But her life could be in equal danger. If Betsy realized her intention, the result could be disastrous, and not just for Payton. She could be the one with a bullet in her brain.
She lay down on the bed and curled up into a ball. The thought of losing Payton cut through her like of knife. These last two weeks with him gone had been torture. She couldn’t conceive of her life without him. Her eyes closed as she pictured him in her mind. She could see the brilliance of his blue eyes and the dimple in his cheek when he smiled. Her imagination also conjured up the warmth of his embrace. Without him, her soul felt empty. She wanted him close to her. She needed to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight.
Now that he’d come into her life, she couldn’t bear to live without him. She would have to go with Betsy and find a way to help him no matter how great the risk.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I’m glad you’re here,” Stover said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up until after we closed.”
“I just came from the lawyer’s office. The paper work is complete, and the deed should record tomorrow. Then the Double Eagle Shipping Company will officially be ours.”
“That’s good news. I only hope we live long enough to actually take over the company.”
“Is there a problem?” Payton took a seat beside the desk. From the look of concern on his partner’s face, he knew there had to be trouble.
“A man came in earlier today looking for Mr. Hennigan. He seemed shocked when I told him the old man was dead. My guess is he just arrived in San Francisco. Otherwise, he would’ve already heard the news of his death.”
“What did he look like?”
“About my height, barrel-chested. Dark hair and eyes. His beard had some gray.”
“Sounds like Dunbar.”
“One other thing. He walked with a limp. His leg seemed to give him considerable pain.”
“That’s my bullet that tore up his leg. He’ll be in a lot more pain when I find him—particularly when I help put a noose around his neck.”
“He didn’t ask about any money. I wonder if the old man was the only one who knew how to get to it. If Dunbar’s aware of that, then he knows it’s lost to him.”
“That could be, which means he won’t get any help from around here. He’s been gone five years. I doubt he has any friends left that would give him the amount of money he needs.”
“What do you think will be his next move?”
“My first guess is he’ll contact his mother.” Payton shoved his fingers through his hair while he thought. “It would be too risky for him to go to Sacramento. He’ll probably hide out here in San Francisco and wait for her, but he’ll have to get a message to her. The quickest way to do that is send a telegram.”
“There’s a telegraph office on Kearney and Washington. Dunbar only left here a short time ago. If that’s where he went, he might still be there waiting for a reply. It could take several hours for a telegram to be delivered to his mother and an answer sent back.”
A grin spread over Payton’s face. “You’re a good man, Nicholas. We’re going to work well together.”
Payton climbed from the chair. “I’m going over there and see if I can spot him. I’ll get him even if I have to wait all night.”
“Don’t you have to meet that other fellow later?”
“Ritter is waiting for a woman to bring him money. It’s probably Betsy.” He scratched at his beard stubble. “If Dunbar was just here and found out Hennigan’s dead, chances are he doesn’t know his mother is on her way to meet with the little weasel.”
“Do you think Ritter will tell her that Dunbar is in town?”
“I don’t think he knows. If he did, he won’t stick around, even for money. He’s afraid of getting his throat slit.”
Stover went to a cabinet and reached into a drawer. He pulled out the Colt Dragoon. “If you expect to run into Dunbar, you’d better take this.”
“That’s too big. I need something that won’t be so obvious. It has to fit into my pocket or waistband. And I don’t want a weapon so cumbersome that it tangles up in my clothes if I need to take it out in a hurry.”
He put the long barreled revolver back and pulled out a smaller weapon. “How about this? It’s only .36 caliber, but if you’re close enough, it’ll get the job done.”
Payton balanced the Colt Navy revolver in his hand. Satisfied with the feel, he shoved it into the waistband of his trousers. “Like I said, you’re a good man.”
He went to his room and changed into different clothing. A white shirt and black tie were fine for the lawyer’s office, but he needed something inconspicuous to wear while waiting around the telegraph office. A black shirt and knit cap would help him fade into the night. His black wool jacket hung on a peg by the door. He grabbed it on his way out.
With the collar turned up on his jacket to shield his face and the black knit cap pulled low on his forehead, he would be difficult to recognize. Dunbar knew him. He’d been staring straight at him when he’d shot him in the leg. The face of the man who wounded him wouldn’t be easy to forget.
If Dunbar spotted him, he might go back into hiding. Payton doubted that even Betsy could find him if he did.
****
Julia’s voyage on the sternwheeler to San Francisco had been horrendous. Traveling on the Sacramento River had made her extremely ill. As soon as the ship had left the dock, her stomach had rebelled. Most of the day had been spent leaning over the guardrail. She’d thrown up every bit of her breakfast over the side. With the amount of time she’d spent at the rail, she speculated that last night’s dinner also churned around in the river.
The ship docked several times for brief intervals. They seemed to stop at every tiny port along both sides of the river bank. People came aboard or disembarked, and goods or animals passed up and down the gangplank.
Occasionally, she’d received a brief reprieve. If time allowed, she’d gone ashore and set her feet on solid ground. But after a few minutes back aboard the moving ship, she’d be at the rail, bent over, and retching up nothing—for nothing remained inside her stomach.
