When the door opened, he jerked awake. He’d slumped down, and the pistol had slid between his thigh and the chair’s arm. As he fumbled for it, Ernie entered and spoke.
“Here we are. How are you doing?”
“All right, I guess.” David gazed past him to the doctor.
“This is Doc Muller,” Ernie said. “Mr. Stone.”
The blond man looked to be ten years younger than David, well fed, and self-assured. He stepped forward with a black satchel in his hand and a rueful smile on his face. “Mr. Stone, I understand you met with an untoward happenstance.”
“Nothing happenstance about it. The blackguard meant to kill me.”
“Ah. Would you like to lie down while I examine the wound?”
David looked to Ernie. “Can we go down the hall first? I’m afraid they’ll find me here.”
“Of course.”
Ernie scouted the hallway, then helped him up. Dr. Muller stood watch while they lurched along to a door tucked under the attic stairway. The cook seemed to have picked up a skeleton key on his outing, and they were soon inside. Ernie drew the drapes first thing. The cot wasn’t made up, and he quickly spread a quilt on it.
“I don’t want to bleed all over the bedding,” David said. He looked around, but besides the bed, the room held only a washstand, a narrow dresser, and a stool.
“I’ll go for some sheets,” Ernie said. “Then I’ll get your wet clothes while Doc sees to your arm.”
“Oh, and I left a small bundle on top of the dresser. Bring that, too, please.” David sank onto the stool. He was putting Ernie to a lot of trouble, but the cook remained cheerful.
“I may as well get that cloth off and take a look while we wait,” Dr. Muller said.
“Better lay this down.” David handed him the pistol, and the doctor set it on the edge of the washstand.
David nearly screamed when the doctor began to unknot the handkerchief Ernie had tied around his upper arm. He clenched his teeth and tried to think about England—Stoneford’s fields would be damp and dreary this time of year, and the trees would have shed their foliage, but if he were there, he and Richard and John would be out hunting. Some different it would be from hunting in Oregon, though. The thought of donning a pink coat and setting off after a fox seemed almost ludicrous compared to the elk hunt he’d had last year. And no one hunting in the Oregon woods would wear something as bright as the scarlet material his pink coat was made from.
He managed to lie still while Dr. Muller lifted his arm and probed the wound.
“Seems to have gone in here and out here. That’s good—we don’t have to remove it. It did a job on your muscles, though.”
“I’m thankful it’s not worse,” David said without unclenching his teeth.
“I’ll clean it up and then bandage it well, but you’ve got to understand, a wound like this is prone to infection within.”
“Do whatever you have to, Doc.”
“You’ll want it checked frequently. Of course it will be sore for several weeks. But if the skin around it becomes hot and swollen, and if it looks redder than normal, that means it’s infected. You don’t want to let it go if that happens.”
“What can you do?”
The doctor sighed. “The best cure is to prevent it in the first place. So I will hurt you tonight to make sure it is thoroughly clean. This isn’t a method many of my peers use, but I’ve found that patients do much better when I follow this procedure.”
The door swung open, and Ernie came in carrying his things from the suite. “Here we go, Mr. Stone.” He set the bundle on the dresser and dropped the wet clothes on the floor. “I’d better run down to the kitchen for your coat.”
By the time he returned again, the doctor was cleaning up and putting his instruments away.
“I ran into Mr. Reed,” Ernie said as he closed the door. “He asked why I was here so late.”
“Is he suspicious?” David asked.
“I don’t think so. I told him I wanted to start dough rising for breakfast. That means I’ll have to come in extra early in the morning, but I don’t mind.”
“Is everything set in my old room?” David asked.
“Yes. I looked around in the sitting room as well as the bedchamber. Everything looks as though you stepped out for the evening and will return any moment. I made sure there’s no blood or other telltale signs. And I soaked the tablecloth we used in cold water. It came out rather well.”
