by Paul Colt
“Time for lunch and a nap, Colonel.”
My lovely Penny never ceased to take my breath away.
“You can set your watch by this girl, boy. If only her punctuality led me to more appetizing or interesting pursuits, but then I suppose you monopolize her in those regards.”
“He’s incorrigible!” Penney said, stomping a foot in mock indignation. “He refuses to respect that which is none of his affair.”
“Affair is it now. Ah ha! See I’ve been right all along.”
She shook her head and wheeled him away with a wink tossed over her shoulder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Santa Fe
The Butterfield stage rocked its dust-choked way into Santa Fe. El Anillo, the Ring. Cane couldn’t get the message out of his mind. The message was sent to Santa Fe, but to who? What did it mean? Someone in the Santa Fe Western Union office must know something.
“Whoa!” The driver hauled lines slowing the coach as they approached Santa Fe Station. The sleepy passengers awoke, Cecile to the uncomfortable realization she’d been sleeping on Longstreet’s shoulder. He smiled.
Across the coach Escobar retained his foul humor, refusing to answer the most basic questions. Cane kept him cuffed for his belligerence.
Longstreet stepped down at the station. He offered his hand to Cecile.
Cane hauled Escobar down.
“Heard we had prisoners aboard,” the stationmaster said. “Nobody said nothin’ about another woman.”
“Another woman?” Longstreet said.
“Lady Pinkerton agent’s got Belle Spice booked out to Denver tomorrow. You four make it a full coach.”
Cane winced at the prospect of another female prisoner joining the trip. He was a bounty hunter. He never signed on to be headmaster to a school for wayward girls. He kept his thoughts to himself. No need to have prickly women for company.
“Sheriff Hominy’s office is just up the street,” the stationmaster said.
Sheriff Davis Hominy and Samantha greeted them.
“Well, well, gentlemen. It appears hunting improved after I left.”
“Sorry you missed all the fun,” Longstreet said with a smile.
“You got room for these two, Sheriff?” Cane said.
The sheriff nodded. He reached in a desk drawer, drew out his keys, and turned to Cane. “This way.”
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Longstreet said.
“Kingsley didn’t have all the details worked out for my package. He’ll be out of sorts when he hears I missed out on a part in the collar for Cecile’s greasy accomplice here.”
“Serves his Lordship right.”
Even Samantha took a little wry humor in that.
Sheriff Hominy opened the cellblock door. “We’ll have to put this one in with Belle. Don’t expect that will go over too well.”
“They might as well get used to it. Prison accommodations don’t offer much by way of privacy.”
Cane motioned Cecile and Escobar to follow the sheriff.
“You got company, Belle.”
She scowled. “What the hell is this?”
“Your new cellmate.”
“This cage ain’t big enough for one, never mind two.”
Cecile gave Cane a pleading look. He shrugged. The sheriff opened the cell door and locked her in. He locked Escobar in the next cell.
“We’ll be leaving in the morning,” Cane said.
The sheriff led the way back to the office.
“Belle will be going to Denver with us,” Samantha said. “You’ve got as much as there is on the other one. The client wants Belle to face her Colorado charges. They’ll put her away for a spell.”
“Fill up my jail one day and clean it out the next. You do take the prize.”
“Some folks think so.” She smiled at Longstreet. “After eating dust on that stage for two days, I think it’s time you bought a girl a drink, Beau Longstreet. Good day, Sheriff.”
Cane got to the Western Union office just before closing. The telegrapher glanced at his pocket watch, annoyed that the end of his day might be delayed.
“What can I do for you?”
“Briscoe Cane, Great Western Detective League.” He made the introduction sound as official as he could. “We have a prisoner over in the jail who sent a rather unusual wire to this office three days ago.”
“What sort of wire?”
“Two words, El Anillo.”
The telegrapher shrugged. “Sounds like Spanish. I don’t speak the lingo. What’s unusual about that?”
“It wasn’t addressed to anyone.”
“That can happen. Messages sometimes come in incomplete. It don’t happen often, but it does.”
“What happened to that one?”
“Probably got thrown away. You can’t deliver a wire without an addressee.”
“You mean you don’t attempt to have a message resent or clarified?”
“Look, mister. It’s closing time. I don’t remember any message like that, so I have no way of knowing what happened to it.”
Cane held the telegrapher’s eyes. Something didn’t feel right.
“Much obliged.”
The salon at the Palace Hotel offered quiet hospitality to a small early evening crowd. Longstreet and Samantha sat at a corner table.
“I don’t suppose I properly thanked you for saving me from having my throat cut the other day.”
“You’d have done as much for me. Don’t give it another thought.”
“It’s the only throat I got. I’m partial to keepin’ it in good working order.”
She eyed him with a teasing smile over the rim of her glass; the candlelit sherry gave her features an amber glow. “If you feel you must be grateful, I’m sure we can think of some suitable expression.”
“Well I do feel grateful.”
“Good. Then I shan’t feel bad about taking advantage of you before you fall back to the clutches of that other woman.”
“Other woman?”
