THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  Of course. That was why the clerk had hurried off after the boy had spoken to him. Probably dashed up the back stairs to scout out David’s suite. That way, if the guest had passed out drunk, or if he’d died in the hotel room, the visitor wouldn’t bear the shock of discovery.

  Anne followed Mr. Reed up the stairs, and Dan followed as closely as her trailing skirt allowed. Whitey came last, gawking about at the carved woodwork, gilt-framed paintings, and hanging lanterns. At the first landing, as they walked around to mount the next flight, Reed looked back at Dan. “And this man is with you?”

  Anne and Dan both glanced at Whitey.

  “Oh yes, sir,” Anne said. “He’s a friend, both of mine and of Mr. Stone’s. A mutual acquaintance who has been of great assistance to me.”

  Reed arched his eyebrows as though in doubt. “Very well.”

  They ascended to the third story, and he headed for one of the doorways leading off the corridor. A man carrying a covered tray came down the hall. He was already halfway along it, and he hesitated, then ducked his head as he passed them.

  “Ernie,” Mr. Reed said in surprise, “what are you doing up here in the middle of our breakfast hours? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”

  The stocky man flushed slightly and looked down at the tray. “Oh yes, sir, I’m usually right there, but one of the guests was ill and asked for a tray.”

  “The waiter should have taken it.”

  “He was overwhelmed with folks in the dining room wanting this and that. It will only take me a moment.”

  Reed frowned. “We’ll discuss this later. Deliver that and get back to your station.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ernie glided down the hallway and exited through a door at the far end.

  Mr. Reed knocked on the door to the suite, waited a moment, then put a key to the lock. He swung the door open and entered, looked about, then turned to Anne.

  “Come right in, Miss Stone. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here. The clerk has already checked the bedchamber to make sure he hadn’t simply overslept, but let me just make sure….” He stepped through the connecting doorway. Dan heard a door open and close—probably the wardrobe.

  “Well, he’s certainly not here,” Reed said with a frown as he reentered the sitting room. “His things look undisturbed. I’ll check with our housekeeper, though.”

  “Why is that, sir?” Dan asked. “To see if the room has been cleaned already this morning?”

  “Well…er…” Reed cleared his throat. “I noticed that the blankets are not on the bed.”

  They all stood in silence for a moment.

  “What does that mean?” Anne said at last. “Did someone forget to make up the bed?”

  Mr. Reed’s forehead furrowed. “I’m not certain. I’m sure Mr. Stone had blankets. Perhaps he spilled something on them—coffee, or…or…Well, as I said, I will check with the housekeeper to see if she knows anything about it. If you folks would please make yourselves comfortable, I’ll return when I find out anything. And if Mr. Stone comes in, we’ll tell him that he has visitors.”

  “Thank you,” Dan said.

  By the time Reed was out the door, Anne had gone into the adjoining room. Dan went and stood in the doorway. She walked slowly over to the dresser.

  “His razor is here, and a couple of papers.” She turned away as though stifling the urge to open the drawers.

  “Mr. Reed looked in the wardrobe,” Dan said.

  Anne strode to the walnut armoire and flung the doors open. Inside hung a wool jacket, a pair of plain twill pants, three shirts, and a droopy felt hat. She reached out and touched the sleeve of the coat.

  “It looks as though he certainly planned to come back.”

  “He’s probably down the street getting a newspaper,” Dan said.

  Whitey had come to the doorway, too, and he spoke up. “Like as not, he’s over to the tavern right now and we missed him on the way.”

  Anne smiled faintly. “I dare say.”

  Dan said nothing. Anne couldn’t know her uncle’s habits and vices, and it might be true. The saloons out here might stay open on Sunday, too, as vile as that seemed. From what he’d gathered in the past weeks, Westerners didn’t observe the Sabbath as strictly as most folks did back East—especially in mining towns.

  Anne continued to scan the room and stepped to the washstand. “Daniel.”

  “What is it?”

  “Could you come look at this please?”

