by Jo Goodman
Stillwell considered Mary thoughtfully and then looked to his nephew. "You agree with her?" he asked.
Ryder nodded. "I can tell you that from the beginning she wanted to come here. I didn't. But yes, in light of what we know now, I agree with her."
The senator's expression didn't change. Ryder's statement was not an unexpected response. "Give me something else," he said at last. "I do believe you're innocent, but I'll be damned if I'll believe Warren Hamilton is behind this. You must have something more."
Ryder and Mary exchanged glances, and Mary gave Ryder an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. "Last night," Ryder said, "Mary and I waited outside the Regent Theater." He saw his uncle stiffen slightly. "Yes, we saw you there, and we saw you intentionally not acknowledge them. It's what gave Mary hope that you could be persuaded to assist us."
"Go on," Wilson Stillwell said.
"After the performance we followed Anna Leigh and her father home. We had no intention other than to see where and how they lived."
"Then you observed for yourself that Warren Hamilton does not need money."
"On the contrary," Ryder said. "I observed someone whose particular way of living requires a great deal of money."
"You saw what you wanted to see."
Mary's hands curled into fists at her sides. "We saw," she said pointedly, "Anna Leigh and her father greet Lieutenant Davis Rivers moments after they arrived home." Wilson Stillwell merely stared at her, his features nearly expressionless. "Davis Rivers," she repeated. "The man who was promoted after the raid for capturing Ryder was a guest in the Hamilton home."
"It doesn't prove anything," Stillwell said carefully. "It doesn't—"
"More to the point," Mary interrupted. "Rivers and Anna Leigh Hamilton are lovers." At first there was no reaction that she could detect on the part of Wilson Stillwell; then Mary glanced at the hand holding the wine glass. His knuckles were white on the delicate stem of the crystal.
"You know this?" the senator asked.
"We saw enough to be confident of our conclusion." She added primly, "It would have been unseemly to witness more than we did."
Wilson Stillwell set his glass aside. He raised one hand slowly to his face and rubbed his brow hard with thumb and fingers as he thought. The lines on his forehead deepened. His eyes nearly closed. "He'd do most anything for her," he said, more to himself than his guests. "I always knew she was his weakness. He could never tolerate a word being said against her. Too much like his wife, she was, in looks if not in character. Warren never could get past one to see the other." He sighed heavily and his hand dropped away. He studied Ryder for a long moment. "She's a better motive than greed," he said finally. "I don't think you'd ever have convinced me Hamilton would have done it for the money... but for her—for Anna Leigh—he might very well have sold his soul."
"I think he did just that," Ryder said quietly.
Mary went to the fireplace and poked at the logs. Fire crackled and spit at her. She brushed the hem of her skirt but didn't move away. She was cold to her marrow. "We can't know how the plan was first conceived or who may have suggested it. I don't even know how much that matters now. It seems clear, however, that Senator Hamilton was in a position to orchestrate it."
Ryder went on. "I was assigned to Fort Union to organize the delivery of the gold shipment. I was responsible for almost every aspect of that mission, and you were influential in getting me that appointment."
Stillwell chuckled humorlessly. "Hamilton suggested it. Said it would be a feather in your cap... and in mine." He topped off his wine glass and said under his breath, "The bastard."
"The records at the War Office indicate that Davis Rivers was an attaché to General Norman Dalton here in Washington before his assignment to Fort Union. His transfer and that of about thirty-five other men can all be traced back in one way or another to Warren Hamilton."
"Hamilton can't make the transfers you suggest. No senator can. That's the province of the Army."
Mary regarded Senator Stillwell frankly. "Are you saying that you don't have enough influence to see the thing done?" she asked. "A word in the right ear? A promise to the right person. A favor extended?" Mary saw immediately that she had him. For the senator to deny it would be admitting that his leverage and authority was not as extensive as he wanted others to believe. If he admitted that he had the power and prestige to accomplish such a task, then he was also saying that someone like Hamilton could do the thing as well.
