by Robert Knott
Hawkins nodded. He turned his bay but stopped short of riding off. He looked at the telegram he was still holding in his hand and shook his head some.
“So,” Hawkins said. “If like this telegram says is true and Henry Strode is really dead, then who is the man beat to hell and near death in Doc Mayfair’s office?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “But we aim to find out.”
18
Virgil and I located the Harvey House Hotel. It was a three-story building made of brick and cornered with limestone.
The Harvey House Hotel was part of a popular franchise of hotels that were located in major cities across the west, from Topeka to Frisco. The hotels were fancily appointed and elegant, with indoor facilities. They were renowned for their quality restaurants famous for their Harvey Girls—a staff of educated and overly polite young women dressed in starched black-and-white maids’ uniforms.
When we entered the hotel, we were greeted by two of the Harvey Girls behind the front desk. There was a set of stairs to the left and a set of stairs to the right of the desk.
The women were young. One was small, with sandy-colored hair. The other was taller and brunette. Each was attractive, with her hair tied up tightly under a small hat.
“May we help you,” the young women said in tandem, with bright smiles.
“Ladies,” Virgil said with a returning smile. “We’re looking for a fella that might be staying here. Jantz Wainwright?”
The young women looked at each other, and the taller of the two spoke up.
“We are not allowed to give out information about our guests,” the brunette said.
“So,” Virgil said. “He is here?”
“Sorry, sir,” the brunette said. “We are not allowed.”
“No reason to be sorry,” Virgil said.
Virgil showed his badge.
“What room?”
The young ladies looked at each other.
“We have very strict orders,” the taller woman said with a swallow. “We could lose our jobs.”
“Well,” I said. “Nobody wants that to happen. Why don’t you fetch your manager for us?”
“Indeed, certainly,” the brunette said. “Splendid. Please have a seat.”
Virgil looked at me, and we walked over to a sitting area in the center of the lobby and took a seat in a pair of stuffed chairs. We watched as the brunette walked up the stairs leading up behind the front desk.
“Splendid,” Virgil said under his breath, as if he needed to taste the word.
We waited, and after a moment a smart-looking woman walked down the stairs followed by the brunette. She held her shoulders back and her chin high as she descended. She didn’t wear the common starched black-and-white outfit the other Harvey Girls wore. She was dressed in a tight-fitting dress that enhanced the curves of her body, and her wavy blond hair was loosely secured up high, with curls falling around her cheekbones. When she got to the bottom of the stairs I recognized her right away. She was the blond woman with the bright blue eyes Virgil and I saw on the street the day before.
“Gentlemen,” she said as Virgil and I got to our feet. “I’m Mary May Chase. I understand you’re lawmen?”
“We are,” Virgil said, showing his badge. “I’m Marshal Cole, and this is my deputy, Everett Hitch.”
“What can I do for you, Marshal?”
“We’re looking for Jantz Wainwright,” Virgil said.
“Well,” Mary May said, “Mr. Wainwright is not in, nor is he staying with us at the moment.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Virgil said.
“Well, I’m not certain,” she said.
“You’re sure about that?” Virgil said.
The front door of the hotel opened, and a tall man with a full head of graying hair entered, followed by Hawkins.
“Gentlemen,” the man said loudly, out of breath. “I’m Jantz Wainwright.”
19
Wainwright was over six feet. He wore a tweed suit with his pants tucked into tall spit-polished Rutland buckle boots. He seemed nervous and anxious. He held out his hand. He was shaking. I stepped in and shook hands with him.
“Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch,” I said. “This is Marshal Virgil Cole.”
Wainwright looked to Mary May.
“Mary May, bring us a bottle of whiskey to the porch. Please, gentlemen, come, follow me.”
Wainwright did not say anything as we walked through the empty dining area and made our way to the rear door of the hotel. We took a seat at a small table on the porch overlooking the river.
“I just talked to Sheriff Hawkins here at the depot,” Wainwright said, looking to Hawkins. “I was there to meet my daughter.”
Virgil didn’t say anything.
“I have a big problem, Marshal,” Wainwright said.
“What kind?” Virgil said.
“I’m quite concerned, very concerned.”
“’Bout?” Virgil said.
Wainwright watched as Mary May came out with a bottle of whiskey and glasses. She set them on the table in front of Wainwright.
“Anything else?” Mary May said.
“No,” Wainwright said. “Thank you.”
She smiled, backed away, servant-like, and moved off through the dining room.
Wainwright twisted his hands together in front of him.
“I believe my daughter to be in serious danger . . . or,” Wainwright said, “perhaps worse.”
Wainwright poured himself a whiskey and slid the bottle to the center of the table. He took a gulp like a drunk needing to calm dry shakes.
