Ghosts in the Gulch: An Evergreen Cemetery Mystery (Evergreen Cemetery Mysteries Book 1)

by S. L. Hawke

  “Drink?” Ian offered to Sloan before John could ruin the moment or insult this unexpected visitor any further. Sloan’s boots were made from the finest leather and the watch he carried was not ostentatious or cheap, but finely made from Europe. Money, and lots of it, Ian saw was around him. He’d been raised in the old country by the way he spoke Gaelic and was owed respect.

  “Did my dear brother-in-law regale you with the tale of our first meeting in said yonder gulch up near the property you so reviled?” John grinned in a warning way. Ian decided when his business was done, John would simply die. How to make it look like an accident would be difficult.

  “I’m afraid you gentlemen have me at a disadvantage.” Sloan had a steady eye, Ian saw. He even declined the whiskey. Sloan nodded to Captain Ingram.

  “Rufus Ingram, Captain of the Southern Cross.” Rufus bowed slightly, his manners and rich house betraying him in a good way. Ian relaxed, and realized Ingram was not totally useless in the drawing room either. “I’m afraid I don’t make landfall much. Is this gulch a place where one can get delightful entertainment?”

  “For once man, could you not think about your buggered habits?” Ian growled, then grew embarrassed by his display of bad temper. Sloan was about to speak when John interrupted him.

  “We met, Sir Ian,” John now stood, clutching his whip as he came closer to Sloan, “Captain Rufus—” until he was just a few feet from Sloan, where he turned away and decided to go to the servant’s bell pull instead. “We had a little tête à tête over a horse near the Rodríguez Gulch.”

  The same servant that let Sloan in appeared with a bow. John told the servant to bring a meal for them all and lay it out on the sideboard. “Did Ian tell you, his lady love—”

  “Don’t believe everything that comes out of the mouth of a politician.” Ian finished John’s sentence. Sloan’s eyebrows went up as he looked down at John for a moment. An intelligent man’s movement, Ian saw.

  “Here, here!” Ingram agreed again and offered Sloan brandy, holding aloft the crystal carafe like a large toasting glass. Sloan again declined.

  “I believe I came here to see how my sister is faring in her new home?” Sloan looked around him but did not seem as impressed by the European rugs and wood. Ian smiled slightly. Sloan’s suit was meticulously clean, made from the best fabric he had seen since his visit to London two years previous.

  “I understand you spent some time in the Orient?” Ian asked carefully. Sloan met his eye.

  “We held sway there, and still do,” Ingram pointed out as he handed Sloan a glass of brandy despite his earlier decline. Sloan took the glass and held it politely, then put it down on another end table. “I imagine you were there with the first Yankee takeover?”

  “I was.” Sloan took the deep breath of a man that had seen battle. Ian was satisfied of Sloan’s genuineness. He was the first man that Ian had met that did not bring out the need to be killed.

  “It is an easier trade route currently, though I hear the isthmus is gaining in its popularity.”

  “Money in sugar then,” Ian said, interested in the lack of information Sloan seemed to impart.

  “Some. Rice, wood, tea. Hawai’i is the natural stopping point for all the vessels.”

  “Yes, yes indeed!” Ingram became animated.

  Sloan’s pronunciation of the indigenous word for the Islands showed his true skill. Yes, he could be an asset to our operation, maybe even charm the Californios for us, Ian thought.

  “A nice profit when you put in as well,” Ingram continued, “then onward to Santa Cruz with fruits and flowers that keep their freshness because we pack snow from the volcano there into the holds.”

  “Please.” John shook his head. “A volcano is a volcano and I believe it spouts fire! Not snow, man!” He broke out into extremely loud wheezy laughter. But Ian saw Ingram smile somewhat, his eyes glint at the insult in a way that made Ian somewhat nervous. Don’t underestimate him, Ian decided. Acting stupidly was Ingram’s false parry, Ian suddenly saw. Ian made sure to watch Ingram more carefully from here on out.

  “Actually, the volcano’s active peak is further down the island. The main mountain, Mauna Kea, is like Mount Fuji in Japan, snowbound most of the year.” Sloan stated the facts, making Ian feel confident that Sloan’s involvement might help them a great deal. He was escorted here by the Marshals and was, if he heard the story right, a witness to the sinking of The Whore.