“Thank you,” David said. “Where’s my soggy wallet now, Ernie?”
“Right here, sir.”
“Good. Would you please give the doctor two dollars from it? I’ve explained to him that I shall disappear as a hotel guest.”
“That’s right,” Dr. Muller said. “I’ll come and check on you tomorrow, but I shan’t inquire for you at the front desk.”
“If you come straight to the kitchen, I’ll let you come up the back stairs,” Ernie said. “No one will be the wiser unless one of the waiters is in the kitchen then.”
“I’ll make it a point not to come at mealtime.” The doctor pocketed the money Ernie gave him. “Thank you for paying promptly, sir. You’re in the minority there. I assure you your location is safe with me.”
Dr. Muller cracked the door open and went out, carrying his black bag. Ernie locked the door behind him, and David sighed.
“I can never repay you, but I’ll make a down payment, Ernie. There’s a little pouch in my bundle over there. That’s for you.”
“Oh Mr. Stone, I told you—”
David held up his good hand. “I know, but I want to give you this. It’s a collection of small nuggets from my sluice box, and it should be worth about a hundred dollars. Don’t say that’s too much. It’s not, and I have enough cash to get me home when I’m done here. But there’s one other thing we need to take care of.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“I do want to pay the hotel bill. Perhaps we could leave enough money on the dresser in the suite to cover it? Then when Mr. Reed begins investigating my disappearance, he’ll find it.”
“Hmm. What if someone else goes in there first and ‘finds’ it?”
“The shooter, you mean?”
“Whoever. The cleaning woman, even. And once your absence is noticed, a lot of people will wonder what became of you. If Reed calls in the constable…Well, it wouldn’t be the first time cash disappeared during an investigation, now would it?”
“What do you suggest?”
“You could put the money in an envelope with a note saying you plan to check out tomorrow and wanted to settle up in advance.”
“Would that work? Reed would know it wasn’t at the front desk when he left for the night.”
“We’ll leave it in the suite, then. Can you write a note if I bring you paper and pen?”
“Maybe.” David yawned. He was tired out, but in addition the doctor had given him a powder to help him sleep. “Best be quick about it, or I’ll be out cold.” His brain was so numb he couldn’t come up with a better plan.
Ernie hesitated. “Sir, don’t you want me to stay here tonight? You need to rest.”
“They won’t find me here. You said no one uses this room most nights.”
“That’s true.”
“Go on. What would your wife say if you didn’t come home?”
“Wife? That’s a good one.”
“Still, I’ll be all right. Leave me my pistol. I’ll lock the door behind you.”
“Let me take your wet things and get them dried and aired so you have a change in the morning. I might be able to do something about the bullet holes, too….” Ernie held up the bloody shirt and shook his head as he surveyed the tattered sleeve.
“Don’t bother,” David said. “Just dispose of it discreetly.”
“Well, sir, I could pick up anything you need at the haberdashery tomorrow. Too bad you have to leave so many nice things behind….”
“Yes. I’ll get on all right without them, but I wi
sh there was a way to give some of it to you. Oh, that reminds me. Captain.”
“Captain?”
“My horse. He’s in the stable. I’d hate to lose him.”
Ernie scratched his chin. “What if he sort of…checked out…before anyone knew you were missing?”
“Hmm. That might cause the assassin to believe I’m still alive.”
“It might. Is it worth the risk?”
“What will happen if we leave him there?”
“Well, if we didn’t leave the money to cover the bill the way we talked about, you could just leave the horse. Reed would probably sell him to pay your bill.”
“My horse and gear are worth more than that, and besides, he’s a good horse.” David stifled another yawn.
“All right. I’ll get the paper for you to write the note, and then I’ll get the horse from the stable and take him and your wet clothes home with me. If nobody sees me, you’re in good shape. I’ll keep Captain until you’re ready to travel again.”
