by C. A. Asbrey
The shoulders sagged along with his gut as realization set in. “No! You ain’t her. That old rat-baggage?”
“Sheriff, you can waste time debating my mastery of the art of disguise or you can come over to the doctor’s office. I believe we have caught your bushwhackers; or one of them anyway.”
“That’s her! She’s the one who was walking away from my room when I found my file missing. Arrest her, Sheriff. Get her.”
She turned at a voice from the cells. Rigby Daintree’s face pressed between the bars and his skeletal arm extended further than she would have thought possible from the cage. She frowned. “What’s he doing in there?”
“Caught him riflin’ through the bags of another guest at the hotel,” the sheriff buckled on his gun belt. “Caught red-handed, he was. There ain’t no point in him tryin’ to deny it. He keeps prattlin’ on about a lost file. I told him that wasn’t no defense for breakin’ and enterin’.”
“Whose room?”
“That little fella. Dunbar’s his name, I think.”
Her brows rose, her eyes sliding back toward Daintree. “Really? He and I need to have a little chat when I have the time.”
“I don’t know what’s goin’ on over at that hotel. We’ve still got Richards in, too. I’ve never seen anythin’ like this.”
“Richards?” Her eyes widened. “How’s his wife?”
“Pretty beat up. I’m talkin’ with the mayor about whether this needs to be an attempted murder charge. He was stranglin’ her, too. If she’d been somewhere on her own, God alone knows what would’ve happened. Her arm had to be splinted together and the doctor says she’s got percussion.”
Abigail suppressed a smile. “Percussion? Poor lady. I must try to look in on her soon.”
“Where are you going?” yelled Daintree, watching them walk towards the door. “I want the law on her. I’m sure she knows something about my file.”
“Will you shut yer yap?” snapped the sheriff. “She is the law. She’s a Pinkerton.”
Daintree’s mouth dropped open and his arm dropped. “A Pinkerton?”
“Yes, Mr. Daintree.” She held the door open on her way out. “I’m too busy for you right now, but we will talk very soon. And I want the truth. The Boston office is looking into you for me right now, so there’s no point in lying.”
♦◊♦
Both Nat and Jake’s hands fell by their guns as the sheriff walked into the doctor’s office.
“Who are these guys?”
She stood in front of them, facing them down. “They are my colleagues. Their names are of no accord to you, Mr. Thompson.”
A cynical look fell over his face as he eyed Abigail with an air of triumph. “I knew the Pinkertons wouldn’t leave an investigation to a woman, and not to a slip of a girl. Why didn’t one of you men come to see me instead?”
“They couldn’t break cover. I could.” She shook her head in resignation, used to the assumptions which came with her sex. “Does it matter? Kurt Schmidt is one of the criminals. He’ll be able to name the rest of them.”
“Kurt? He wouldn’t know what he was doin’. Where’s the doc?”
An erect, white-haired man stood in the doorway, his gray suit covered by a bloody apron. He spoke in a soft lilting accent which belied the authority of his stance. “He’s looking after the Clarks with his wife. I’m Doctor MacIvor. I was visiting with my colleague when this case came in, so I jumped straight in to help.” He nodded over to Abigail. “I need to fetch a couple of things from the cabinet, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re Scottish?” Abigail’s brows met in curiosity. “'S Ailean mhór a chuir an rathad thu?”
He nodded. “Tha gu dearbh, 's fhearr a bhith cinnteach na caillte.” He switched to English. “How rude of us to speak in a language the rest do not understand. It’s just so rare to get the chance since we left home. Yes, miss. I was on my way to San Francisco to a convention of surgeons when a little voice said to me, ‘why don’t you go stop off in Bannen to look in on your old friend and colleague?’ It’s a good job I did. With all these patients, he’s never needed the help of a spare surgeon more.” He lifted a small bottle from the glass shelf. “Here it is. Back to the family.” The blue eyes lit with disdain as he glanced at Kurt. “They come first, as they are the hurt worse than you are. We’ll get to you presently.” He nodded once more before he left the room.
