She was a handsome, middle-aged woman who had been Hudson’s private secretary for a number of years. A decade earlier, nearly all the secretaries and clerks in law offices and other businesses had been men, but that was something else that was changing with the times.
“Mr. Browning,” Julia said as she held out a hand to Conrad. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“You, too, Mrs. Moorehead.” He took her hand for a moment. “Is Ellery here?”
“Yes, I told him you were here and he said to bring you right on back.” Julia glanced at Miss Sullivan’s desk and added, “You can go on home, Rose.”
“I don’t mind staying for a while. Someone might need something typed.” Rose was looking at Conrad with frank interest now that she had seen the reaction his name provoked. Clearly, he had to be an important man, and important men often were wealthy.
Conrad recognized the look Rose gave him and didn’t want to encourage it. He had been a widower long enough that he was no longer in mourning—at least not officially—but he had more important things on his mind than romance.
“That won’t be necessary,” Julia said. “I can type anything that needs to be typed.”
“Oh. All right.” Rose didn’t bother to hide her disappointment, any more than she bothered to hide the invitation in her eyes when she looked at Conrad.
Julia closed the door behind them and led him along a corridor lined with doors. “I apologize for that, Mr. Browning,” she said quietly. “Rose has something of a predatory nature.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She paused. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened. I don’t believe I ever met your wife, but I’m sure she was a wonderful woman.”
“She was.”
“We were all very upset when we heard that you’d been killed, too. It was such a relief to find out later that that report was incorrect.”
She didn’t know how close he had come to letting Conrad Browning stay dead. But those days were over.
Julia opened a set of double doors at the end of the hall. “Here he is, sir.” She stepped aside to let Conrad enter Ellery Hudson’s private office.
It was the largest office on the floor, with cross ventilation and an excellent view of the snowcapped mountains from one of the windows. Ellery Hudson came out from behind a big desk with his hand extended.
He didn’t look like one of the most prominent attorneys in the country. He was a short, somewhat pudgy man with wispy, fair hair. His eyes behind rimless spectacles were pale blue. His mild appearance concealed a keen legal mind and a nature that could be ruthless when called for.
“It’s good to see you again, Conrad,” he said as the two men shook hands. “I’m terribly, terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Ellery.” Conrad sat down in the plush leather chair in front of the desk while Hudson resumed his seat behind it.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen alone,” Julia murmured.
Conrad lifted a hand to stop her. “No, please stay.” He glanced at Hudson. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”
“Whatever you prefer. I certainly have no secrets from Julia. She knows more about what goes on around here than I do.”
“And that’s often a good thing,” she said with a smile.
“Indeed.” Hudson clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him. “What can we do for you, Conrad?”
“First of all”—he took a deep breath—“I have a story to tell you.”
Julia sat in a chair to the side while Hudson leaned forward. The two of them listened intently as Conrad explained everything that had happened during the past two years, starting with Rebel’s kidnapping and murder. Julia put her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp of horror several times as he filled them in.
When he reached the part about the twins and how Pamela had concealed their very existence from him, both of his listeners looked shocked and then angry. Conrad told them about his search for the children so far.
When he was finished, Julia said, “How could any woman use her own children as pawns in such a warped attempt at vengeance? I can’t believe it!”
“Obviously, Pamela was capable of almost anything,” Conrad said. “Warped though it certainly is, Pamela’s plan has been effective. She intended to torment me . . . and she’s succeeded.”
Hudson said, “And now your search has brought you to Denver. How can we help you, Conrad?”
“My hunch is that Pamela probably stayed either in one of the best hotels in town, or with friends. I need to find someone who remembers when she was here, and whether or not she had the children with her.”
“Because if she didn’t . . . ?”
“Then I’ve come too far and overlooked the place where she left them. But if the twins were still with her, the hiding place is either here in Denver or somewhere farther west. She was booked through all the way to San Francisco on the train.”
Hudson nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. We have operatives who can investigate for us. It shouldn’t take long to blanket all the best hotels in the city and find out what you need to know. A few days, perhaps.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Ellery.” Conrad smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Hudson promised. “Discreetly, of course. That goes without saying.”
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, what are your plans?”
Conrad shrugged. “I don’t have any. Arturo and I have been on the trail for quite a while. I suppose we’ll find a place to stay and rest while your men conduct their investigation.”
“I’ll telephone the Lansing House and have them reserve their best suite for you.”
“That’ll be fine. I’m obliged to you.”
“Conrad . . .” Hudson hesitated. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when you find the children, as I’m sure you will?”
Conrad frowned. “What do you mean? They’re my children. I’ll take them and make a home for them somewhere. I’ve been drifting for awhile, but then it’ll be time to settle down.”
“What if Miss Tarleton gave them to some family to adopt?”
Conrad’s frown deepened. “You mean . . .”
“I mean those people may have been raising the twins as their own for the past three years. They may not want to give them up.”
