The man had been set on killing Conrad right from the first. That much was clear from the way he had attacked. He hadn’t threatened or demanded money.
He had just gone for the death blow.
The would-be assassin was a stranger to Conrad. He couldn’t think of a single reason the man would have wanted to kill him.
But Pamela had wanted him dead—years ago. She had come up with the elaborate scheme to torture him by withholding the knowledge of his children’s birth and then letting him know about it after they were hidden away. She had also made arrangements to have him killed when he started searching for them. It was all a big, vicious game to her, he thought. Set out a goal—the twins—and give him the clues he needed to keep him on the trail, but set up death traps for him along the way. If those traps were successful, then he would die knowing he had failed to find his children. If they weren’t, they would make him more determined than ever to continue the search. Pamela had known him well enough to predict that reaction from him.
Was the attempt on his life just another in that series of traps orchestrated by Pamela? He didn’t know the answer to that question, but couldn’t help pondering it.
“Sir? Mr. Browning?”
With a little shake of his head, Conrad realized that the driver on the seat beside him was talking to him. The buggy had stopped moving.
“We’re here, sir. The Lansing House.”
Sure enough, they were. The buggy had come to a stop in front of the hotel.
“Thank you.” He took a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the driver’s hand, despite the man’s protests that it wasn’t necessary.
“You be careful now, Mr. Browning,” the driver told him as he stepped down from the buggy. “I got a feeling there are still folks out there who wish you harm.”
“I know there are.” Conrad smiled. “But they’re going to be disappointed.”
He went through the hushed, beautiful lobby and up to his suite. Arturo was in one of the armchairs in the sitting room, reading a newspaper. He put it aside and immediately stood up. “How was your evening, sir? Did you find out anything?”
“Maybe,” Conrad said.
Arturo smiled. “And I take it no one tried to kill you?”
“Well, actually . . .”
Arturo’s smile disappeared and his eyes widened. “No!”
Conrad nodded. “Pour us a drink, Arturo, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Conrad slept late the next morning. In the afternoon, he went to Ellery Hudson’s office and found Julia Moorehead at the desk in the outer office. There was no sign of Rose.
“Mr. Browning, it’s good to see you,” Julia said as she got to her feet. “I heard about what happened last night at Mr. Hudson’s house, of course. How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” Conrad told her with a smile as he took off his hat and held it in front of him. People who were acquainted with him in the business and society part of his life didn’t seem to understand that somebody trying to kill him wasn’t all that unusual. “Do you know how Rose is doing?”
“That poor girl. I talked to Mrs. Hudson on the telephone this morning. She said Rose is still very upset. I can understand why she feels that way. It’s why I’ve taken over here this morning.” Julia’s voice took on a slight note of disapproval as she added, “No offense, Mr. Browning, but your idea turned out not to be such a good one.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m still alive, and I might not have been if not for Rose.”
“Well, I suppose there is that to consider . . .” Julia’s manner became more businesslike. “What can we do for you this morning?”
“I came by mainly to check on Rose. Is Ellery free?”
Julia shook her head. “He’s in conference with a client, and then he has to be in court in a little while.”
“That’s all right.” Conrad put on his hat. “Just tell him I stopped by.”
“Of course.”
Conrad left the law office. He slipped his watch from his pocket and checked the time as he emerged from the building. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but he had a hunch there was a good chance he would find Bat Masterson at the Palace Variety Theatre and Gambling Parlor.
That hunch turned out to be correct. The famous former lawman and current gambler was sitting at one of the poker tables, cards in hand, playing in what appeared to be a low-stakes game with three other men. The pot in the center of the table didn’t add up to much. Masterson was just keeping in practice, Conrad thought as he caught the man’s eye and nodded toward the bar.
“I’m out, gentlemen.” Masterson squared up his cards and dropped them facedown on the table. He pushed back his chair and stood up.
When he joined Conrad at the bar, Conrad said, “I hope I didn’t cause you to throw in a good hand, Bat.”
Masterson chuckled. “Actually, I probably would have won. But did you see that pot? Chicken feed. I’ve lost more than that betting on whether the next woman through the door will a blonde, a brunette, or a redhead.”
“I hope the news I have for you will more than make up for it. I’ve decided to play in this poker tournament you’re organizing.”
Masterson arched his eyebrows. “Really? I am glad to hear that.”
“You’re glad that you’ll have ten thousand more dollars in the kitty.”
“Well, that, too, of course. But you’re a good player. You’ll bring some excitement to the game.” Masterson frowned as a thought appeared to occur to him. “Say, you’re not doing this in hopes of getting back at Rance McKinney, are you? He’s going to be part of the tournament.”
“Actually, McKinney is the reason I decided to play. But not because of what happened in here a couple nights ago.”
He had thought about it, and decided to take Masterson into his confidence. He knew his father trusted the man, and Frank Morgan’s opinion was good enough for Conrad. Quietly, as they lingered over schooners of cold beer, he told Masterson about the real reason he had come to Denver and the conversation he’d had with McKinney at Ellery Hudson’s house the night before.