“What makes you think that?” Virgil said.
“She was supposed to be on the noon train today,” Wainwright said. “But she wasn’t.”
Wainwright coughed, stood up, moved to the porch rail, and spit. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth. He remained looking off toward the river.
“She was in San Francisco visiting my sister. She was meant to return today, but according to the stationmaster, she came back here to San Cristóbal two days ago.”
“Why do you fear for her?” I said.
Wainwright turned to face us. He looked at Hawkins.
“I’m not going to mince my words with you men about anything,” Wainwright said. “What I am going to do is provide you with the necessary everything I can provide to get to the bottom of this Henry Strode business. I was the one who found Henry near dead. He was unconscious, lying on the road outside of town. I had no idea about the robbery when I found him. Sheriff Hawkins here just told me about what took place. After I found out she had not arrived, I went to their home. She was not there . . . I was prepared to apprise my daughter of Henry’s condition, but now, now that she was apparently already home when this ordeal took place and the fact no one knows of her whereabouts, I fear, as I said, she may be in serious danger.”
Wainwright poured himself another drink before he continued.
He took a sip of his drink. It seemed to settle him some.
“I have a ranch outside of town. I have been out there for a few days with my wife and our young son. I came into town yesterday on business and was meant to meet my daughter, today, at the depot before returning to the ranch.”
Virgil nodded some.
“What were you doing on the road south of town when you found Strode?” Virgil said.
“I was visiting a whoring establishment,” Wainwright said.
Wainwright looked off in the distance across the river.
“You got any idea how he got the living hell beat outta him?” Virgil said.
“No,” Wainwright said.
“Any idea who might have done it?” I said. “Somebody that was an enemy of Strode’s?”
Wainwright shook his head.
“No,
” Wainwright said. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck, either.”
“You don’t give a fuck about Strode?” Virgil said.
“What I give a fuck about is the whereabouts and safety of my daughter.”
“Tell me about Strode.”
“What would you like to know?”
“How did you get to know him?”
“My daughter married him.”
“Where did you meet?”
Wainwright shook his head a little. He looked down with a frown fixed on his face, as if he were trying to remember.
“Well, he first came to the club.”
“Club?”
“Polo club. I sponsor a club. He was a fantastic player.”
“That where he met your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“What did you know about him, before they were married?”
“Not much, really. He was a gentleman. Apparently from money, old money back east.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, he wasn’t broke. He was well spoken, well educated.”
“What was your impression of him?” I said.
Wainwright sat for a moment in thought.
“A good man. Hardworking. I hired him, and he proved to be valuable to my businesses. I will say there was something about him that always seemed, I don’t know, peculiar.”
“Like?” Virgil said.
“I can’t say. He was just different. Aloof. But my daughter, Catherine, was in love with him.”
Virgil nodded a bit, then got to his feet.
“We will go about what we got to do here to locate your daughter, Mr. Wainwright,” Virgil said. “Might need to find you as we go about that very task.”
“I will cooperate with you in every way,” Wainwright said.
“In the event we do need to find you,” Virgil said, “where might we do so?”
“I was meant to return to Saint Louis in a few days,” Wainwright said, “but I will remain here until I know what has happened to my daughter. I will either be here or at my ranch across the river. Sheriff Hawkins knows the road.”
We moved off and left Wainwright sitting at the table, looking out across the river.
20
I followed Virgil and Hawkins out of the dining room and across the lobby toward the door. Virgil and Hawkins crossed the threshold out in front of me as Mary May entered from the hall leading to the downstairs rooms.
“May I have a word with you, Deputy?”
I stopped and turned back to her.
“Sure.”
“What on earth is happening?”
“What do you mean?”
She looked back through the restaurant to the porch where Wainwright was sitting.
“Well, about this business with Mr. Wainwright,” she said. “Of course.”
“Business?”
“Has something happened?”
“I’m sorry, Miz Chase. I’m not at liberty to discuss our business. No offense.”
“Oh, well, okay, no offense taken. I’m just concerned. That’s all.”
“About?”
“Well, I’ve never seen him like this. He seems, I don’t know, upset.”
“Let me ask you a question,” I said.
“Certainly.”
“Why did you say you were uncertain the last time you saw Mr. Wainwright?”
“I wasn’t uncertain about anything,” she said, with her blue eyes leveled at me steadily.
“You said he was not in and he wasn’t staying here.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I’m new here to San Cristóbal, Deputy Hitch, but I’ve been an employee of Mr. Wainwright’s for five years. I started working for him in Saint Louis, at his hotel there, and worked my way up, and he helped me get this position. He saved me from, well, a life less appealing, and, well, I’m protective.”
