Mason saw an opportunity to make himself useful. “There have been threats against Mr. Grant’s life and he took the precaution of hiring some men to protect him. After witnessing the horrible scene across the street, I’m sure you can understand why he took it so seriously.”
“So you knew this Eddows business was going to happen?” Billy asked.
Grant closed his eyes like a man losing patience with a child. “Of course not. We would’ve stopped it long before if we had. Every manager receives threats of some kind from the men who work for him at some time or another, especially in the building trade. It was anonymous grumbling, nothing more. Still, I thought a show of force might help tamp down the rhetoric before it got worse.” He looked at Mackey. “You were a cavalryman, sheriff. Surely you can appreciate that notion.”
Mackey had no intention of discussing his past just now. He thought of the telegram in the top drawer of his desk. He thought it might be a good time to show it to Grant but decided to see how this played out. “These threats the only reason why you’ve got gunmen around?”
“I’d say threats on my life are a fairly good reason. Why?”
Mackey skipped it. “Then why didn’t you report these threats to me or Billy?”
Grant smiled. “I’m not accustomed to having people hold my hand for me. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“In Dover Station, the sheriff’s office takes care of everyone,” Billy said. “That includes you. Firearms are illegal in town. That includes your protectors, too. No guns unless they’re on horseback and moving through town.”
Grant’s jaw muscles tightened. “I wasn’t aware of the ordinance, but now I am.” He looked at Mackey. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but it seems like the town has grown too big for two men to handle on their own, even for legends such as yourselves. Perhaps you should hire more deputies.”
“Be glad to if there was a town government to pay them,” Mackey said. “But the town board resigned after Brian took a job with you. Doc Ridley’s acting mayor, but he’s more interested in medicine than governing.”
“What a shame,” Grant said. “And with elections coming up in a few weeks’ time, and no one has thrown their hat into the ring. A town like Dover Station that has such a future needs a leader now.” Grant seemed to remember himself. “Sorry for allowing myself to wander. Are you done with us now, sheriff?”
“For now.” Mackey picked up his pencil and began writing. “I’ll send a copy of the reports of both incidents when it’s done. I’m sure Mr. Van Dorn will want it for his records and all.”
Grant touched the tip of his hat before heading out into the street, immediately engaging a couple on the boardwalk. “Mr. and Mrs. Jennings! So good to see you. Just stopped in to have a word with Sheriff Mackey. It’s not every day one gets to speak with a hero, you know? The Savior of Dover Station, they say.”
The rest of his words died out as Mason struggled to close the heavy ironwood door behind him.
“Mason might have a different job,” Billy observed, “but he’s still a weasel.”
Mackey set down his pencil. “Don’t think he knows any other way to be, but he’s harmless. Grant’s the one to watch. Van Dorn has given him too much power too soon.”
“I don’t exactly trust that son of a bitch, either.”
“Neither do I.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out the telegram he had held back from Grant. “And something tells me that Mr. Rice doesn’t trust him, either.”
“Saw you reading that before the gunshot from Tent City.” Billy set down his mug on the desk. “You never got around to telling me what it was. Given your reaction, I figured it was bad news.”
“It’s news.” He pulled the telegram out of the envelope and read the telegram aloud. For the sake of brevity, he decided not to read “STOP” each time it appeared in the telegram.
“It says: ‘Seven trains to and from Dover Station have been robbed over the past two months. Three dead. Request your immediate assistance to investigate and halt the robberies. Expect all due authority and pay. Respond at your earliest convenience.’” He put the telegram back in the envelope. “It’s signed by Frazer Rice.”
Billy let out a low whistle. “A personal correspondence from the town’s benefactor. All the way from New York City, no less.”
“Sent directly to me,” Mackey noted. “What do you make of it?”
“I’ve read about the robberies in the paper, but since they happened well south of here, I didn’t pay them much mind. Olivette and Chidester stations, I believe.”