  He stepped over beside her. “What?”

  “There are no towels. You know Mr. Reed commented on the bedding.”

  “Hmm. Maybe the housekeeper took away all the dirty linens but didn’t bring the clean ones yet.”

  “Then why did she not take the sheets? That is very odd, taking the blankets but not the sheets.”

  Dan looked over at the bed. She was right about that.

  “And Daniel…”

  “Yes?”

  “Please look closer at the rim of this washbowl.”

  Something in her tone put him on the alert. He stooped and peered at the edge of the large, white porcelain bowl. A small reddish smear on the rim set his pulse racing.

  “Do you think…?”

  Anne grasped his arm. “Yes, I do think. Look there.” She pointed down at the floor and stepped back, holding her skirt against her legs.

  Dan bent down and stared at the dark spot not much bigger than a half dime. Cautiously, he reached out and touched it with the tip of his pinky. He rose and walked to the window and examined his finger.

  “I’m not sure, Anne. It appears to be dry, whatever it is.”

  She took out a handkerchief and picked up the water pitcher. “There’s no water in here.”

  “Could be he washed and shaved before he went out this mornin’,” Whitey said.

  Anne ignored him. “There are a few drops in the bottom.” She wiped the interior of the pitcher with her handkerchief, set down the pitcher, and knelt beside the stand. She dabbed at the spot and looked at her handkerchief. “I don’t want to take it all.”

  She rose and walked over to Dan and held it up to the light. “There. I’ll eat my two best hats if that’s not blood.”

  CHAPTER 20

  David startled awake when a key turned in the lock. He aimed the pistol at the door, but when the knob turned, it didn’t open. A soft tap followed.

  “It’s me.”

  The bolt was still in place. David sat up and shook off the cobwebs.

  “Hold on.”

  When he stood, his head reeled. He lunged for the door and stood leaning against it, panting, until the swirling blackness receded.

  “Ernie?” he croaked.

  “Yeah. Lemme in. Quick.”

  David fumbled with the bolt and opened the door. The cook squeezed in with his arms full of dishes and shut it.

  “Man, you look awful.”

  “Thanks.” David hobbled back to the bed and sat down.

  “I can’t stay. If the boss sees me up here again—”

  “He saw you this morning?”

  “Yeah. And get this—he was taking some people into your suite.”

  David’s stomach dropped. “Really? Why?”

  “Not sure. I heard someone was looking for you.”

  “Because I was shot at?”

  “I dunno, but I saw a really pretty girl and two men. One was an old coot with a white beard, and the other guy was younger. Tall, decent looking. He’d shaved this morning, if that counts.”

  David rubbed his own stubbly chin. “Not sure if it does or not. Can you get my razor?”

  “Not now. Those people are in there waiting for you.”

  “What on earth?”

  Ernie shrugged. “I’ll see if I can find out anything, but the boss will get mad if he sees me outside the kitchen again, and we start serving dinner soon. I brought you some more water and a sandwich and some cake. If there’s any fried chicken left from dinner, I’ll bring you some of that later.”
/>   “Thanks, Ernie. I forgot to ask you this morning about Captain.”

  “He’s fine. He gets along great with my old nag. But listen, you’ve got to keep quiet, you hear me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. ’Cause if Reed finds out someone’s in here…Well, I wouldn’t want to be around when he found out.”

  “The woman who was with Mr. Reed, it wasn’t Mrs. Evans, was it?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman I had dinner with last night. She’s a guest here—reddish hair, tall and regal looking.”

  “Hmm, no, I’d say not. I didn’t want to look too close, on account of Mr. Reed being with them. She had dark hair and a fancy hat. Very handsome young woman. In her early twenties, I’d think. Fresh, young face.”

  “Well, that’s not Mrs. Evans. She’s a bit more mature. I wonder who it could be.”

  “Like I say, I’ll see if I can find out more without stirring up suspicion. Maybe Elwood or Ronald on the front desk can tell me something. Now, I’d better vamoose. It’s Sunday, and we serve a big dinner.”

