Death in the Family

by J. R. Roberts

  Clint watched the men ride off, waited until they were out of sight before he returned his gaze to the trail he was following.

  SEVENTEEN

  When the men got back to the Perryman ranch, they looked to the oldest one for orders, since the foreman was dead.

  “Take him over to the barn with the horses,” Jason Kendall said. “I’ll see what the boss wants to do with him.”

  “Right.”

  Kendall handed his horse over, and walked to the house. When he knocked on the door, the housekeeper answered. She was a pretty girl who lived on one of the nearby farms.

  “Hello, Katy.”

  “Mr. Kendall.”

  “Come on, Katy,” he said. “I told you it’s okay to call me Jason.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Kendall,” she said. “I’d rather not.”

  “Is the boss in his office?”

  “No, he’s in the dining room. I don’t think you should bother him.”

  “That’s okay, Katy,” he said. “I think he’s gonna want to hear this.”

  “I can’t—” she said, but he brushed past her and walked to the dining room.

  Milton Perryman was sitting at a long dining room table, a napkin tied around his neck, working on a full chicken on the plate in front of him.

  “What the hell, Jason?” he said. “I’m eating.”

  “Kane’s dead.”

  Perryman put his knife and fork down.

  “What?”

  “Dead,” Kendall said. “Killed.”

  “By who?”

  “Clint Adams,” Kendall said. “The Gunsmith.”

  “What the hell was he doing going up against the Gunsmith?” Perryman asked. “And what the hell is that gunman doing around here?”

  “I don’t know,” Kendall said, “but he was ridin’ across your land and Kane wanted to stop him.”

  “Did Kane know who he was?”

  “No.”

  “It probably wouldn’t have made a difference,” Perryman said. “Kane was an idiot.”

  “He was the foreman.”

  “I was going to replace him anyway,” Perryman said. “With you.”

  “Me?”

  “Do you want the job?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “Good,” Perryman said, picking up his knife and fork again. “You’ll ride into town with me tomorrow.”

  “And do what?”

  “We’ll see if we can get the Gunsmith arrested,” Perryman said. “We can’t just let him get away with killing one of our men—even an idiot like Kane.” Perryman looked at Kendall. “I’d like to finish eating now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kendall said. “Uh, what do you want us to do with Kane’s body?”

  “Bury it,” Perryman said, waving with his knife, “somewhere.”

  “Yes, sir.” He turned and started walking toward the door.

  “Oh, wait,” Perryman called out, stopping Kendall in his tracks. “Send me Walt Billings in about half an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  After being braced on Perryman land, Clint expected the trail to lead him there, but in the end it petered out near a stream. He didn’t know if he was still on Perryman land or not, but he took his time, rode up and down the stream, in case the rider had used the stream to cover his tracks. However, he did not find the trail again, and had to assume that he had simply lost it.

  It took him about a half hour of riding to realize how close he was to Chester again. The trail had taken him in a circle and led him back toward town.

  He rode into town, reined in Eclipse in front of the sheriff’s office.

  “Did you find Willie?” he asked, surprising Murphy, who was seated behind his desk.

  “Not yet. You find anything?”

  “I lost the trail,” Clint said, “but I had a run-in with some of the men on the Perryman ranch.”

  “They brace you?”

  “They did,” Clint said. “Tried to run me off.”

  Murphy sat back in his chair and asked, “And what happened?”

  “I had to kill one of them.”

  “Who?”

  “Fella named Kane.”

  “Kane?” Murphy said. “The foreman? I guess that doesn’t surprise me. He’s the type—or was.”

  “Pushy,” Clint said. “I gave him every chance to back down, but he wouldn’t.”

  “Well,” Murphy said, “I guess I’ll expect to hear from Mr. Perryman—probably through the mayor. They’re friends.”

  “And I’ll bet Perryman is one of his biggest supporters for reelection, right?”

  “Not one of,” the sheriff said. “The biggest.”

  “I told his men where he could find me,” Clint said. “Will he come looking for me?”

  “Yeah, he will,” Murphy said, “and he won’t waste any time either.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “if he comes asking, you know where to find me.”

  “I do,” Murphy said. “And don’t worry. He’ll be here.”

  Clint started for the door, then stopped.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t you have any deputies?”

  “I used to,” Murphy said, “but the mayor decided to cut the town budget to try and save the people some money. Guess where he started cuttin’ first?”

  “Right here,” Clint said.

  “You said it,” Murphy said. “Both my deputies. Poof.”

  “I understand,” Clint said. “What happened with that fellow you said was going to help you find Willie?”

