by Shirl Henke
Still, he could not leave her and the boy alone with anyone who was connected with Amos Wells. The best thing would be to watch Snead while he was not suspecting. “If you're certain you don't mind, it would be wise for me to hightail it back to Carson,” he said to Rebekah.
She took his hand and squeezed it fondly. “I think we shall become good friends, Patrick. Be careful and watch out for Rory.”
“I expect everything will be in hand by the time I arrive,” he said reassuringly, “but I'll send him directly here to collect you as soon as the legalities are taken care of.” He returned her squeeze, then released her hand and nodded curtly to Snead.
Rebekah and Henry watched Patrick ride off. Then, Snead turned to her with a smile and said, “How about some breakfast? You could use some fattening up, and Michael is always hungry.”
Down the road to the south, Patrick reined in behind the cover of a stand of pines and looked down on the layout of the Flying W. He waited a few moments, then began to circle around to the west, keeping out of sight of the ranch house. When he neared the west side of the big, two-story structure, he dismounted behind an outcropping of rock and tied his horse, then climbed up to watch and wait. He was not certain for what.
In an hour or so, Rebekah and Michael, accompanied by Patsy Mulcahey, headed down to the corral. The maid carried a hamper filled with picnic treats. In a few moments, they rode off. Patrick debated following them, then decided they would be safe enough since two of the cowhands accompanied them. He would wait to see if Henry Snead was up to anything.
When Snead left the house shortly and headed toward the barn, Patrick worked his way to a side window. Snead entered to the angry bellowing of a bull, confined near several dozen cows. There was nothing unusual in the conversation between Henry and the bull's handler. Patrick crouched outside the barn until his quarry headed back to the ranch house.
The big gunman watched from across the corral, hidden behind the rocks where he had found Patrick's horse tethered. Kelso's yellow teeth showed as he grinned evilly. All he had to do to get this Madigan was wait until he returned to his cover. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he muttered as Patrick neared the rocks once more. He was spying on Snead. The thought made the killer laugh.
Patrick settled down in the rocks. “It's going to be a long day.” He sighed.
As the butt of the gunman's pistol came crashing down on Patrick's head, Kelso replied, “Longer than you'd ever imagine, Madigan.”
* * * *
Rebekah sat under the shade of a pine tree watching Michael skipping along the edge of the pond. The jagged mountain peaks gleamed rusty bronze in the distance, and heat shimmered across the valley floor. Her son's infectious laughter sounded like music in the peaceful afternoon air, but the rich lunch she had just eaten was not sitting well. After a sleepless night and the day's enervating heat, she had a throbbing headache as well as indigestion. Rebekah leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes, then opened them again quickly. Visions of Rory's mocking smile were always hovering.
If only she knew what to say to him, how to make him understand what she herself did not fully comprehend. And even if they could work out some sort of relationship, how could they help Michael accept it? It was one thing to like the charming man who brought him a pony, but quite another to have that man come into his life and in the space of a heartbeat marry his mother and become his father.
Rebekah did not honestly think Michael would grieve over Amos' death, but that in itself might eventually make the boy feel guilty. Imagine his added bewilderment when he learned that he was not truly Amos' son, but Rory's.
Patsy approached the picnic blanket and knelt down beside her mistress. “It's that tired you look, ma'am. Yer worried about the mister, I know.”
If Patsy had been shocked over Rebekah's unseemly haste in remarrying, she had never betrayed a hint of it, but acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Michael's parents to be reunited. Rebekah only wished things were that simple. She smiled feebly. “I didn't sleep well last night,” she replied evasively and then blushed when she realized what the remark implied.
Patsy clucked sympathetically. “I'm thinkin' it might be best if you went back to the ranch and rested before dinner. The mister might arrive by then.”
“I don't want to spoil Michael's outing,” Rebekah replied, watching her son. Randy Ziegler, one of the older men who had worked for the Flying W for years, helped Michael mount Snowball and began to walk beside them, showing the boy the finer points of how to handle his treasured pony.