“You believe right.” Mackey set the telegram on the desk. “Out of our jurisdiction, but Mr. Rice wants to make them our responsibility.”
Mackey had gotten to know Mr. Rice during and after Darabont’s siege. He had grown to like the man despite his wealth. He respected the way the multimillionaire had helped keep people calm during the siege. He also appreciated his support afterward when Mackey, Billy, and some others rode out to hunt down Darabont and rescue the women he had taken with him. The fact that Mrs. Katherine Campbell had been one of the captives made Mackey feel even more gratitude toward the man, for Katherine was the love of Mackey’s life.
As was Billy’s custom, he took a practical approach to the matter. “Mr. Rice might want us to take responsibility, but we’ve got plenty of responsibility right here at home, Aaron.” He inclined his head toward the jail cells in the back. “Today’s the first day in two months when we don’t have a full house, remember? We can’t go off on a separate errand for Mr. Rice right now, at least not for a few days. Tent City’s ready to go up in flames at any moment. Our place is here, not on some cattle car hunting down bandits.”
“Maybe it’s not a separate errand,” Mackey said. “Maybe the robberies have something to do with what’s been going on around here lately.”
“I’m sure it does,” Billy said. “It’s no secret that Mr. Rice owns the railroad and the Dover Station Company. Dover’s a boomtown, so it stands to reason that his trains would be packed with valuable goods and people with money headed to his town. Any robber worth his salt would be a fool not to hit a train like that, and Rice is a fool for not protecting his own property. All I know is that I’m not risking getting shot in Olivette because the doc there is a drunk, and I have too much pride to die in Chidester. Rice should wire the territorial marshals about this, not us.”
Mackey knew Billy was right. Technically, the territorial marshal had authority in a matter like this, but old John Casswell and his deputies were all close to retirement. Having lived this long, none of them would be in any hurry to run down a gang of vicious bandits in the twilight of their careers.
“Casswell’s not going to trade a rocking chair for a bullet at this point in his life. This bunch has killed three people already. An old marshal at the end of his string wouldn’t mean much to whoever’s behind these robberies.”
“Fine,” Billy said. “Let Rice hire Pinkertons or gunmen to keep an eye on things. God knows he’s got the money for it.”
“That’s my point.” Mackey wasn’t entirely certain what his point was, but he knew he had one. He could see the outlines of it in the distance, and the more he talked, the closer and clearer the point became. “Rice owns the railroad and the Dover Station Company, yet he didn’t send this telegram to Van Dorn or to Grant. He sent it directly to me. Why?”
Billy picked up his mug and sat in a chair by the window. “I don’t know and neither do you. The one thing I do know is that look you’ve got on your face. Quit filling in blanks that aren’t there, Aaron. That’s how you get into trouble. There could be a hundred different reasons why Rice sent that directly to you.”
“No one ever sent a telegram by accident,” Mackey said. “This is company business and should’ve gone to Van Dorn or Grant, first, but it didn’t. I think he deliberately sent it to me because he doesn’t want Van Dorn or Grant involved.”
“That’s a pretty big s
tretch, Aaron. Even for you.”
“Is it?” It was all beginning to make sense now. “Think about it. I gave Grant every chance to tell me why he needed gunmen. He said it was because of anonymous threats from his workers. He never mentioned anything about the train robberies. It would’ve been the perfect reason why he needed extra guns around, but he didn’t even mention it. It’s like he didn’t pay the robberies any mind, either, even though they directly affect the company he works for.”
“They’ve slowed down some of the traffic into town, though, which suits me just fine.”
Mackey’s faith in his own idea weakened. But he knew something was there. Grant hiring gunmen just before two incidents in Tent City and on his own construction site? That was too close to be a coincidence.
He sat back in his chair and looked out the window at the scaffolding of the new Municipal Building across the street. “In any event, I believe Mr. Rice might be a good man to have on our side, especially now.”
