But when she had to be, she was capable of a lot of things no one would ever imagine. She reminded herself of that fact as she took a deep breath and then hiked up her dress to stick a leg out through the window.
A glance back showed her Andrew's ghost, still standing silently on the other side of the room. She smiled at him, said quietly, "Goodbye, Andrew," and climbed out the window.
Grenville Avenue was only a few yards away, and there were nearly always people passing by on the street. But the alley was narrow and shadowy, and most of the time people just walked on past such places without ever glancing into them. Simone knew she was taking a chance by climbing out this window, but life was a risk. You had to seize your opportunities when and where you could. She had always lived by that credo.
She was wearing soft slippers, and they enabled her to find a grip with her toes against the wall when she had both feet out the window. Her hands held tightly to the sill as she lowered herself, taking as much of her weight as she could on those toeholds, which were small but sufficient. Finally, though, Simone had no choice but to let go with her toes and dangle full length from the window. She was sure she looked ludicrous, but she couldn't worry about that now. The pain in her fingers, arms, and shoulders was enough to make her bite her lip to keep from crying out. She hung there only for a couple of seconds, then let go of the window and dropped.
She tried to land as lightly as possible, but the momentum of her fall sent her tumbling off her feet. Simone rolled over a couple of times, aware that pain was shooting up her left leg from her ankle. It must have twisted under her when she landed, she realized.
She couldn't allow a little pain to stop her, she told herself.
She would pay no attention to it, would block it out just as she had blocked out everything else that threatened to keep her from what she wanted. Climbing quickly to her feet, she cast a glance toward Grenville Avenue. Pedestrians and riders passed by in front of the narrow alley's mouth, but no one seemed to have noticed her.
The fact that she was wearing a simple, dark brown dress probably made it more difficult to see her back here. Quickly she moved even deeper into the shadows, toward the rear of the hotel.
Shards of pain lanced through her ankle and up her leg, but she paid them no heed. A slight limp was impossible to avoid, but Simone didn't let it slow her down. She breathed a little easier as she rounded the back corner of the hotel. Now she was completely out of sight from Grenville Avenue.
No one was back here at the moment. Luck was with her, Simone thought. She was meant to do this. Moving quickly to the rear door of the hotel, she opened it, and stepped silently into the building.
The hallway she was in led to the lobby, but before it got there the corridor passed the door of the private office she maintained here. Normally it was left unlocked during the day since there was nothing kept inside except papers pertaining to the hotel and a small safe for money and valuables belonging to the guests, which was locked. Simone knew the combination of that safe, of course. She tried the doorknob, found it unlocked, and heaved a sigh of relief. She opened the door and slipped into the office.
No one was there, which was just as it should have been. Fortune was still smiling on her. She closed the door and went to the safe, kneeling in front of it. It took her only a moment to twist the dial back and forth in the combination, and then she swung the door of the safe open. Her hand darted inside.
It came back out holding a small revolver. Simone smiled as her fingers tightened around the butt of the gun.
* * *
Cole Tyler and Billy Casebolt stood inside the building that had been used as the polling place. Cole was by the table where the ballot box rested, and Casebolt was at the door. The deputy had his watch lying in his open palm, and as the hands of the timepiece moved to four and twelve, he looked up and said, "That's it, Marshal. It's four o'clock."
Cole nodded and said, "Close 'er up."
Casebolt snapped the watch shut and then closed the door of the building. He sighed. "Reckon the election's over."
"All that's left is counting the ballots," Cole said. He glanced at the three men sitting at the table. Nathan Smollett, Abel Warfield, and Ben Calhoun all looked tired, and their job wasn't over yet.
Cole reached into the pocket of his buckskin shirt and withdrew the two keys that fit the lock on the iron box. He had reclaimed the second one from Kermit Sawyer a few minutes earlier. Cole dropped one of the keys on the table and fitted the other one into the lock.
"I'll call out the votes," Smollett said to his two fellow judges, "and each of you can keep a running count of them. When we get done, we'll compare the counts and see if the totals match."
"Sounds all right to me," Calhoun said, and Warfield nodded.
Cole twisted the key and lifted the lid of the box. It was filled almost to the top with the paper ballots, some of them flat, others folded once or twice or even more. He turned the box so that Smollett could reach easily into it.
Smollett plucked the first ballot from the box. "A vote for Hank Parker," he said as he checked to see how the paper was marked. Warfield and Calhoun each made a mark on a sheet of paper in front of them. The banker picked up another ballot and said, "Another vote for Parker . . . one for Judson Kent . . . another for Kent . . . another for Kent . . . one for Parker . . ."
"We'll leave it with you," Cole said. "Ought to take you at least an hour to count all those ballots, and that's if your totals agree the first time."
Smollett nodded. "We'll be out to announce the results as soon as everything is confirmed, Marshal."
Cole and Casebolt stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind them. The deputy inclined his head toward the building and asked, "You reckon one of us ought to hang around here, just in case anybody tries anything funny with the ballots?"
"Nobody's going to do anything now, not with three men in there and all of them armed," Cole said. "Besides, if anything was to happen now, the election would just be declared invalid and we'd have to start all over. Parker wouldn't want that. His only real chance of beating Dr. Kent is having the election come so quickly after Judson got into the race. A delay would just work against Parker."