“We'll look out for Michael. Not to worry. I'll have him home in plenty of time to wash up for supper.”
Her pounding head, and the thought of the powder back at the ranch house that could soothe it, decided Rebekah. “Let me tell him to mind you before I go,” she said, climbing wearily to her feet.
In less than an hour, Rebekah slipped quietly in the kitchen door. The old cook was taking his siesta before starting dinner. No one was about as she mixed a spoonful of headache powder in water and drank it down with a grimace.
A nap would give her the strength to face Rory tonight, assuming he came for them by tonight. As she started down the hall, she heard sounds of papers rustling in Amos' study. Smiling to herself, Rebekah approached. Poor loyal Henry was at work on her late husband's books. She opened the door and stood frozen in amazement at the sight that greeted her.
There, spread out on the desk, were dozens of bundles of paper currency in huge denominations and stacks of mining securities. Henry was facing the wall behind Amos' desk where the safe—a hidden wall safe even she had not known existed—stood open while he pulled the last documents from it.
Rebekah started to back out of the room, but he turned too quickly, pulling a hidden gun from inside his jacket. “Come in, Rebekah. I regret your catching me like this, but I would have had to dispose of you quite soon anyway.”
Chapter Twenty
Henry's tone of voice was matter-of-fact, his expression regretful. He acted solicitously toward Rebekah in spite of the unwavering gun he pointed at her. His words simply would not register at first. She stared dumbly at him as he walked over to her and gently pulled her into the room, closing the door behind her. That was when she saw Patrick's body lying slumped across the chair in the corner.
“You've killed Patrick!” She tried to pull away and rush to him, but Snead held her fast, shaking his head.
“No, he's quite alive. Observe the rope binding him. We'd have no need to tie and gag a corpse, although I'm afraid my assistant, Mr. Kelso, did strike him harder than necessary.” He shoved her down into the chair in front of the desk, then slipped his gun back into the hidden holster under his jacket and continued going through the money and documents on the desk.
Rebekah's mind raced frantically, trying to make sense of the insane nightmare unfolding in front of her. “You were one of the partners in Amos' illegal stock manipulations.”
“Not at first. It took me a while to gain his confidence before he let me in on their really lucrative ventures. Arranging for you to marry him was a decided point in my favor. No easy feat to accomplish either,” he added with a sigh.
It was as if a great fist had slammed into her chest. “You sent Rory to Denver for that fight,” she choked out.
He shook his head. “No, that was Amos' idea, after I began feeding him snippets of information gleaned from the man I hired to follow you and your Irishman. However, Amos would’ve been content to let Madigan return, thinking your family would turn the bloody ruffian away when he tried to claim you. But I knew you a bit better than Amos ever did. I wasn't inclined to take a chance.” He fingered a bundle of thousand-dollar bills.
“You hired those men to kill Rory in Denver, not Amos.” She could still scarcely take it all in.
“Amos wanted you—and Michael.” He nodded at her gasp of shock. “Oh, yes, I knew about his impotence. You weren't the only one I set spies on. I kn
ew the only way he could get an heir was to have Madigan do the job for him, then conveniently drop from the picture. A pity the mick had to return from the dead, as it were—he and this one here.” He nodded to the pale, unconscious form of Patrick.
“The Madigan brothers have caused us all no end of grief in recent years. I always planned to kill Amos one day.” He smiled sadly at her. When he resumed, there was almost an apology in his voice. “I rather thought you'd consider that a favor of sorts.”
“But why make it look as if I did it?”
His shoulders slumped as he placed the last bundle of money into a heavy leather satchel. “I regretted having to do that, Rebekah, but Amos had become a liability to the men he worked with. He'd grown careless and arrogant. But more than that—a matter they didn't know about—Amos was withholding money from them.” He patted the satchel. “As I said, I've made it my business in the past decade to learn all his secrets. After all, he was my kinsman by marriage.”
Rebekah's heart sped up and she curled her fingers into fists, willing herself not to panic. “And if I was out of the picture, all Amos's estate would go to Michael and you would surely be appointed his guardian.”
