Amelia’s heart pounded loudly in her ears. Could it be true? she wondered. Have I been saved? Glancing up with her fingers crossed behind her back, she stared at the man who had bought her. One glance was enough to affirm her suspicions and she dropped her eyes, blinking away sudden tears of relief.
Her grandpapa was a tall, thin man with a rosy-red complexion and bright brown eyes. His most prominent feature was his dark, well-defined eyebrows; like eagle’s wings, they were a physical trait he had passed on to his descendants.
Amelia glanced up once more and sneaked a peek at the two men standing next to Gerald Winters. She didn’t know who the smaller man was but he appeared to be in his thirties with a handlebar mustache and sharp blue eyes. The other man though…Amelia’s eyes grew wide. She knew all of a sudden and without any doubt that she was staring at her auntie’s husband, Matthew Wilcox. She had seen his image enough times to recognize the long, thin nose and the wide, slightly-slanted green eyes that gazed back at her. Yet Amelia also realized all three men were in disguise, that the black hair and tawny skin of her saviors would wash off with soap and water.
The Chinese woman who held her arm in a vice-like grip held her other hand out and started talking fast in her singsong voice. Gerald rolled his eyes and muttered, “I know what you want, ye damn harpy…here! Eighteen thousand dollars, as agreed.”
The woman snatched the leather bag away from him and counted the coins and banknotes within. Finally, she nodded her head in satisfaction and gave Amelia a little push in their direction. “You go now,” she growled.
“Gladly, Madame Harpy,” Gerald mumbled with a smile and took Amelia’s arm in his. He stopped and said, “Wait a minute…” He turned to Matthew. “Will you loan us your coat, please?”
“Of course,” Matthew said and placed it over Amelia’s scantily-clad body. The girl was weeping openly now in relief but Matthew thought those tears would easily be misconstrued as fear or sorrow to the people who might be watching their exit.
He and Roy took point with Gerald and his granddaughter behind them and made their way out the door into the large room. The auction was technically over but dogs were fighting again in the makeshift pen and an impromptu band had started up on the other side. Although most of the men and women who had bid were leaving, many of the bystanders were preparing to carry on the festivities in their own manner.
Matthew heard a few catcalls as some of the men in the crowded room spotted their exit but no one tried to stop them, especially since Roy had decided to display his pistol in warning.
They were almost to the double doors that led upstairs when he saw the police commissioner, LeVesque, lounging against the back wall. He studied them with cold, dark eyes and the sheriff wondered uneasily just how many constables were in cahoots with the man.
Matthew thought it would be easy enough for LeVesque to simply arrest them for human trafficking and then make off with Amelia himself for more profit. Suddenly convinced that was precisely what was going to happen, he said, “Roy, you and Gerald stop just outside the doorway while I have a chat with an old friend.”
Roy’s eyes narrowed at Matthew’s tone of voice. They had worked together far too long for the new threat in his friend’s voice not to register. So he quickly hustled Gerald and Amelia out the doors and then pushed them toward a wall, standing in front of them.
A few moments later, Matthew walked out with a small fellow struggling fruitlessly by his side. “Let me go, you bastard!” the man cried.
“I will, but first you’re going to listen to me,” Matthew snarled. He shoved the man against the opposite wall and put his pistol to LeVesque’s Adam’s apple. “I don’t know—nor do I care—what kind of game you’re running here, Commissioner.” The sheriff sneered. “What I do know is this. I could kill you here and now and no one would lift a finger.”
LeVesque’s eyes got big and he gagged as the pistol ground into his throat, frantically shaking his head back and forth. “No! Don’t kill me, please!”
Matthew seemed to think it over. “No, I won’t…not if you let us go unhindered. If you do that, I’ll even keep mum about what you’re up to here,” he lied, silently vowing that if it was the last thing he ever did, he would bring this little weasel of a man down for using the law to cover his own illegal activities.