Betsy had insisted she dress in the latest style for their voyage. She wondered if the ruffled, bottle green outfit she wore had achieved the correct fashionable look as she heaved over the guardrail. Only luck and an extra hat pin had prevented her matching green hat from falling into the river.
When the ship finally docked in San Francisco, she could barely function. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. Her throat felt raw. Even her fingertips hurt from gripping the wooden rail. Her legs wobbled with each step she took, and her feet stumbled over the flat wooden deck. She’d been so unsteady that one of the crew members assisted her down the gangplank so she wouldn’t trip and fall.
She sat curled up in the corner of a rented carriage. The ship had docked about an hour ago, but Betsy took her time getting the baggage loaded into the coach.
The sun sank low on the horizon and would soon be swallowed up by the Pacific Ocean. A foggy mist gathered out to sea, causing the sun to look like a huge orange ball as it dipped into the ocean. Darkness would follow. She wondered where Payton spent his nights. She wanted to be in his arms. She needed him to hold her and comfort her.
But Betsy wanted him dead.
She couldn’t be with him now. He wouldn’t be safe.
The coach rocked to and fro when Betsy crawled inside. Julia dropped her head into her hands and groaned.
“Are you going to be sick again?” Her voice conveyed her irritation.
“No, but my head hurts from the slightest movement. I need to lie down. But first I need something in my stomach.”
“I’m not wasting money on food for you. All you’ll do is puke it back up.”
“I’ll pay for it myself. Have the driver take me to Union Square. There’s a hotel on Powell Street with a restaurant nearby.”
“I thought you’ve never been to San Francisco.”
A tight knot clenched at
her insides, but not from seasickness. She’d spoken without thinking. If she said too much, Betsy would become suspicious. Regardless of how ill she became, she had to guard her words carefully. Payton’s life may very well depend upon it.
“I haven’t been here,” she said slowly and carefully so she could think, “but I recall the deacon’s wife telling of a respectable hotel near Union Square.”
Betsy made a disgusted sound. “I’ve got a good place for us to stay, but I doubt you and your church friends will think it’s respectable.”
“Driver,” she yelled though the open window. “Take us to the Crystal Palace.”
The carriage pulled slowly up the street. A strap attached near the door frame dangled within her reach. Julia grabbed it to steady her body from any excessive swaying. She didn’t want to go to the Crystal Palace, but her present illness didn’t put her in a position to protest.
The promise she’d made to Payton played across her mind. She’d sworn an oath that she’d stay out of trouble. She could only imagine his reaction if he found she’d gone to a brothel.
The Crystal Palace set in a more high-toned area of the city. The building stood one block from where the hellhole of the Barbary Coast began, but Julia noticed the distinction. The people strolling down Montgomery Street looked more fashionable. The women dressed in finer style, and the men wore business suits. They gave the appearance that their livings were made with their minds and not their backs.
When the driver halted the carriage in front of the Crystal Palace, Julia realized how dangerous her present situation had become. Betsy’s treachery had no bounds. She could only imagine the fate that awaited her inside a brothel in which an evil woman had control.
“I can’t go in there.” She directed her order to the driver. “Take me to Powell Street.”
“You’ll do as you’re told.” She grabbed Julia’s wrist and twisted hard.
She cried out as pain radiated up her arm. Betsy dragged her from the carriage. Julia’s legs were too weak to hold her, and she almost collapsed in the gutter. Unable to stand on her own, she grabbed the carriage wheel for support. Her recent seasickness had left her too exhausted to fight Betsy physically, or mentally. She needed to eat and rest. When she recovered her strength, she would plan her escape.
Betsy jerked on her arm and forced her to follow. She led her through the front door and into the entryway.
A man leaned against the interior double doors as if guarding whatever lay on the other side. He was a short man with a large build. His face looked like he’d once made his living with his fists.
“Good evening, Mrs. Dunbar.” The guard’s gravelly voice suited his appearance. Even though he dressed in black evening attire, he had a rough look. His starched, white collar pressed into his jowls and gave him a harder appearance. His sharp, beady eyes took in the situation at a single glance when he noticed Betsy tugging on Julia’s arm. “Is there a problem?”
She yanked on Julia’s arm and flung her toward him. “You can take her off my hands. I’ve had enough of her whining.”
Julia needed to get some sort of control over the situation. Rest and nourishment were her immediate concerns. She had to find a way to get both. Her one hand pressed against her belly. Her other hand covered her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
Betsy swore profusely. “Take her upstairs to a private room before she pukes all over the carpet.”
Instead of going through the double doors, he took her to another door at the end of the entryway. A steep staircase appeared just beyond the door. Beside the stairs was a narrow corridor that disappeared into the back. She speculated the stairway and corridor were used by the servants.
When they reached the second floor, the guard opened a door off the hallway. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door jamb.
“If you need to heave, there’s a washbasin behind the screen.” His tone sounded gruff, but he didn’t manhandle her in the same manner Betsy had when she’d dragged her from the carriage. She felt certain, however, that if provoked, he could be equally unmerciful.