Masterson tugged at one side of his mustache as he frowned in thought. “You believe Rance McKinney knows more about Pamela than he’s saying?”
“My gut tells me he does.”
“I don’t believe I ever met the lady, but from what I know about her, she and McKinney strike me as an odd pair.”
Conrad nodded. “There’s no doubt about that. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past couple years, Bat, it’s that Pamela would use anybody she could to help her get the revenge on me she wanted.”
Masterson nodded. “Yes, I can see that. I heard about what happened at Ellery Hudson’s house last night.”
“It’s not in the newspaper, is it?” Conrad hadn’t looked at the papers yet.
“No, no, Hudson has too much influence in this town for that. He wouldn’t want everybody knowing that a guest at one of his dinner parties was almost murdered in his garden. But I have my sources. Every old lawman does.”
Conrad didn’t doubt that.
Masterson went on, “Do you think it’s possible your former fiancée had anything to do with that fellow trying to stick a knife in your back?”
“I thought of the same thing. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
“Considering what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t be surprised, either. And Rance McKinney was there.”
Conrad nodded. “Indeed he was.”
Masterson lifted his schooner of beer, took a long swallow, then used a fancy handkerchief he took from his breast pocket to pat foam off his mustache. He gave Conrad a long look. “There aren’t going to be guns blazing over the tables in that poker tournament I’m putting together, are there?”
“I can’t promise anything.”
Chapter 11
The tournament was scheduled to begin the next night. Conrad intended to lie low at the Lansing House until then.
Masterson
had given him all the details. The tournament would take place in a large private room at the Palace. The buy-in was ten thousand dollars, as Conrad already knew. There would be eight tables with six players at each table, for a total of forty-eight, slightly lower than had been rumored. The men would draw lots to see who played at each table.
The games would continue until everyone at each table was cleaned out except for one big winner, however long that took. Food and drink would be provided, as well as places to sleep if proved necessary.
Once the eight winners were determined, the second round would consist of two tables with four players at each. Again, the games would continue until there were two big winners and everyone else was wiped out.
Then those two winners would meet in the final game.
“That could take weeks,” Conrad had said.
Bat Masterson had shaken his head. “Not the way these hombres play. A lot of them like to take big plunges, so they win big . . . and lose big. I think it’ll take less than a week to determine a winner.”
“Who will walk away with more than half a million dollars.”
“Probably closer to a million. You know what they say about the rich getting richer. . . You’ll do all right, Conrad, if you just keep your wits about you.”
Conrad had nodded. “I intend to.”
He didn’t care about the money he might win or lose. His lawyers—Ellery Hudson in Denver, Charles Harcourt back in Boston, Claudius Turnbuckle and John Stafford in San Francisco—would care. They would probably be horrified at the risks he was prepared to take in order to find his children. But none of that mattered.
Not as long as his dreams were haunted by those nameless, faceless images running away from him . . .
On the afternoon of the day the tournament was to begin, a knock sounded on the door of Conrad’s hotel room. Arturo went to answer it, calling through the door, “Who is it?”
“Rose Sullivan,” a woman’s voice answered.
Turning to look at Conrad sitting comfortably in one of the upholstered wing chairs, Arturo raised his eyebrows to inquire if Conrad wanted to let her in.
Conrad didn’t hesitate. He nodded.
Arturo swung the door open and murmured, “Miss Sullivan, please come in.”
Rose looked quizzically at him as she stepped into the room.
Conrad got to his feet and made the introductions. “Rose, this is my friend, Arturo Vincenzo. Arturo, Miss Sullivan.”
Arturo clasped her gloved hand. “The pleasure and the honor are mine, Miss Sullivan.”
“Thank you.”
“Might I take your hat?”
She shook her head in response to Arturo’s question. “No, thank you. I won’t be here long.” She wore a dark blue skirt and jacket, a white blouse, and a hat of the same dark blue shade. Her hair was pulled up on her head again. She carried a black handbag.
“Then perhaps something to drink?”
She shook her head again.
Arturo looked at Conrad. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He withdrew discreetly from the sitting room.
Conrad came over to Rose and clasped her hands. She asked, “Is he your servant?”
“A good friend,” Conrad said again. “How are you, Rose? You’re looking a lot better.”
It was true. Most of the color had returned to her cheeks, and her hands weren’t trembling at all as Conrad held them.
“I’m all right,” she said with a slight smile. “Mrs. Hudson has been very helpful. I think I would have fallen completely apart if it weren’t for her. But I went back to my own place today. And tomorrow I’m going back to work.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
She nodded. “It’s for the best. But I wanted to see you first and make sure you were all right. Mr. Hudson told me where you were staying. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all,” Conrad assured her with a smile. “Come over here and sit down.”