  “Quite. I’m very fond of the fruit from that exotic place,” Ingram said to no one in particular, but he too was warming to Sloan.

  “After all your years abroad, why come home now?” John struck the back of the chaise next to him, tearing the expensive silk.

  “I’m carrying a letter of referral to the Russian Consulate Estate.” Sloan addressed both of them in that careful manner of a soldier. Ian was relieved that he was correct in his assumptions but unsure of the politics. However, any support for European Royalty might seek sympathy for the South.

  “As what? A butler?” John laughed like a bellows. “Ian, there is your introduction at court if ever there was one.”

  “I hear the sister of Nikolai resides here.” Ingram’s eyes narrowed. Ian, too, wondered at this.

  “Well, my interest in the Estate is one of commerce only,” Sloan said. “It would appear that the Duchess has a terrible need for Southern cotton, and an understanding of the necessity of servants.”

  “OOOh,” John wriggled his fingers in the air as if everyone in the room were to pretend to be frightened. Ian tired of John’s theatrics. Yes, he would die, and I will personally see to it, in the end. “A Southern sympathizer in the heart of the Sloan Union dynasty.”

  Ian watched Sloan’s reaction to John’s intentional jibing. How he handled this would decide for Ian whether or not to invite him into the Golden Circle.

  “Let’s just say I am for an independent way of life and what I choose to do with my land, my property, my—” here Sloan deliberately paused and looked at each of them, “profit, is my affair, not the government’s. Especially my profit.”

  “I must say, your sister Cynthia will be mildly disappointed when she finds out what an anti-social cock o’ whoop you are!” John teased.

  “Women’s place in politics are face down in my pants!” Ingram said, holding his glass up in a toast to Sloan.

  Ian was speechless. Rarely had he met a person like himself. Ian strode forward and extended his hand. “Welcome to our circle.”

  The door burst open, startling all of them. With it came Sally, in a nearly see-through and tightly molded Parisian dress, and behind her a string of servants, both Chinese and African, who brought plates of hot and cold meats, a few strawberries and other soft fruits in syrup, fluffy rolls, a ripe cheese, and the head of a wild pig, not to eat, but to stare at everyone. Ian took out the eyeball with the knife he carried in his riding boot. Sally did not approach him as he thought she might, but instead looked at Sloan with an almost hopeful air.

  “Mr. Sloan, how lovely to meet with you again!” Sally said with her wide mouth that Ian knew must know the taste of every man John had need of, except of course, for him. Let’s hope Sloan doesn’t fall into that mouth, he thought. Sloan smiled very slightly at Sally. He knew what she did. Ian poured himself a brandy.

  “Here’s to profit!” Ian toasted.

  “Profit!” they all sung in, all that is, except Sloan.

  8

  I was glad to leave this house. After McKenna’s toast, I left the room and crept up the stairs to find my sister’s room. Instead, Sally cornered me.

  “She’s asleep, the poor thing. My brother is such a bully.” Sally pressed close, smelling of smoke, whiskey, and a sharp perfume.

  “Please tell her I will drop by another time.” There was no room on the unfinished stairwell to move away.

  “I’d like to see you too, Mr. Sloan.” Sally pressed her hands against my vest. They began to move downward. I grabbed them, ashamed of the respon
se I was having to her, despite the fact that I had watched her suck the General’s balls dry. She smiled at me, making me want to let her hands go suddenly, just daring her to try. I felt two things, one caressed me with stunning expertise. I could not hide my response. The second hand went right where I had hoped.

  “Another time,” I said hoarsely, after I felt her remove my gold. I moved quickly back down the stairwell, checking my clock as I did so. I was overdue and worried about Lam being out in the dark. When I left the steps of the house, I breathed deeply and felt for the gold bullion in my vest pocket.

  As I hoped, it was gone.

  The bait had been taken. Now I had to make sure to follow the quarry to its lair. The problem was, how to get in contact with McKenna in the right way without looking too eager. These were spirited horses that would bolt at the first sign of betrayal.

