Second Chance (The Deadman Series Book 5)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Bending over, Matthew picked up his gun case and set it atop a small table provided for each of the contestants. This particular table had his name on it. He extracted his Uncle Jon’s matched Buffalo Brass-Framed .44 caliber pistols. Once, long ago, Matthew had been able to hit the “Bull’s Eye” each and every time with these guns, but years had passed since he learned how to shoot. Plucking a soft cloth from the case, he ran it over the grips and the barrels of each gun before placing them back onto the velvet keepers.

  Then he pulled his swept-hilt rapier sword from its scabbard. Noticing, from the corner of his eye, that many of the spectators had turned to watch, he held the beautiful but deadly antique in the air with a small smile as an errant sunbeam caught the blade’s fine edge.

  “A fine set of pistols, sir, as I’m sure you know…” a cultured voice spoke from behind Matthew’s left shoulder.

  Putting the sword carefully in the scabbard again and placing it on the table next to his pistols, Matthew turned around and saw McKinley standing close by. The man was quite handsome, viewed up close, with strong white teeth and sharp, brown eyes. Those dark orbs were shining brightly now as the judge studied the matched pistols. “Pre-Civil War, I presume?” McKinley asked with interest.

  “Yes, Sir,” Matthew replied. “They were my uncle’s guns and he used them gallantly.” He knew that mentioning the war was a gamble, but Clyde had checked and found out that McKinley’s people had come from Georgia.

  The judge studied Matthew’s face for a moment, and asked, “North, may I ask, or South?”

  Matthew smiled. “He commanded one of the largest battalions in the West Virginia Cavalry, sir.”

  McKinley’s face flushed with pleasure, and he winked. “Not a question one asks lightly these days, is it?”

  Matthew returned the man’s mischievous grin and said, “No sir, I guess not. Still, in the long run, I thought you should know who had entered your contest today.”

  The judge stuck his hand out to shake and said, “Ashworth McKinley, sir, at your service.”

  Gambling again, Matthew met the judge’s hand with his own and gave the man a “secret Masonic” handshake. He saw McKinley’s eyes widen for a moment and then the he stepped back with a smile as Matthew replied, “Matthew Wilcox. Pleased to meet you.”

  The judge studied Matthew’s face for a moment and said, “Ah, yes. You were a last-minute contestant entered by the Thurston estate, am I right?”

  “Yes,” Matthew answered. “My friend Clyde and I wanted a chance to meet with you, privately, Sir, over a matter that we thought you would find interesting…more than interesting, actually. More like urgent…”

  McKinley’s eyebrows rose in skepticism. “Mr. Wilcox. Often, over the years, men and women who are in trouble with the law have tried to approach me…to sway me, if you will, when I am outside the confines of my courtroom. They seem to think that I can either be bought off or moved to judge their actions more…leniently, if I first become friends with them.”

  McKinley’s brown eyes seemed to bore into Matthew’s face as he added, “I truly hope that you are not one of those misguided souls?”

  Matthew shook his head. “No, sir…this matter has nothing to do with me, except for the fact that I am currently working as a private investigator for the Thurston family. The reason Clyde and I are seeking an audience with you, is that the criminals we are after are directly related to you…”

  McKinley looked flabbergasted. Stepping forward to inquire further, he was interrupted by the sound of the starting whistle. Frowning distractedly, he said, “Mr. Wilcox, frankly, I don’t know whether to be alarmed or offended. Still, I am intrigued. Good luck with the competition and please, after you are finished, meet me in the clubhouse…I will make sure you are on the guest list.”

  Matthew nodded, and watched Judge McKinley make his way to the grandstand area. A foppish young man stepped up to a lectern and started yelling instructions to the ten contestants. This was a fairly common, timed elimination match, and Matthew listened with half an ear, thinking, Well, this is going according to Hoyle!

  Realizing that he had just used one of his son’s favorite sayings, Matthew loaded his pistols and readied himself for the contest. He had worried that he would need to excel in this target shoot and later, in the fencing match to gain McKinley’s attention. He had once been an outstanding swordsman and he knew that, even at the age of forty-nine, he would perform well.