She walked into the room. “Would it be possible for me to have something to eat? Perhaps some toasted bread and a pot of tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ll see.” He left without uttering another word.
Her sigh of relief echoed through the room at his departure—she didn’t hear a key turn in the lock when he left.
She glanced around at her surroundings. The decor wasn’t what she expected. It looked like any other bedroom. A regular sized bed set in the middle of the room. A blue cotton quilt spread over the top. Against the wall stood a small chest of drawers. A cloth screen with a painted oriental landscape shielded the washstand area.
White muslin curtains hung across a window. She opened it and looked out. Night approached, but it was still dusk. The twilight provided enough illumination to see the alleyway below. Her room set two floors up. Jumping from the window wouldn’t be an option. She stuck her head farther out the opening and looked at the side of the building. The brick structure didn’t have a ledge to crawl on. Even if she could get a toe hold in the mortared joints, she didn’t possess Payton’s skill of climbing.
Figuring out how to escape this room presented half the task. Having the ability to follow through would be equally important. Her seasickness had subsided. Food and drink would revitalize her, but she needed time to recover.
After closing the window, she took a seat in the only chair in the room. She would devise a plan while she waited for her strength to return.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Payton hoped his patience would soon be rewarded. He leaned against the side of the stone building, his body hidden in the deep shadows so he wouldn’t be detected. His black clothing helped him blend in with the night.
Across the street set the California Telegraph Company. A moment ago he’d spotted a man go inside. His height and build matched that of Dunbar, but he didn’t display a noticeable limp when he walked. Before Payton made his move, he needed to be certain of the man’s identity.
City Hall, which housed the police department, stood nearby. He considered getting an officer, or two, to help in apprehending him but decided against it. If Dunbar saw anyone who resembled a lawman, he’d bolt. If cornered, there’d be gunplay. Payton would go it alone and wait for the right time to take him down.
Gas streetlights illuminated this part of town. When the man emerged from the telegraph office, his face shone in the light. Lawrence Dunbar stood beneath the street lamp, a piece of paper in his hand. After a moment, he scrunched it up in his fist and tossed it toward the gutter. He made his way down the walk, his pace slow, his movement labored.
Payton let him get about half a block away before he crossed the street. He picked up the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. Moving closer to the streetlight, he held the paper so he could see. In clear, crisp handwriting the contents read:
Gone to San Francisco stop
Pay Ritter stop
Return next week stop
Payton didn’t know who sent the telegram, but the person didn’t waste money with extra words.
From the scowl on Dunbar’s face when he stood under the lamp, the information in the telegram didn’t please him.
Payton followed him. The farther they walked, the more Dunbar limped. The direction they traveled took them through the middle of the Barbary Coast. Crowds of people swarmed up and down the boarded walks unconcerned with the dangers lurking around them.
For this part of town, the evening was early. Farm hands straight from the fields and miners down from their digs laughed and searched about for a good time. Later, when they were good and drunk, many of them would be lured into the gambling halls, or deadfalls to be stripped of their money. A few unlucky men might wake up in the morning to find they’d been Shanghaied—pressed into service aboard a ship bound for a destination half way around the world.
When Dunbar went
into a tavern, Payton waited outside. Through the window, he watched him indicate with his hands the height and build of a man. He knew by the gestures Dunbar searched for Ritter, but that knowledge didn’t concern him. He knew where Ritter hid. He also knew his whereabouts at this moment. They were supposed to meet about now in a tavern at the far end of the Barbary Coast. Dunbar had a lot of walking to do if he intended to find Ritter tonight.
Half a dozen taverns later, Dunbar evidently found the information he sought. He left the tavern at a quick and awkward pace, and headed up the street. He didn’t stop until he reached the lodging house where Ritter spent his nights.
After Dunbar went inside, Payton walked to the opposite side of the street. He found a place in an alleyway where he wouldn’t be seen. Empty wooden crates littered the alley. He pushed one against the side of the building and took a seat. With a long wait ahead, he might as well be comfortable.
The fog hadn’t rolled in yet, and he had a clear view of the street as well as the entrance to the lodging house and could observe the coming and going of everyone on the entire block. The way he figured it, Dunbar would hide in Ritter’s room and wait for his return. Then he would end their partnership in the way the man had feared. A twinge of guilt tugged at his conscious; he should probably warn Ritter that Dunbar waited inside.
He thought about going into the lodging house to get Dunbar before Ritter showed up, but that would be a big mistake—at least for Payton. Dunbar would be on his guard for someone entering the room. The first man in would be at a disadvantage.
Payton would wait until Ritter went to his room. If he followed after him quickly, he might prevent him from being killed. When the two men were together in the room, a fight would undoubtedly break out. In the confusion, Payton could take them both.
****
As Julia paced over the hardwood floor, her legs grew stronger and the throbbing in her head subsided. The small meal she’d consumed earlier settled her nausea, but nerves knotted her stomach. She had to get away from here before the night got any later. She didn’t know how long Betsy would wait before she proceeded with her plan to use her as bait to lure Payton into danger.
Payton's Woman Page 20
