Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale)

by James D. Best

  “Did ya find it?”

  “I did. Buried inside the barn in a small strong box. Dug it out and then burned it.”

  “What d’ya think?”

  “It means the real Edison stock never had anything to do with this murder. No one knew it existed except Campbell and me.”

  “Yep, Blanchet’s gotta be the one. Just hope Castle’s got it figured out so it comes out right at the trial.”

  After a few more minutes of discussion, I thought I should send Maggie down to say hello. Maybe Sharp should have been the one to deal with her and John. She seemed to like him better than me, and he certainly had a way with women. That thought prodded me to ask a few more questions.

  “Do you remember Mary Schmidt?” I asked.

  “Yep, attractive woman in a matronly sorta way.”

  “Do you think she and Carl have a good marriage?”

  “She’s wrong for you, Steve. That’s a hard, possessive woman.”

  “You think she’s possessive of Carl?”

  “Hell, yes. That woman would terrorize a cheatin’ husband. If I remember correctly, she always carries a pocket pistol an’ a derringer. Some woman ya don’t mess with.”

  “What about Carl? Is he the jealous type?”

  “Those two been cheatin’ on each other?”

  “Maybe. What about Carl?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. He’s number two in that partnership, but I can’t tell how he’d act. Hardy knew him.”

  “You hardly knew Mary.”

  “I always understood women right off. ’Sides, she ain’t hard to read. Puts it right out there for everyone to see. Leastways, when she ain’t workin’.”

  “I’d better send Maggie down. She’ll lift your spirits.”

  “Better than ya yammerin’ ’bout women. Remember, I’ve been locked up here near a week.”

  I sent Maggie down the corridor to Sharp’s cell. As they talked and laughed, I leaned against the wall and thought. I suddenly pushed myself away from the wall. I needed to see Virgil Earp.

  Chapter 45

  I had planned to drop Maggie with her father at Mrs. Potter’s and go find Earp, but Morris Goldwater was walking out as we arrived. I hurriedly left Maggie with McAllen and walked Goldwater back to his store.

  “Your suit is ready,” he said. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come by. You were in such a hurry.”

  “I apologize for not informing you, but I had to take a trip to Wickenburg. I’ll pick up the suit this afternoon. By the way, I hope I’m not imposing, but you offered to help me with the community.”

  “If I can. I know everyone, but I won’t disclose their darkest secrets.” He smiled to show he wasn’t entirely serious.

  “I won’t bother you about the fine citizens of Prescott. In fact, you may not be able to help at all because my questions are about Wickenburg.”

  “Actually, I go to Wickenburg frequently. I supply the general store there.”

  “Then you know Marshal Lewis?”

  “You mean Deputy Lewis. The marshal’s name is Malcolm Henry. Lewis just helps out on weekends.”

  That made sense. Lewis didn’t seem particularly capable. The Cody bunch weren’t tough enough to cow a real lawman, and Lewis said he left them alone. So that meant that Schmidt had gone around town with a deputy.

  “Have you heard of the Cody brothers?”

  “Those men you killed outside the Palace? Sure, everybody that has spent any time in Wickenburg ran into that bunch. They were always in the saloon or the hotel café. Bad men, but they behaved in town. Had to, or Henry would have locked them up straightaway.”

  This was more information than I had expected. Since my conversation with Maggie, I had become convinced that the Schmidts were playing us. And if they were, Carl might have misled us about his activities in Wickenburg. My hope had been that Earp would tell me if the person I thought was Marshal Lewis was reliable. Now I knew how a prospector felt when he discovered a mother lode.

  “Do you know the Schmidts? The Pinkertons staying at Prescott House?”

  “You mean the ones pretending to be Maggie’s parents. I’m acquainted with them as customers. She’s an odd shopper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she doesn’t shop the dresses, shoes, or hats like other women. Seems more interested in undergarments. Expensive undergarments.” He laughed. “She also buys handkerchiefs by the dozen. Says she throws them away instead of washing them.” He rubbed his chin. “She had an odd request lately. Wanted expensive stationery embossed with initials. When I told her it would take a month, she said never mind.”

