by Kaki Warner
“Why do you think their deaths are related to the first two?” Ash asked.
“The Chinaman was missing something, too,” Tait said. “His pigtail.”
Ethan explained his theory that another Chinaman hadn’t done it because he wouldn’t have kept the pigtail. “And Gallagher was missing his whip.”
Ash sipped and thought about that. “Two deaths made to look like accidents, followed by two that were obviously murder. Hard to see how they were done by the same man. Or for the same reason. What does Thomas say?”
“Ask him yourself.” Brodie nodded toward the Indian crossing toward them.
Grinning, Ash turned. “Heathen,” he called with a wave.
“Va’ohtama, hovahe.” Pulling another chair up to the crowded table, Thomas sat back, arms crossed over his wide chest. “So the man with too many names has found his way back to his teepee. Where is your dress, Scotsman?”
“’Tis a kilt, ye scalp-stealing savage. Meet my friend, Rafe. He has blond hair, which a black heathen such as yourself might find appealing. But be careful. He’s handy with a gun, so he is.”
Thomas nodded.
Rafe Jessup nodded back.
Neither smiled.
The earl poured more whiskey—although Thomas took his usual ginger beer—then they all settled back to hear what Thomas had learned about the Irishman’s death.
“He was ambushed between this building and the one next door. I found blood. Broken teeth. Then he was dragged to the street and carried away, on a horse, I think, since I did not find wagon tracks. I followed a blood trail into the canyon to the place where he was killed. He did not die easy.” Turning to Brodie, he added, “And I did not find the whip you told me to look for.”
Ethan thought for a moment. “Gallagher was a big man. Which means the killer must be at least as big to be able to subdue him.”
“The barkeep says he was drunk,” Brodie put in, “so he might have been easy to overpower. But he fought hard enough to lose teeth and get bloodied, so he wasn’t unconscious when he was attacked.”
“But he might have been when he was dragged out of the alley,” Ethan said. “At least a hundred and eighty pounds. Dead weight. Lifted onto the back of a horse. It would take a big man to do that.”
“Unless he had help,” Rafe offered—the first words he’d spoken beyond acknowledging introductions and a jab or two at his employer.
“Help?” Tait frowned, a thoughtful look in his gray eyes. “You mean there were two men? Thomas, did you see evidence of that?”
The Cheyenne shrugged. “I could not tell.”
Brodie sat back, his face blank with surprise. “Two killers?”
Ethan didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it. It made perfect sense. “Think about it, Sheriff. Two supposedly accidental deaths. Two obvious murders. Different ways of killing, but with one thing in common. Something was missing from each victim.”
“Two killers.” Brodie still looked stunned.
“Bluidy hell. We have to put an end to this.” Switching from affable earl to hard-eyed commander, Ash started barking orders. “Rafe, since you and Tait have soldiering, you help me set a perimeter around the town. Tait, round up anyone who can help. Brodie and Hardesty, you question everyone, even the Chinese. And especially anyone new to the area. Thomas, keep tracking. We need to know everyone who moves in and out of this canyon. Particularly any newcomers. Anything to add, Sheriff?”
“Only that I wish I’d thought of all that,” he said with a smirk. Then, sobering, he added, “We especially need to warn all the outlying homes and ranches. Make sure they stay alert and keep weapons handy.”
Tait nodded. “The hotel will provide food for the sentries.”
“And there are extra cots at the jail,” the sheriff put in. “For those who won’t mind sleeping in a barred cell.”
“I’ll go by the newspaper.” Ethan hoped he could be civil to Bonet when he arrived to escort Audra home, especially after the son of a bitch’s accusations at the inquiry earlier. “Ask if we can get something in the next edition.” Not that Bonet would comply. In fact, he hadn’t run a single article about the murders, other than to use the finding of each body as another opportunity to blast the railroads. Kind of odd, now that he thought about it.
“Well, gentlemen, if that’s it . . . ?” The earl rose.
The others followed suit.
Ethan tucked the nearly empty whiskey bottle under his coat. No use tempting the locals.
“Let’s meet in the hotel dining room at eight tomorrow morning,” Tait suggested. “Give us a chance to talk over our plans and make any adjustments necessary.”
As the others started toward the door, Tait grinned at Ethan. “If I need to get in touch with you, Ethan, will you be at the hotel, or at the Pearsall place?”
“We talked. That’s all.”
“Ah, yes. An interview, I believe she called it.”
Brodie, who was walking directly in front of them, looked back with a scowl. “You watch your step, Hardesty. Ed would be upset if you treated her new friend badly. And when my wife’s upset, she makes sure I’m upset, too. I don’t like it. Besides, Audra’s a good woman.”
“I know that,” Ethan shot back, his temper rising. “And if it makes you feel any better, I already asked her to marry me.”
Brodie stopped in the doorway. “You did? What’d she say?”
Heat rose up Ethan’s neck. “That she’s thinking about it. Move on. You’re blocking the door.”
Tait clapped his shoulder. “Not to worry, friend. We’ll set the ladies on it. They love nothing more than planning weddings, right, Declan? I predict they’ll have you roped, branded, and prancing down the aisle of the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek in less than a month’s time.”