Pushing the pistol into LeVesque’s neck a little harder, Matthew watched as the man’s tongue protruded from his lips and he clutched at his belly against the gag reflex triggered by the gun’s cold metal kiss. As he released some of the pressure, LeVesque squealed, “Yes! Now please stop!”
Matthew stepped back and barked, “Move forward! I’ll be right behind you and if anything bad happens—anything at all—you’ll be feeling what this gun is really meant to do!”
LeVesque nodded, wiping nervous sweat away from his forehead. With the pistol’s heavy steel nose now boring into his lower back, he led the procession up the stairs through the little Chinese store and out into the street.
Then he called out, “Boys! Let these ones go!”
“You sure, boss?” another voice asked from the shadows.
Levesque yelled as the gun drilled into his kidney. “Yes, goddammit!”
A few moments later, Matthew heard Gerald’s stagehand shout, “Get yer mitts off me, you filthy shite!”
A rented carriage careened around the corner and came to a stop in front them. “Get in! Those are Seattle coppers!” the stagehand warned.
Not for long, Matthew silently swore. He let his pistol fall in a heavy arc, hitting LeVesque across the temple and watched as the man slumped into a heap on the ground.
Chapter 29
Mate
As the opulent gray carriage swept down the street, Amelia wept in gratitude and clutched at her grandfather’s arm.
“Thank you! Thank you so much, all of you, for saving me!”
Gerald smiled and patted her on the back. “That’s all right, dearie. You are safe now, thanks to your Uncle Matthew and his deputy.”
“Well, sir, I believe it was a group effort,” Matthew murmured.
Blushing, Amelia moved forward on the opposite bench and took the sheriff’s hand in hers. “Still, thank you so much…Uncle. I can’t tell you how many times I prayed you would come to save the day.” She used her grandfather’s hankie to wipe the tears from her face, adding, “I was beginning to lose hope.”
Matthew nodded. “Yes, I suppose you were. It hasn’t been an easy thing to find you. The Donnellys have been doing this for a long time, it seems. They covered their trail effectively, too. It was only by chance that we even knew where to look!”
Sitting back with an exhausted sigh, Amelia said, “Well, you did find me and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Do my mother and father know what has happened?”
“We’re heading to them now, dear,” Gerald replied. “They’ve been scared silly and will weep in gratitude that their daughter is safely back in their arms.”
“I only hope they’re not too disappointed in me,” she whispered and then closed her eyes and snuggled up next to her grandfather, falling into an exhausted sleep.
The first order of business was to return the frightfully expensive rented carriage to the stable and pick up their more modest transport. Then they needed to get Amelia back to her heartsick parents. More importantly, they needed to change their appearance both for comfort’s sake and to keep the Mideastern prince ruse in play.
Matthew knew by now that the search for Iris’s niece had become a personal vendetta between himself and Patrick Donnelly. Amelia’s captor was apparently willing to do anything—including spill innocent blood—to profit from the girls he kidnapped. But he had chosen the wrong girl this time…and spilled the wrong blood.
Staring out the side window at the dark city streets, Matthew had no doubt that if Patrick knew he was the one who had taken possession of Amelia, the bastard would send his henchmen to take her back out of sheer spite.
He shook his head and tore the black wig off his head. He would deliver Amelia to the bosom of her family but, after that, he would send Iris home and renew his hunt. Now that the girl was safe, he intended to bag a few criminals. He would bring Patrick and Margaret Donnelly, Freddie Marston, LeVesque, the crooked sheriff in Wenatchee and a few others to justice.
Gerald kicked a sturdy leather valise at his feet. “In here you will find some heavy grease. That should help with make-up removal. Your regular clothes are packed in the bottom, too.”
Matthew smeared the grease over his face and mustache. It stunk of pig but after rubbing a clean cloth over his face a few times, he saw Gerald nod in approval. “Looks like you’re almost back to normal, son.”
Roy took his turn with the grease-pot and stripped out of the caftan. He was already dressed underneath the costume, but now his pale complexion was in evidence and he grinned. “Back to the pretty boy my wife knows and loves!” he smirked.
