“How is he?” I asked Earp.
“Hell, Steve, I’m right here. Ask me.”
“How are you, Captain?”
“In a lot of pain and happy as can be.”
Chapter 49
Mrs. Cunningham’s dining room rang with laughter. Sharp’s ribald quips, facial antics, and really bad accents had put everyone in a gay mood. Mrs. Cunningham laughed heartily and put a hand on Sharp’s forearm. Then Sharp covered her hand with his. The entire time I had been a boarder in her house, Mrs. Cunningham and I had remained barely civil. Yet Sharp had bounced in from jail, capturing her attention in mere minutes. Seating herself next to him, she had been flirtatious all evening. I had watched the entire episode and still couldn’t tell what he had done that was so special.
The guests included all of the boarders, as well as McAllen, Earp, and Maggie. Mrs. Cunningham had prepared a pot roast with all the fixings, including fresh vegetables brought up from Mexico. She was a fine cook and everything tasted delicious.
The bullet had passed through McAllen’s upper left arm. The doctor had said he was lucky the bullet had glanced off the humerus and passed right through his biceps brachii. He had cleaned and wrapped the wound, put the arm in a sling, and told McAllen the wound would require lots of alcohol—administered both externally and internally. With the meal only half over, McAllen had already done a manly job on a bottle of Jameson.
At the other end of the table, Maggie and John sat next to each other in an entirely different world. I could not care less. With her father present, I felt relieved of any responsibility. Besides, I was sharing the bottle of Jameson.
It was a merry party, as it ought to have been. Sharp was a free man, Mary sat in his cell, and the stock certificate that might have challenged my ownership had been destroyed. While McAllen was getting doctored, I wrote a letter to Anna Cabot Lodge that hopefully would ruin Jonathon Winslow’s career. I had enjoyed posting that letter. Everything was finished off nicely, so there was good reason to enjoy this celebratory supper.
Then I remembered an unfinished item.
“Captain, in the morning we need to see Judge Carter about Blanchet.”
“Already taken care of,” Earp said. “He’s keeping Mrs. Schmidt company in jail.”
“How did that happen?” I asked.
“I was informed that he was a fugitive from Nebraska. I was able to verify the allegation with a quick series of telegrams and arrested him just prior to coming over here for dinner.”
“There was a reward on his head,” I said.
“A substantial one … a thousand dollars. Yes, sir. Somebody earned a nice grubstake.”
I looked at McAllen, but he was looking at Earp with a perplexed expression. Our end of the table suddenly grew quiet.
“Who is this someone who informed you?” McAllen demanded.
“Listen, Joseph, I understand that you knew about this for a while, but you didn’t officially inform me, and you didn’t fill out the paperwork. You know how this is supposed to work. The first person to bring a fugitive to the attention of an officer of the court is the acknowledged claimant for the reward. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t ask for a lecture; I asked who this someone was.”
“Don’t get hot. This is a good person. Might even be a detective one day. Her name is Maggie McAllen.”
“Maggie!”
Now the entire table grew quiet. At the other end, Maggie and John had been talking with their heads bent together.
With the shout of her name, she straightened, and said, “Yes, Pa.”
McAllen just stared down the table at her. Everyone’s gaze alternated between McAllen’s bewildered look and Maggie’s contrived expression of pure innocence. I glanced at Sharp, and he gave me a big, broad wink. I immediately knew he had tipped her to be quick about turning Blanchet in to Constable Earp. I bet she’d done it with relish. Soon I was laughing. Sharp joined me, and then the whole table laughed, except for father and daughter. Someone leaned over and told Maggie what the fuss was about. Finally, she stood and waited for the ruckus to settle down.
When all eyes were on her, she did a perfect curtsy and said, “I’m flattered by the attention, but it’s no more than any of you would have done. By the way, Mr. Earp, I would appreciate it if the money was deposited in my name at Durango First Bank.”
Now McAllen joined in the laughter.
Chapter 50
The next morning, I knocked on Sharp’s door, but he didn’t answer. I followed the giggling conversation and found him in the forbidden kitchen with our landlady.
Standing at the door, I said, “Good morning.”
I got a return greeting from both and was told breakfast would be a little late. Mrs. Cunningham giggled again and threw me an orange. I caught it and went out to the front porch to eat it. I didn’t want my orange spoiled by their merriment. In a few minutes, Sharp came out with two china mugs of coffee. I said thanks and gave him a quizzical look. He just smiled contentedly, staring into the middle distance.
“The last time you walked out onto a porch with two mugs of coffee was at the St. Charles Hotel in Carson City … just before we started this adventure.”
“Are ya suggestin’ we oughta start a new adventure?”
“After breakfast.”
“After breakfast,” he repeated.
We sat a few minutes watching the street traffic. Most of it was heading for Mrs. Potter’s Café.
“Are you free to depart?” I asked.
“Except for the last week, I’ve always been free to depart.” He took a sip. “Maybe a day or two more. Like ya said, Leadville’s still frozen solid.”
I glanced toward the house, but Sharp declined to satisfy my curiosity.
“It’s a pleasant little town,” he said. “Haven’t seen much beyond the Palace an’ that jail in the courthouse.” He used his mug to point out the building, as if I would be confused by another courthouse in the vicinity. “Yep, now that I’m free, think I’d like to look ’round a bit.”
“McAllen is leaving on tomorrow’s stage. Escorting Maggie back to Durango.”
“Hate stage travel, but if ya gotta do it, now’s the time of year. Hell, those stages sure get ripe when it’s hot.”
I pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Sharp. He read the letter and whistled. The wire was from Richard in Carson City. He begged Sharp and me to return because Jenny Bolton was taking over the state. She had the governor in her pocket, was the de facto leader of the cattlemen’s association, and had just purchased the second biggest mine in Virginia City. Richard wanted help because she was also building a little army composed of cutthroat lawyers and gunmen.
He handed the letter back. “You promised to go to Leadville.”
“I did … and we shall.”
“Now?”
“Maybe a day or two more. Like you said, Leadville’s still frozen solid,” I responded, badly imitating Sharp’s accent.
We both laughed.
“I’m done with Nevada,” I said. “I’ve helped my friends over and over, but they just keep needing help. You were right: knock down one crook, and another just pops up.”
“So, it’s on to Leadville?”
“Yes, but first snow, I want to go somewhere else.”
“Where ya thinkin’ ’bout goin’?”
“Menlo Park.”
For additional books by James D. Best, visit
http://www.jamesdbest.com/
http://jamesdbest.blogspot.com/
or write to [email protected]
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Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale) Page 24