“You poor bastard,” Declan Brodie said, and laughed.
Twenty-four
That afternoon, as Ethan rode toward the newspaper office to meet Audra and ask Bonet to put a warning about the killer in the next edition, he saw her come out the office door and walk briskly toward the edge of town.
“Stubborn, hardheaded woman,” he muttered, angling Renny across the road to intercept her at the end of the boardwalk.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” he scolded, swinging down. “You know I don’t like you walking home alone.”
“You fuss more than Lucinda.” Taking the hand he offered, she stepped from the boardwalk to the street, then released it. “I decided to leave early since Mr. Bonet is still angry with me over the inquiry, and seeing you might have thrown him into a conniption fit.” As he fell into step beside her, she glanced back at the bulging saddlebags and the bedroll and rectangular fiddle box tied on top. “Are you leaving town?”
“No. I’m going to your house.”
“For the audition?” A spark lit up her hazel eyes, then quickly faded. “But what about Father and the Abrahams?”
“They won’t be a problem, since there’s not going to be an audition. I don’t want you so far from town without protection, so I’ll be staying on your couch,” he said with emphasis, “until the killer is caught.”
“There’s an extra bed in Father’s room.”
“The couch will be fine. That way, between me and Curtis and Phe, no one will get into the house unannounced. What did Mr. Bonet do to send you running?”
“Actually, I was more concerned about what you would do. You’re not very subtle in your dislike.”
“I don’t trust him.” As they walked, he told her about the latest thinking that there might be two killers. “Other than the prospector who was caught in the rock slide, all the victims had something to do with our work here. And you know how Bonet feels about the railroad.”
“He might be a bit shortsighted, but I doubt he’s a killer. Besides, he wasn’t even here when th
e prospector and woodcutter died. Nor was I, if you’ll recall. So it makes no sense that I would be a target or he would be the killer.”
“He could have snuck in early,” Ethan argued, unwilling to give up the idea. But even he could hear how far-fetched it sounded. “I still don’t like him.”
She slanted a look at him. “Jealous?”
He forced a laugh. “Of a man you can barely tolerate? Not hardly.”
“How about the Wallaces’ new wrangler, then?”
He stopped so abruptly Renny almost clipped his heels. “How do you know Rayford Jessup?”
“I don’t. But I met Maddie Wallace today, and she told me he came with them from Texas to help her husband start a horse herd. She says he’s quite handsome.” Seeing his expression, she laughed. “You needn’t scowl,” she teased, nudging him forward again. “Maddie also said he was even less talkative than Declan Brodie, and you know how well that would sit with me.”
He allowed himself to relax. “You do like to argue.”
“Not argue. Discuss.”
“Like you’re doing now?” He grinned down at her. The clear, sunny days had brought a faint sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose and a rosy glow to her cheeks. She looked like a country girl now, rather than a pale city dweller. And decidedly happier than when he’d first seen her beside the railroad tracks two and a half months ago. She was changing.
And changing him.
Already she had made a profound impact on his life. After telling her about the terrible events in California, his night terrors had stopped, and even that dark time with Eunice Eckhart had faded into distant memory.
He had hope again.
They walked without speaking past the last building and a stand of aspens that stretched along the creek. The fire hadn’t reached this end of town, and the rustle of new leaves in the late afternoon breeze added to the sound of rushing water and the clomp of Renny’s hooves on the hard-packed dirt. Off to the left, beyond the equipment yard, the new water tower squatted like a giant beetle with a single, dripping tentacle hanging over the tracks. And in the workers’ camp nearby, the clang of sledgehammers on metal rails blended with the rhythmic chuff of the locomotive that carried supplies up and down the line that had already reached a mile into the canyon. The sound of progress. Finally.
“You know, Audra,” he said once they’d left the noise behind, “if you married me you wouldn’t have to go back.”
She looked up at him. “Back to the newspaper?”
He nodded.
“But I like the work.”
“Even though you have to deal with Bonet?”
“He’s not so bad.”
“Wouldn’t you rather work on your own stories?”
“My lurid novels of romance and adventure?” With a shrug, she kicked a pinecone into the weeds. “Perhaps someday. Right now I need the income.”
“I can support you. And your father and the Abrahams. Even Phe.” He smiled to mask his growing uncertainty. Why was she being so hardheaded about this? Couldn’t she see they belonged together?
She gave a crooked smile. “Trying to rescue me again, are you?”
“Trying to take care of you, Audra. That’s all.” Seeing that belligerent furrow form between her brows, he hastily added, “And not because I think you need taking care of, but because it’s what I want to do.”
“Oh, Ethan.” Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, she leaned against his arm. “You’re such a dear man. And I appreciate you so much.”
He almost snorted. Appreciate? Hardly a stirring endorsement after what he’d gone through on her behalf. Why not love? Lust for? Admire beyond measure? He’d seen her half-naked, for God’s sake. What more did he have to do to win this stubborn woman?
Struggling to ignore the soft press of her breast against his arm, he looked down at her. “But . . . ?” With Audra, there was always a “but.”
“But I appreciate my independence, too. Is that so difficult to understand?”
