expand. Right now, they were doing everything right, without the large investment from partners such as August, the MacLarens, and Bay. She admired them.
One day, Suzette hoped to have enough money to start her own restaurant, but that time wouldn’t be soon.
“Miss Gasnier?”
She looked up to see one of the newer servers. “Yes?”
“There’s a man up front. He says he has an appointment with you and Mr. Fielder.”
“Thank you.” Setting aside the menu, she smoothed her hands down her black shirt and walked toward the man August had brought up from Sacramento. He’d turned to look outside, his back to her.
Stopping several feet away, she studied his tall, broad frame, noticing the way his shirt pulled taut across his back. She guessed him to be well over six feet. His dark brown hair, streaked with gold, fell loose over his shoulders, something they’d have to discuss. He must have sensed her behind him because he turned, causing her to take a step back.
“Are you Miss Gasnier?” His deep, rich voice caused her throat to tighten.
“I am. You must be Mr. Clayton.”
“If you don’t mind, I prefer Ezekiel or Zeke. If I get the job, that is. If not, Mr. Clayton is fine.”
Her mouth twitched, noticing the way his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ezekiel is fine for now, but you must use your surname when representing the restaurant.”
Mouth curling upward, he nodded. “Fair enough.”
She continued to stare, fascinated by his manner and chiseled features. Sharp cheekbones, square jaw, straight nose, and the most piercing, deep gray eyes she’d ever seen. Shaking herself before he caught her staring, Suzette gestured toward a table.
“Let’s sit down and talk. Would you like coffee?”
“Coffee would be appreciated. Black.”
She nodded, signaling the server. They made small talk until two cups of coffee were placed before them. Less than a minute later, August entered the restaurant through the back door, heading straight for their table. Extending his hand, he smiled.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ezekiel.”
Standing, he took the offered hand. “Mr. Fielder. Thank you for sending me the fare to come north.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Suzette lifted her hand to the server, silently asking for another coffee as the men sat down. When the cup was set in front of August, he took a sip, leaning back in the chair.
“Tell me what I missed.”
“Nothing, really. Mr. Clayton arrived five minutes ago and we just sat down before you arrived.”
An hour later, Ezekiel walked out as the new assistant manager of the restaurant, with an opportunity to add the hotel to his responsibilities after proving himself to the partners. August returned to his office and Suzette sipped a third cup of coffee, creating a new schedule with her as the head chef. A change she still had to disclose to the current chef.
It wouldn’t surprise her if the man left, boarding the next steamship for Sacramento. The idea provided more relief than apprehension.
Sometime during their discussion with Ezekiel, she’d begun to doubt her desire to leave. Hiring an assistant manager stirred something inside her, a reminder of the obligations she wanted to fulfill. With or without Bay, she had a purpose, a reason for staying in Conviction.
Body buzzing with unanticipated excitement, she continued to jot down notes for herself, Ezekiel, and August. Without much thought, she began a separate list about Bay. Not to show him. What she wrote now would be for her eyes only.
“Miss Gasnier, we’ll be opening in an hour. The chef asked to see you as soon as possible.”
“Please tell him I’ll be there in a couple minutes.” She stared down at the last list, perhaps the most important one, deciding to work on it more at home.
Picking up her papers and empty cup, Suzette headed to the back, hearing the door open. Turning, a smile tipped her lips seeing Ezekiel walk in. Wearing a white shirt, black slacks, stylish black coat, and black string tie, he strolled toward her with a confidence she hadn’t noticed an hour before. A small grin tilted her lips when she noticed his long hair had been pulled into a tidy queue.
“I hope I’m not too early, Miss Gasnier.”
She appreciated his professional manner and appearance. She might be married in the legal sense, and did love Bay, but she wasn’t blind to a handsome man. And Ezekiel had to be one of the most striking men she’d ever seen.