  Shooting was another matter entirely. Although he had always come out on top of the numerous gun fights in his life, he knew it was the hidden demon that lived in his soul that took control of his guns during those moments. To stand in front of a passive target now, however, and try to hit the 10-mark was something he wasn’t sure he could do with any accuracy…especially while being timed.

  Sighing with relief, Matthew put wads of cotton in his ears and watched as paper targets were pinned to the target posts. Now that McKinley had agreed to meet with him despite his scores in this contest, Matthew relaxed and waited for the whistle to blow. A few seconds later, his pistol fire joined that of nine other shootists, as the first volley of gunfire rang out in the warm afternoon air.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Meeting

  Four and a half hours later, Matthew met Judge McKinley in a small upstairs office in the clubhouse. He was sore and tired but pleased with the results of both contests. He had acquitted himself well, and received hearty handshakes and numerous invitations to enter future matches being held throughout the Seattle area over the next few months.

  Even knowing he had no intention of accepting the invitations, and that as soon as he and Chance neutralized the threat to the Thurstons and brought the perpetrators to justice they’d be heading back to Granville, it didn’t diminish the pride he felt at besting men half his age during the sporting events.

  He was given permission to use the men’s bathhouse after the match, where an elderly restroom attendant handed him a warm towel and a bar of scented soap with a small bow. Matthew shook his head at the pretentious show of wealth, but his attitude did not diminish the pleasure of washing the sweat and grime from his tired carcass.

  After showering and dressing in a clean set of clothes, he went to the Clubhouse bar for a quick shot of whiskey. Matthew noticed a few patrons glancing his way in a friendly manner and was wondering if he’d need to field more invitations when he was approached by a man in his early thirties. He was a slight fellow with round spectacles and thinning hair.

  His shy smile was genuine as he presented a card. “Hello, my name is Ian Revell. I have been sent to escort you to the judge…”

  Matthew took the card and gave the younger man a friendly grin. “Thank you…just let me finish my drink.” He upended the whiskey glass, set the empty tumbler on the counter, and put a bill on the bar to pay for the drink. Then, he turned and followed the young man up a set of stairs to one of the many rooms set aside for private meetings.

  Ian knocked on a fine oak door and opened it when he heard, “Come!” from inside the room. Matthew followed him and saw McKinley sitting in one of two chairs facing mullioned windows overlooking the ninth hole of a golf course. There was a desk to the right and a small bar on the left. Couches, side tables, and a chaise lounge took up the rest of the space.

  The room itself glowed amber as the late afternoon sun caressed the wall’s polished wood paneling and Matthew paused for a moment, debating whether or not he should take his boots off before stepping onto the beautiful Turkish rugs on the floor.

  He heard the judge chuckle. “I’m sure the bathroom attendant cleaned and polished your boots, sir, while you were showering. Please, come and sit by me. We are having a particularly fine sunset tonight.”

  Blushing slightly at being read so easily by the man, Matthew walked across the room and sat down. The view was, indeed, quite beautiful. Looking past the golf links into the far distance Matthew saw Puget Sound’s waters stained pink and lavend
er from the sun’s last rays, reflecting its luminous pallet onto the fog banks sitting high above the turbulent depths.

  The golfers below were mere shadows and Matthew saw many of them picking up their bags and clubs to hasten inside where it was warm and dry. Judge McKinley murmured, “I, for one, sometimes feel ashamed to be a part of this embarrassment of riches, especially since I so often see the effect poverty has on the men and women who pass through my courtroom. Still… on nights like this, I feel God’s blessings and rejoice.”

  Matthew nodded in agreement, starting slightly when Ian asked, “Mr. Wilcox, may I bring you a whiskey, or perhaps a cup of coffee?”

  Matthew replied, “Coffee…black please, Ian. Thank you.”

  Ian brought Matthew a cup and stood back by the far wall as Judge McKinley said, “Well, I must say, your words have set my head to spinning, Mr. Wilcox. Pray, tell me what your investigation has turned up and how these events pertain to me.”