He gave up. “You’re such a bluestocking.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.” But knowing he had come up against a stone wall, he tried a different tack. “All right. I’m not an unreasonable man. If you insist, I’ll allow you to continue working after we’re married. But not for Bonet.”
“Allow?” That laugh again. Another hug on his arm. Another press of her breast.
His thoughts scattered.
“Let’s get through the audition first,” she said, the smile still in her voice. “Then we can negotiate.”
Lovely. A command performance with his entire future at stake. Ethan wondered if this was how a stud horse felt when he was led to the breeding pen.
When they arrived at the house a few minutes later, Phe and Winnie came out onto the porch to meet them. Both looked worried.
“What’s wrong?” Audra cried, releasing Ethan’s arm and rushing up the path to the steps.
Winnie held up a staying hand. “Everything fine. Curtis took your daddy up awhile ago. But he’s had a rough afternoon.”
An obvious understatement. Her apron was splattered with food stains, and the white doily-thing pinned to her gray hair was crooked. She looked older than she had two days ago.
“But you might ought go to the doctor for more of that cough tonic that make him sleep,” Winnie suggested. “When Mr. Percy don’t get his afternoon nap, we all pay the price.”
“But what if he needs me?”
“I’ll go,” Ethan offered. “You tend your father.”
“Thank you.” Flashing him a grateful smile, Audra hurried inside.
“How much tonic should I get?” he asked Winnie.
“Much as you can. Mr. Percy get worse as the day pass. By evening, he too upset to eat or sleep. If we could calm him down some, he feel better.”
“I’ll be back soon as I can,” Ethan called as he walked toward Renny.
He arrived at the clinic just before Doc and his wife, Janet, sat down to supper. By the grateful look on Doc’s face when he answered the door, she hadn’t fixed his favorite.
As he followed the older man to the dispensary in his office, Ethan told him about Mr. Pearsall’s agitation in late afternoon. “They can’t get him to settle down enough to eat or go to sleep.”
“That’s not uncommon with folks suffering dementia,” Doc said. “Getting through the day is difficult for them, and by evening they’ve worn out themselves and everyone else.” Opening a cabinet filled with vials, brown bottles, tins, and paper packets, he bent to peer inside. “You can try taking him for an afternoon walk. Feed him a light supper, no coffee. Especially avoid loud noises and confusing situations. A hot footbath and a cup of warm milk before retiring might help. Got any hops?”
Ethan shrugged.
“Me, neither. These will probably work as well.” He pulled out a tin and a lumpy packet.
“They were hoping for more of that cough syrup you gave him before.”
Doc dusted the tin and squinted at the writing across the top. “Too strong. Depresses the whole body. Might as well give him some of that Chinese herb.” He looked up with a frown. “Not that I’m suggesting opium. The pipe’s addictive. The poor man has enough problems without rotting his lungs and further dulling his mind. Try this.” He handed the tin to Ethan. “Lemon balm tea. Two pinches in a cup of hot water before he goes to bed. If that doesn’t help, here’s valerian root.” He passed over the packet. “Pour hot water over it and steep for three minutes. Tastes like horse piss, but try to get him to take it three times a day.” He closed the cabinet. “That’s about all I can do. Best prepare yourself. And Miss Pearsall. Sounds like he’s getting close.”
Ethan rode thoughtfully back to Audra’s home. He had hoped to give Curtis and Audra another shooting lesson after supper, but that
would be too loud for the old man. He supposed he and Curtis could do a thorough examination of the house to make sure all the doors and windows had good locks. That would take care of any intruders. But he didn’t know how to help Audra through the crisis ahead with her father, other than wait it out with her. That’s all he could do for any of them.
When he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, he found Winnie stirring a cup by the stove and Curtis slumped at the table. “How’s Mr. Pearsall?” he asked, setting the items Doc had given him on the counter by the sink.
“Asleep.” Winnie heaved a great sigh. “Plumb wore hisself out, carrying on. Never seen the like.”
“And Audra?”
“Upstairs. Crying.” She swiped a hand over her watery eyes. “Breaks her heart to see her daddy this way.”
Ethan pointed at the teacup. “What’s that?”
“Tea.”
“Thanks.” He picked it up and headed toward the stairs.
“Whoa,” Winnie called after him. “Where you think you going?”
“She needs me.”
“She an unmarried woman, Mr. Ethan. Last thing she need is some man barging into her bedroom.”
He hesitated, wondering how much to say, then realized since this old Negro couple was part of her family, they had a right to know. “I’m not just some man,” he told them. “I’m the one she’s going to marry. And right now, she needs me.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and continued up the stairs.
Audra lay curled on her bed, fully dressed, including shoes, a faded patchwork quilt pulled over her shoulders. He thought she might be asleep, but when he crossed to the table beside her bed, she rolled over.
“Ethan?”
He stopped, cup in hand. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s that?”
“Tea.”
“Oh.” Sitting up, she propped her back against the headboard. After situating the quilt over her legs, she reached for the cup.
It shook in her hand, but she managed to drink without spilling. A few more sips, then she set it on the nightstand and flashed him a weary smile. “Thank you.”
