by C. A. Asbrey
Jake’s blue eyes examined the cosmetic process with fascination. “I’d never believe it was you unless I saw it with my own two eyes, Abi.”
“Then perhaps you should consider giving up a life of crime, Jake?” Abigail replied. “This is just a taste of what we can do to bring in criminals nowadays. Detection is becoming more and more sophisticated.”
“So are criminals,” grinned Nat. He picked at the rubber pieces and tested the elasticity. “You’ve taught me an important lesson, though. We need to stop showing our faces. Maybe we could use this stuff?”
She reached over and took it from him, but he held onto the end, stretching it until it released with a snap. “Honestly, you’re like an overgrown child. Sophisticated?”
“So these people were all here visiting the town at the time of the murders. R.D. the telegram said,” Jake leaned back on the double bed. “Rigby Daintree?”
“There are a lot of ‘D’s,” Nat agreed. “Tibby’s name is Dunbar, and Davies’ name is Bob. Robert, or something like that? That’s if they’re using their real names at all.”
“Yes, there’s only one way to find out.” Abigail collected her makeup and returned it to a leather case. “I must have a look around their rooms.”
“What if they catch you?” Nat frowned.
She arched a brow. “Will they know all the hotel’s maids, or even if there’s now a new one?”
“That’s one of the most sneaky and underhanded things you’ve ever suggested.” Nat’s eyes sparkled. “I like it.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it. How long will it take you to get to Paris?”
“We’ll leave at dawn and should get there by the evening if we keep a decent pace,” Jake pondered. “We should get back by the following night.”
“I’ll get the hotel to keep you some food,” Abigail opened the connecting doors and gestured for them to leave. “It’ll be interesting to see what we all come up with over the next couple of days. I’ve been to Paris. Keep your wits about you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jake Conroy’s eyes narrowed as he approached the stables in the optimistically named town of Paris. It shared little with its namesake. It was not a bustling cultural centre or a Mecca for the gourmands, and certainly did not support the arts. It did have a whole main street dedicated to whores, brothels, and the more prosaic pursuits. It had enough vice simmering in the background to rival any city, and more than enough crime to scare the casual traveler.
Business was done in this bright place full of shady people, and if anyone wanted to sell stolen horses after a murder, this was the most likely place within fifty miles of Bannen. Few would dare to ask questions in a place like this, but Nat Quinn and Jake Conroy were not easy to intimidate.
A large bear of a man was sorting through tack when the two young men walked in. He made a fast assessment of them as being in their late twenties, with eyes older than their faces. He noted their tied-down guns and judged them as showy, but missed their deliberate and measured body language. They were clean, groomed, and wholesome as far as his unpracticed eye could see. To him, they were fair game.
“Howdy boys? How can I help?”
“Are you Ethan Green?”
A man with uneven eyes and a face full of stubble raised his head at Jake’s question. He emerged from the shadows at the end of the barn.
“Who wants to know?”
Nat fixed him with a smile. “I’m lookin’ for information. I’m ready to pay.”
“Don’t do information, just horseflesh.”
“This relates to horseflesh. One paint, one sorrel about two weeks ago. I want to know who sold them. I’m not interested in getting them back or in any charges relating to stolen horses. Just want know who sold them.”
The man arched a pair of dark, bushy eyebrows and glanced from one to the other. “I can’t help.”
Jake shot a glance to Nat before he spoke. “We were told you could.”
The man turned his back and continued to work. “Who told you a dumb thing like that?”
“Jess Schofield, he’s a business associate of ours. Do you want to tell him he’s dumb?” asked Jake. “Jess can be kind of unpredictable, though. Rather you than me.”
The man turned at the familiar name, not knowing he was simply one of the young men’s criminal contacts.
“You the law?”
Jake’s derisive laugh told the man all he needed to know. “Do we look like the law?”
“You don’t, but your friend here—”
Nat cut in. “We’re not the law.”