  “Perhaps it was a gift.”

  “That’s what I thought, so I tried to direct her to our silver gifts. We have an engraver who can do work in less than a day. But she said no, she wasn’t interested in a gift. She said the stationery had been for her.”

  “What was odd about that?”

  “They weren’t her initials.”

  “Did you address her by name?”

  “I address all my customers by name, Mr. Dancy. But she may have forgotten. Many people don’t notice their names in conversation.”

  “Do you remember the initials?”

  “No … possibly E L W, but I could be mistaken.”

  This vein of information ran deep. It struck me that shopkeepers knew a great deal about the local people who frequented their store. I had part ownership in a general store in Leadville, but my real shopkeeper experience was in our family-owned gun shop in New York City. It was a high-end affair, selling mostly European shotguns to rich bird hunters. When I thought about it, men did tell us more in the store than they would ever disclose at my father’s club. If you repeatedly buy items from someone, you develop a level of trust uncommon in purely social situations.

  We had reached the front of the store, but I had one more question. “Did you ever run into Carl Schmidt in Wickenburg?”

  Goldwater looked up and down the street before responding. “Yes. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “I know he hired those girls who have their picture behind the innkeeper’s counter. Anything else you don’t want to talk about?”

  “He was like a man suddenly unshackled. He drank, caroused with those girls, gambled, and generally raised a ruckus. He became friendly with the ruffians about town. Always buying drinks. Got arrested once. Schmidt and Henry don’t speak anymore. Schmidt thought his Pinkerton badge gave him free rein. Henry had other ideas. Don’t blame the marshal, though. Henry’s a good man … a lodge brother.”

  I was no longer standing steady. “Any rumors about Mrs. Schmidt?”

  “Only the ones that came from Campbell’s mouth. He claimed to have bedded every unattached woman in town, and a few of those who were attached, like Mrs. Schmidt. He was the worst sort of braggart. I guess he had his charms, but I failed to see them.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you later in the day to pick up my suit and the other items. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Without waiting for a reply, I practically ran back to Mrs. Potter’s. Before entering, I decided to calm down first, so I slowed my pace and walked around the courthouse square. To McAllen, honor was everything. When I told him Carl Schmidt had lied to him, he would go into a rage. I needed to be careful how I told him. I didn’t want to trade one friend in jail for another. I thought about having Virgil Earp present but decided that Maggie would be a greater restraint.

  By the time I walked around the square, I had regained my composure and my appetite. McAllen and his daughter were almost through with their meal, so I ordered a piece of cake. Depending on how the day played out, I’d probably get a sandwich at the Palace later in the afternoon.

  “Are you going riding this afternoon?” I asked.

  “As soon as you satisfy that sweet tooth,” McAllen said.

  “I need to talk … before you go. It’s about the case, and confidential. Perhaps we could spend a few minutes in Mrs. Cun
ningham’s parlor.” He looked uncertain, so I added, “It’s important, Joseph.”

  “Steve, in a few days Maggie will be on her way to Durango. It better be more important than spendin’ time with my daughter.”

  “I assumed she’d join us.”

  “She needs to change clothes.”

  “She can help.”

  “Sittin’ in a parlor ain’t the same as bein’ out on the trail.”

  That sounded like an odd statement for a father, but it was probably true for Maggie. She wasn’t much for parlors. Maggie loved the outdoors, horses, riding, and being with her father.

  “I’ll make it short.”

  “You will. Let’s go.” He got up.

  “My cake?” It had just arrived.

  “You can eat your cake in the parlor. Bring the plate back when we walk Maggie to Prescott House to change.”

  I paid for all three meals and promised to have the plate back shortly. I was a fifth wheel as we made the short walk over to my boardinghouse. Maggie jabbered away, while McAllen looked on proudly and made an occasional affirmative grunt. McAllen was a man of his word, and in a few minutes I would break two promises—one I had made to him and another to his daughter. I decided I’d better get this over as quickly as possible.