“They sure do come first,” the sheriff agreed.
“I don’t speak no German. I’ll get my deputy Groenig to do it. He’s got German from his folks. I’ll go get him.”
“He speaks English just fine,” Jake replied. “He spoke it to us when he got shot.”
“Is that right?” Sheriff Thompson sucked in an indignant breath. “I guess he let folks in Bannen believe that so nobody would suspect he was a robber. Is that true, Kurt?” The sheriff poked him in the wound.
“Ow! Leave me be. It was a way to keep noisy neighbors from bothering Pa about keeping me outta school so I could help on the farm, is all. I made out I was simple so school didn’t want me. I didn’t want them, neither. They made fun of my mouth.”
“And later it was useful for the bushwackin’? They were always loners, those Schmidts. They kept themselves to themselves. The young ’un wasn’t of school age when they moved here.”
He prodded Kurt’s shoulder again. “Well. What do you know? Who’s your friends? Talk.” He jabbed the wound again as Jake stepped forward.
“Leave him be. I don’t hold with torture.”
“Why? Are you soft?” He prodded the screaming boy again. “Talk.”
“I said, leave him be,” Jake forced the lawman away from the wounded man with jolt to the shoulder. The sheriff reacted and went for his firearm but found the gunman’s weapon in his nose before he could even straighten up.
“Whoa.” He raised his hands in capitulation, stunned at the speed of the gunman who stood before him. “Sure. I ain’t gonna mess with professionals.”
“I’ll question him,” Nat pushed between them. “We’ll tell you what we want you to do.”
“Well, we got the murderer of those whores now.” The sheriff eyed the group with hostility. “You ain’t needed here no more.”
“I never. I never murdered no one,” yelled Kurt.
“You expect us to believe that, you murdering basta—”
Abigail cut him off. “The way they operate isn’t the same. A bullet in the arm in anger and a head blunt injury doesn’t come close to a deliberate shot through the head and a slow strangling. This case isn’t closed. We’re going nowhere.”
“How’d you know that?”
Abigail glared at him. “You said it yourself. We’re professionals.”
“So who are the other two?” asked Nat. “Who else is there around here? There’s only one more man in the household, and the sheriff told Abi he was dead.”
“Och, for heaven’s sake. It’s obvious,” Abigail threw up her hands. “It’s the girl. They’re all described as heavy set. They pad her with jackets and she makes sure she doesn’t speak. Add the father and son speaking good English and nobody around would dream it was them under a mask. Pa Schmidt’s dead, and suddenly there are two robbers? Do you think that’s just a coincidence?”
“Don’t talk rubbish girl. A woman couldn’t carry that off.”
She glared at the sheriff. “No? Did you think I could look sixty years old?” She threw up her hands in exasperation at the male’s ability to dismiss female criminality. “Search the place. Look for the disguise; padded jackets. Look for a man’s hat with long red hairs in the crown,” she glared at the wounded man. “Tell them, Kurt. We’ll even find things you just had to keep, eh?”
“How’d you know?” asked the wounded boy, caught out by her certainty.
“See? Now, when you’re all finished with this nonsense, you need to bring her and her mother in for questioning.”
“Nope,” the sheriff replied. “I’m getting a posse and
we’re razin’ that place to the ground.”
“No, you’re not,” Abigail planted her feet in front of the lawman. “I’m not interested in fitting someone up to clear a crime. I want the real killers found. It doesn’t help the people of this town to have murderers walking free. And burning the place will destroy evidence. What if there are murders you don’t even know about?”
“So you ain’t gonna do nuthin’? That’s loco.”
“Arrest them, by all means, but that’s it. No destruction and no burning. We’re going out there tomorrow, and we’ll look at all the evidence, not burn it as an act of stupid revenge. Until then, tell anyone who’ll listen that Kurt is here. Tell your posse to do the same. Let them worry and see what the new information makes them do.”
“Make who do what?”
Abigail’s dark eyes fixed on the sheriff with a fierce determination. “The murderers. Let’s see if anyone makes a run for it.”