  Matthew had been thinking of nothing else most of the afternoon, but now that the time to buzz in the judge’s ear was at hand, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should he start at the very beginning? Or, cut to the chase and inform the Grand Master that one of the other masters in his fraternal organization was as dirty as a shipyard rat?

  And what about the young man standing back in the shadows…was he allowed to hear temple business? Matthew glanced over his shoulder to where Ian stood and then stared at McKinley with the question in his eyes.

  The judge sighed. “Okay, first, you should know that Ian is my nephew by law. He is also a trusted confidant and a fine lawyer. More importantly, he is an esteemed lodge member who, even now, is aspiring to heights within the Freemasons you could not hope to attain.” Matthew gazed at McKinley in surprise.

  The judge grinned, adding, “Surely you didn’t think I would grant you an invitation without doing my homework first! While you were still participating in the contests, I had Ian call a number of sources. We know who you are and what you and your son do for a living. I know that you are a good and honorable man. I also know that you are a first level Freemason who showed a lot of nerve by using a third level handshake!”

  Matthew squirmed in embarrassment. “I am sorry, Sir. It’s just that Clyde and I felt that we needed to do something—and fast—to stop a series of events perpetrated by another Freemason in this city. We felt that you, more than anyone else, could help put an end to this devilry…Were we wrong?”

  McKinley frowned. “No, you were right. That’s why I want to hear everything you have to say. Know before you start, that neither I nor Mr. Revell will speak to Temple business but we are all ears, and if I can help, I will.” Turning to the younger man, McKinley said, “Ian, please bring that bottle of brandy over here, along with two glasses. I have the feeling we might need it.”

  Finally, McKinley said to Matthew, “Start at the beginning, Mr. Wilcox, so I can make a solid determination. We’ll break for dinner in an hour.”

  So, starting at the very beginning, Matthew told the Grand Master of the Seattle Freemasons everything he knew about Edward Branson and the so-called Trinity.

  Three days earlier, Timothy Farnsworth stepped out of Branson’s dining room onto the flagstones of an elaborate patio and statuary. The old man sat in his wheelchair by a glass-topped table, studying a large notebook. A number of Branson’s henchmen stood amongst the white marble statues of Greek gods. They looked both comically incongruous and oddly ominous in their matching black suits.

  Walking up to the table, Farnsworth asked, “Where is Stephen?”

  Not bothering to look up from his notebook, Branson replied, “He’s not coming. Sit down, Timothy. We need to talk.”

  Feeling a chill settle over him, despite the warm afternoon sunshine, Farnsworth sat in one of the chairs surrounding the table. “May I?” he asked, making a move toward a pitcher of iced tea sweating on the tabletop.

  Branson glanced at over at him, finally. For a moment, judging by the look on the old man’s face, Farnsworth thought his request for refreshment would be denied. The chill settled further into his bones as he studied Branson’s icy gray eyes.

  Finally, Branson shrugged. “Go ahead, I don’t care.”

  Farnsworth sat back in his chair without touching the pitcher. “What’s going on, Edward? Why are you so angry…and why isn’t Stephen here today? We have never met without all members present.” Timothy’s eyes were wide with equal parts fear, worry and anger.

  Branson closed the large notebook with a sigh. Then he refilled his glass and poured a glass of tea for his partner. Sitting back in his chair, Branson said, “We have been betrayed, Timmy. By none other than our old friend, Stephen Castle.”

  Farnsworth almost choked on his drink. “What?” he grabbed a napkin and groped at the moisture on his chin and lips in shock.

  Branson smiled. “You saw no sign of Wilcox or his son when you traveled to Spokane, did you?”

  Farnsworth gaped. “I was just about to make a full report, Edward, but apparently there is no need. What, are you spying on me now?”

  Branson shrugged. “No, not really. I actually set my spies on Castle.” Noting the look on Farnsworth’s face, he added, “The way he has been acting lately…his disapproval of my actions —his constant doubts—have made me re-think his commitment to the Trinity. So, after he left…the last time we met, I activated two of my spies within his ranks.