  As soon as we settled into chairs, I set the cake aside. I didn’t want to talk around a mouthful of food.

  “Carl lied about Wickenburg,” I said. “He knew the Cody brothers, and the man he sent to reassure me at breakfast wasn’t the marshal, he was a deputy.”

  The room was dead silent.

  “How do you know he knew the Cody brothers?”

  “Goldwater told me.” I relayed the entire conversation, including the portion about Mary’s shopping habits. When I finished, McAllen stood and paced the tiny room.

  “Why did you keep looking into this? I told you to drop it.” His tone was not angry.

  I studied the pattern in the rug. When I looked up, I caught Maggie’s eyes. “I know. I’m about to break another promise, one I made to Maggie.”

  She shook her head no.

  “This is embarrassing for you, Maggie, but it’s important.”

  I turned to McAllen. “Maggie told me she heard Carl and Mary at night through the bedroom wall. She also heard Mary with another man when Carl was in Wickenburg. Whenever Carl went south, Mary got very angry. I think she brought this other man to her room to get even.” McAllen had quit pacing, and was staring at me. “Joseph, that other man was Elisha Campbell.”

  McAllen seemed to have no physical reaction—he just resumed pacing. I had often said foolish things in front of him, but this time I was smart enough to remain quiet. I was surprised how calm he seemed. The Schmidts had lied to him, behaved inappropriately when his daughter was nearby, and had possibly committed serious crimes.

  “This plays out only one way,” McAllen said. “Let me take it one step at a time and tell me if you see it different.”

  I remained silent.

  “Carl made periodic trips to Wickenburg. Mary figures out what he’s doin’ there and gets even by cavortin’ with the target of their investigation. One of the two of them murders Campbell. They frame Sharp for the murder, but we’re workin’ to prove him innocent. They get concerned. Carl does a poor job of tryin’ to kill you as a highwayman, so he hires the Cody bunch to get rid of us both. When we plan a trip to Wickenburg to investigate, Carl panics. But Carl works under pressure all the time, so in short order, he hides his emotions and contrives a plan. He plays it just right, both down there and when he gets back. That about it?”

  “Yes, but I assumed it was Carl. You said they. Do you think it was both of them?”

  “They’re a team,” Maggie said.

  “Correct, Maggie.” McAllen beamed. “Also because Mary forged those letters while you were in Wickenburg. That means they were workin’ together. Those two always have a second plan. If Sharp got freed, they had another culprit set up.”

  “You sure Mary forged those letters?”

  “She only let me see them briefly. Said she had to get them back before they were missed. They were written on quality paper, but not stationery like a Boston Winslow would use. Yep, they’re still workin’ as a team. A damn good one. They hunt confidence men and they know all the tricks.” He paced a bit more before adding, “We need to work this in two steps. First, we get Jeff free, and then we convict Carl and Mary. Maggie, do you have a key to the Schmidts’ room?”

  “No. They need to answer my knock before I’m allowed into their room.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can still get in. Steve, go tell Castle everythin’. Maggie and I are goin’ to search their room. Those letters are the only piece of hard evidence. Maybe she didn’t destroy them.”

  “If she destroyed the letters, how do you intend to put them behind bars?”

  “No choice,” McAllen said. “We’re goin’ to have to con them.”

  Chapter 46

  I grabbed my lapels and snapped my new suit coat taut. The tailor at Goldwater’s had done a fine job. When dressed in a suit, I carried a Remington .38 pistol under my arm in a shoulder holster of my own design. The tailor had done a nice alteration that almost completely hid the gun. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt I would be welcome in the toniest establishment in New York City. My hair was neatly trimmed, my shirt was so white it almost sparkled, and my maroon silk tie went perfectly with the dark brown suit.

  I was ready. I hoped we were.