“But then you had to go and ruin everything by marrying Rory Madigan. I underestimated you, Rebekah.”
“You underestimated Rory,” she said flatly.
“Since he and Patrick began their little vendetta against Amos, I always knew that sooner or later I'd have to deal with them. Then, Amos's carelessness caused him to implicate Sheffield and Bascomb, even the high and mighty Stephan Hammer. You can bet they were glad to have me on their side against the Madigans, but I alone kept my name out of their deals.”
“I suppose Amos stole more than enough to compensate you for that,” she said, nodding to the securities and cash on the desk. “But you're still underestimating Rory.”
“I think not. My assistant, Mr. Kelso, and I have devised a plan to take care of everything. I'm only sorry you had to get in the way.”
Absurdly, she believed him even as the icy chill of his words sank in.
“As I said, Rebekah, I've grown genuinely fond of you and Michael over the years. I'll take good care of the boy. Leah can raise him right along with our sons. He'll want for nothing.”
He was so sincere with his monstrous promise. “Please, Henry—you can't just kill us.”
“Unfortunately, I have no choice. Can't say I'll feel bad about the Madigans, but you...” He studied her fondly, the corners of his mustache turning up in that sad smile he'd given her so often over the years. “I married the wrong sister, you know. Should’ve seen how much promise you had instead of being blinded by my wife's once voluptuous charms. But what's done is done,” he added with a brisk shift of mood, snapping the satchel closed.
Rebekah scanned the room, looking for a weapon. Henry was a big man, and somewhere on the premises his hired killer lurked. How could she outwit them by herself? Patrick was injured, unconscious, and bound. As Snead walked around the desk, she said as calmly as she could, “You can't get away with this, Henry. Take the money and leave Nevada—run. Rory and Patrick went to the governor. Rory is helping arrest Senator Sheffield and all the others right now. They'll implicate you.”
“I'm afraid not. Mr. Kelso took care of Sheffield and Bascomb last night. Hammer is too smart to talk. Besides, being a high-ranking federal official, he knows he can buy his way out, and after the unfortunate deaths of his friends, he'll want nothing more than to get the hell out of Nevada and never return.”
“But Rory—”
“Madigan tried to stop Kelso. He's dead, too,” Snead said, watching her reaction carefully.
Black spots floated before Rebekah's eyes as she struggled to breathe. No! I would know if you were dead, Rory. Surely, I would know....
Just then, a hulking giant with a lethal-looking Colt strapped to his hip walked into the office. “The coast is clear, boss,” the hard-looking stranger said in a raspy voice.
“You carry Madigan. I'll escort the lady. Oh, Rebekah, I'd advise you against screaming. The only men around to hear you are the old cook and a stable boy. I don't think you'd want their deaths on your conscience, now would you?” he asked gently.
“What are you going to do?” She forced out the words, trying not to recoil when he took her arm and moved toward the door. Kelso picked up Patrick and slung the big Irishman across his shoulder as if he weighed no more than Michael.
“You're still under suspicion for your first husband's death. When you and your second husband's brother abscond from the ranch with all Amos' money from his secret safe...well, it won't take much to convince Sheriff Sears that you and Patrick planned the whole thing.”
They headed to the kitchen with Kelso preceding them to the back door, carrying Patrick. Rebekah shook off Henry's hand and walked calmly ahead of him. As soon as they were inside the room, she saw what she had been praying for—the small, sharp paring knife the cook used to cut vegetables from his garden out back. It lay in the shadows on a small corner table beside the door with his apron carelessly thrown beside it. How could she slip it inside her skirt pocket without Henry noticing?
When Kelso opened the back door and started to maneuver Patrick through it, Henry's attention was diverted. Rebekah stumbled against a kitchen chair and fell forward toward the table, crying out as if it were an accident. Before Snead could reach over to catch her, she had concealed the knife and straightened up. She did not have to pretend the shiver of terror when she looked up at him as if expecting that he would strike her. Just don't look at that apron that fell onto the floor, she prayed. “I... I felt a bit dazed,” she murmured.