“Oh, please, Beau. Surely you must know when a woman has her cap set for you.”
He shook his head. “Women, you’re all unknowable.”
“I’m talking about Maddie.”
“Maddie? We had supper a time or two.”
“A violation of her strict no fraternization policy. She broke her own rule for you.”
“You know me, Sam. Rules is made to be broken.”
“We all love a bad boy. Now, are you going to show me some gratitude before we spend three sweltering dusty days packed in a swaying sardine tin with two craven women?”
“Three. Only two’s been charged.”
They both laughed.
Don Victor sat at a massive desk in his lavish book-lined study. He listened to Vincente’s report. He shook his head. The client would not be pleased. He was not pleased. A most lucrative enterprise failed. How could this have happened? How did local lawmen react so quickly to their movements? It was almost as though they knew what to look for before it was there to be seen. Impossible. Perhaps, but how else to explain it?
The wire alerted his operatives to the fact Escobar was in trouble. Now they knew he’d been arrested. The woman knew nothing. Escobar would hold his tongue for his blood oath. El Anillo was secure. For this he could be grateful. Still his share in the five uncashed bonds amounted to one hundred thousand dollars. It was a fortune. The client must still be in possession of the plates. He could print more. Would he? If he did, would he entrust the passing to his ring? Who else could do it? Who else could protect his identity so completely?
“What do we do now, Patron?”
“Find out where they take Escobar. From there we can arrange his release.”
“Sí, Patron.”
There was little else to do for the moment other than the unpleasant prospect of notifying the client. That and await further instructions.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Denver
The dust didn’t taste any bett
er up top than it did riding inside, but Cane figured he had the better of it. He left Longstreet and Samantha to tend the prisoners while he rode with the driver. The man was no conversationalist and mostly occupied with his team. That too suited Cane.
He wasn’t happy with where this case had come to a dead end. The bad guys made off with a sizable sum. He took some satisfaction from knowing they hadn’t gotten as much as they’d planned, but short of another bond showing up, the investigation was fresh out of leads. Escobar was the only prisoner who knew anything and he was as closed mouthed as a stone. It looked like the big fish would get away because of it. It could have been worse. The Great Western Detective League put a lid on the losses from a gang of very professional criminals. Crook knew his business. Privately he had a hunch they weren’t finished with the mysterious El Anillo.
The driver hauled lines, slowing the coach for the run up Colorado to the station. Cane’s butt cramped in protest to the rigors of the long ride. It’d feel damn good to climb down from the box and put some solid ground under his feet, not to mention a good meal and a night’s sleep in a real bed.
“Whoa!” The tired team slowed to a stop. The driver set the brake. Cane climbed down stiff-legged from the box. He opened the coach door and gave Samantha a hand down. Cecile followed. Belle refused his assistance. Longstreet lit down behind Escobar.
“Okay, Princess, let’s get you off to a new jail.”
“Go to hell,” Belle said.
“She’s a sweetheart all right. You don’t know what you missed ridin’ up top, Briscoe.”
“I got a pretty good idea. Let’s lock these ladies and the gent up at the jail. We’ve got to report to Crook and I suspect his Lordship will want to hear from you.”
“Why does it feel like I get the short end of that?” Samantha asked.
Longstreet smiled. “I’d offer to help with Kingsley, but you’ve saved my life once already this trip.”
“Small thanks for that.” She prodded Belle up the street to the jail.
Chicago
The Counselor climbed the broad stone steps to the post office entry. He crossed the cavernous lobby to the echoes of his footsteps. The post box had been empty for several days leading him to conclude the operation had come in for some new delay. This day his visit was rewarded with a letter he expected to contain another money order. It did not. The letter contained bad news. Law enforcement had managed to shut down the bond redemption operation, capturing two low-level operatives and the five remaining bonds. His client would not be pleased to hear he’d fallen this far short of his intended proceeds.
He closed the box and moved to a courtesy counter to consider his next move. The plates were sealed in a bank safety deposit box. Finding another printer with the necessary skill and discretion would be no small task. Then there was the matter of securing paper of an appropriate quality. The printer was a risk they would have to eliminate. The police might not make a connection to the previous contract, but more likely the Pinkerton people would. According to the Don, they’d been on the case, but the real damage had been done by an agency he’d never heard of. He sighed. He added his thoughts to the Don’s explanation and reposted them to New York.
Denver
Longstreet walked the shady tree-lined street to the stately Victorian. Maddie. Samantha called him out on it. Could it be? Could Samantha possibly be right? If she was, what did he make of it? Damn good question. He didn’t know. The Beau Longstreet he knew, or thought he knew, wasn’t given to that sort of feeling. He enjoyed women. He courted the willing. Things ran their course and he moved on. He felt comfortable that way. It came back to him unbidden. She made him comfortable. She said he made her uncomfortable. What good could come of that? He’d told her to miss him while he was gone. Why did he do that? Did she? Of course not. Sam was just teasing him for her own amusement.
He swung through the gate and up the walk to the porch. He paused, wondering if he should knock. Hell, he lived here. Sort of. No, he did. He stepped into the familiar foyer, smelling of beeswax and baking bread.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Beau.”