“Against who?”
“Against that.” Mackey nodded toward the Municipal Building. “Every day that damned building moves closer to completion is one day closer you and I get to losing our jobs.”
“No way. We’re elected, remember? Besides, Mr. Rice is paying for that building and we stand in good with him. No way he’d stand for us being pushed aside.”
But Mackey wasn’t so sure. “Mr. Rice is a good man, but he’s back in New York, and Grant seems to be running the show here with Van Dorn’s blessing. It might be Mr. Rice’s money, but Grant is deciding on how it gets spent.”
Billy shrugged. “Mr. Rice isn’t the type who lets much slide by without his notice. He’ll put his foot down if he has to.”
“If he knows about it,” Mackey said. “Besides, a new mayor could pass a law abolishing the office,” Mackey reminded him. “With the election coming up in a month, I view that as a damned likely possibility.”
“No one’s said they’re even running yet. Hell, after how we got rid of Darabont, you could run for mayor if you wanted.”
But Mackey didn’t want the job. “Someone will run. Grant will see to that and he’ll own whoever it is. They’ll come for our jobs soon after, mark my words. We’re not part of the new town, Billy. We’re part of the old, and everything Grant does changes that.”
“So?” Billy finished the last of his coffee and set his mug on the window ledge. “If they want our jobs, they can have them. If you’ll remember, we weren’t so sure we were going to stick around after we killed Darabont and brought the women back. We only stayed because Mr. Rice asked us to.”
“And because of Katherine,” Mackey added. Mrs. Katherine Campbell. One of the women Darabont had taken with him when he had attacked the town. The woman some blamed for killing Mackey’s dying marriage. The only woman Aaron Mackey had ever truly loved.
Billy winced. “Shit, Aaron. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. She doing any better after her time with Darabont?”
Mackey didn’t like dwelling on it. Darabont and his men might have been dead, but the horror they had inflicted on Katie and the other women who had lived was still very much alive.
“She’s fine as long as she doesn’t try to leave her hotel,” Mackey said. “She’s made it as far as the porch but won’t step foot off the property. Running the place keeps her busy, and the ladies we brought back are glad to work there.”
“She could always sell the place and leave if you wanted to take her with us,” Billy said. “I’ve heard Grant is interested in buying the place from her.”
Mackey knew that already. The hotel had always been Katherine’s, bought and paid for by her own money. What she decided to do with it was her concern. He would support her either way. “I don’t think she’d be able to make it to a wagon, much less handle a ride to another town if we lose our jobs.”
Billy looked down at the telegram on Mackey’s desk. “I guess we can’t do much good for her or anyone if we don’t have jobs. Maybe we ought to help out Mr. Rice after all? I hear he’s pushing hard for statehood and might get it next year. A good word from him could come in awful handy if changes are coming.”
“I like the way you think.” Mackey took a new sheet of paper from his desk and began writing a reply to Mr. Rice’s telegram.
Billy looked out the window as the noises from the construction site across the street started up again. Foreman or no foreman, the future of Dover Station would not wait. “I swear, Aaron. Where there’s money, there’s always problems.”
Mackey saw no reason to argue with him.
Chapter 4
On his way to the telegraph office, Mackey found his father sitting on the bench in front of the store he owned, the Dover Station General Store.
The sheriff was anxious to get to the telegraph office, but trying to avoid Brendan “Pappy” Mackey was pointless.
In addition to being mayor, Brian Mason had also been Pappy’s only competition in town for a decade. Now that Mason had taken a position with the company, he had neither the time nor the inclination to own his own store. He had sold out to Pappy about five months before, making him the only general store owner in town, not to mention one of the biggest in the country.
The elder Mackey could never have been described as a tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in size. His broad shoulders, strong back and thick forearms were more worthy of a blacksmith than the shopkeeper he was. He was going on sixty, but still often did the work of three men half his age. His hair and beard had long turned steel gray, making his stern countenance appear even more so, though his eyes belied a vibrant spirit and a wicked tongue.
