She wanted to slap him, but exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed her. Emily gripped the edge of the table, shutting her eyes. “It’s none of your business, Mr. Hughes.”
“But it is my business, Miss Burnham,” he said in a low, biting voice. “And it’s the concern of every man employed at the mine, and every woman who’s suddenly found herself a widow. You were a fool not to keep your personal feelings for McClanahan separate from your business dealings with him. But I was a bigger fool for letting it happen—and for allowing you to deceive people about your identity in the first place. And now I have to visit the dead miners’ families. God knows what I’ll think of to say to them.”
Emily watched him stride toward the vestibule, her pulse still pounding angrily. Of all the nerve, to call her a lovelorn ninny, after the grueling day she’d spent patching up her employees and watching her father’s mine go up in flames! Yet as she tossed fitfully in her bed that night, she realized that Silas was right, and that he was paying a high price for going along with her fantasies about avenging Papa’s death. There was only one decent thing to do now. And as Emily mumbled her prayers before dropping off to sleep, she hoped her decision wouldn’t make things even worse.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emily sat down at the table, smoothing the folds of her plainest brown dress. After a night of soul-searching she still wasn’t sure how to state her plan to Silas, whose egg-smeared plate and silverware were pushed toward the center of the table. He was engrossed in the Cripple Creek Times, his head encircled with cigar smoke as he read the account of the explosion—or else he was doing a fine job of ignoring her.
“Thanks, Idaho,” she murmured as the old cook set a plate of biscuits, bacon, and eggs before her. She poured a cup of tea, hesitant to interrupt the mine manager’s concentration. It was embarrassing—downright infuriating —to know that Silas Hughes had seen through her feelings for Matt before they’d gone to the ranch. He seemed so certain that McClanahan was above reproach, innocent of Papa’s murder. Emily had expected her father’s partner to be angry about McClanahan not coming back, but she was appalled that he’d taken Matt’s side and not her own.
Maybe she had fallen prey to her imagination. Papa had often chided her about jumping to conclusions before all the evidence was presented. She glanced up as Silas turned a page; she owed him an apology for behaving so badly last night, but she refused to discuss her grudge against Matt. “Looks like the Times ran a big spread on the explosion,” she began quietly.
Silas was silent for several seconds, as though still ignoring her. “Biggest tragedy this town’s seen for a few years. I’m not looking forward to being hounded by reporters as the cleanup progresses, either.”
Emily nodded and broke a biscuit in half. “I don’t suppose I ought to volunteer any information, if they happen to ask me about it.”
The mine superintendent’s expression was guarded as Idaho shuffled through the dining room to answer a knock at the front door. “That’s the most sensible statement you’ve made lately, young lady.”
“Silas, I—I was upset and tired last night, and I said some things I didn’t—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hughes,” the colored housekeeper murmured as he approached the table. “Marshal Thompson wants a word with you. Says it’s urgent.”
Silas scowled. “Show him in. I hope there hasn’t been more trouble at the mine.”
The tall marshal strode into the room, smiling politely as he refused the plate of breakfast Idaho offered him. He sat down beside Silas and nodded at Emily as he removed his hat. “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but Grath’s been flitting around his cell like a crazed squirrel since the Angel Claire blew up. He says he’ll talk, but only if you and the girl are there to listen.”
Emily’s heart rattled against her ribcage as Silas gave her a wary glance. How much did Thompson know about who she really was?
“He’s admitting he planted the dynamite?” her father’s partner asked cautiously.
“That’s my guess. But he’s so damn jittery, I wouldn’t be surprised if he forgets why I’ve asked you to come.”
“Probably opium withdrawal.” The mine manager laid his newspaper aside, letting out a long breath. “What happens if he admits his guilt?”
“He gets shipped to the state pen in Canon City to await trial,” Thompson replied. “Can’t happen too soon, far as I’m concerned. He’s driving me crazy with that hyena laugh.”
Emily pretended to be eating so her nervousness wouldn’t show. Why did Grath want her there, unless he intended to expose her deception? This was the worst possible day for Cripple Creek to learn about how she’d established herself here under false pretenses.