  McAllen, Castle, and I had worked feverishly over the last two days to prepare for the trial. McAllen, of course, could find no trace of the letters. In fact, he couldn’t find any blank stationery in the room. Mary had evidently destroyed everything. With no physical evidence, we were dependent on Mac Castle’s skill.

  When I came downstairs, Mrs. Cunningham smiled before saying, “Mr. Dancy, you cut a handsome figure in that suit. This is the big day for your friend. I wish you luck.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham.” I looked at John, who was studying the floor. “Do you have that room ready, John?”

  “Yes, sir. Ma, I gotta get over to the livery to fetch Mr. Nelson’s horse.”

  “Go then.” After John had run out the door, she asked, “What’s going on with you and John?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know. He’s a fine boy.”

  As I turned to leave, she said, “Mr. Dancy, I apologize, but if your friend is convicted, I’m still going to charge you for that extra room.”

  I turned back. “Thank you for reminding me.” I handed her five dollars. “Please prepare the finest meal you can—for the entire house. It’s a celebratory supper, and my friend, Mr. Jeffery Sharp, will be occupying that room this evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to hear the opening arguments.”

  As I walked across the square to the courthouse, I noticed new leaves sprouting from the trees. There was a special green in spring, a lighter, more iridescent color that seemed to darken in only a few weeks. I loved the color as a boy because it meant summer was near, and that meant playing outdoors with friends all day long. Even as an adult, I felt good spotting the fresh green of spring on the trees.

  My reverie was broken in the courthouse lobby.

  “Mr. Dancy?”

  It was Jonathon Winslow.

  “Yes, Mr. Winslow?”

  “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Nor were you meant to; I’m in disguise.”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Not if it didn’t make you laugh. Are you coming to the trial?”

  “Later, after I finish a couple errands for the governor.” He waited until some men passed us on the stairs. “You are going to restrain yourself from writing that letter?”

  “I will … unless your parents had anything whatsoever to do with the murder of Campbell.”

  “What? That’s a terrible thing to say. I can assure you, they did not.”

  “I’m not as sure as you appear to be.”
>
  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they had reason to want Campbell out of the way of your grand career in our nation’s capital. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get upstairs, and you have errands.”

  I left before he could reply.

  I sat next to McAllen, Maggie on his other side. Carl and Mary Schmidt sat directly behind us. The courtroom was packed, with people standing along the back wall. A murder trial was free entertainment, and this one promised to end with a hanging. Sharp looked at us from the defense table and gave us a wink. Exactly on the hour, we all stood as Judge Carter entered the courtroom.

  The opening statements were as expected. Blanchet droned on, explaining that the evidence was extensive and irrefutable. Castle had warned us that he was going to be bland because he didn’t want to give away his strategy in the opening act.

  Blanchet called six witnesses to testify that Sharp went into a rage that afternoon, not only knocking Campbell to the floor, but also hitting two other customers who were trying to break up the fight. Each testified that Sharp threatened to kill Campbell if he ever saw him again. From the testimony, it sounded like an all-night brawl instead of two punches that lasted only a few seconds.

  The next prosecution witness was Captain McAllen. He testified about where he and Earp had found the body and the position of the rifle. Next, Constable Earp repeated McAllen’s testimony and then described Sharp’s arrest. He also told about the pine needles found on the stairs and stuck to Sharp’s boots.

  What came next was somewhat of a surprise. Blanchet had hired a lawyer in New York to take depositions from several of Sharp’s business associates. Blanchet submitted them into evidence and then read them with a bit of dramatic flair. The business associates meant to defend Sharp by painting Campbell as the offending party, but instead of helping, they established motive by showing that Sharp’s anger was probably justified in his mind. Blanchet also had depositions from people in Nevada and Colorado. They painted Jeffery Sharp as a violent man.

  The prosecution rested just before the noon break. The jurors filed out quickly. I guessed that they thought Sharp was guilty and the trial would be over before supper. I hoped that only the second supposition was correct.