His father eyeballed him over the bowl of his pipe. “You’re looking spry this morning.” His Longford brogue added a bit of music to everything he said. “But that’s hardly a surprise, given you’ve just killed four men before breakfast.”
“Your rumor mill’s got a busted gear,” Mackey said. “I only killed one man today. One of the Bollard bastards. Billy killed Eddows at the Municipal Building. Two others took care of themselves. You can read all about it in the Record tomorrow morning.”
“Ross is expected to make a full recovery, thanks to you. He’s already home and resting with his wife and children at his side.”
Mackey was not surprised Pappy knew so much. His father’s capacity for gossip was unrivaled. There wasn’t a bartender or barber or housewife within a day’s ride of Dover Station who heard anything before Pappy got it first. “What’s the rumor mill saying about the shootings?”
“Generally supportive of you and Billy,” Pappy said. “Think you did a fine thing for the town and saving Ross’s miserable hide the way you did. The people know a firm hand is required in a boomtown and Dover Station certainly qualifies as such.”
Mackey was a bit surprised he had supporters. “Wasn’t always that way. I can remember a time not too long ago when they didn’t like the way I did my job.”
“Mr. Rice seems to like it well enough,” Pappy said, “and what he likes, everyone else likes if they know what’s good for them.” He waited until a couple of people strolled by before beckoning his son closer. “But not all of the talk of the man has been positive.”
Mackey wasn’t surprised to hear that. The only thing the people of Dover Station loved more than making money was complaining. “What is it?”
“Complaints about your Mr. Grant, mostly.” He took the pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem down Front Street toward the Municipal Building. “And about Tent City in particular. The stench from the place hangs over everything, even worse in summer. And with winter coming on, people wonder how safe they’ll be. What if the rabble decide to break into homes for firewood, or worse, look for warmer places to sleep? They’re wondering why the company is spending so much money on that damned thing instead of places where the workers could live. Brick and iron cost a fortune and take ten times as long to build than a wooden structure that could put a roof over people’s heads.”
“They’re wondering if that damned palace won’t serve as Grant’s personal office, much in the way Van Dorn looms over us from his house upon the hill.”
From where he stood, Mackey could also see the building that had now become known as Van Dorn House. It was a sprawling cottage of sharp roof angles intended to keep the rain from pooling and the snow from sticking. Someone had added wooden gingerbread adornments to the eaves and corners in an attempt to soften the severity of the structure, but it was a failed attempt. Every window was black due to the shades being closed and the drapes drawn shut.
A thin wisp of gray smoke rose from the middle of the house’s three chimneys. The wraparound porch facing the town had never been used, and Mackey doubted it ever would. Silas Van Dorn was not a man who loved the outdoors.
The placement of the house wasn’t an accident. Van Dorn and Grant knew exactly what they were doing when they built that severe monstrosity that lorded over the town. It gave them a perfect view of everything that happened below them. The construction, the activity, who arrived at the station and who left. They didn’t even have to walk out their front door to see what was happening. Silas Van Dorn merely had to look up from his books and his ledgers to gaze out the window at all he had wrought.
Mackey decided Pappy’s gossip mongering might be useful for a change. “You hear anything about people making threats against Grant’s life?”
Pappy’s eyes brightened. “No. Who’d want him dead? Everyone’s getting rich off him and the company. Workers, shop owners, whorehouses. I can’t think of a man or woman who doesn’t like him. They don’t trust him, myself among him. He’s a bit too sweet to be wholesome for my taste, but he’s mighty popular at the moment. Why, the people would love Van Dorn even more if he ever left the house.”
Mackey had suspected as much. If anyone had threatened Grant’s life, even one drunken night over a bottle of cheap whiskey, Pappy would have heard about it. “What about the train robberies?”
Dark Territory Page 4