♦◊♦
The posse set out for the Schmidt place, but the trio stayed behind to allow the townsfolk to bring in the Schmidts on their own. It had been a long day and heightened emotions were still running through the group. They needed to rest and Abigail noted with deep concern that Jake hadn’t said a word to her, or looked her in the eye, since their quarrel.
♦◊♦
Jake strolled outside and rubbed his tense face. This law work was harder than he thought, and he had been ready to take a swing at Abigail after their confrontation out in the plain. He walked along the sidewalk, the cleansing night air hitting his lungs and washing away his initial tension, but the anger still boiled deep in his guts. His shoulders rose in tension at the feminine heels clattering behind him. By the time they got close he already anticipated the voice which drifted through the darkness.
“Jake. I have to speak to you.”
He stiffened and quickened his pace, his irritation rising. The patter of her feet rang through the night before a hand grasped his arm. Jake shrugged her off and strode on. “Don’t you know when to give up?”
She ran in front of him and stood in his way in a misguided attempt to appeal to his better nature. “Please. We have to talk.”
A muscle flinched in his jaw. “Get out of my way, Abi.”
“Jake—”
“Move, or I won’t be responsible for my actions. I ain’t in the mood for this.”
“No. I need to talk to you.”
Without a word, he grasped her by the top of the arm and dragged her into the nearest alley. He thrust her against the wall and held her with one hand. “You want to talk? You got my full attention, sweetheart. Just remember a killer’s got you in an alley, so don’t do anythin’ stupid.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
She spoke calmly but he could hear her swallowing hard as her breathing quickened against his grasp.
He moved closer, his hot breath on her face. “You sure about that?”
He watched her eyes well up but it wasn’t fear, it was regret. Her next words only added to his conflicted psyche. “Yes. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’m sorry, Jake. So sorry. I am just getting to know you. That’s my only excuse. I’m in a world of criminals and rogues. It’s taken me a while to realize you’re not—” she paused, “well—very usual. I’m alone out here, and all I have to measure you by is what I already know about people. But every now and then you show me I know almost nothing. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
He gazed right into her, lost in his own thoughts and memories before he spoke as though scattering a nightmare. “A killer. The man with the fast gun. That’s all you see.”
“You’re wrong.”
A sardonic laugh slashed the evening chill. “Yeah? You thought exactly that until Nat found the bag.”
“I know. I understand better now."
He pulled back and stared deep into her, his eyes still swirling with doubt as she spoke again.
“I should have listened to my heart and what I’ve learned about you. I was wrong, and I’ll tell that to anyone. Even Alan Pinkerton.”
“Yeah, right. Ever wondered why I needed to get so good with a gun? Maybe I lost too much? Maybe I needed to make sure I didn’t lose anyone else?” His lids slid closed and he pushed her away. “Go,” his sigh was hoarse and elemental.
“Please talk to me.”
“Just go. I ain’t leavin’ you in an alley. You’re just dumb enough to stay here and pick a fight with whatever’s rakin’ through the trash.”
“No, I’m not—”
He pulled her into the street. “Go, woman. Just go. Will you ever listen to anythin’ you’re told?”
♦◊♦
Nat’s eyes were as dark as the inky corners of the room as he stared at a sobbing Kurt Schmidt. He turned and walked out of the jailhouse. He had to know if this man was responsible for the death of two helpless women, and he was glad to find out the truth. Unlike the sheriff, he wasn’t interested in finding a scapegoat; he dealt only in truth when it came to righting wrongs. He didn’t have Jake’s scruples, but he didn’t use the sheriff’s blunt instrument, either. His methods were pointed and comprehensive, but they got answers. If the lawmen hadn’t been sitting in the next room, he was sure he’d have gotten a few more.
He nodded to the deputy on his way out and strode out into the cool night air. It felt good to be free from suspicion because everyone thought he was one of the Pinkerton Agents. He could get used to this. His heart still throbbed with emotional intensity as she stepped out onto the street and saw a lone figure standing on the sidewalk gazing out at the night sky.