  “First I got to find him,” Murphy said, “before I can find Willie.”

  Clint shook his head and left the office.

  EIGHTEEN

  From the sheriff’s office Clint went to Maddy’s whorehouse to check on the boy. He was admitted by Cardwell, Lily’s security man, and brought to her office.

  “Well, there you are,” she said. “I was beginning to think you had gone and left us with the boy.”

  “Not likely,” Clint said. “I mean—I don’t mean I wouldn’t leave him with you, I mean I wouldn’t leave—”

  “I understand what you mean,” she said, smiling. “No offense taken.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “The girls are taking good care of him,” she said. “Everyone’s getting a turn.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs,” she said, rising out of her chair. “Let me show you.”

  She led the way from the office and up the steps to the second floor.

  “Have you found out anything?” she asked as they walked along the hall.

  “We know that his family was murdered,” Clint said, “including his sister.”

  “Sister? How old?”

  “Twelve maybe.”

  “Bastards,” she said. “Who did it?”

  “For now it looks like two men were hired,” Clint said. “One of them is dead.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “I think his employer had him killed for leaving the boy alive.”

  “Why would somebody want to kill a small boy?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m still looking for someone to ask.”

  She opened a door and let him go in first. A skinny girl with long brown hair was seated on the floor with the boy, playing with him. When the boy saw Clint, he smiled, and ignored the girl. He reached his arms out toward Clint.

  “He’s missed you,” the girl said.

  “He doesn’t even know me,” Clint said.

  “Look at him,” Lily said. “He knows you. Go ahead and pick him up.”

  Clint walked to the boy, stooped, and picked him up. The boy’s a
rms immediately went around his neck.

  “Mama,” the boy said.

  “That’s all he says,” the brown-haired girl told him. “It’s all he ever says.”

  “No,” Clint said to the boy, “I’m not your mama.” He bounced the boy a bit, until he laughed. “How you doing, huh? The girls treating you okay?”

  “They’re treating him like a little prince,” Lily said, tickling the boy’s chin. “Aren’t they? My little prince?”

  The boy giggled.

  “Here you go,” Clint said, putting the boy back down on the floor. “Play with your friend.”

  “Are you leaving already?” Lily asked.

  “I just wanted to check on him,” he said. “I’ve still got some searching to do.”

  “I’ll take you back down, then.”

  Lily led him down to the front door and opened it for him.

  “Do you know a man named Milton Perryman?” he asked.

  “I know everybody in town,” she said. “Yes, I know Perryman. Do you think he hired those men?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I just had a run-in with some of his men today. I had to kill one of them.”

  “Who?”

  “Kane, the foreman.”

  “He probably pushed you into it.”

  “He did. You knew him, huh?”

  “He was a customer,” she said. “Most of the Perryman hands are.”

  “And Perryman?”

  “He has a wife.”

  “I’ll bet a lot of your customers have wives.”

  “Not like his,” she said.

  He started away and she grabbed his arm.

  “If you’re going up against Perryman—and you are, because you killed one of his men—you’ve got to be careful. Very careful. The man has no scruples.”

  “I will,” he said. “Thanks for the warning.”

  He went out the door and she closed it behind him.

  NINETEEN

  Clint went to his hotel rather than stopping at the saloon. He was tired after being on horseback most of the day. Eclipse was being catered to at the livery stable, so why not him, as well? The hotel had a small dining room, which was empty, so he got good service. The steak was palatable, mostly because he was starving.

  He was working on the steak and potatoes when he noticed Lily enter the dining room. This could not have been her choice for supper, so he determined she must be looking for him.

  He waved at her. She spotted him and crossed the room, holding a shawl tightly around her. Other diners in the room watched her, but he noticed no one spoke to her. Men and women both turned their attention away.

  “May I join you?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. He stood to hold her chair, and she thanked him. He noticed she also kept her eyes averted from the other diners.

  “Why don’t you look at them?” he asked, sitting across from her.

  “Why frighten them?” she asked. “The men are all afraid their wives will realize they know me. The women are afraid their men will greet me.”

  “You’re a successful businesswoman in this town,” he said.

  “I’m a whore.”

  “You run a whorehouse,” he said. “That doesn’t make you a whore.”

  “An ex-whore, then,” she said, “now a madam. Little difference to most of the women in Chester.”

  Clint waved a waiter over.

  “Will you eat?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  “I was hoping to find you in your room,” she admitted. “The clerk told me you were here. So yes, I’ll eat with you.”

  The waiter came over and Lily ordered a chicken dinner. While he was there, the man poured her some coffee.

  “Why were you looking for me?” Clint asked.