“Not too early at all. I’m going to the kitchen. I’d like you to join me.” She led him to the back, pointing out areas used to prepare coffee and tea, where they kept clean plates, silverware, and napkins, and the location of various wines, liquor, and beer.
As they approached the kitchen, Suzette turned toward him, lowering her voice. “It might take time to learn to appreciate the chef’s personality.” She shot Ezekiel a conspiratorial look. “He’s quite talented. He can also be extremely challenging. That, Ezekiel, is the only warning you’ll get.”
Shoving open the kitchen door, she grinned at his deep chuckle, enjoying work for the first time in weeks.
Bay grimaced, rubbing his hand over his forehead to swipe away the moisture. Between his pounding head, persistent ache in his gut, and cold sweats, he had a difficult time concentrating on the contract before him. Nor had he been able to focus on any of his work since returning from lunch with Suzette.
Even if she hadn’t asked about something troubling him, he’d noticed the look of concern on her face, the way she studied him throughout the meal. It had taken all his willpower to eat as much as he had. Several times, he’d steeled himself when a sharp pain in his stomach almost bent him over. Bay didn’t believe Suzette noticed, but it wouldn’t be long before the symptoms increased to a point he couldn’t hide them.
He thought of the discussion with August and Jasper that morning. Tonight, he’d need to have a serious talk with Suzette, let her know he might not be around to fulfill his promise of a future.
Jasper had returned from the clinic late that morning, letting Bay and August know Doc Vickery didn’t have the equipment to determine the presence of poison in the bottles. The doctor did rush to the telegraph office, sending a message to a chemist in San Francisco, letting him know the bottles would be on the next stage. Afterward, Vickery packed the two whiskey bottles, deciding not to send the decanter. Giving them to Jasper to deliver to the stagecoach station in time for the early afternoon stage, Vickery sent him off with a strong message that Bay was to come to the clinic right away. They may have to wait for results from the chemist, but that didn’t mean the doctor couldn’t explore other possibilities for Bay’s illness.
Lunch with Suzette had been difficult. He hadn’t planned it to be, but whatever plagued him wouldn’t let up, dragging him down both physically and mentally. Bay saw the worry in Suzette’s eyes, the concern in her voice, hating himself for keeping his illness from her. That would change tonight.
If the chemist confirmed the presence of strychnine, thallium, arsenic, or some other poison, Doc Vickery should be able to provide treatment and a prediction for recovery. If nothing was found, Bay had no idea what would happen next. Judging by the way he felt today, there could be a strong likelihood he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy a future with Suzette.
Feeling his fingers tingle, Bay clenched and unclenched his hands, not getting the expected relief. Scrubbing his hands down his face, he stood and walked to the open window, hoping to clear his head.
Staring down at the street, he watched several wagons loaded with supplies pass by, riders on horseback weave between them, and townsfolk rushing across the street, doing
their best not to spook the horses. A typical day in Conviction.
He turned at the knock on his office door. “Come in.” A small grin lifted his lips at the sight of Brodie.
“Am I interrupting, lad?”
Bay walked to him, shaking his hand. “Not at all. Have a seat.”
“I got the message from August saying you needed to talk to me. Sorry I couldn’t come by earlier. Nate sent a message about a stagecoach robbery between here and Settlers Valley. There’s a good possibility it could be Delgado. Colt, Seth, Alex, and Jack are watching his sister’s place.” He stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Why did you need to see me?”
Bay looked away, letting out a ragged breath before beginning. He explained his ailments, his suspicion of being poisoned, the gut instinct telling him the culprit might be Ev Hunt.
All the while, Brodie said nothing, his features a mask, taking in everything Bay said.
Finishing, Bay leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of the desk. “Has there been any sign of him, Brodie?”
“Nae, but I’ve been shorthanded. The lads haven’t been able to search as thoroughly as they should.” Brodie pulled his legs back and stood, pacing toward the window. “What does Doc Vickery say?”
Clearing his throat, Bay grimaced. “I haven’t seen him or Doc Tilden.”