Casebolt nodded slowly. "I reckon you're right. Still, I might just pull up a chair here on the boardwalk and do some whittlin'—" The deputy stopped short and made a gulping noise. "An' maybe I won't," he went on hurriedly. He was staring wide-eyed down the street.
Cole followed Casebolt's gaze and saw Brenda Durand and Margaret Palmer coming toward them. A grin tugged at Cole's mouth, despite his weariness and tension. "I'm surprised you let a little lady like that buffalo you, Billy," he said.
"That little lady's got matrimony on her mind," snapped Casebolt. "I still ain't figured out why she picked me, but I ain't of a mind to get myself hitched. I'll see you later, Marshal."
Casebolt moved off quickly down the boardwalk, casting nervous glances over his shoulder. A moment later Margaret Palmer swept past Cole, calling, "Excuse me! Deputy Casebolt!" Casebolt looked back again, and his gangling form almost broke into a run.
Brenda came up to Cole. "I take it the polls are closed?" she said.
He nodded. "As of a few minutes ago. The ballots are being counted now."
"Is Dr. Kent going to win?"
Cole shrugged. "I reckon we'll know in a little while, Miss Durand, like everybody else."
"My grandmother voted for him, and I would have, too, if I were old enough." Brenda sniffed. "It's not fair. I own property here in Wind River, a lot of it. I should have been allowed to vote."
"I don't make the laws," Cole told her. "I just enforce em."
She sighed. "I know. Well, I suppose I'll go back to the hotel and wait for the results."
Cole nodded politely to her and watched as she started back toward the Territorial House. His mind wasn't really on Brenda Durand, however.
Now that the polls were closed and the election was officially over, he could act
on what Michael Hatfield had told him earlier in the day. Michael's testimony about seeing a one-armed man at the scene of Becky Lewis's murder was enough for Cole to justify the arrest of Hank Parker.
Parker could sit in a jail cell for a couple of weeks until the circuit court judge arrived, and then it would be up to that esteemed jurist to untangle things.
Cole glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. Everything would be all right here, he thought. It was time for him to start moseying down to the Pronghorn— and the showdown with Hank Parker.
* * *
Brenda Durand walked briskly toward the hotel, wishing that Marshal Tyler hadn't been so stiff-necked. It wouldn't have hurt the lawman to at least give her a hint as to how he thought the election would come out. She had quite a stake in the results, after all. She owned a great deal of property in this town, and depending on what happened with the murder case against Simone McKay, she might own even more, or at least control more.
Simone couldn't run a business from a cell in the territorial prison. All the power she now possessed would soon rest firmly in the hands of Brenda Durand. That thought made a satisfied shiver run through Brenda's body.
Her mind was so full of such pleasant speculation that she almost didn't see the figure go hurrying past at the far end of the alley she was passing.
A split second later Brenda stopped short, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized what she had seen out of the corner of her eye. Unless she was badly mistaken, that had been Simone McKay back there, scurrying furtively along the lane that ran behind the buildings lining Grenville Avenue. Brenda took a step back and peered down the alley. There was nothing to be seen now, of course.
But she hadn't been imagining things. She was sure of that. She had seen Simone, who was supposed to be locked up in that suite on the second floor of the hotel.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, Brenda stepped into the alley and hurried along it to the rear of the buildings.
She stuck her head past the corner and looked in both directions. She caught her breath again as she spotted the woman about a block to her right. It was Simone McKay, all right, and the older woman was still moving quickly but furtively, heading toward the east side of town.
And the most amazing thing of all, Brenda saw with widening eyes, was that Simone had a gun in her hand. "Oh, my God," Brenda whispered to herself. "What's she going to do?"
There was only one way to find out.
Brenda stepped out into the lane and hurried after Simone, moving as quietly as she possibly could.
Chapter 19
Billy Casebolt leaned against the side of a building and lifted a hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. The day had turned hot and sultry, all right, but that wasn't why he was sweating.
Margaret had almost caught him.
He thought he had given her the slip, though. He knew the side streets of Wind River a lot better than she did. This reminded him of the time a Crow war party had chased him through the Bighorns. He had been damned lucky to get away with his hair that time.
And he'd be damned lucky to gel away with his bachelorhood this time.
Not that Margaret Palmer would put a gun to his head and force him to get married. A lady like her wouldn't have to resort to such things. She had better weapons, such as a smile and trusting eyes, and a lower lip that could pout just a little bit and get a feller to do most anything she wanted.
Fresh beads of sweat broke out on Casebolt's forehead at the thought.
He sleeved them away and decided he needed something cool to drink. Maybe he'd stop by the Pronghorn, he decided. He didn't have any use for Hank Parker, but a gent didn't have to like a saloonkeeper to appreciate the other things the place offered. Yes, sir, a cold beer sounded mighty good right about now.
Casebolt looked warily up and down the street, checking for any sign of Margaret Palmer before he moved out of his place of concealment and scuttled toward the Pronghorn.