“Look, we need to find out who sold those horses. We ain’t interested in what you might have done with them. We want to know who sold them.”
The man wiped his fleshy face and gave them a considered look. “You said you were ready to pay?”
“Sure. We got fifty dollars.”
The man pocketed the money and led them to a stall at the back of the stables. A black and white horse stood there, idly munching on hay as it raised its ears in interest at the strangers. “The other one was sold.”
“Who brought them in?” Nat asked.
The man’s malignant smirk spread. “I got no idea. I weren’t here.”
The shadows in the joyless dimple echoed the shadows in the dark eyes. “Think harder about that answer. You took our money. We want an answer.”
“Too late, boys. You can look on this as a lesson? Find out what you’re payin’ for first.”
“Don’t want teachin’. We want information.” Jake’s calm tone also held a warning. His posture had changed. He stood more erect and one arm grabbed the other across his body, a precursor to his action to anyone who familiar with him, but the man carried on blithely unaware of the dangers ahead.
“Look, boys. I suggest you move on. You got all you’re gonna get here.”
Jake fixed him with ice-blue eyes. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere until you give us the answer we’re lookin for, mister.”
The man’s hand crept to his gun as he glared at the young men, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. A muscle flexed on the gunman’s jaw and the eyes narrowed to stilettos of ice. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I don’t want to draw, but if you go for that gun, I’ll have to go for mine.”
“I don’t need advice from the likes of you, sonny. Now, get outta my place.”
“My partner told you we’re not going anywhere until we get the truth. Now just answer our questions, and we’ll be on our way.”
The stableman’s face reddened. “I don’t like bein’ called a liar, boy. Get outta here now, while the goin’s good.”
“Nope,” Jake replied with the simple crispness of new snow.
The man’s plump, stubby fingers moved toward his gun as Nat groaned. Would people never learn? Why did they always want to do things the hard way?
“What the—”
The gun seemed to leap into Jake’s hand before the man’s clumsy fist had moved more than a few inches.
Nat’s smile was sweet reason itself as he stepped forward and removed the man’s weapon. “Now, why don’t you answer my friend’s question?”
“I ain’t never seen anythin’ like it.” The man’s mouth gaped open, displaying a fine set of discolored teeth.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” growled Jake. “Tell us what we want to know before you don’t get to see anythin’ ever again.”
“There’s only one man who can draw like that. You must be him—”
Blue eyes skewered the stableman. “I came here askin’ questions, not answerin’ them. The name.”
“I ain’t got a name, just a description.”
“That’s a start,” Nat replied.
“Young lad. Blond, blue eyes.”
“German? A simple boy? What age?” demanded Nat.
“Nope, sharp as a tack and American. About nineteen.” The man relaxed. “I didn’t realize it was you two. I would’ve told you straight off if you’d told me who you
were.”
Jake holstered his gun but kept the man pinned with his flint-like gaze. “We still ain’t told you who we are.”
“I been around enough. I can guess. I ain’t got a name but the boy sells horses here regular. I’ll get you a name, but I ain’t got it now. I’m always happy to do business with the likes of you. Anything for Quinn and Con—”
“No names.” Nat cut him off. “We’d appreciate that. When do you expect him back?”
“Dunno, whenever he’s got somethin’ to sell. It’s usually late on when he comes. Like you are now.”
“We’ll be back.” Nat dropped the man’s gun into a bucket of water. “Just to make sure you don’t shoot us in the back.” They turned to walk out as a call made them turn. “There was somethin’ else. The boy had a scar on his mouth, a kind of a cleft lip. He sells clothes and jewelry too. See Goldman the pawnbroker. He buys most everything. He went there after me.”
♦◊♦
Abigail tapped at the door, only her knuckles visible in her little-old-lady fingerless lace gloves. The door opened and Bob Davies scowled at the matron bearing a little cake box. “You? From last night?”
“Mrs. Cadwallader. Yes. I’ve come to see how your wife is.”
A female voice called from behind the door blocking her view. “Who is it?”