As solicitous as the old friend she had always believed him to be, Henry smiled and took her arm. “Be careful, my dear. I know you're frightened. It won't be much longer and this will all be over.”
* * * *
Carson City
The search for the killer had proven fruitless. Rory sat in his suite at the Ormsby House, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhausted and frustrated. His shoulder kept a steady throbbing beat in time with the pounding in his temples. When the man who murdered Sheffield had shot him in the orchard, he'd fallen, striking his head against the trunk of a peach tree.
By the time the marshal found him, their quarry was long gone. Against his will, the semiconscious Rory had been taken to the doctor, then driven back to his hotel, where he passed out on the bed. By the time he had awakened, it was late morning; and the news the governor's aide brought him was not good. When the deputy had arrived at Hiram Bascomb's house the night before, the little banker was as dead as Shanghai Sheffield, probably shot by the same assassin. A thorough search of Carson City yielded nothing.
Wells and his cohorts were all dead. All but one—Stephan Hammer—and he was securely held in the Ormsby County jail, refusing to say a word except to express outrage and indignation at being detained. Perhaps, he had hired the professional who took care of his fellows, but things still did not fit.
“I'm missing something. What would a man like Hammer have to gain by framing Rebekah for Amos' death? If he was afraid she knew about Amos' illegal associations, why not just have her killed along with the others?” He looked at the breakfast tray a maid had brought earlier. He had no appetite, but considered that perhaps food would fortify him so he could think straight. Then, he'd ride out to the Flying W and discuss the whole debacle with Patrick. Between the two of them, with Rebekah's help, maybe they could make sense of the puzzle.
Just as he was finishing the last bite of steak, a loud rapping sounded on the sitting room door of his suite. Rory shoved the plate away and reached for his gun. He walked slowly to the door and unlocked it, standing clear as he yanked it open. The last person on earth he expected to see was Ephraim Sinclair.
The reverend took one look at the pistol barrel so near his face and stiffened, but did not step back. “I have urgent information I need to share with you,” he said in a low, weary
voice. “I've spent the night asking the Lord for guidance.”
“And He sent you to me?” A sardonic smile swept over Rory's face as he lowered his gun and motioned for the old man to come inside.
“You're Rebekah's husband. A part of this family now. And I...I don't know where else to turn, what to do.”
“Sit down, I'll get you some coffee. It should still be fairly hot.” Rory looked at the old man's haggard face. Something was badly amiss. A moment later, he shoved a cup of strong black coffee into Sinclair's hands and sat down across from him, unconsciously rubbing the bandage on his shoulder. Damn, he was still groggy from whatever that doc had given him last night. Shaking his head to clear it, he said, “Maybe you'd better tell me what this is all about, Reverend Sinclair.”
The old man's shoulders slumped as he carefully set the cup and saucer down on the table beside his chair. “Last night I went to have a talk with Leah. You know how angry I was that you'd forced Rebekah to marry you. I suppose that's part of the reason... Anyway, the rest can wait. The issue now is who killed Amos.”
“What could you or Leah know about—Snead!” Rory jumped up abruptly. “It was Snead, wasn't it?” He cursed his own obtuseness as Sinclair nodded, a bewildered expression on his face. Rory continued, “It all makes sense. He worked for Amos and was in with the others. He just hid his trail more carefully.”
“But why did he implicate Rebekah? He's always been her champion against Amos,” Ephraim asked, bewildered.
“With Rebekah out of the way, all Amos' estate would go to Michael. His uncle would have been the logical one to act as my son's guardian and executor—if I hadn't gotten in the way. But how did you find out what Snead had done?”
“The gun—Rebekah’s gun. Leah found it while she was going through Henry's desk the day before Amos was shot. She just assumed he'd taken it to clean or repair it for her sister. He was always doing errands for Rebekah. That was one of the things that drove Leah to such jealousy....” His voice faded away.