  “The boy,” she said. “What are your plans for him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You must have something in mind.”

  “The doctor,” he replied, “says there are some families hereabouts who would take him, who want a child.”

  “And you wouldn’t take him?” she asked.

  “I told you,” he said. “I’m no one’s father.”

  “No desire to settle down?” she asked. “Have a family of your own?”

  “No,” he said. “Those days are long gone for me. I’ll likely die in the saddle, at the wrong end of a bullet. I wouldn’t want to leave a family behind to deal with that.”

  “What if you gave up your gun?”

  He smiled.

  “If I gave up my gun,” he said, “I’d be dead the very next minute.”

  “Someone would kill you if you were unarmed?” she asked.

  “They would stand in line for the privilege.”

  “It must be terrible to know that.”

  “Not if you accept it,” he said.

  “And you do?”

  “I don’t have much choice,” Clint said. “It’s been that way for a very long time.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  “You accept the hand life has dealt to you, don’t you?” he asked.

  She stared at him for a few moments, then said, “I think I see what you mean.”

  The waiter came with her supper and they got down to the business of eating. Since Clint was already half done with his meal, he slowed down so that they’d finish and be ready for dessert around the same time.

  * * *

  After pie and coffee, Clint and Lily left the dining room and stepped into the hotel lobby.

  “Going back to your house?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Do we have more to talk about?” he asked.

  “When I said I was hoping to find you in your room,” she told him, “I didn’t mean to talk.”

  Clint looked around but nobody seemed to be paying much attention to them.

  “Aren’t you worried about your reputation?”

  “It would probably damage my reputation if you sent me away,” she said. “Unless you’re not interested.”

  “Oh,” he said, “I’m interested. Come on.”

  * * *

  Walt Billings had a fine, unobscured view of Clint Adams and Lily from his position seated on a sofa in the lobby.

  His boss had called him in just about an hour and a half ago, told him he wanted him to go to town and keep an eye on Clint Adams.

  “Wait,” he’d said, “the Gunsmith?”

  “You got a problem with that?” Perryman had asked. “I don’t pay you enough?”

  “Well . . . well, yeah, you pay me good, but—”

  “I’m not asking you to go up against the man,” Perryman told him. “I just want to know where he is at all times, and who he talks to. Can you do that, Walt?”

  “Sure, boss, sure,” Billings had said. “I can do that.”

  And since Clint Adams had no idea who he was, he figured he could keep an eye on the man just fine from the lobby of his hotel.

  So he watched as Adams and Lily walked to the stairs and went up to the second floor, where Billings assumed Clint Adams had his room.

  And just to be sure, when the couple had disappeared, Billings got up and approached the front desk.

  TWENTY

  As they entered, she removed her shawl and said, “Well, you got the best room in the house.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  She gave him a sly smile and said, “I’ve been in this hotel before, Clint.”

  “Of course.”

  “But not for some time,” she admitted. “I’m what’s considered past my prime.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “You know t
hat you’re an unusual man, right?”

  “Because of my gun?”

  “No,” she said, “because of who you are. Because of what you’re doing for that baby.”

  “I’m doing what anybody would do.”

  “That’s not true, at all,” she said. She sat on the end of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “I had to stop a lot of the girls from coming over here.”

  “A lot of them?”

  “Well, one at a time. But they all feel you’re a . . . singular kind of man. It makes you even more attractive.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  He walked to her and sat next to her.

  She laughed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’ve done this a million times—well, not a million times—but a lot. Been with a man, I mean.” She looked at him. “So why am I so nervous?”

  “Maybe it’s been a while.”

  “It has,” she said. “I’ve been running Maddy’s for eight years now.”

  “And in all that time . . . ?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not once.”

  “Why not?”

  “After so many years . . . there has to be a connection, but there never has been . . . until now.”

  “Lily—”

  She put her hand on his leg and said, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not expecting you to feel a connection. I’m only expecting you to feel one thing.” She slid her hand up his thigh to his groin. “And I see I’m right.” She squeezed.

  He stood up and reached his hands out to her. She put hers in his and he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. He felt her trembling in his arms, her mouth eager beneath his.

  She reached between them to unbuckle his gun belt. Before it could fall, he grabbed it, walked to the bedpost, and hung it there.

  “Within easy reach?” she asked.

  “Always.”

  She walked to him.

  “You won’t need that for me,” she said, reaching for him.

  * * *

  Veronica Perryman entered the den, where her husband was sitting in a comfortable chair, holding a snifter of brandy.

  “Are you coming to bed?” she asked.

  “In a little while,” he said. “Would you like some brandy?”