The silence was broken by the desk clerk, who stood in the open doorway, bearing a laden tray. He puffed a bit, and his face gleamed red, with beads of sweat standing on his brow.
“Coffee and refreshments.”
Dan jumped up and strode toward him. “Thank you. Let me take that.”
The clerk passed the heavy tray to him with a sigh and closed his eyes for a second. “Thank you, sir. Oh, and I am to tell Mr. Stone that his horse is not in the stable.”
David swiveled from the window, his eyebrows arched. “I beg your pardon.”
“Your horse, sir. The stable man says it was missing this morning. He thought you’d gone out and taken him yourself, but apparently not. Did you? I mean, perhaps you left him somewhere.”
David smiled. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened. Thank you—you may pass the word that my horse is accounted for.”
The clerk nodded but didn’t move. David walked across the room and placed a coin in his hand.
“Thank you, sir.” The clerk left then, and David closed the door.
“Anne, my dear, would you pour the—Oh, bother, he said coffee, not tea. Do you mind?”
“I can stand it.” She leaned forward and arranged the four cups. “I suppose Whitey will be back.”
“And perhaps the constable with him,” Dan said. “Shall I send for another cup?”
“Oh, let’s wait and see what develops. He may have gone back to Mrs. Zinberg’s for dinner. Uncle David? Milk and sugar?”
“I’ve gotten used to drinking it black since I’m so often in places where the accompaniments aren’t available. Thank you.” He took the cup and saucer she offered and sat down next to her.
“Daniel.” Anne poured milk into his cup as she spoke then held it out to him.
Dan smiled. “Thank you.”
Anne felt her face flush as she met his gaze. The simple fact that she knew how he liked his coffee and fixed it that way for him spoke volumes about their closeness. What must Uncle David think of them? She must make it clear very soon that she and Daniel had no romantic attachment.
“Care for a biscuit?” Dan didn’t comment when she used the English word for cookies. When both men had chosen one from the plate, she set it down. Settling back on the settee with her cup, she eyed her uncle gravely.
“Now, what would you like to know first?”
“The peerage—the estate. If I decide not to claim it, what happens?”
“If you made a legal declaration to that effect, it would pass to Randolph.”
“That fop?”
Anne cleared her throat, trying to keep a burst of laughter from escaping. “Uh, yes, that is what I’m told.”
Uncle David shook his head. “I always thought you’d have brothers. And if not, why John…” His troubled blue eyes met her gaze. “I guess John has no heirs, or you wouldn’t be here.”
She smiled. “As much as I enjoy being in your company, I confess I should probably never have set out on this trip if the family had an heir safe at home. To my loss, I might add. Uncle, we live in a very small world at Stoneford.”
“Yes. I found that out myself when I crossed the Atlantic. We make assumptions…however, to the point. Why should I go back?”
“But…” She’d never considered that he might not want to or that he would not consider it his duty to assume the earldom. “Do you love your life here so passionately?”
The bleak prospect of returning alone to England stretched before her. How could she go home without him? What life would she have there now? She couldn’t imagine Merrileigh welcoming her at Stoneford, or that she would want to live under Randolph’s protection. Even the cozy existence she’d imagined with Elise was no longer possible.
A sharp rap drew all their eyes to the door. Dan stood and walked to it.
“Who is it?”
“Constable Owens.”
Dan opened the door and shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you again, sir. Thank you for coming.”
“Mr. Adams. I understand you and Miss Stone have another matter to discuss with me?”
“Yes, we do.” Dan led him over to the settee.
David rose with some effort. Anne wondered at the grimace on his face. Was her uncle in pain? Perhaps that bloodstain was due to more than a shaving cut after all.
“This is Miss Stone’s uncle, David Stone,” Dan said.
“Oh sure, I’ve heard about you.” Owens reached out to shake David’s hand.
“No disrespect, sir,” David said, “but I’m not shaking hands just now. I’ve got a bum shoulder.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Owens looked down at Anne. “Good day, Miss Stone.”