Throwing up his hands, Brodie glared at him. “Ach. You’re as bad as my kin. Get up, lad. You’re going with me to see the doc, and if you resist, I’ll arrest you and drag your eejit arse there myself.”
Bay found himself chuckling. The first light moment he’d had all day. “There’s nothing—”
He didn’t finish before Brodie took several menacing steps toward him. Holding up his hands, Bay shook his head.
“Fine. I’ll go with you.”
“Excellent choice, lad.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Until we get the results from the chemist, I can’t be certain what’s wrong with you, Bay.” Doctor Jonathon Vickery stepped away, pursing his lips as he let out a frustrated breath. “You have a fever, and along with the other symptoms…”
His voice faded away as he moved closer, taking another look into Bay’s eyes, then listened to the beating of his heart. A moment later, he set his newly acquired stethoscope on a table by the bed.
“I’m sorry, but if you asked me to guess, I’d say you’ve been poisoned.”
Lowering his head, Bay stared at his boots, feeling another wave of nausea. “Any idea which one?”
Leaning against the bed, Vickery stroked his chin. “I’m not an expert on poisons, but I doubt it’s strychnine since you don’t have muscle spasms and…” He shot Bay a wry grin, “you’re still alive. The symptoms are consistent with cyanide, but it’s a difficult poison to dispense without the victim knowing about it.” Letting out a breath, his mouth twisted. “My choice would be arsenic. The symptoms are similar to cyanide, but it can be mixed with whiskey, wine, coffee, tea. If the killer wants it done slowly, he uses less arsenic. If the death is to be quick, he uses more.”
Bay nodded, his throat constricting. “Arsenic.” He glanced up, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Is it too late to do anything about it?”
“Well, until we know for sure it’s arsenic, there isn’t much that can be done. Truthfully, if the chemist does identify the poison as arsenic, I don’t know of any treatment, except not ingesting any more and hoping it’s been discovered in time.”
“Suzette Gasnier and another friend have had a couple drinks of the whiskey. Should they be concerned?”
Pulling over a chair, Vickery sat down. “My thought is, whoever did this meant for it to affect you over several weeks. They would’ve used small amounts of poison. A few drinks wouldn’t cause more than a slight headache. Have you gotten rid of all bottles in your office and house?”
Bay shook his head. “Only the bottles and decanters with whiskey.”
“You need to get rid of anything that might be tainted. Clean all glasses, plates, and silverware.”
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Bay nodded again. “Anything else?”
“Don’t eat or drink anything not made by you or someone you trust. I’ll check my medical journals and let you know if there’s more. For now, get as much rest as you can and watch what you eat or drink.”
Pushing off the bed, Bay stood, holding out his hand to Vickery. “Thanks, Doc.”
Grasping the outstretched hand, he offered a grim smile. “We’re not planning your funeral yet.”
Strapping his gunbelt around his waist before grabbing his hat, Bay walked outside. His stomach growled, indicating it was later than he thought. Glancing around, he pulled out his pocket watch. He could either go to the café or arrive early at the Feather River Restaurant so he could eat while being close to Suzette. Seeing the woman he loved won out.
Stepping off the boardwalk and into the street, he groaned at the sudden pain in his head. The discomfort had become so intense it sometimes blinded him. This evening it was more forceful than usual.
Continuing to the opposite boardwalk, he gripped the handrail, almost stumbling as he lifted his booted feet onto the wooden planks. Stopping, he glanced around, doing what he could to regain his balance. His head spun, stomach beginning to roil. Sucking in a deep breath, he removed his hat, swiping a sleeve across his forehead. Another round of cold sweats had assaulted him at the clinic, growing worse as he crossed the street.
Bay hadn’t swallowed a drop of whiskey in over twenty-four hours. He’d hoped the effects would begin to fade. So far, nothing had improved. In fact, they may have gotten a little worse, but he couldn’t dwell on the fact his life might slowly be seeping away.