  David managed to get to the door with him and throw the bolt as soon as Ernie left. He lay down again and stared up at the ceiling, wondering about the mysterious trio down the hall in his suite.

  “You go on up to his room and knock on the door,” Peterson said. “Make sure some other people see you going up there. Then you need to talk to the manager. Tell him Stone promised to meet you at eight last night and he never showed up.”

  “Some of the hotel people saw us leave together around seven.”

  “All right, tell them that when you returned he had to go out on an errand but he promised to meet you again downstairs in an hour. He didn’t show, and after a while you gave up and turned in. But then he didn’t come down to breakfast this morning either. You’re concerned, and he’s not answering your knock.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “Oh, come now, you can be persuasive. Insist that they open the door. Prove to the manager that Stone isn’t there and most likely didn’t come in last night.”

  Millie cast another glance toward the lobby. What would she do if Anne Stone and her friends came into the dining room? She supposed she could try to keep her face turned away and then sneak out after they were seated. Maybe she could hide her face with her fan.

  “All right?” Peterson asked.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Insist that the hotel staff call the authorities in to look for Stone. Convince them that something awful has happened to him.”

  “And what if someone mentions you? A score of people have seen us together this morning.”

  “Tell them I’m an old friend who just got into town, and you wanted David to meet me. I’m staying at a boardinghouse down the street, if that helps. Go on, now. I’ll inquire about a doctor.”

  “All right.” Millie stood and grasped her purse and gloves. She dreaded going out to the lobby again, but there seemed no other choice. She walked slowly toward the doorway. A glance over her shoulder told her Peterson was paying the bill and would be right behind her. She peered out into the lobby.

  She saw no sign of Anne and Adams. Her knees almost buckled, her relief was so strong. Now if she could just get her luggage and slip out without Peterson seeing her, he would think she’d gone up to David’s suite. She might have ten or fifteen minutes before he came looking for her.

  Too late. He’d turned around and was striding toward her. Millie scooted toward the staircase. At the first landing, she paused, hoping Peterson had gone outside so she could end this charade and go straight to her room to pack.

  He was leaning against the newel post, looking up at her. He touched a finger to his temple in a mock salute. Millie lifted her skirt a couple of inches and started up the next flight of stairs. That man was driving her insane. She had to get away from him—away from Scottsburg. If David was dead, Peterson could implicate her. And if the Englishman was alive, she doubted he’d want anything to do with Charlotte Evans now.

  Three steps from the top, she pulled up short. People had come to the head of the stairs, intending to come down. She started to flatten her full skirt and then caught her breath.

  “Aren’t you…Millie?” Dan Adams asked, staring down at her.

  Anne Stone’s mouth opened, and her eyes went round. “Yes, she is, and unless I’m mistaken—Daniel, I believe that dress belongs to me.”

  Millie glanced down at her full skirt of fine polished cotton. Though she’d purchased two new dresses, she’d chosen to wear this one today. It remained the finest dress she’d ever owned, and she felt beautiful and confident when she wore it. Except when standing face-to-face with its rightful owner.

  She whirled precariously on the stairs, held up her skirts, and barreled down to the landing. Without a glance to see if they followed, she ran around to the next stairway, dodged a drummer coming up with his sample case in hand, and ran down to the lobby.

  She half expected to find Peterson waiting at the bottom, but he was nowhere to be seen. She flew past the astonished desk clerk and out the door. Gasping for breath, she ran along the porch of the hotel and down the steps at the side. Around the corner of the building, she dashed toward the stable. A plague on corsets!

  She stumbled into the barn and looked around in the dim light. No stable hand was there to get her horse. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she remembered telling the clerk yesterday that they could turn Vixen out into their pasture. She didn’t have time for this.

  She looked back at the hotel. No one had come after her yet. She ran as fast as the constrictive undergarments would allow. In front of the establishment, several horses were tied to the hitching rail. One tall, speckled gelding with a coal black mane and tail caught her eye. He looked almost blue from a distance. She hurried over to him. Sure enough, that was Sam’s saddle. Well, if her brother had come here looking for her, he’d get a surprise. She untied the roan’s reins, sucked in as much air as her lungs could grab, and stretched her foot up to the stirrup.