  Timothy squirmed. “You actually have spies following us?” He felt like a fool after the words left his mouth. Of course Branson spied on them…he knew it and had always known it, although the knowledge rankled. Still, knowing that Stephen had been betrayed by one of his own men made his heart pound with dread.

  Branson gazed at him with lizard-like eyes, not bothering to answer Timothy’s question.

  Farnsworth decided to let the moment pass, while he collected his thoughts. “Well,” he ventured, “what, exactly, has Stephen done to betray us?”

  Branson took a sip of tea and said, “My spies tell me that Stephen met with Matthew Wilcox—at the same time you were en route to Spokane. According to them, Stephen spilled the beans about our activities in North Idaho and the Spokane area. He has also enlisted Wilcox in some sort of scheme to bring the Trinity down in flames…” The old man’s lips twisted bitterly. “They were unable to ascertain what this scheme entails, but I know that we must act—now!”

  Farnsworth felt the blood leave his face and gasped slightly as an old, familiar pain ran up and down his left arm. Rubbing at the offended limb, he thought, Could it be true? I know Stephen is growing tired of the ever-climbing death count in our latest endeavor, and he is sick of Branson’s constant bullying, but would he really betray me?

  Knowing Stephen’s strict code of honor, though, and understanding that his oldest, dearest friend would not allow himself to be pushed beyond a certain point of conduct, Timothy realized that he had just answered his own questions.

  Sighing in sorrow, he asked, “What do you want to do about it, Edward?”

  Branson glared. “I want you to finish what you started, Timothy! Kill Wilcox and his son… finish off the Thurston’s and…” the old man paused for a moment, staring past his men and the splendid garden statuary. “Then you need to kill Stephen Castle, his family and everyone who works for him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chance at High Tea

  “I don’t like it,” Matthew growled.

  Chance sighed. “Pa, we’ll have three security guards with us when we go. Plus, if anything goes wrong, you know I can protect Annie and Hannah…”

  Matthew, who had awoken the next morning and heard of Annie’s scheme, stopped short of his reply when Hannah said, “…and you know I can shoot the eye out of a running rabbit, right?”

  Both he and Chance spun around and saw an angelic vision in the doorway of the parlor. Chance’s mouth dropped open as he saw the girl he was falling in love with, (despite her penchant for over-large men’s sh
irts and sturdy leather britches) dressed in a black and lavender silk dress. Her dark, glossy hair was piled high on her head and smoky ringlets framed her blue eyes and exotic cheekbones.

  She was truly beautiful and Matthew grinned in appreciation as his son blushed and stuttered in confusion. Hannah bowed her head in acknowledgment of the young man’s admiration and then turned to face Annie Thurston, who had come up behind her in the hallway. “Annie,” she said, “Mr. Wilcox doesn’t want us to go!”

  Annie was a sight to behold as well. Her dress was a rich peach chiffon, her lush brown hair twisted into braids and wound at the back of her neck in an intricate knot. The pearl earrings and necklace she wore gleamed as she swept into the room and glared, briefly, at Matthew before taking a chair.

  “Honestly, Matthew,” she said. “You must know that there is a time-honored way of introducing a young girl into ‘society.’ I can’t just announce that there is going to be a coming-out ball and expect anyone to show up unless I go through the proper channels, first! Besides,” she added, “calling on Fanny Castle will serve two purposes…not only is she an old family friend, and the premier social hostess in the Seattle area, we can put a bug in her ear about what her husband is doing.”

  She sat back in her chair with a small smile. “Stephen and Fanny seem like an estranged couple, but they’re not. From what I have gathered over the years, they are very close. If I can convince Mrs. Castle that her husband’s life is in danger and that he is trying to bring Edward Branson down, with our help, I am sure she will be only too happy to lend a hand in our plans.”

  Annie stared up at Matthew with wide eyes. “Matthew, I realize that you are used to going it alone, but this time, you are going to need all the help you can get. Let Hannah and I, along with your son, open doors that, right now, are closed to you.”