“It’s that woman I told you about last night.”
“Oh. What does she want?”
“To bring you cake and offer an oasis of civilized female conversation in this wilderness of cowboys and mud,” Abigail said. “I won’t stay more than an hour. I promise.”
“Oh.” The door swept aside and a woman with a pointed nose and mousey hair smiled at her. The woman clutched an embroidered oriental gown over her corseted figure. “How sweet of you. I’m not dressed, though.”
“You’ve been indisposed. I wouldn’t expect you to be. Please, relax,” Abigail didn’t wait to for an invitation and swept in. “Is it megrim disorder? I was a martyr to that in my younger years, every month, regular as clockwork. Since my time of life things have been much better.”
“Every month? Time of life? Oh, good Lord,” Davies groaned. “I’m going out if you’re going to talk about that sort of stuff.” He snatched his hat and jammed it on his head. “I’ll see you in about an hour, Mary.”
Abigail watched him leave with a glimmer of satisfaction and settled on the chair. She opened the box with delicate fingertips and proffered it to Mrs. Davies. “German bakers are the best, aren’t they? When I saw the name Pfister over the shop, I knew I’d find something wonderful. When I lived in New York I always found the French made the cakes look so much more beautiful, but you had to go to a German bakery to get the best flavors.”
“Ooh,” Mrs. Davies’s eyes widened at the beautiful pastries in the box. “You live in New York?”
“We used to. We moved to Chicago. I’m on my way to see my sister in San Francisco. She followed her daughter out there. What is it like? Your husband said you’d come from there.”
“It’s big, enormous. It’s growing so fast.”
“Well, everywhere is, isn’t it? We live in such interesting times.” Abigail unpacked a delicious morsel and handed it to her companion on a little cardboard tray covered in a doily, noting the cicatricial flesh where the extravagant gown fell away from Mrs. Davies’s arms in wide swaths of silk. “Where would you suggest I visit while I’m there? What should I see?”
“Well, there’s the shops,” she replied. “Your sister will have a view on where to take you. I am boring and enjoy Woodward’s gardens. I grow roses. I’m quite the enthusiast. Robert always says I should move on to chrysanthemums. Roses scratch so, don’t they?” She rubbed at the marks before allowing the sleeves to drop back to her wrists. “My arms are quite shredded, not to mention my gardening clothes. Just look at them. How long has it been since you saw her?”
“Oh, it must be getting on for twenty years! I’m so excited,” Abigail smiled. “She followed her daughter when she married and moved west. I’ve missed her so.”
“Bob said your son works for charity ? Cruelty to children?”
“Yes,” Abigail nodded, adding for mischief’s sake, “but they’re against it, you know.”
“How interesting.” Mrs. Davies munched on her pastry. “What do they do when they find cruelty?”
“They prosecute if they can’t take the child to safety. I’ve seen my Nat preparing for all kinds of court cases. The charity pays the costs. I’m very proud of him doing such good work.”
“Do they leave the child with the parents after that?”
“Goodness me, no,” Abigail replied. “They can be made a ward of court, or taken into care. He has people he can place children with until a more permanent solution is found when there’s no suitable place in an orphanage.”
“Does he have those everywhere? Here, for instance?”
“I think the charity does. Why?”
Mrs. Davies shrugged. “I just wondered. It seems a great thing to do. How do you become one of the people who help children?”
“I genuinely don’t know,” Abigail observed the woman intently. “I suppose one would contact the charity. Do you want me to ask my son? Are you interested in helping?”
“I might be. Perhaps if I could meet someone who does it, I could decide. Maybe someone here?”
“I can certainly ask him about it,” Abigail dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “How lovely of you to think of the children. Shall you be coming to dinner tonight?”
“You told my husband you’d be alone tonight?”
“I will. Nat has business out of town. It would be wonderful to have another lady to dine with.”
“Then I must. I can’t leave you sitting alone. Can I, Mrs. Cadwallader?”