“How do you do,” she murmured.
The men sat down, and Owens said, “Now, what’s this about a stolen horse? Whitey Pogue claimed some woman rode off with the roan he rode in on yesterday.”
“Yes, that’s true,” David said. “I saw her jump on it from my window.”
“But it didn’t belong to Whitey,” Dan added. “The man we brought to you—Hastings—had it.”
“However,” David said, “the horse actually belongs to me. I left it for Hastings to use when I left my farm in Eugene. Apparently he followed my niece over here in hopes of keeping her from finding me.”
“Indeed?” Owens gazed at Anne with renewed interest.
“That appears to be true.” Anne leaned toward Owens and spoke earnestly. “We told you yesterday how he’d stolen our horses in the hills and left us out there to wander in the cold and rain.”
“Yes. You found Pogue’s cabin and spent the night there.”
Anne nodded. “Now it appears that Hastings wasn’t acting alone. When we met him at Uncle David’s farm, a woman was in residence with him.”
“What?” David’s eyebrows shot up. “I assure you, that was not the case when I left Eugene.”
Anne reached over and patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Uncle. We haven’t had time to tell you the full story yet. When we reached the farm, Sam Hastings pretended to be you, and this Millie woman served us dinner. I thought she was his wife at first, but now I have my doubts.” She felt her cheeks color, but there was no varnishing the truth. “And when we arrived here this morning looking for you, here was this Millie coming up the stairs wearing one of my dresses that I had left in Eugene with friends. Somehow she’s gotten hold of my luggage, I’m afraid.”
“Yes,” Dan added, “and she ran out of the hotel and jumped on Sam Hastings’s horse and rode off.”
David clapped a hand to his forehead. “Charlotte.”
“Charlotte?” Anne asked.
“She told me her name was Charlotte Evans. I’m afraid I’ve been duped.”
“Would you care to tell us about it, sir?” Owens asked.
“It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I believe she set out to charm me. We dined together several evenings here at the hotel.” His face hardened. “But there’s more to it. It’s not simply a couple of petty thieves hoping to lift my wallet or even take over my property. Charlotte wanted to walk last night, and we went down to the river. We stood on the steamer dock for a minute or two, and I was shot at.”
“Shot at? Oh Uncle David, that’s horrible. Who would do that?”
“Not Sam Hastings,” Dan said. “He was locked up in the icehouse.”
Owens nodded. “I can testify to that.”
David stood and with difficulty began to remove his jacket. “I almost sought you out last night, constable, but I decided to lie low and let the gunman think he’d succeeded.”
Anne leaped up and helped him ease the sleeves of his jacket off. She gasped and stared at David’s right arm. Beneath his shirt a bulk of extra fabric bulged, and a reddish brown stain had seeped into the white cloth of his shirt.
Dan jumped to his feet. “How bad is your wound, sir?”
“Not so bad I can’t travel.” David folded his jacket over the arm of the settee and resumed his seat. “One of the hotel staff brought a phy
sician in last night to see to it, and I moved to another room so that I wouldn’t be easily found if the assassin came here. That’s why I wasn’t here when you arrived this morning. My shoulder hurts, but I think I’ll survive.”
“The hotel staff?” Anne’s eyes flashed in anger. “You mean they knew you were here all along and lied to us?”
“Only one,” David said. “Don’t blame Mr. Reed. We were very careful that he should not find out. You see, the man who tried to kill me is still out there, and I thought the fewer who knew my whereabouts the better.”
“Probably true,” Owens said, “but if I’d known, I could have gone looking for him. Do you know the man who shot you?”
David shook his head. “It was dark, and I saw him from a distance. But he was thin and agile. I think perhaps he was the same fellow I noticed loitering earlier. I wondered about him at the time—regular skeezicks of a fellow. I can’t be sure he’s the one who pulled the trigger, but if it was, he had dark hair and a mustache. Tall.”
“A mustache?” Anne cried. She whipped around to look at Dan, and he nodded.