He took her handbag from her before she could protest and set it on a spindly-legged side table that was actually a valuable antique. With a firm hand on her arm, he ushered her over to a divan and sat down beside her as she took a seat.
“I was curious,” she said, “if the police have found out any more about . . . about the man who tried to rob you.”
Conrad shook his head. “If they have, they haven’t said anything to me about it. I doubt if they’ll ever find out who he was. Just some sneak thief.”
It was better to let her think that than to tell her he suspected the man had been sent there specifically to kill him. Rose’s part in the affair was over. He wasn’t going to put her life at risk again.
“Is everything else all right?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s good. Mr. Browning . . . or is it all right if I still call you Conrad?”
“Conrad is just fine,” he assured her.
“I don’t know exactly why you wanted me to pretend to be Mrs. Hudson’s cousin the other night, Conrad, but I’m sure it had something to do with whatever it was that brought you to Denver.” She took a deep breath. “I want you to know if there’s anything else I can do to help you, I’m more than willing.”
He was shaking his head before she finished making the offer. “You’ve done plenty. More than enough. And it could have gotten you hurt.”
“I’m not worried about that. I wouldn’t worry about that . . . as long as I was with you.”
Conrad frowned. He would have thought she’d realized it was dangerous to be around him. But she was offering to put herself right back into the line of fire. “I’m sorry, Rose. Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do, Conrad.”
“Then believe me when I tell you it’s better that you’re not involved in this anymore. Just go back to your job at the law office and don’t worry about me or my problems.”
She pouted. “Just like that?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, all right,” Rose said with a sigh. “I suppose if that’s the way it has to be . . . But I have one request, Conrad.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll be happy to do it, if I can.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he thought he might have been too hasty. It all depended on whatever favor Rose came up with to ask of him.
“I’d like for you to take me to dinner.”
He smiled. “That I can do.”
“At the best restaurant in Denver.”
“Of course. Just name it.”
She mentioned a steak house where many of the cattle barons from Colorado and elsewhere ate. The poker tournament at the Palace didn’t start until ten o’clock that evening. There would be plenty of time for him to have dinner with Rose first.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he promised as they both stood up.
“I’m looking forward to it.” She stepped closer to him, came up on her toes, and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “Until then, Conrad.”
He handed her handbag to her, then showed her to the door and watched as she went down the hall toward the stairs. A door opened and closed behind him, and Arturo said, “So you have a dinner engagement with the lady before the poker games begin?”
Conrad grinned over his shoulder. “Why, Arturo, you old eavesdropper.”
“Part of my job is to look out for your best interests, sir.”
“And I appreciate that. But I’m not too worried about having dinner with a beautiful blonde.”
The real danger would come later, he sensed, when he sat down across a poker table from Rance McKinney.
Conrad used the buggy that Arturo had been driving since they left Kansas City. He didn’t take Arturo along or hire a driver, handling the team himself as he drove toward Rose’s boarding house that evening.
Mrs. Sherman was happy to see him, beaming as she let him into the house and offered to take his hat. He hung on to it and asked, “Is Rose ready?”
“I’ll see. The da
rling girl was all atwitter when she came in this afternoon and said she was going to dinner with you tonight.” Mrs. Sherman put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
Conrad smiled and leaned toward her. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
Rose wore a red gown, light jacket, and hat when she came downstairs. She looked as lovely in that outfit as she had in all the others Conrad had seen her wearing. While Mrs. Sherman looked on happily, he took Rose’s arm and led her out to the buggy.
When he had the buggy rolling easily through Denver’s streets, he made conversation by asking, “How long have you lived here?”
“Not long, actually. About three months.”
“Where did you live before that?”
“St. Louis. I was born and raised there, in fact.”
“What made you leave, if I’m not being too inquisitive?”
Rose laughed. “Not at all. My parents were both gone, I didn’t have any other family there, and I decided I wanted to see something of the West. It was an adventure, I suppose you could say.”
She had probably gotten more adventure than she bargained for, he thought, but he didn’t want to remind her of what had happened in Ellery Hudson’s garden.
“You’ve done well for yourself, getting a job in the city’s top law firm in that amount of time,” he commented.
“I was lucky. Mrs. Moorehead told me that the girl who had the job before me took sick and passed away suddenly.” Rose caught her breath. “Oh, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it, to call such a thing lucky?”
Conrad shrugged. “Someone’s bad luck is nearly always someone else’s good luck. I suppose that’s the world’s way of balancing things out.”
“Maybe so, but I still wish I hadn’t said it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant.”
They arrived at the restaurant a short time later. The dining room had booths made of dark, thick wood. The place just felt expensive, but Conrad didn’t care about the cost.
The meal was excellent: thick steaks, mounds of German fried potatoes, a fine wine. It occurred to Conrad that he shouldn’t be eating such a heavy meal. The poker tournament would be starting in just a few hours, and he needed to be alert, instead of feeling like he ought to take a nap.
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 7