Holding onto the rail, he continued to take slow, deep breaths until the cramps and headache lessened. He’d already agreed to speak to Suzette tonight, a dreaded conversation which had to take place, no matter how difficult.
Readjusting his hat low on his forehead, Bay continued to the next street over. Walking between Lucky’s, one of the smaller saloons, and Ferguson’s Harness and Saddlery, the lights of the restaurant came into view.
Getting closer, he hesitated outside, looking through the large window. A tall man with broad shoulders, hair pulled back in a queue, moved between the tables. Bay watched as he spoke to the customers, sometimes shaking hands, other times talking and laughing. He found himself searching the rest of the crowded dining room, confusion passing through him when he didn’t see Suzette.
Stepping inside, Bay didn’t wait for the new man to approach. Instead, he weaved his way to the back, reaching the kitchen door when a large, strong hand gripped his arm. Bracing himself for a fight, he looked up, meeting the determined, yet not unfriendly gaze of the new man.
He dropped his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but only those who work here are allowed in the back.”
Turning to face him, Bay allowed his initial irritation to fade. “What about owners?”
Eyes widening for a second, he opened his mouth to respond when the kitchen door opened, a broad smile breaking across Suzette’s face.
“Mr. Donahue.” She glanced between the two, stepping closer. “Have you met the new assistant manager?”
Bay shook his head. “Not formally.”
Ignoring the simmering tension between the two, she made introductions, watching as they shook hands. “I should also inform you the chef quit.”
Bay’s lips thinned, not missing the joy showing on her face. “Does that mean you’re taking over the chef’s duties?”
“Yes.”
Ezekiel cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. Nice meeting you, Mr. Donahue.”
Bay gave a curt nod. “Mr. Clayton.”
His face and voice softened when his gaze returned to Suzette. “Are you happy with the change?”
“I am, although the chef quitting upset the other two people in the kitchen for a bit. They’re fine now.” She studied him, seeing t
he dark circles under his eyes, his pale skin. “Have you had supper?”
“No.”
She touched his arm, turning him toward the dining room. “There’s a quiet table in the corner. Do you trust me to bring you something or would you like to see the menu?” She stopped next to the table.
Bending to her ear, Bay lowered his voice. “I trust you, Suzette.”
Her breath hitched. “All right. I’ll bring it out to you.” Turning away, she stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Would you care for wine?”
“No.”
The one word had her brows drawing together. “I’ll ask one of the servers to get you coffee.”
Returning to the kitchen, she prepared Bay the evening’s special, and knowing they were one of his favorites, added extra potatoes. Finding herself staring down at his meal, she let out a worried breath.
He’d agreed they would talk tonight. The sallowness of his features, dull glint to his eyes, and the way his body tensed every so often as if in pain told Suzette something was very wrong. She’d thought of asking August, deciding it would be best to hear the story from Bay. Plus, going behind his back to his business partner would only cause more problems, and they had enough of them already.
“Would you like me to deliver that?” Ezekiel’s voice cut into her thoughts.
“No, but thank you.” She nodded at two other plates. “Those may be delivered.”
Picking up the plates, he stopped a moment. “These may be the last meals of the night. The place is pretty deserted. Just the couple who ordered these and Mr. Donahue.”
“Then it appears we’ll be closing on time tonight.”
Ezekiel didn’t budge. “I’ve heard of him before.”
“You’ve heard of who?”
“Bay Donahue. I used to live in Missouri, not too far from St. Louis.”
She swallowed, nodding.
“Anyway, it’s a name you’re not likely to forget. I’d better get these out front.” He pushed through the door.
His departure left Suzette wondering if there’d ever be a time Bay’s past and name would fade. She also wondered about Ezekiel. Was he one of those men who’d heard about Bay moving to Conviction and wanted to take him on? Shaking her head, she stared at the closed door. If he were, Ezekiel wouldn’t have brought up Bay’s past. He’d have kept silent, waiting for the best time to strike.
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