“That sounds like Peterson. Mr. Stone, I’m afraid there’s more to this tale than you’ve heard yet.” Her uncle eyed him levelly, and Dan felt suddenly that he was looking at a man of rare intelligence. David Stone might have chosen a simple life, but he was capable of running empires. Another small notion nagged him—should he address Stone as “my lord”? Dan shook off the thought. Here in America, people didn’t bow to lords.
“All right, suppose we enjoy our coffee and you tell me about this Peterson.” David chose a cookie from the serving plate.
“Mr. Owens, won’t you join us?” Anne asked. We have an extra cup.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Owens took a seat and accepted the coffee from her.
Dan sat down again. “I’ll let Anne tell it, as she’s privy to more details than I am.”
“All right,” she said. “Elise and I hired a man in Independence to drive our wagon for us. His name was Costigan. Later we found he’d pilfered your last letter to Father. I was carrying it with me on the wagon train. Costigan was also lazy. We fired him, and the wagon master ran him off the train. We puzzled over what his interest was in you. When we reached Oregon City, we found out. This other man, Peterson, had hired him to stop me from finding you. Peterson took a ship and arrived in Oregon about the time we did. He was asking about in Oregon City for you when we encountered him.”
David sat in silence for a minute. He sipped his coffee and set the cup down. “Is this Peterson British?”
“No,” Anne said, “but well you may ask. I have no proof, but I believe someone in England hired him to prevent you from claiming the peerage. Costigan was just a minion that Peterson hired. Peterson is the main one to be wary of—and even he is not the man behind the plot.”
“So who is?” David asked.
Anne winced. “I don’t know, but I have suspicions.”
“My cousin Randolph?”
She let out a long sigh. “Who else would benefit from your death?”
David smiled grimly. “After I was shot last night, I heard the gunman say to Charlotte—that is, Millie, if what you’ve told me is correct—that he needed to find my body. I’d pitched into the river, you see.”
“Oh Uncle David! How awful.”
David squeezed her hand. “There, now. I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I? The thing is, he told the woman he needed a death certificate and that I wasn’t any good dead without it.”
“So you’re the fellow,” Owens said with a mirthless laugh. “I got hauled out of bed about midnight by George Kidder. He’s got a saloon down near the river. Said a fellow came in there yelling how a man had fallen into the river and they needed to find him and haul him out. George’s place emptied out, and they had boats out, up and down the waterfront looking for this chap who’d gone in the drink. By the time I got there, folks were giving up and going back to their beer. I tried to locate the man who’d given the alarm at the start of it, and no one could point him out to me. I figured it was a mistake, or a cockeyed joke pulled by some inebriated lout. Either that or it was too late and the body would wash up downstream.”
“How terrible,” Anne said. “I’m glad you made it ashore, Uncle David.”
“So am I, and that I eluded the man who started the whole thing.” He shook his head. “I suppose it was that Peterson you mentioned. My question right now is whether or not Charlotte was in on it. She seemed shocked when he fired at me, but was she putting that on?”
“She’s very good at dissembling,” Anne said. “Daniel and I thought she might be the brains behind the impersonation after we’d met her and Sam Hastings. He didn’t seem smart enough to think of it, much less carry it off.”
David burst out laughing, and they all watched him, a bit uneasy. After a moment he sat back with a sigh. “Forgive me, but the thought of Sam actually claiming to be me—it’s preposterous.”
“I doubt he could read half the books on the shelves in your farmhouse,” Anne said. “By the way, was he supposed to be living in there?”
“Yes, I told him he could stay in the house and be comfortable. Didn’t expect him to move a doxy in the minute my back was turned, though.”
Anne’s face flushed.
“I beg your pardon,” David said.
“Well, sir,” Dan ventured, “this whole thing has turned out to be quite serious. We thought Sam and Millie were amateur confidence artists hoping to get their hands on a bit of your money. You see, Anne had hinted at an inheritance from your brother Richard, and I suppose Millie picked up on that and thought she could lay hold of it—or some of it.”