Stillwell regarded Mary consideringly. "You're a very clever young woman," he said at last. "Perhaps too clever for your own good." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ryder shift slightly and recognized that he needed to tread carefully. "But, yes, you're correct. I could arrange it if that were my desire. It's not easy to admit that Hamilton carries as much in the way of clout as I do, but it's true nonetheless. There are ways it could be accomplished."
Satisfied, Mary returned to the settee. "Then a reasonable conclusion is that Senator Hamilton helped arrange the assignments of a group of men who had no real purpose at Fort Union except to steal the gold shipment."
Ryder's long fingers intertwined and became a single fist. "In carrying out their mission, they murdered an equal number of men assigned to escort the wagons, planted evidence to make it seem as though it were a Chiricahua raid, stole the gold, and arranged very neatly for me to assume the blame."
"Miss Hamilton," the senator said softly.
Ryder nodded. "Mary suspected her part in this long before I did. The senator's daughter was instrumental in making certain I was unavailable at the time of massacre."
Stillwell's lips compressed. He sighed heavily. "Why weren't you killed?"
"I might have been if it weren't for Miss Hamilton's successful playacting and her sordid account. I think it was decided it was better to have someone to accuse for the mission's failure than to leave an open-ended investigation into the matter."
"Ryder was the perfect choice to take the blame," Mary said.
"He certainly was," Stillwell agreed. "My God, he certainly was."
"The hangman was supposed to silence me."
Wilson Stillwell's mouth curled upward in a humorless smile, but his eyes alighted appreciatively on Mary. "And he would have if it hadn't been for Mary here."
"More or less," Ryder said enigmatically, refusing to explain her real role in his escape or that of Florence Gardner. His quick glance at Mary cautioned her as well.
The senator raised his wine glass again and sipped. "Obviously there's something you don't wish to tell me," he said. "I have no problem with that, but do you know where the gold is?"
Ryder shook his head. "We don't think it's in Arizona any longer. It was Mary's idea to follow Miss Hamilton in the hope she would lead us to it."
"Well, she led you to Lieutenant Rivers and to her father. I'd say Mary's instincts are good ones. Who can say where the gold might turn up?" He leaned back in his large armchair. "I've heard quite enough to make my decision." He sipped his wine again and then regarded them both over the rim of his glass. "How is it that I can assist you in bringing Hamilton and his slut of a daughter to justice?"
Mary blinked, taken aback by an underlying viciousness in the senator's almost genial tone.
"Do I shock you, Mary?" he asked matter-of-factly. "Did you think I wouldn't take this information so personally? I don't know what my nephew's told you about our relationship, but I can assure you I take this all very, very personally. Not only was Ryder cruelly maligned, but I was unwittingly duped into offering myself up for public ridicule."
Mary suspected it was the latter situation that Wilson Stillwell found most difficult to accept. Still, it no longer mattered why he wanted to help, only that he did.
"I do not suffer fools," he said lowly. "And neither will I be made one. No one does that to Wilson Stillwell. No one."
Mary had an urge to look at Ryder, but she resisted. There was a fierceness about the senator's announcement t
hat she found unsettling, even dangerous. "It's good of you to offer your help," she said evenly. "Ryder and I both appreciate it."
Mrs. Shanahan parted the pocket doors to the parlor and announced that dinner was ready. The senator rose, took Mary's arm, and escorted her to the dining room. Ryder followed with interest, watching Mary's reaction to his uncle. There were small signs, imperceptible to someone who didn't know Mary as well as he did, that she was not eager to be in Wilson Stillwell's company, that she didn't like linking arms with him or matching her step to his.
The senator seated her at the long walnut dining table and then took his place at the head. Ryder sat on his uncle's right. Each time Mary turned to him, a question in her forest green eyes, his own expression was carefully guarded.
Clams were served first, then cream of potato soup. More Montrachet filled their glasses, but before a servant carried in the tender bass fillets, Stillwell ordered Amontillado and Rauenthaler be brought up from the wine cellar. The fish course was followed by cucumbers and thin slices of rare roast beef and more wine.