Conrad sat forward in the chair. “But they’re my children.”
“You might have to prove that. You might even have to go to court to claim them.”
“How can anybody prove such a thing?” Conrad flung out a hand in irritation. “And who would go to court over it?”
“You never know. I’m just trying to make you aware of the possibilities.”
Conrad sighed as his anger left him. “You’re right. And I appreciate your concern, Ellery. Right now, though, all I can think of is trying to find them.”
“I understand. When the time comes to deal with that, you’ll have plenty of people on your side to help you.”
They stood up, and Conrad shook hands again with Hudson. As he turned to go, Julia Moorehead took his hand as well and said, “I hope you find them, Mr. Browning. I’m sure you will.”
“Thank you.”
Rose Sullivan was gone from the outer office when he went back through it on his way out of the building. Just as well, because his mind was whirling and he didn’t need any added distractions. He had been concentrating so much on locating the children that he hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after he found them. Hudson was right; it might not be as simple as he wished it could be.
But a few more added problems wouldn’t make him give up. Not by a long shot. He would figure out what needed to be done and—
“Mr. Browning.” The voice intruded on his thoughts. “There you are.”
He looked into the smiling, eager face of Rose Sullivan.
Chapter 5
Conrad nodded and touched
a finger to the brim of his hat. “Hello again, Miss Sullivan.”
She wore a gray jacket that matched her skirt over her starched white blouse. A white scarf was tied around her hair. She looked trim and pretty, but Conrad wasn’t in the mood for female company at the moment.
“Did you finish your business with Mr. Hudson?” she asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“I hope he was helpful.”
“Very,” Conrad said.
“He can be an old grump sometimes, but he’s an excellent lawyer. You won’t find any better in Denver.”
Conrad chuckled in spite of himself. “I’m aware of that. I’ve known Ellery for quite a while.”
“I’m sorry, I know I should recognize your name, and it certainly sounds familiar, but I haven’t really been working at Hudson, Burke, and Hardy for that long, and—”
Conrad held up a hand to stop the flow of words tumbling from her mouth. “That’s quite all right, Miss Sullivan.”
“Why don’t you call me Rose?”
Conrad ignored that request and tugged on his hatbrim as he said, “I really have to be going now.”
She put out a hand, resting it on his forearm. “If there’s ever anything I can do to be of service to you, I hope you won’t hesitate to let me know, Mr. Browning. I try to keep up with everything that goes on at Hudson, Burke, and Hardy, you know. Anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence.”
“I’ll remember that.” He hoped she wasn’t going to force him to be rude to get away from her.
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
He nodded. “I’m sure.” He would have to visit Hudson’s office again while he was in Denver, maybe quite a few times, so it wouldn’t hurt to stay on friendly terms with the determined young woman who worked there.
And she was certainly pleasing to look at, if nothing else.
When he started across the sidewalk toward the buckboard, she let him go with a smile and a flutter of her fingers. “Good afternoon, Mr. Browning,” she called after him.
Conrad returned the smile and waved at her.
When he reached the buckboard, Arturo asked from the seat, “Who was that?”
“A young woman who works in Ellery Hudson’s office. Hudson’s going to lend us a hand in our search. He’s also made arrangements for us to have a suite at the Lansing House.” Conrad untied the black’s reins and swung up into the saddle. “I know where it is. Follow me.”
The Lansing House was a small but extremely elegant—and expensive—hotel in downtown Denver, not far from the famous Tabor Grand Opera House built by the tycoon Horace Tabor to impress his wife Elizabeth, better known as Baby Doe. Wealthy businessmen who valued privacy and discretion often stayed at the Lansing when they were visiting Denver, and more than one million-dollar deal had been arranged in the hushed confines of its comfortably appointed salon.
Service at the Lansing was excellent as well. Conrad told Arturo to park the buckboard in front of the hotel and leave it there, along with their bags and supplies. “Everything will be brought in and taken up to the suite,” he assured Arturo, who looked dubious. “There’s a livery stable in the next block that will take charge of the horses.”
“If you say so, sir.”
They went inside, where a doorman wearing a uniform as fancy as that of a Prussian archduke met them and ushered them through the lobby to the desk. Conrad had stayed there a few times before, and the doorman remembered him, calling him by name.
So did the clerk, who said, “No need for you to check in, Mr. Browning. Mr. Hudson called and said that you were to have the suite we keep reserved for his firm’s clients.”
“Thanks. This is my friend and business associate, Mr. Vincenzo.”
The clerk nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vincenzo. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay in Denver more pleasant, please let us know.”
“Of course,” Arturo said. “Thank you.”
A bellboy rode the elevator with them up to the third floor and showed them to the suite, which had two bedrooms, a luxurious sitting room, and indoor plumbing. When the bellboy was gone, Arturo said to Conrad, “You didn’t tell them I was your servant.”