Ernie helped David get as far as the door, placed the pistol in his hand, and went out. David leaned against the jamb for a minute, listening to his new friend’s retreating footsteps. He slid the bolt. He was just about to turn away when he heard soft footfalls in the hallway. He held his breath, wishing he’d doused the lamp. He heard a door open and close quietly, then more footsteps, so gentle he’d almost have said they were stealthy. Then all was quiet.
He stood there for a good five minutes—until his legs turned to lead. He couldn’t stand any longer, even leaning against the woodwork. He staggered to the table and blew out the flame in the lamp, then lurched to the cot and lowered himself onto it with as little noise as possible.
CHAPTER 18
Millie topped the second flight of stairs and stood for a moment on the landing to catch her breath. Which room was David’s? He’d let fall last night that he was on the third floor. She didn’t think many guests were staying up here. She tiptoed along the hall, studying the numbers painted on the door panels, mentally boxing her own ears for not discovering his room number.
At the opposite end of the building, across the landing and at the far end of the hall she was exploring, a door creaked. She stepped back against the wall and peered toward the sound. A man had just gone through a doorway down there, but where had he come from?
She hastened along the carpet runner, crossed the landing with a glance down toward the floor below, and glided on into the other wing. Two lamps turned low threw just enough light in the corridor to guide her.
At the extreme end of the hall, the door on the left seemed the most likely candidate for the one the man had escaped through. To her surprise, small, neat letters on it proclaimed a discreet STAFF ONLY. Millie turned the brass knob, and the door swung inward on an uncarpeted landing. She’d discovered the back stairs.
With a sigh, she closed the door again. The man she’d seen was no doubt a hotel employee. This wasn’t helping her. She needed to find out where David had been staying. After a moment’s thought, she went to the nearest numbered door—306—and knocked softly. No sound came from within. She tapped again, louder. Still no response. She tried the knob, but the door was locked.
She moved on along the hallway. On the third door she tried—a room close to the landing, a man’s voice called from within, “Yes?”
Millie froze, every sense a-tingle.
A moment later, she heard a bolt drawn, and the door opened about six inches. A gray-haired man wearing dark trousers, an undershirt, and suspenders peered out at her.
“May I help you?”
Millie clapped a hand to her cheek. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I was supposed to meet my brother, and I thought he told me that his room was 303.I must have gotten the number wrong. Please forgive the intrusion.” She fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her lips, on which she’d recently replenished her rouge.
“Oh well, certainly.” The man hesitated. “Er, what does your brother look like?”
“He’s a tall Englishman.” She immediately realized her mistake and added hastily, “That is, he’s spent a lot of time in England, and he’s picked up the accent. That’s what most people notice about him first.”
“Hmm, I think he said good-day to me this morning—he seemed to be on his way out then.”
“Oh, I’ve seen him since then, but thank you.” Millie smiled and moved on toward the landing.
“You’d better ask at the front desk,” the man called after her. His door closed.
She lingered on the landing. Was it better to disturb other guests and let them see her seeking a tall Englishman—and she needed to revise her story if she chose that option—or to inquire at the desk? She didn’t want anyone connecting her to David’s disappearance. Yet several other guests had seen them dining together this evening. Maybe it would be wise to ask about him. That would imply that she didn’t know he wasn’t in his room and healthy as a horse.
She hurried down the two flights of stairs.
A new clerk was on the desk—a younger, red-haired man who looked to be scarcely into his twenties. He stared brazenly at Millie as she descended the last few steps and strolled toward him.
“Well, hello,” she said. “Haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m the night clerk. M–may I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh dear, I didn’t realize how late it was. Mr. Stone had asked me to meet him for coffee when I returned from my evening out with friends, and I don’t see him here in the lobby. He hasn’t by any chance left a message for me, has he?”
“Uh…What’s your room number, ma’am?”
“It’s 202. Mrs. Evans.”
He turned away and scanned the bank of pigeonholes behind him. “Nope. I don’t see anything in your box.”