A bit later, Gerald’s coach turned the corner and started up the broad thoroughfare toward the playhouse. It was well past 9:00 by now and the streets should have been empty. Instead, many people stood around the building gawking and pointing.
Matthew stared at the crowd and said, “Uh, Gerald, is it usually this busy after a show?”
The old man started from his doze and craned his head to peer out the window. “What the…?”
“Uh-oh,” Roy muttered.
Matthew felt his heart sink with dismay. Now that they were closer, he could see two King County paddy wagons and an ambulance pulled up close to the alley by the theater. City constables were pacing back and forth, swinging hand-held lanterns and blowing their whistles.
“Grandpapa,” Amelia whispered. “Has someone been hurt?”
“I don’t know, dear,” he replied. “But we shall soon see.”
The carriage pulled to a stop and Gerald said, “Amelia, you stay here for the time being. Let me see what’s going on.”
Amelia settled back on the seat and watched as her saviors walked up to the closest constable and exchanged words. Then she saw Gerald step back and put his hand over his heart in shock.
Matthew also completely froze for a moment, then took off running down the alley, Roy hot on his heels. Amelia saw a few of the constables try to stop them but give way quickly when they saw the look in the sheriff’s eyes. She felt herself grow as cold as ice.
Her grandfather was hunched over and trembling as if he had just been dealt a grievous blow. Somehow knowing that the news concerned her and her family, she disobeyed orders and jumped down from the carriage. Running up to him, Amelia cried, “Grandpapa, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Gerald stared at her with blank eyes and a tear fell when he recognized who she was. “Darling…,” he choked. “Your mama…I’m so sorry, but your mama has been murdered and your pa is at death’s door.”
Amelia gasped, staring at her grandfather as he added, “Some ruffians hurt your ma and pa and kidnapped your auntie Iris.” The old man groaned and seemed to sway on his feet.
“Sir? I think maybe you should sit down for a little while. Here…” A young constable took Gerald by the arm and led him to one of the benches in front of the theater. “Mister, if it’s any comfort, I hear that Dr. Winters might be okay.” He sighed, adding, “I sure hope so. He has been our family’s doc since I was just a boy.”
Amelia sat down next to her grandfather. Her eyes were surprisingly dry and she knew she was in shock. But too much had happened over the last couple of weeks; she felt numb and disconnected. Taking her grandpapa’s hand, she closed her eyes as an older woman in a flamboyant red silk dress and heavy make-up fought her way through the line of policemen and ran to Gerald’s side.
Gerald leaned into his lover’s ample bosom and wept while Amelia stared into space at her mother’s spirit; she saw her ma’s short round body and sensed her kind touch but felt a jolt of fear when she realized she couldn’t see Muriel’s face. Although Amelia could also hear her mother’s warm voice and smell her special fragrance, her face was only a blur.
Reaching into thin air, trying desperately to lift the veil of death over her mother’s features, Amelia rose to her feet and screamed, “Mama, come back!”
The young woman’s wail rose into the night, echoing eerily off the tall buildings until many of the bystanders covered their ears in superstitious dread. Some people from the “old country” believed a banshee had just come to visit and they crossed themselves before fleeing lest that spirit came to call on them as well.
~
By the time Matthew reached the top of the staircase, Muriel’s body was on a gurney, covered by a canvas tarp. He saw her small, roughened hand sticking out from under and placed it alongside her corpse. Then he turned and noticed an unfamiliar doctor attending to his brother-in-law.
Lewis lay as still as death on a cot by the far wall. His eyes were open, though, and flicked toward Matthew as he gestured with his left hand and murmured, “Matt…”
The physician plunged a cloth into a bucket of clean water. Wringing it out, he handed the rag to Matthew and said, “Use this to wet his lips. A little water can go down but be careful because I just gave him a large dose of morphine and he might get sick with too many fluids in his belly.”
Matthew gazed down at Lewis and asked, “Will he be okay, Doctor?”