* * *
"Well, how do you feel now, Doctor?" asked Michael Hatfield.
Judson Kent sighed. "That's at least the tenth time you've asked me that question today, Michael. And I feel the same as I've felt all the other times: optimistic. I believe the voters of Wind River will place their faith in me, and if they do, I intend to do my utmost to serve them well as their mayor."
"I won't bother writing that down again," Michael said. "I suppose I ought to go get a statement from Parker."
They were sitting in Kent's office, waiting for the counting of the ballots to conclude, just like everyone else in Wind River. Jeremiah Newton was there, too, accompanying Kent as he had been doing all day. If anybody tried to attack the doctor again—an unlikely possibility—Jeremiah intended to be on hand to deal with the threat.
Michael stood up and said, "I'll go on over to the Pronghorn and talk to Parker." He smiled suddenly as an idea occurred to him. "Why don't you come with me, Doctor?"
"I hardly think that would be a good idea," Kent said. "Mr. Parker and I are not what one would call boon companions, are we?"
"Maybe not, but it would make a good story, having the two candidates together when the results of the election are announced. With any luck, it won't be too much longer now."
Kent frowned in thought. Michael's suggestion had taken him by surprise, but the idea of going over to the Pronghorn held a certain appeal now that he considered it. Kent had never thought of himself as a vindictive man, but after all the trouble Hank Parker had fomented over the past week or so because of this election, it might be nice to see the man's face when he found out he'd been defeated. Kent looked over at the big blacksmith and asked, "What do you think, Jeremiah?"
With a shrug of his massive shoulders, Jeremiah replied, "I've no fear of venturing into that den of iniquity, Brother Judson. And perhaps 1 could console Brother Parker with a Scripture or two when he realizes he's lost the election." There was a twinkle in Jeremiah's eyes as he spoke. It would do him good to see Parker experience defeat, too.
Kent nodded to the young editor and came to his feet as he said, "All right, Michael, we'll go with you. Perhaps you'll get a good story for the newspaper."
Michael Hatfield was practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Maybe we ought to have elections more often," he said.
Kent just shook his head and tried not to roll his eyes as the three men left the doctor's office and headed toward the east side of the settlement.
* * *
Kermit Sawyer and Lon Rogers were about to go into the Wind River General Store when Cole stepped up onto the boardwalk in front of the emporium. The cattleman nodded to Cole and said, "Ballots bein' counted?"
"That's right," replied Cole. "Ought to have the results in a little while."
"Well, I'm disappointed," Sawyer said dryly. "I reckoned there'd be some fireworks 'fore the day was over. Looks like I was wrong. Lon and me are goin' to pick up a few supplies, then head back to the ranch."
"I'm surprised you're not going to have a drink, after waiting all day for the saloons to start serving liquor again," Cole commented.
Sawyer chuckled. "Oh, we might stop by the Pronghorn for a beer 'fore we hit the trail."
Cole nodded and started to move on past them, then stopped and looked more intently at the two men. The late afternoon sun was shining on the faces of the Texans, and Cole noticed something about them that he had never seen before. There was a certain resemblance between Sawyer and Lon, something about the eyes . . . In the right light, a person could almost take them for father and son.
But then they moved on into the building, and Cole grunted and shook his head. He had been imagining things, he told himself. He'd just chalk it up to the fact that Sawyer and Lon Rogers were both from Texas and carried themselves with that state's familiar air of self-confidence bordering on arrogance. That was all it was.
Besides, he had other things with which to concern himself now, such as arresting Hank Parker on suspicion
of murder. He moved on down the street, forgetting all about Texans and resemblances and fathers and sons.
* * *
Trailing somebody without being seen wasn't something at which Brenda had much experience. Several times she had been forced to duck behind barrels or into alleys to avoid being seen by Simone when the older woman looked back. So far she thought she had been successful. Simone didn't act like somebody who knew she was being followed.
In fact, Simone didn't seem to be paying too much attention to anything that was going on around her, as if she was concentrating so much on what she was doing that there was no room in her mind for anything else. That was a little frightening, Brenda thought.
She wondered if Simone planned to kill somebody else.
* * *
Simone's heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised the entire town couldn't hear it. Her breath rasped in her throat. She forced herself to keep moving, to take one step and then another. Even though it was unladylike, her palm was sweating where it was wrapped around the butt of the little revolver.
She had no trouble finding where she was going. She knew these back alleys as well as anyone in town, although she had never frequented them. But why shouldn't she know them? she asked herself. After all, Wind River was her town. She had studied all the maps, and had walked every foot of the settlement in her mind. Even when the place had been only an idea in the heads of Andrew McKay and William Durand, Simone had been able to see it. She had worked behind the scenes, making a subtle suggestion here, asking a pointed question there. It was her vision that was responsible for the creation of Wind River, hers and hers alone.
And she wasn't going to let anyone cheat her of that. Hank Parker would never take away what was hers.
It would still be simple, even though her original plans for the election had been ruined. Once Judson Kent was the mayor, he would do anything she told him to. She would still be running Wind River, regardless of what Kent or anyone else thought. If he tried to cross her . . .
Judgement Day (Wind River Book 6) Page 19