“We’ll be there as soon as we finish breakfast, Barry,” Silas stated.
“I’d appreciate it.” The marshal rose from his chair and positioned his hat on his thick thatch of hair. “Grath was asking for McClanahan, too, but they tell me he’s checked out of the Imperial. You wouldn’t know where I could find him, would you?”
“He’s still in Colorado Springs, going over cattle accounts at the Flaming B,” Silas replied coolly. “We’ve sent word to Miss Burnham about her mine, but it always takes a while to receive her reply.”
Thompson shook his head. “This isn’t news she’ll want to hear. Sorry you lost so many good men, Hughes. Let me know if I can send some deputies to keep the curiosity seekers away once you start digging through the rubble.”
“Thanks, Barry, I might have to take you up on that.”
“Miss Eliza,” the marshal said with a nod.
She smiled feebly, watching him walk toward the vestibule with long, confident strides. “Is Clancy Donahue still in jail, Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes, ma’am, he is. I hear Miss Chatterly might pay his bail, though.” Thompson turned, giving her a cautious smile. “Since Zenia Collins took off with that piano player, the tension’s eased a bit at the Golden Rose, but nobody Victoria’s tried as a bouncer can keep order the way Donahue did. I’d think twice about getting him riled. Well—see you folks in a bit.”
When the door closed, Emily frowned. “Zenia and Josh ran off? I never dreamed she’d leave until she worked off her debt to—”
“Victoria told me the dresses were paid in full,” Silas replied with a shrug. “Didn’t say who the girl’s benefactor was, though.”
She looked pointedly at Idaho, who was clearing Silas’s place.
“Wasn’t my money she used,” the old man insisted, “but I’d certainly have given it to her. Sweet childlike that’s meant for a higher purpose than whoring.”
Emily nodded absently and let him take her plate. How could so much have happened in the few short days she’d spent at the ranch? When she felt Silas gazing at her, she looked up from her musings.
“Shall we put aside our differences for now and see what Grath has to say?” he asked quietly. “I’m not sure I’ll believe all I hear, but it’s better for everyone if we can point a finger at the culprit in the Angel Claire disaster.”
During the buggy ride across town, Emily tried to keep her thoughts under control. The idea of confronting Papa’s killer and her kidnapper frightened her. If those wicked little eyes had seen through her deception, what might the maniacal blaster say about her now that he’d been deprived of his drug for several days?
“Are you all right?” Hughes asked as he halted the horses in front of the marshal’s office.
Emily glanced toward the window, where Barry was looking out. “Grath knows who I am, Silas. What if he only asked me here to expose my story? If the miners find out—”
“I doubt anything he says will get past the jail walls unless Thompson wants it to, but you’ve got a point.” Silas secured the reins and came around to help her down. “Maybe it’s time the marshal learned the truth anyway. He’ll be more help come time to tell the men, if he’s had a chance to mull the whole thing over. We’ll just have to see what Grath says.”
Emily nodded
, and decided her best strategy was to remain silent unless she was spoken to. The last thing Silas needed was a write-up in the local papers about shouted accusations and denials between the Angel Claire’s saboteur and a young woman who turned out to be Elliott Burnham’s daughter.
The marshal’s office was small and cluttered, smelling of stale coffee and unwashed bodies. From Thompson’s desk she could see down the short hallway to where Clancy Donahue lounged on his bunk, looking like a bear who’d digested a large meal and was ready to hibernate. There was the clatter of a tin cup being raked across cell bars, and a familiar voice rasped, “Bring ‘em in here, Thompson. Let’s get this show over with.”
“Shut up. You’ll get your say in due time.” The marshal looked at them with an apologetic smile. “Obnoxious little weasel refuses to eat, and tries to bribe me into bringing him a pipe. You might hear things that’ll burn your ears, Eliza.”