“It’s a date. Shall we say around seven-thirty?”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Davies stood to walk her guest to the door. “I’ll meet you in the lounge.”
♦◊♦
The cheerful bell over the shop door tinkled, announcing the arrival of the two men who blinked around the shadows of the dark emporium crowded with goods, looking for assistance. Furious barking and growling punctuated the air, and the sound of something big and hairy throwing itself against the back door was hard to miss. A voice drifted out of the black corners.
“Good evening, gentlemen. How can I help you?”
“Are you Goldman? Ethan Green gave us your name and told us you could help us?” Nat blinked as his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, but he still couldn’t see who spoke through the umbrage in the store.
“Did he? What are you selling?”
“Buying. Information,” Nat answered.
A figure ghosted out of the shadows, his dark waistcoat and sleeve protectors seemingly dissipating into the gloom behind him. “You’ve come to the wrong place. My clients are assured of complete privacy.”
“Even killers?” Jake demanded.
“I know nothing about any crimes, sir.” The man shook his head, his odd, pale-brown, frizzy hair stiff and motionless in its neo-classical cut. “I just buy and sell. I ask no questions, and I answer even less.”
“It would have been a boy with a twisted lip. Sometime soon after the twenty-fifth of last month.”
“I suggest you leave, gentlemen.”
“How much will it take?” Nat asked. “We’re not interested in any charges, getting the stuff back, or anything other than finding the man who killed our friend. We’ll keep you out of it.”
“I shall ask once more, gentlemen,” the metallic click of a gun behind them made their blood run cold, “then I’ll let my sons take over.” Goldman’s mild tone belied the hardness of his pebble eyes. “You don’t think I run a place like this in Paris without backup, do you? I’ve never been robbed. Never. We’re vigilant and deal with people who do not comply with store policy.” His cold smile added to the grim aspect. “A few have been killed trying, though; but this is a town where
nobody asks too many questions and the authorities don’t quibble too much about the explanations.”
The partners exchanged a silent conversation in a glance. “Fine,” Jake shrugged. “We wanted information, but we know when we’re beat.” He gestured with his head toward the door. “C’mon. I need drink.”
“But—”
“No buts. I ain’t losin’ my life over a dumb vendetta about a woman. When I do, it’s gonna be somethin’ worthwhile, like a jealous husband or a hernia from carryin’ all my money. Git!”
Nat blinked away his anger, his mouth firming into an angry line before turning on his heel and pulling open the door.
Jake placed a hand on his shoulder, but Nat threw it off, yelling in his face. “Get away from me you coward! I’m leaving. Make your own way back.” He stormed off, leaving Jake to share a look of embarrassment with the shop keeper.
“It’s a wise course of action. Go after him. Buy him a drink. Young men can be such hotheads. It’s good to see you have more of a level head.”
Jake’s curt nod was his only reply. He left; his pace rising to a trot to catch up with his nephew. He spread his hands as if remonstrating with the younger man, but the content of the conversation didn’t match what the casual observer saw. It was all show.
Nat’s eyes remain fixed ahead. “Do you think they bought it?”
Jake’s arms waved as though shouting. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t. I would have.”
“Good, they won’t be expecting us back later,” Nat’s eyes gleamed with venal lights. “So, they’ve never been broken into? They’ve never come up against us before. Where’s the doctor’s office?”
He strode on ahead, while Jake’s hands dropped to his hips, watching his nephew stride on ahead. He could feel the eyes from the shop boring into his back. They could act normal again once they turned the corner knowing they wouldn’t be alerted to the imminent break-in, so he shook his head as though resigned to something and stalked after Nat.
♦◊♦
The dark-haired young woman carried her apron. An unknown face could be mistaken as a new guest by anyone, but staff would question her if they saw her dressed as a maid in their establishment. It would go on when she was inside a room in case the occupant interrupted her in action. It always surprised her how people dismissed a woman doing mundane work, but it was a useful tool.