"Ryder tells me you have a fine collection of wines in your cellar," Mary said. Dinner did not lend itself to important conversation. Although she wanted to do nothing more than finish the discussion that had begun in the parlor, she held back, following Ryder's lead. "What I've tasted thus far is certainly proof of that."
"I imagine your father has a similar cellar," Stillwell said modestly.
Mary shook her head. "Nothing like yours, I'm sure. He appreciates a good wine, but admits he has no real taste for the distinction between them."
"It can be learned," Stillwell said. He savored the Rauenthaler. "I'd be proud to show you the cellar."
"And I would be honored to see it."
The conversation proceeded in just that fashion, simple exchanges with no consequence or purpose except to fill the silence between the sorbet and the salad. This situation lasted until coffee was served.
Stillwell drew another cigar from the lacquered box that was presented to him and lighted it with relish. Ryder declined a second time.
"You haven't explained," Stillwell said, "what it is I can do for you. You understand that simply going to the papers with what we have won't be enough. The fact that you're my nephew, Ryder, means that whatever I say in support of you will be critically examined. I feel certain that Hamilton will be able to provide explanations for the assignments and transfers, and it will become my word against his. That won't do at all. The papers will also be very cautious in regard to Miss Hamilton. You can't level accusations at her pretty head without proof."
"We know," Ryder said. "That's why we think nothing less than Senator Hamilton's confession will serve."
Stillwell hadn't expected that. "His confession? You think that cagey old bird is going to give it to you?"
"No," Mary said. "But he might to you."
"Tell me? " The senator was astounded.
"With us listening," Ryder added. "And some other people who have an interest in this."
"Reporters, you mean," Stillwell said.
"Them. But also one or two commanders from the War Office. General Hatcher comes to mind as someone who's consistently fair and willing to listen. You could pick someone else, of course. It doesn't matter as long as you think he'd be fair and impartial, and would act accordingly."
Wilson Stillwell rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "Let me see if I understand this. You want me to coerce a confess—"
"Not coerce," Mary interrupted. "Confront and cajole. Dare him into telling you the truth."
"In front of witnesses," Stillwell said, unconvinced.
"No," said Ryder. "He wouldn't be able to see the witnesses. You could do it right here, in this house, in this room. The witnesses only need to assemble on the other side of the door and—"
Holding up his hand, the senator shook his head and effectively silenced Ryder. "It won't work."
"Then another place," Mary said. "It doesn't have to be here."
"No, that isn't what I meant," Stillwell responded. "Here is fine. In fact, here is very good. I can arrange that with no difficulty, but Warren Hamilton won't step foot in my home. The general public isn't aware that his daughter is the young woman mentioned in the Colter Canyon affair, but he has to be careful to maintain appearances. People who do know would find it odd that Hamilton came here, what with my connection to Ryder, so he wouldn't come and he would be suspicious if I invited him."
"Then we should find a way for you to go to him," said Mary. "Meet in some neutral place where he would be less suspicious."
Stillwell shook his head. "You're focusing your sights on the wrong target."
Mary tilted her head to one side, puzzled. She glanced at Ryder and saw that although his eyes had narrowed slightly, there was a glimmer of understanding in them. He was beginning to nod his head, slowly at first, and then more firmly as his uncle's idea took hold. "What?" asked Mary, impatient that she alone did not understand. "What are you both thinking?"
"He's right," Ryder said. "Warren Hamilton is the wrong target. It's Anna Leigh who can give us what we want."
"Exactly," Stillwell said. There was pride in his voice as he spoke the single word, pride that his nephew had come to the same conclusion and had seen the wisdom of it.
Mary darted between Ryder and his uncle. "How in the world will Anna Leigh be persuaded—"
Drawing deeply on his cigar, Stillwell said, "Miss Hamilton will come here. That's not a problem."
Mary frowned. "But how—"
"Let me worry about that. It can be arranged. Will you trust me?" His brows rose fractionally when Mary's answer was not immediately forthcoming. He looked to Ryder questioningly.