“Even if you’re interfering with the law?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
I looked at her for a moment, and she raised her chin up just a bit to confirm her position.
“Perfectly understandable,” I said.
“It is,” she said.
“Might get you in trouble.”
“You think?”
“I do.”
“You’ll just have to arrest me, then, lock me up.”
She just looked at me for a lingering moment.
“I’m just concerned, Deputy Hitch,” she said as she reached out and touched my arm. “Perhaps you have some idea how I feel.”
I remained looking at her as she looked at me.
“I do.”
“Good,” she said.
“I have a good idea how you feel.”
“I’m glad,” Mary May said. “I’m comforted to know.”
“Don’t change the fact you could get yourself in trouble by not cooperating.”
“I know I have a tendency to make things hard for myself,” Mary May said. “To a fault, I know, but when things get too difficult, too hard, you can count on me to cooperate fully. It’s just I won’t roll over easy. It’s not in my nature.”
“Good to know,” I said.
The whole time I’d been talking with Mary May it seemed her eyes were carrying on a different conversation with me than the nature of the conversation itself, and now I was certain of it. I could feel it in my bones. She was concerned for Wainwright, but she was for certain straight-out dallying with me.
“Do you know Catherine?” I said.
“Mr. Wainwright’s daughter?” Mary May said with a slight change of expression.
“Yes.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“I’m just asking you.”
She shook her head.
“No . . . Well, we’ve met, on a few occasions.”
“So you do know her?”
“Only slightly. Like I said, I’m new to town. I’m sorry I’m not more useful.”
I tipped my hat.
“You have a good day, Miz Chase.”
“You, too,” Mary May said with a smile.
I turned to the door.
“Deputy Hitch?”
“Yes.”
“Please know I’m not entirely un-useful,” she said.
21
Virgil and Hawkins sat their horses in front of the hotel and were waiting on me when I walked out the door. Virgil was lighting a cigar as I stepped off the boardwalk and into the street next to the hitch. After he got the cigar going good he flicked the match into the street.
“Something else?” Virgil said.
I shook my head as I slipped the reins from the hitch and stepped up into the saddle.
“She was curious,” I said.
Virgil nodded a bit.
“They’re a curious lot,” Virgil said.
“They are.”
“What was she curious about?” Virgil said.
“She fears for him, it seems,” I said.
“That’s understandable, ain’t it? Money’s gone, daughter’s gone?” Hawkins said as he jerked back the reins to keep his bay from gnawing the hitch.
“Knows he’s sideways ’bout something?” Virgil said.
“Yep,” I said. “Seems so.”
“Maybe she knows more?” Hawkins said.
“No,” I said. “Don’t think so.”
“How ’bout her?” Virgil said.
“What about her?”
“She buggered up about anything?” Virgil said.
“Like what?”
“Like what women get buggered up about.”
I looked to Virgil. He did not smile, but I could tell he was smiling the way Virgil smiled without showing he smiled, and he was enjoy
ing it.
“Marshal Cole!” a voice called out.
We looked to see Constable Holly hurrying toward us on the boardwalk.
“I’ve got something for you,” Holly said.
“What’s that?” Virgil said.
Holly stepped off the boardwalk and handed Virgil another telegram.
“Got this telegram back from the wire you asked us to send,” Holly said, breathing heavily.
Virgil read the note.
“Took me a while to track this down, but Henry Strode died there in New York, apparently,” Holly said. “He died a natural death. Coroner’s report said consumption. That’s what I received back from my inquiry. Can you believe this? Lands. I just cannot fathom why or how something like this could have happened. Oh, and the other thing it says, you, of course, can read there, Strode was a wealthy man from a well-to-do family, yet with no apparent heir.”
Virgil passed the telegram to me and I read it.
“Heir or not. Natural cause or not,” I said. “Taking over the role of a wealthy man requires some skill to wrangle money from the estate account.”
“Unless you’re the, what do you call it, for the family,” Hawkins said.
“The executor,” Holly said.
“That’s right,” Hawkins said.
“Or a banker,” Virgil said.
Holly nodded.
“A will would provide a directive,” Holly said. “And without it, the money, of course, goes to next of kin.”
“And in this here case there was no next of kin,” Hawkins said.
“So it seems,” Holly said.
“Good work, Constable,” Virgil said. “If you would, keep pounding the key and see what else you might be able to find out. Just keep at it.”
“Certainly,” Holly said. “There’s also another matter, Marshal.”
“Matter being?” Virgil said.
“Alejandro has requested he have a chat with you,” Holly said.
“Chat?” Virgil said. “’Bout what?”
“Apparently, he has some information for you,” Holly said.