Emily nodded, looking away from his curious gaze. She’d seen Barry Thompson dozens of times at the Golden Rose, yet she’d never felt so scrutinized, as though she were under suspicion for blowing up the mine. When the marshal led the way to a small room at the end of the hall, she followed him, focusing on his broad back so she wouldn’t see Nigel Grath leering at her from his cell. She took the chair Thompson offered, scooting it closer to Silas as he sat down. The dark, unadorned walls seemed to close in on them…how would they protect themselves if Grath went berserk in here?
Yet when Thompson led him in, the prisoner seemed unusually subdued. Grath sat down at the opposite end of the wooden table, resting his shackled hands on its scarred surface. He’d lost weight—what kept him from slipping those skinny wrists out of his handcuffs? Emily felt him watching her, but she avoided the temptation to glare back at him. The marshal leaned against the closed door behind them, silent.
After an uncomfortable pause, Silas spoke first. “Well? Say your piece, dammit. Plenty of worthier men deserve my attention right now.”
Grath cleared his throat, and in a slow, gravelly whine, he began. “I said I’d send the Angel Claire sky-high, and I did.”
“What the hell for?” The mine manager nearly sprang from his chair, but he caught himself. He clenched his fists, glaring across the little table.
“‘Twas my way of callin’ attention to intolerable conditions,” Nigel replied, his words accented with hatred. “You men who bank the profits offa that gold—wearin’ your fancy suits and drinkin’ your fancy whiskey—don’t understand about slavin’ in that damn hellhole.”
Silas crossed his arms stiffly. “That’s why the Federation exists—to hear grievances and present them to the management. You could’ve—”
“I didn’t ask ya here for a lecture, Hughes,” Grath snarled. He banged his handcuffs against the table, then let out a long breath and sat back. “I’ve confessed to my crime now. I didn’t have to, ya know.”
“You sniveling little bastard! You’ll roast in hell for killing all those men,” Silas said in a menacing whisper. “And I intend to see that you rot in that penitentiary—solitary confinement in an unlighted cell until they put you to death.”
Emily shifted; she’d never heard Silas Hughes sound so set on retribution. She fixed her gaze on the taut, white hands that gripped the edge of his chair seat, not daring to look at Nigel Grath.
“Did you dig that blasting pattern in Phantom Canyon a few weeks back?” the marshal asked from his post at the door. “Hundreds of lives could’ve been lost there, too.”
Grath’s laugh was disjointed and it echoed in the tiny room. “Your men never found no dynamite, did they, Thompson? I know, ‘cause I watched ‘em search. Them holes was just a warnin’—a warnin’ Hughes shoulda took seriously. Gave me a chance to do my real work at the mine.”
So McClanahan had guessed correctly: Nigel Grath was pulling their strings during the whole episode at Phantom Canyon. Emily was glad Matt wasn’t here to gloat, yet his presence would’ve had a stabilizing effect—one more man to subdue Grath as he began to act like the crazed addict the marshal claimed he was. Thompson showed no sign of leading the blaster back to his cell, but surely the prisoner wouldn’t confess to anything else. All he could do now was point the finger at her and talk about—
“Whatcha so nervous about, girlie? I’d think you’d be dancin’ a jig on this table, seein’ me gettin’ my comeuppance.”
Emily didn’t respond. She glanced briefly at Silas, whose steady gaze confirmed the wisdom of her silence.
“Lookit me, you lyin’ little bitch.” Grath said in a loud rasp. “I coulda had you for dessert down in that abandoned shaft, but no—I listened to your damn ransom idea.”
“Which proves she’s a lot smarter than you are,” Silas cut in smugly.
“I wanna hear her say that,” the blaster taunted. “I’m not the only one who’s told a few tales, am I, Blondie?”
Emily eyed him coldly, despising the ferretlike face beneath his scraggly, dark hair. “What decent person wouldn’t try to get away from you?” she said in a shaky voice. “You’re the filthiest, greediest little—”
“Murderer,” Grath finished with a nasty laugh. His shiny eyes narrowed as he leaned toward her. “It don’t make no difference if I admit to it now, since I’m bein’ locked up for blastin’ the mine. I did kill your daddy, Blondie. Just wanted to be sure you knew that, before they put me away.” He stood, letting out a high, loonish laugh as he swayed toward the door “Show’s over, Thompson. Now get me the hell outta here.”