She appeared in the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. An errant tendril of auburn hair hung loose from the pile on top of her head. Flour smeared one cheek. She looked lovely.
“Well look what the cat dragged in.”
“I suppose I am a bit shabby after three days on the stage from Santa Fe.”
She crossed the dining room to the foyer. “Is Samantha home as well?”
“She’ll be along directly. I suspect she’s making her report to Kingsley.”
“And did you two have a successful trip?”
“After a fashion. We captured two of the counterfeiters we were after and the bogus bonds they were passing. The ringleaders escaped.”
“Well at least you had the pleasure of keeping company.”
“Miss Maples is a colleague and a competitor at that. There was no company keeping involved.”
“Of course not, and none of my concern if there were.”
“You brought it up.”
“My mistake. Welcome home to you. I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up. Supper is at six-thirty.”
“Did you miss me?”
“Did I miss you? I’ve no intention to flatter you, Beau Longstreet. You flatter yourself more than enough for all of us.”
“But, did you miss me?”
“You’re impossible!”
“Lovable too.”
“Ugh!” She reddened, turned on her heel, and stomped back to the kitchen.
He hefted his bag and started up the stairs. She missed me.
O’Rourke House Dining Room
They enjoyed a pleasant supper of fried chicken, biscuits, and summer squash while Samantha and Beau regaled the table with stories of their exploits in recent weeks. Maddie rose and began clearing the supper dishes away. Beau added Mrs. Fitzwalter’s place setting to his and started for the kitchen.
“Beau, when you’re finished there, might I have a word with you?” Samantha said.
He nodded.
“I’ll wait in the parlor.”
They finished clearing the table. Beau took his place, dish towel in hand.
“I’ll manage here. You go along and see what your colleague has on her mind.”
Frosty. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
Samantha waited on the settee in the parlor. “It’s such a pleasant evening. Let’s go for a walk.”
He followed along, nagged by an awkward discomfort. She took his arm down the walk. Last light filtered through the trees, ruffled by a soft breeze. They walked up the block toward town.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Kingsley informed me this afternoon. I’m to return to Chicago on assignment.”
“I’m sorry. I shall miss you looking after me the next time some varlet takes a notion to cut my throat.”
“I shall miss more than that, though it’s likely for the best.”
“How is that?”
She lifted a brow sidelong in purple evening shadow. “I know what I am, Beau. You might not be so sure. We could have a good time on mutual terms. It’s just that our terms aren’t mutual yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. One way or the other. In this business, we’ll meet again. Maybe by then you’ll know.” She paused in the shadow beyond a pool of gaslight. She tipped up on her toes and kissed him. “Now let’s get you back to that parlor, before I create more unrest than I already have.”
She said good night in the parlor and climbed the stairs. Beau watched her go. Maddie came out of the kitchen through the dining room.
“You wouldn’t have a cup of tea back there by any chance?” Beau said.
“Kettle’s on the stove with the tea ball in it. Tea’s in the tin on the shelf.”
“Care to join me?”
“You are exasperating.”
�
�Does that include irresistible?”
“Agh!” She threw up her hands and started back to the kitchen. She added water to the kettle and stirred the fire to light, adding a bit of kindling to heat the pot to a boil.
“Samantha is leaving.”
“Where to this time?”
“Not like that, she’s moving back to Chicago.”
“Oh, how disappointing for you.”
“She did save my life.”
“There is that to be grateful for.”
The kettle whistled. She poured two cups. “Tea, sir.” She led the way to the parlor and took a place at the end of the settee. Beau sat beside her and took a sip.
“I suppose it’s for the best,” Maddie said.
“That may have been mentioned already. Why do you think so?”
“I shan’t have to fret over the two of you making a mockery of my fraternization rules. I’m not terribly good at confrontation. It would have been a bother to throw you out.”
He caught the fire in her eye. “Ah yes, the rules. Some rules you know are meant to be broken. Would you have supper with me Saturday night?”
“I, I made that mistake once already.”
“And lived to tell about it.”
“But you’ve only just returned. It, it would be rather like, picking up where we left off.”
“It would, wouldn’t it. Would that be so bad?”
She bit her lip.
“You did miss me.”
“I did not!” She set down her cup and balled her fists in her lap.
“You did.”
“I refused to allow it.”
“You failed. I’ll tell you something else.”
She turned toward him, eyes liquid in lamplight. He touched her cheek. Her lips tilted to his. He kissed her. Soft and sweet until resistance melted into his arms.
“There’s a welcome home to give us both discomfort.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
New York
Jay Gould drummed his fingers on the desktop haloed in lamp-light. He eyed Don Victor’s letter and the Counselor’s notes. The bond operation was blown. Fortunately no serious damage had been done, if one were to discount a half-million-dollar shortfall in the proceeds. Gould was never given to such largesse. He cleared a fast half-million. A man could take some comfort in that. Still the operation had failed. He never accepted defeat with grace. The question vexed him. What to do about it?