  She stood with one foot high off the ground, gasping and trying to summon strength to pull herself into the saddle. Behind her the front door of the hotel opened and banged against the wall. She didn’t look back, but leaped upward and swung her right leg over the saddle without regard for modesty.

  “Go, Blue!” She wheeled him and galloped off down the road.

  CHAPTER 21

  David leaned most of his weight on the sash of the tiny window in his room. He could see down to the street in front of the hotel. The sun was out, and he wished he could let some air into the stuffy little room. He shoved upward on the bottom sash with his left arm. The effort sent pain screeching through his shoulders and into his injured right arm. He ground his teeth and made one final push. The sash shot upward, and glorious air flowed in.

  He hung on the narrow windowsill, gulping in the good mountain air. Now that he’d had time to rest, he had second thoughts about bringing in the authorities. He’d wanted to stay dead, so far as the shooter was concerned. But wouldn’t he be safer with the U.S. Marshal on his side? A deputy marshal lived in Eugene. He doubted there was one this far from civilization, but there ought to be at least a constable in Scottsburg.

  A wagon and team drove past the hotel, and he pulled back a little. No sense in letting the world see him hanging out the third-story window. Below and to his right, several horses were tied to the hotel’s hitching rail. The one on the end was a tall, leggy roan that reminded him of the one he’d left at the ranch for Sam Hastings to use.

  He heard the front door open, but the porch roof obscured his view, and he couldn’t see who came out. Footsteps pounded on the porch and receded. Must have gone around to the side.

  Two men came out of the hotel and ambled down the street toward the center of town. David stayed at the window, ignoring his headache and the searing pain in his arm. The breeze caressed his face. He’d deemed it prudent to leave hi
s shaving equipment in the suite, but maybe Ernie could pick up another razor for him.

  No. He was going to come out of hiding. As he straightened, a woman ran full tilt around the corner, from the stable area. She paused for a moment then hurtled straight toward the hitching rail. A moment later, she’d untied the blue roan’s reins and vaulted into the saddle in a whirlwind of skirts and petticoats. Spunky gal. She tore off down the street, clinging to the horse like a burdock, her auburn hair glinting in the sun.

  He caught his breath.

  Charlotte.

  What was she doing? That couldn’t possibly be her horse. A lady like Charlotte would have had a sidesaddle. In fact, he’d seen her horse in the pasture yesterday. It was a none-too-fine brown mare.

  Below him an old man with white hair and a beard long enough to drag in his soup hobbled down the steps and yelled, “Hey! Come back here, you!”

  David stared down the street where Charlotte’s escape was now just an echo of hoofbeats. The old man turned and lunged back toward the front steps.

  David staggered away from the window. He couldn’t take any more of this lurking in a corner and not knowing what was happening. Charlotte stealing a horse? If she’d lure a man to his death, he supposed she wouldn’t be beneath snatching a horse. And what about those people in his suite? Who were they? More assassins?

  He grabbed his shirt and eased it on over his bandaged arm. The doctor had said he’d come back today, but David couldn’t wait any longer. He was getting out of this box of a room and reclaiming his life.

  “That is most definitely blood,” Anne insisted. “We found it on the floor in my uncle’s bedchamber, and there was a trace of it on the washbasin as well.”

  Mr. Reed, who had been summoned from somewhere deeper in the building, shrugged. “So he cut himself shaving this morning. I fail to see—”

  “We both know he wasn’t in his room this morning,” Anne said.

  “Yesterday then.”

  Anne stamped her foot. She was tired of gentility and courtesy. The desk clerk was worse than no help, and now that he’d found the manager, she was still being put off. “Why can’t you be reasonable?” She turned to Dan. “Daniel, please get the constable. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. We’re going to find out what’s going on here, one way or another.”