Conrad shrugged and tossed his hat onto a desk. “Didn’t seem to be any need to. We’re partners, Arturo. We’ve been through too much together to worry about such things.”
“I see.” Arturo frowned. “Does this mean you’re no longer going to pay me?”
Conrad threw back his head and laughed. “No, that’s not what it means. I’m just not going to worry about a bunch of meaningless protocol and phony manners.”
Arturo regarded him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “You’re very different from Count Fortunato, sir.”
“I should hope so. Nobility or not, Fortunato was a crazy, evil son of a bitch.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, sir.”
Conrad changed into a brown tweed suit, also donning a silk cravat and a diamond stickpin before they went back downstairs to have supper. The food in the dining room of the Lansing House was as good as any to be found east of San Francisco, and Conrad enjoyed the dinner they ate that evening. After the meal, he lingered over a snifter of brandy.
“Do you have any plans for this evening?” he asked Arturo.
“Plans?” Arturo blinked in surprise. “Why would I have any plans? I’ve never been here before.”
“Well, I have. Come on. I’ll show you some of Denver’s night life.”
“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, sir?”
Conrad drained the last of the brandy. “We don’t have anything else to do while we wait for Ellery to carry out his investigation. Denver’s too big for us to wander around the town asking folks at random if they remember seeing Pamela and the twins.”
“You have a point there,” Arturo admitted. “Where are we going?”
“A place called the Palace.”
“This so-called Palace isn’t a house of ill repute, is it?”
Conrad chuckled. “Hardly.”
They left the hotel and walked a few blocks northeast to the corner of Blake and Fifteenth Streets, where an imposing two-story brick building sat, taking up almost the entire block. A big sign on the front of the building proclaimed it to be the Palace Variety Theatre and Gambling Parlor. More signs plastered up around the entrance announced that famous vaudevillian Eddie Foy was scheduled to perform there the next week.
“If we’re still here, maybe we can take in the show.” Conrad pointed at the signs with a thumb. “Tonight we’ll just pay a visit to the gambling parlor.”
“I’ve never been very fond of gambling,” Arturo said.
“You don’t have to bet on anything. I used to enjoy it, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite as exciting anymore.”
Losing what he had lost, and then living a life where it seemed he was constantly wagering his life instead of money he would never miss, certainly had changed him, Conrad mused as he and Arturo went inside and up a broad set of marble stairs to the big gambling room on the second floor.
Despite that, he felt his pulse quicken a little as familiar sounds engulfed him: cards slapping down on green felt, the click of a roulette ball as the wheel whirred and spun, the clink of bottles on fine crystal, the laughter of women, the hearty talk of men. In his younger days, Conrad had spent a lot of time in places just like that, including the Palace. Those memories were still part of him.
A huge gas chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room and cast its light through hundreds of glass prisms over the various tables and gambling layouts. A long mahogany bar polished to a high sheen ran along one wall. Waitresses in elegant, low-cut gowns delivered drinks to the players engaged in the games. The room was crowded, and everyone seemed to be having a fine time.
“Let’s get a drink,” Conrad suggested with a nod toward the bar with its gleaming brass footrail.
“If you say so, sir,
” Arturo agreed.
“Forget that ‘sir’ business. Tonight we’re just a couple of pards out on the town.”
Arturo cocked an eyebrow as if he found that a very unlikely proposition, but he didn’t argue.
They hadn’t reached the bar when a man stepped in front of them to stop them. His waist was thickening and his hair was thinning with middle age, but he was still a solidly built, impressive individual. A dark brown mustache curled on his upper lip. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth, but he removed it to say, “Conrad? Conrad Browning? Is that you?”
Conrad grinned with the pleasure of recognizing an old friend. “Hello, Bat,” he said as he extended his hand.
Bat Masterson gripped Conrad’s hand. “Good to see you again, son. I heard you were dead.”
“Not hardly.”
“How’s your pa? I mean, your father.”
“Frank was fine, the last I heard from him. He’s still drifting, so we don’t see each other very often.”
Masterson nodded. “Frank Morgan never could stay in one place for very long. We were alike in that respect, only he’s even more fiddle-footed than I am. Did he ever tell you about the time he helped me track down some killers while I was still packing a badge in Kansas?”
“No, I don’t think I’ve heard that story.”
Masterson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you sometime. It’s quite a yarn.” He smiled at Arturo. “Who’s your friend?”
“Arturo Vincenzo,” Conrad said. “Arturo, meet Bat Masterson.”
“The famous lawman?” Arturo asked.
“Retired,” Masterson said as his smile widened into a grin. He shook hands with Arturo. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vincenzo. You don’t sound Italian, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I was educated in England, among other places.”
“Ah, a citizen of the world! Good man. Come on, you two, let’s have a drink.”
“That’s where we were headed,” Conrad said. As the three men walked toward the bar, he waved a hand to indicate their surroundings and asked, “Do you still own this place, Bat?”
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 3