Emily’s knees knocked, and she could not catch her breath as the lawman grabbed Grath by the shoulder.
“What’s this about her father?” Thompson demanded as he pressed the scrawny convict against the wall. “Eliza is Hughes’s niece, and her father abandoned her when—”
An ear-piercing cackle rang around the walls of the little room. “Which means Hughes and Blondie are bigger liars than me. That’s Elliott Burnham’s daughter, Thompson. Been pullin’ the wool over our eyes for more than a month.”
The marshal shot them a confused glance and then shoved Nigel Grath out the door ahead of him. “I’ve had all I can take of your crazy yammering. Now get in this cell and shut your…”
As Barry’s voice faded down the hall, Emily began to pace. “Now what do we do? That damn—”
“We stay calm and answer Thompson’s questions,” Silas replied firmly. He stepped in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You heard him—he thinks Grath’s out of his head. But if we tell him the truth, Barry’ll understand why we kept your name a secret. And now that the murderer’s confessed, it’s time to set things straight anyway”
“That’s an interesting theory, Silas. Maybe you’d better explain it.”
Emily gasped when she saw that Marshal Thompson was watching them. He shut the door, and then came over to study her carefully. “Silas was only protecting me from men who might try to take over Papa’s estate,” she said weakly. “The whole scheme was my idea, and it…sort of backfired.”
Barry lifted her chin with a broad, calloused hand, a dimple flickering in his cheek. “You really are E. R. Burnham’s daughter?”
She nodded, wishing McClanahan were here to help smooth out her tangled stories. Matt might be underhanded, but having the marshal for a friend was a point in his favor at times like these.
“Now why didn’t I see that? I’ve looked you over a dozen times—and I knew Burnham had a girl about your age.” He shook his head, releasing her. “How’d it happen, sweetheart? As I recall, you showed up in Cripple Creek several weeks ago.”
“Right after Sheriff Fredricks called off his search for Elliott’s killer,” Silas added quietly. “Emily didn’t see the man who shot him, but she thought he might reappear at one of the Burnham businesses—and she was right. Out of respect for Elliott, I went along with her plan to ferret out his murderer, pretending to be her uncle. It’s not the most honorable thing I’ve ever done, but I felt the end justified the means.”
The marshal was still shaking his head, looking amused yet bewildered because he’d fallen for her ruse. “Nobody can fault you for helping her, Silas. But if the miners get word that you and Miss Burnham have lied to them—especially now—you might have an uprising on your hands to equal the one a few years back.” Thompson focused wide, gentle eyes on Emily, studying her with an intensity that seemed as personal as it was professional. “Who else knows?”
“Idaho, and Clancy Donahue, and the men at the ranch,” Emily mumbled.
“And Matt McClanahan,” the mine manager added. “For a while, we thought he killed Elliott, but since we’ve taken him into our confidence we’ve discovered he’s a good man to have on our side.”
“I’ve known Matt a long time, and I’ve never seen him draw his gun,” Barry said. Then he glanced in the direction of the cells. “You’d better find a way to tell your men about this as soon as possible, because folks’ll get suspicious if Miss Burnham doesn’t come to Cripple, now that her mine’s in a shambles. I’ll ship Grath to Canon City tomorrow, so he won’t cause you any more trouble than you’ve already got.” He paused, stroking his chin. “You think Donahue’ll stay quiet about this? Victoria’s decided to hire him back, and he and Grath have gotten pretty thick since they’ve been in here.”
“It’s in his own best interest to let me do the talking,” Silas replied. “Miss Chatterly only tolerates him because he’s big, and because she thinks Emily transferred him to the Golden Rose.”
“The ranch foreman’s not keen on taking him back either,” Emily chimed in. “So if he shoots off his mouth, he’ll be out of a job completely.”
Colorado Captive Page 24