  Ingram’s brief was one of my first readings at the Marshal’s Office. He was constantly being served, but never found once at sea. Chances of bringing him in were not good, as he knew the Channel and the Gulf very well. From what I could see of his ability to escape custody, the Deputy or two seemed to “lose him” because they “didn’t think he’d have the gumption”. “Appeared cowardly, but shanked us all” were the many descriptions of Rufus Ingram.

  Art and I spoke on this and I learned that Rufus had spent time in France under the tutelage of a sect of the Templars. He was adept in sabre work and a point de siècle footwork that involved a specialized boot tip knife. He was perhaps, out of all the men so far, the most dangerous of the group.

  Suddenly I heard voices, a strange man’s and McKenna’s.

  “Where is Emma?” McKenna demanded.

  “I say, stand aside, McKenna, we came to inquire on Mrs. Elizabeth Towne’s health and to bring her soothing mendicants. Remember, my daughter and her cousin Emma are Royal.” This was a man I had yet to meet. Intrigued, I turned the corner to see a rotund short man with a young woman in dark maroon silk. She was beautiful and reminded me of someone, but I could not figure out exactly whom. The young woman hid herself behind her father’s arm, afraid.

  “I know she wants to see me,” McKenna insisted. His tone was pained, pleading, not one I would associate with so fierce an individual.

  “What Her Highness Emma Leonovna does is not any of our business. Request an audience with her guardian, the Duchess,” this small round man barked back. “I for one thought your behavior on my land towards Her Royal Highness was shameful. No wonder she will not be seen in public.”

  “She is in mourning, Papa,” a small voice eked out between this cloud of conversation.

  “It’s been long enough to mourn and in this town men need—” McKenna again pleaded with them, but there was threat in his voice.

  “I’ll tell you what they need,” the stranger interrupted McKenna, “Sir, is for men like you to know your place with the Royal Family!”

  “Pardon me for the intrusion?” Everyone stared at me. I held my hat in one hand and bowed slightly, saying as best I could in the little Hawaiian I knew, “It is my honor to meet you, your Royal Highness. Long life to the house of Lili’uokalani, Queen of Kaua’i.” It was a guess at which house had ties here, but I remembered while I lived there that Santa Cruz was held in favor within the court of the Queen.

  The change in the frightened daughter next to the equally upset, corpulent father was dramatic, as if the sun had suddenly come out from behind a rain cloud. She smiled, curtsied, and answered in Hawaiian: “Aloha…No, the honor is mine, noble sir. May I ask which house you call home?”

  “Aloha…My late wife’s house is of the Emperor’s cousin, Ikebara Harue, and her father is of the House of David Kamehameha. My name is A.J. Sloan,” I answered in English.

  “My sadness to your widowhood, sir. My mother is cousin to the Queen. I am Eliza Pauhani Schwann and this is my father Herbert Schwann,” she answered in Hawaiian and held her hand out. I bowed, took it lightly and placed my forehead near it, but not touching her gloved hand, as commoners are expected to do in court.

  Herbert Schwann seemed overly relieved and offered his hand in a hearty warm shake. “Very glad to meet you, sir. No doubt, kin to Mrs. Towne.”

  “Yes. You must forgive my associate, Mr. McKenna.” I placed both my hands on the brim of my hat and leaned forward slightly in a gesture of embarrassment. McKenna frowned at me but was too startled by my ability to keep Eliza, this Emma’s cousin, from running away that he stayed and regarded the whole exchange with some startled curiosity. “If your cousin has a tenth of your beauty, you cannot blame him for wishing to see to her circumstances and protect her.”

  McKenna did something rather odd at this point. His face lost that desperate fierceness and nodded, looking almost stupidly at the Schwanns. Somehow this brief statement changed the demeanor of Mr. Schwann. He huffed a bit.

  “Well, of course. I forget, being an old married man, what a beautiful young girl can do to a healthy young one. My Eliza is also spoken for, as is known, but—”

  “My fiancé is still in Hawai’i. I would have been in his company tonight if he had been in town,” Eliza answered in English.

  “Where is Emma?” McKenna demanded, then swallowed his words. I took a deep breath and then with a slight bow addressed the Schwanns.