She sighed and fluttered her lashes. “Perhaps he gave up on me. Let’s see, he’s way up on the third floor, isn’t he?”
“Mr. Stone? I…uh…I think so.” The clerk consulted the registry on the counter. “Oh, he has the suite. He’s the English fellow.”
“Yes.” Millie’s mind whirled. David had a suite? She hadn’t even known the hotel possessed such accommodations. “Maybe he intended to have coffee served in his sitting room.”
“Well, he hasn’t asked for room service tonight, at least not since I’ve been here, but that’s only the last hour or so.”
“I’ll go up and see if he’s waiting for me. Uh, what did you say the number is?”
“He’s in 304, but I can run up and check if you want, ma’am.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I shall have to go up to my room anyway, and if he’s not in, I’ll simply retire. Thank you very much…uh…what was your name?” She gave a smile she hoped dazzled the gangly young fellow, and he practically melted before her eyes.
“It’s Ronald, ma’am.”
“Oh please, Ronald. You may call me Mrs. Evans.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She could feel his gaze on her as she sauntered to the stairs. She went along to her own room and gathered assorted hairpins, a nail file, and a pair of tweezers. One way or another, she was going to get into that suite.
Anne couldn’t sleep. As much as she wanted justice, she wasn’t sure that execution would be justice in Sam Hastings’s case. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that he hadn’t acted alone.
“I ain’t supposed to tell you,” he’d said.
According to whom? she wondered. And hadn’t he claimed he wasn’t really stealing the horses but was only attempting to keep her from finding David? She’d assumed he meant because he didn’t want her to reveal his attempt to impersonate her uncle. But would he follow her all this way for that? David would find out eventually. What good would it do Sam Hastings to keep her away from him for a while?
“If I don’t find Uncle David, he’ll never know I’m within ten thousand miles of here,” she said aloud. Instead of trying to stop her from tattling on him, was Sam’s goal to keep David from knowing ab
out her?
She thought back over the two visits she and Dan had made to the farm when Sam pretended to be her uncle. She sat up in bed. The key to the puzzle was obvious—why hadn’t she seen it before?
She threw back the bedclothes. In the interest of saving the horses, she’d packed light, which meant she hadn’t brought her dressing gown. That meant she had to get completely dressed before she left her chamber. Without another woman to help lace her corsets, that took some engineering, but ten minutes later she surveyed herself in the mirror and decided her appearance lay within the bounds of propriety. She opened her door and tiptoed along the hall.
As she passed the room where Whitey had settled for the night, snores penetrated the pine door panels. Mrs. Zinberg’s room was downstairs, for which Anne was thankful. She pulled up before the door to Dan’s room and looked over her shoulder. Only a little light spilled through the casement at the end of the hall, and she was alone. Feeling slightly decadent, she tapped softly on the door.
“Daniel? Daniel, it’s me. I need to tell you something.”
She was about to knock louder when she heard him turn the knob. He stared out at her.
“Anne?”
His tousled hair gave him a boyish look that she found adorable by starlight, and she smiled.
“What is it?” he asked.
Suddenly she realized anew how scandalous her behavior might seem.
“Oh! I thought of something. I’m sorry to wake you.”
He smiled and opened the door wider, revealing that he was still dressed. “You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep, and I was pacing the floor, thinking about what happened today.”
“Me, too. Dan, don’t you see? Sam Hastings wasn’t in that bit of chicanery alone.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then inhaled through his nose. “You’re right. Of course. I should have seen it at once. The question is—”
Anne nodded. “Where’s Millie?”
Whenever she got a new corset, the first thing Millie did was to sew a small pocket into it. Secure banking at its best. As she dressed in the morning, she patted the satin garment with satisfaction. She still had sixty dollars left from what Peterson had paid her—after a lavish shopping spree among Scottsburg’s none-too-satisfactory retail establishments—and last night she’d added another ten.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 52