"Yes," Ryder said. "I believe you can do it."
Mary caught herself blushing at her rudeness. "Yes, of course. I didn't mean that I didn't trust... it's just that... Well, I'm surprised... That is..." She trailed off because the senator was paying her no attention. He was staring at the flower arrangement in the middle of the table, clearly not seeing it, but working out things in his own mind instead.
"Yes," he said quietly, blowing a wreath of smoke above his head. "It can be arranged with perfect ease. Not only Miss Hamilton, but I think we can include the lieutenant as well. Two birds with one stone, as it were."
Mary wouldn't have been surprised if he had licked his lips. The tips of her fingers whitened as she gripped her coffee cup but this was the only sign of her uneasiness.
"You mentioned General Hatcher, Ryder," Wilson Stillwell was saying. "I think he's a good choice for this. I know him, of course, but he's not a close acquaintance. That would make him seem to be less on anyone's side save that of the truth. I'll have to give some thought to which reporter I would trust with this story. There's Marcus Asbury. He's good. And Des Richards. They're with rival papers, but that could be to our advantage. Get the word out more quickly. The New York Chronicle has a reporter in town. I could interest him in the story."
"That's certainly sufficient to our needs," Ryder said. He looked to Mary. "Are you satisfied with that?"
She nodded slowly, wondering at her own reticence. "It makes sense. How soon can it be arranged?"
Senator Stillwell did not bother to consult clock or calendar. "I need only twenty-four hours," he said. "I'll have the players here. The two of you will have to write the script."
Chapter 16
"You're very quiet." Ryder stroked Mary's silky hair. The red-gold ends of it curled around his fingertips. They brushed her shoulders and fell sleekly past her nape.
"Mm," she hummed softly, fitting herself more comfortably against him.
They had declined Senator Stillwell's offer to stay in his home and had returned to the boarding house. Neither of them had spoken about the encounter. Indeed, neither had had much to say about any of the day's events. They undressed in silence, slipped into bed, and fell asleep wrapped in their own thoughts instead of each other's arms.
; Sometime in the middle of the night that changed, though who reached for whom would never be established with any certainty. The truth was, it didn't matter. The need was mutual, the desire was shared, and they woke completely simultaneously only moments before a shattering climax.
Neither fell back into sleep, although both made a pretense of doing just that. For a long time Mary lay on her side, staring toward the French doors. Blue-white moonlight was filtered through the gauzy lace curtains. Occasionally some raucous sound came from the street below: an outraged bellow as one drunk assailed another, the cacophonous clatter of milk cans being rushed for delivery. Mostly it was quiet enough to hear the soft tread of a boarder in the hallway or the plaintive mewling of a stray kitten.
"Talk to me, Mary." Raising himself on one elbow, Ryder touched her bare shoulder. Moonlight covered his hand. "What are you thinking?"
"Only that it will be over tomorrow." She turned onto her side, toward him. Their knees bumped. "Or most of it will be. Have you thought of that? Of what it will mean to us?"
"It means we can stop hiding and running and wearing ridiculous disguises."
"I'm serious."
His smile was gentle. "So am I," he whispered. He moved his hand a fraction and kissed the warm curve of her shoulder. "I have some money put aside, not much, but enough to buy land around Flagstaff. I have a friend there, a retired general, who's encouraged me to settle near him. He'd be the one selling off a portion of his land. It's beautiful country, Mary. Mountains. Clear, cold streams. Good grazing for cattle. We could have a ranch there. We'd never be rich, but we'd be self-sufficient."
"We'd be very rich," she said, but she wasn't talking about money.
He found her hand under the covers and threaded his fingers between hers. "It's what I want," he said. "But what about you? Can you see yourself living like that?"
"I can't see myself living any other way," she said quietly. Her meaning was clear. Sharing a life with him interested her more than any particular lifestyle. Still, she had her own dreams, and she knew they were no less important to Ryder than his. "I'm going to teach someday," she said. "If there's a school in Flagstaff."