  “This too is a concern of mine, as I have an appointment with Her Grace.” Here I paused for effect. “I do not want to intrude on the mourning of your cousin. Pray, who has died in her family?”

  “Oh Mr. Sloan, my dearest cousin Emma lost her husband two years ago. He was shot, they say by ruffians. Mr. McKenna, no doubt, can inform you as to the state of ruffians here.” At this point, the young princess regarded McKenna with terror, fear, and nothing other than loathing. McKenna tensed so much, I thought he might charge Mr. Schwann or, God forbid, this delicate young girl.

  “My sister is indisposed at the moment,” I explained quickly, hoping to calm the situation. “She became overtired due to her condition today. I’m afraid my homecoming was to blame. May I escort the both of you home this evening?” My offer had the effect intended. The tide of anger that appeared to rise within McKenna subsided. He was not a complete fool to see the moment for what it was.

  A servant behind them held an enormous basket of goods that I could see was from the islands. The spiky tops of pineapple poked out from the plethora of other delicacies only those of money could afford. I felt heartened that such a connection was made to my family outside of my own. I wondered if this were the same person Margaret had written to me about, and I wondered a few other things, such as what McKenna had hoped to gain by this aggression and intrusion onto a man with whom he had obtained steady employment. This Emma must be quite a sight to behold to drive him to such a state.

  “Your company is always welcome at our home,” Mr. Schwann replied, “but I have escort enough. Perhaps, as I see you are leaving, we could share your road of return?”

  “Your offer is very kind, but I must see to my sister’s errands before returning home.” Here I nodded and placed my hat on my head. I gave McKenna a watchful glance, then offered to assist the Princess back into her trap, but was replaced by the Chinese servant who had given his burden of gifts to the same black servant of John’s I’d seen earlier.

  The trap crept up the newly cut grade of the road now being named Towne Terrace, hitting fresh stone and creaking off into the darkness.

  “Take me with you when you go to the Estate,” McKenna demanded, but there seemed a hesitancy to the request.

  “They are sending for me when they want to see me. As far as I know, I don’t know when that could possibly be. She must be some beauty, this Emma woman.”

  “Go near her, and I will kill you.”

  For the first time this day, I believed that.

  The darkness and the fog were a welcome reprieve. I walked down to the bottom of the road, the opposite way of the Schwann carriage, passing all manner of Chinese servants, but not seeing Lam. T
hen I saw him, a tall, quiet presence that brought more comfort than I had known in a long while. But my thoughts turned to Juan and wondered what she was thinking, who she really was, and if she would be safe in this endeavor we were about to undertake together.

  He then gave me a small bottle of the tonic that I was using to soothe my bowels. I took it from him but felt no need to drink. Lam insisted. I could not refuse. “Juan told me that you wanted to know about the story of Schwann’s beachhead.”

  “So she told you to tell me.” To say I was angry would have been inaccurate. But I was agitated.

  The story must have been quite a scandal. McKenna had molested a Royal, the niece of the Duchess, with whom I had a letter of introduction to from Pierre. This might be something Juan knew about. She seemed…then it hit me.

  She was Hawaiian, possibly a servant in the household. Of course. It was staring at me the whole time. Perhaps she worked for the Duchess or this mysterious Emma herself, reporting back on Cynthia’s work, my sisters—

  “How far is it to the Estate from here?”

  “Fifteen miles on horseback.” There was a pause. “It is late, A.J.…”

  He was right, of course. But I needed to get out of the hotel and some place where I could conduct my mission without the prying eyes of the rebels or my family. If I could work for the Duchess, then the Marshals, I could conduct our operation in complete safety. No wonder Andrew had been pushing me to get an introduction. Why had I been so dense? Now that Juan wanted to help us catch this killer, it was imperative that I find a way to protect her. Employment at the estate would extend my reach greatly. Cossack guard would be an excellent strong arm when it was time to take hold of the killer. I had little faith in this Sheriff.

  As if thoughts could conjure, the Sheriff appeared around a corner with four deputies.

  They brandished their rifles and held torches.

  “Your Chinese have papers?” The Sheriff edged his horse close to Lam. My horse put her body near to mine in a warm gesture of protection.