“Abi?”
She turned, her smile thin and unconvincing.
“Are you alright?”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
He took one more lingering look and hooked an arm through hers. “No, you’re not. Walk with me. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was stronger this time but her face was still impassive and stony.
“Yeah? This is me you’re talkin’ to. What’s wrong? Is this all too much for you?”
He felt her sigh.
“I’ve upset Jake.” Her eyes then flashed, unable to let the slight go unchallenged. “And no. This isn’t too much for me. You two are just not what I expected,” her brow creased. “Not at all. You’re very confounding.”
He stopped and turned to look at her, already knowing the answer. “Tell me about Jake.”
“Out there today, when he shot that boy. He’s so angry at me he could barely even look at me most of the day. I’ve tried to apologize, but he’s still furious, and so cold and so—” She shook her head. “I’m the outsider here. You two have a tight bond. You’re not the one to discuss this with.”
His smiled through the poor light. “It’s fine. He’s fine.”
“No. It’s not. He’s not.”
“I’ve seen you not give a damn what people think of you,” his brows met in a frown. “Why does his opinion matter so much?”
“I deal in truth, no matter how harsh. He’s not a cold killer. He’s a surgeon’s knife, not the blunt instrument I was told he was. I was unfair.” Abigail paused, pointing to her heart. “Even though I’ve apologized, that’s not good enough, not for me.”
His knitted brows dissipated into surprise. “You need to understand somethin’ about Jake. He feels more than he says, but he’s fair, real fair. If you’ve apologized, and meant it, he’ll listen to you. He just needs to work through his anger first.” He turned her so he faced her, studying her with a smile. “When it wears off, he’ll tell you himself. But sometimes, with men, you have to let them work things through before they’re ready to talk. We don’t talk about feelings. We act on them, and that can take longer when we know it’d be easier to just thrash the hell out of someone. If you’d been a man he’d have cracked you on the jaw,” he grinned. “Now, he’s got that to work through, too. Give him time, he’ll be back when he’s ready.”
She groaned. “So? You’re teachi
ng me about men now, Mr. Quinn?”
His mellifluous baritone was laden with meaning. “Do you want me to teach you, Abi?”
Her stomach gave the now familiar flip as her eyes darted away in embarrassment.
He smiled, flashing his brows mischievously. “You didn’t say no.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with a long finger and drew her face up to look into his. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. You still have the ability to surprise me, and not many women do. Most would think you’d be very experienced around men, but you’re not, are you?”
Her almond-shaped eyes shone as the moonlight illuminated her pale skin. “That depends on what you mean by experienced, Mr. Quinn.”
“You know what I mean, Abi,” he whispered as he drew her close to him.
He felt her tense and he released her, concern flickering over his face. “I’m sorry. I thought I sensed something between us.”
She dropped her head. “Whatever you sensed, Mr. Quinn, needs to stay exactly where it is.”
He tilted his head, the disquiet feeding through to his voice. “Is it because of what I did to you at the cabin? I wouldn’t have. I would never do that to a woman. It was a strategy. It’s not who I am. There are some things you can’t steal.”
“No,” she shook her head and darted a smile at him. “I know you wouldn’t, nor would Jake.”
His brow lined. “What, then?”
“This is a temporary truce, Mr. Quinn. You’re clever, kind, and as handsome as the devil himself; but you’re still a criminal…and I can’t afford to get involved with a man like you.”
“Male lawmen do it all the time. Ask Pearl.”
“Do you understand how good I have to be? To be allowed into my world, let alone get respect? I can’t. I just can’t.” She frowned. “Quite apart from the fact that I’m not the kind of woman to throw herself at anyone, we’ll be on opposite sides again very soon.”
He folded his arms, his cheeks dimpling in delight. “So? You think I’m handsome?”
“You know I do. Stop fishing for compliments, it’s very unattractive.” She thrust her nose in the air. “So is Jake. You are a very winsome family.”