“That may be,” Anne said. “And when she saw that it wasn’t forthcoming in cash, she set out to find you and wriggle into your good graces.”
“Is that what she was doing? Call me an idiot, but I was quite taken with her at first. She was pretty and had charming manners. Not timid, but a bit outspoken. And she dressed very well.”
“In my clothes.” Anne’s lip curled. That point obviously rankled her as much as anything else.
“But when did this turn into a murder plot?” Dan asked. “They must have connected with Peterson somewhere.”
“Yes,” David said.
“He might have gone to them in Eugene and hired them the way he did Costigan,” Anne said.
Owens stood. “We can speculate all day, folks, but it seems to me I’d best start looking for this Peterson chap. You don’t think he stayed in this hotel?”
“He could have,” David said.
“I’ll ask. And if not, I’ll start checking other hostelries.”
“He didn’t stay at Mrs. Zinberg’s,” Dan said as he got to his feet, “although Anne and I took Whitey there last night.”
“And do I understand that you have Sam in custody now?” David leaned forward as if to rise, but Owens held out a hand to stop him.
“Don’t get up, sir. Yes, I’ve got him locked in Fisher’s icehouse until these two decide whether or not to press charges against him for horse stealing.”
“I’d say not,” Anne told him. “I mean, the horse is gone now, anyway. I’m sorry about that, Uncle David.”
“It was a good horse, but if Charlotte’s made off with it…” He shrugged. “I don’t understand that. I thought she had a horse of her own stabled here.”
“A quick getaway, I’d guess,” Owens said. “And if she knew the horse and recognized it, she may have rationalized that it wasn’t a crime to take it.”
“Well, let’s free Hastings, then,” Dan said. “I’d hate for him to hang for this, even if he is a dimwitted scoundrel.”
“Mr. Adams, would you mind going with me?” Owens asked. “Since you and Miss Stone brought Hastings in, I’d like you to sign a paper saying you’ve decided to drop the charge against him. That way I’m in the clear if anyone objects later to my letting him go.”
“All right.” Dan walked over t
o Anne. “You’ll be all right for a short time with your uncle, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
David patted the pocket of his jacket. “I have a little Colt.44 insurance here, in case that fellow shows up again. And I feel bolder now that Constable Owens is on the lookout for him.”
“I’ll be back soon,” Dan said. “Anne, I think it would be best if you lock the door while I’m gone.” He didn’t mean to alarm her, but with Peterson attempting to murder her uncle, he couldn’t stress caution enough.
He walked over to the constable’s house with him and waited impatiently while Owens got out the paperwork. He signed his name and put his hat on, declining Mrs. Owens’s offer of coffee.
“I’ll go right over and release Hastings,” Owens said. “What do I tell him about that horse?”
Dan sighed. He wanted nothing more to do with Sam Hastings, but he felt in some measure responsible. He had let Whitey ride the roan and hated to spoil the old man’s pleasure in it, but he probably should have left the horse in Owens’s care when they delivered Sam. The icehouse was at least half a mile away. He didn’t want to leave Anne for very long with only her injured uncle to protect her.
“Tell him Millie took the horse.”
“Millie.”
Dan shook his head impatiently. “They said she was registered at the hotel as Charlotte Evans, but she was with Sam at David Stone’s farm last week and called herself Millie. He knows her well, by the look of things. Just tell him. She had a brown horse in the hotel’s pasture. Maybe he can use it until they meet up again.” He had no doubt Sam and Millie would meet up again—if Millie saw a reunion as advantageous to herself.
“All right,” Owens said, “but it’s an odd way of doing things.”
“This whole thing has been odd,” Dan replied. He went outside and strode back to the hotel.
He passed quickly through the lobby, hoping to avoid Reed, the desk clerk, and anyone else who was curious about David Stone and the beautiful young woman who had come to see him. He took the stairs two at a time and reached the top of the second flight panting. At the door to the suite’s sitting room, he paused and knocked.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 56