The physician sighed. “I think so. He was hit on the back of the head by some sort of blunt object. If you’re going to get clobbered on the skull, that is a pretty good place to get it, in my opinion, as the bone is quite dense. Still, there is always the risk of swelling or internal bleeding. If his condition worsens, I might have to trepan…” He sighed, adding, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The sheriff nodded and squeezed some water onto his brother-in-law’s lips.
“Can you tell me what happened? Where’s Iris?” he whispered.
Lewis’s lids fluttered and, when he opened his eyes, Matthew saw they were slightly crossed. Feeling a chill, he took the man’s hand. “Who did this? Can you tell me that?”
It looked as though Lewis was trying to answer but the effort was too much for him. The attending physician shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the patient needs to rest right now.”
Matthew paused in frustration and then heard Roy call from down the hall. He patted Lewis on the shoulder and whispered, “Get better soon, brother.” Then he walked into the other room.
Roy was standing by Dicky’s bed. The young man was white as a sheet and Matthew could feel waves of heat emanating off his body from two feet away. Understanding that the young deputy might not survive his knife wound after all, Matthew took his hand.
Dicky searched the sheriff’s face and whispered, “I’m s-s-sorry, boss. I c-couldn’t stop ‘em.”
“Of course you couldn’t, son. It’s not your fault!”
Dicky’s eyes were bright. “I know sir, b-b-but…” He shuddered, groaning in misery. Lying still for a moment, teeth clenched against the pain and fever rolling through his body, he calmed and stared up at his boss again. “I know who d-done it and where they took your wife.”
Chapter 30
Hell’s Bells
Earl Dickson grinned. The redhead was conked out on the bench across from where he sat in the hearse and he would earn one hundred dollars for the acquisition. Apparently, Patrick Donnelly had done his research and found out that this scorching beauty was none other than Matthew Wilcox’s wife, Iris.
Fred Marston sat by his side, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t see why we can’t have a little taste before we bury her. That’s all I’m sayin’, Earl! The boss never said we couldn’t.”
Dickson shook his head. “Look, Freddie, I don’t know how much of a head start we got. I’m not even sure if that kid got the message or if he died before the sheriff got back.” He turned to the other man who was practically drooling with frustrated sexual desire. “I did what I could to lure Wilcox out here b
ut we don’t got time to mess around with the goods!
“Burying this lady alive is part of the revenge Mr. Donnelly has planned for the sheriff. But the real objective is to put him and his deputy down after he gets to the cemetery and finds out what happened to his wife, see? I hear that Patrick will have at least ten men surrounding that grave and they’re waiting for us to show up!”
“Oh, all right,” Fred grumped. “Let’s just get this done. It’s a damn waste though, if you ask me.”
Dickson eyed the woman and nodded. “Mebbe so, but we got our orders…there’s Potter’s Field now.”
The hearse was approaching a ramshackle gate with an equally squalid hut built next to it. No one was inside. The caretaker was probably paid a fair fee to look the other way, Dickson thought, so they rolled right on through into the vast, overgrown graveyard. There were multiple mounds of dirt with spades and shovels sticking out of them, a large box filled with cheap wooden crosses, and pallets of flimsy pine coffins leaning haphazardly on one side of the gravel road.
Thousands of migrants had come to the Pacific Northwest’s port city of Seattle to pan for gold and silver, trap for furs, fish, and log the tall trees in the last two decades. Many of those men and women had perished, leaving no home address or means of contacting their next of kin so this particular Potter’s Field was almost as large as Seattle’s two other public cemeteries put together. Gloomy even during the light of day, the graveyard seemed to throb with sorrow and Fred crossed himself against the haints that might be watching their progress onto their home turf.
Dickson rolled his eyes and peered out the window. Studying the road ahead, he saw the dull gleam of lantern light off to the left. Knocking a stick against the front of the buggy, he yelled to the driver, “There they are, up ahead to the left.”
The men inside heard the driver say, “Whoa, whoa my beauties.” Then the carriage came to a stop. Earl and Fred got out and, a few moments later, Donnelly walked out of the darkness.
Deadman's Fury (The Deadman Series Book 2) Page 19
