He stood in the carpeted hallway outside the door to the Silver Suite for several minutes before he raised his hand to knock. He was getting too old for this. God, he was tired. Tired of traveling, of sleeping in hard chairs in stuffy trains surrounded by equally tired strangers with cranky children and crying babies. He was tired of the long list of aliases he used, the variety of personalities he assumed, the endless blur of towns, the relentless trailing, and the never-ending hunt. It was at times like this, when his brain was numb and his body beyond exhaustion, that he longed for the comforts of home. Lee toyed with the idea of settling down—of finding a nice woman to marry and a maybe a ranch to run. He grimaced at the idea. He had toyed with the idea of running for president, too, upon occasion, but that didn't mean he was the man for the job. Lee shook his head, then pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. He knocked once on the wooden door. He needed a thick beefsteak, a hot bath, and clean bed. He had to get this business with Tom McLeary out of the way. Leaning against the door frame, Lee raised his hand a second time.
But the door opened before he could knock.
A middle-aged man dressed in a dark suit stood in the entrance to the suite eyeing him warily.
"Are you McLeary?"
"That's right," McLeary answered. "And you must be Mr. Jones."
Lee managed a tired smile. "I see you got the telegram from our friend in Chicago." He offered his hand. "I'm Lee Kincaid."
"Thank God, you're finally here." The wary look on McLeary's face changed instantly into an expression of complete relief. He reached out and took Lee's hand, then stepped back and motioned Lee into the sitting room. "Make yourself at home." McLeary kept his voice low. "I've been trying to reach you for a week." He reached for Lee's leather bag and set it on a walnut desk while Lee removed his hat and duster.
"I was in Washington," Lee answered automatically, as he placed his garments atop the satchel. "Your telegram mentioned you had something for me. What is it? And what the devil is this all about?"
"Old debts."
Lee turned at the sound of the voice.
An elderly man sat on a horsehair sofa. Lee watched as he leaned heavily on a sturdy black cane to raise himself from the depths of his seat. He, too, was dressed in a black suit—an old fashioned black suit, with a loose, thin striped chambray shirt, and a plaid waistcoat. He wore slippers on his feet instead of shoes. Lee studied the old man from the top of his white head to his slippered feet. Something wasn't quite right about his appearance, but Lee was too tired to figure it out. He continued to watch as the old man limped painfully over and held out his hand. His knuckles were gnarled and swollen with age and arthritis, and his skin was dry and parchment thin.
Lee gently shook his hand. "Do I know you?"
"No." The elderly gentleman spoke slowly and carefully. His words sounded rehearsed. "My name is Judah Crane. I'm an attorney. I represent the estate of Tabitha Gray."
Lee reacted as if he'd been punched in the gut. He let go of the lawyer's hand and stepped back as the air seemed to rush from his lungs and his knees began to wobble. Tabitha, dead? Six months ago, his partner Eamon Roarke had been killed, and now Tabitha. Lee tried to take a breath. His friends and former partners were dropping like flies. Swaying on his feet, he groped for the nearest chair. "Tabby Gray?" Lee glanced at McLeary, then at the lawyer, seeking confirmation.
McLeary nodded. "She died eight days ago."
Lee sank onto the chair. "Where? How?"
"At her home in Utopia," McLeary answered. "A little town about fifteen miles north of here."
"I know where it is," Lee snapped, suddenly irritated by Tom McLeary's matter-of-fact tone. "I passed through it on the way here. What happened to Tabby?"
"She caught a chill," Judah Crane blurted out. "She caught a chill and couldn't shake it." Crane's big brown eyes filled with tears as he looked at Lee. "I drafted her last will and testament," he said. "I drafted Tabitha's will and I did exactly as she asked. I was careful. You won't find any mistakes in it. No loopholes. It's ironclad."
"How did you know how to contact me?" Lee asked the lawyer.
"She gave me a letter," Judah answered simply. "And made me promise to remember to mail it." He limped back to the sofa and sat down.
Watching Judah limp back to the sofa, Lee noticed the old man's shirttail hung down beneath the hem of his coat. "I didn't get a letter," he said.
"The letter came to me," McLeary interrupted, "at the Highland Company post office box."
Lee squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he hadn't gotten the letter. Tabby didn't know where he was, but she had known how to contact him. They had worked together once, here in Denver. She'd been his partner. She knew to use the Agency post office box, knew that any mail sent to the Highland Company would eventually reach him. There was no Highland Company. It was simply a rented post office box—a means of collecting information and sending information to the Agency or to other agents.
McLeary continued. "She asked whoever received the letter to contact you through the Agency in the event of her death. And she asked that an Agent be sent to Utopia"— McLeary cleared his throat—"to oversee arrangements. She also left a letter for you." He walked over to the desk, unlocked the top drawer, and removed a letter. McLeary handed the envelope to Lee, then walked over to stand by the sofa. "We can leave the room if you'd like some privacy," he offered.
Lee stared at the envelope addressed to him. "No," he murmured, "I'd rather you stayed." He took a deep breath to steady himself, then ripped open the letter and read:
April 3, 1873 Utopia, Colorado Territory
Dearest Lee,
If you read this, my worst fears have been realized. I have pneumonia and the doctor doesn't offer much hope for me. He's recommended that I put my affairs in order.
I've never cared much for loose ends and I certainly don't intend to leave any for someone else to tie up. As you so often reminded me, I do like things wrapped up in neat tidy packages. And that, my dear, is where you come in.
I've taken the liberty of making you the executor and chief beneficiary of my estate. I don't own very much property, but there is a house and a silver mine in Utopia, a legacy from my late uncle, Arthur Ettinger. The mine doesn't bring in a great deal of income. The current silver veins are nearly played out, but I'm told there might be other larger, more productive veins. I haven't pursued that possibility simply because I lack the necessary capital to do so. I tell you all this because I'm leaving the mine and the house to you. The property is yours to do with as you see fit so long as you agree to meet the terms of my will.
(1) You must agree to keep the property for a term of no less than twenty years.
(2) You must agree to resign from the Pinkerton National Detective Agency within ninety days from the date of my death.
(3) You must agree to refrain from working in any area of law enforcement.
(4) You must marry and settle in Utopia within thirty days of my death. And you must allow Judah Crane, my attorney, to witness the marriage.
I want you to know, dearest Lee, that none of this is meant to cause you pain or harm. Quite the opposite, I'm afraid, for you see, I want you to live a long and happy life. That's part of the reason I'm asking you to make what I know you will see as impossible sacrifices.
"Dammit, Tabitha!" Lee jumped up from his chair and began to pace the confines of the sitting room. He stared up at the ceiling, focusing his gaze on the plaster medallion surrounding the brass chandelier, while he railed at Tabitha. "How can you ask me to do this? Why?" Lee wanted to crumple the letter and toss it aside. He wanted to forget about her demands or the reasons behind them. "I won't do it," he glared at Tabby's lawyer. "I don't give a damn about a silver mine or a house in Utopia, Colorado. I'm not quitting the Agency for Tabby Gray or anyone else!" He walked over to the old man. "I don't need this! You keep the silver mine and the house and whatever else she left behind."
"That's the problem, young man," Judah
answered. "I can't keep what Tabitha left behind. I'm too old. My mind and my eyesight are failing me. I can't remember things. And I don't see well enough to look after her."
"Her?" Lee stopped in his tracks and stared at the old man. "What the devil are you talking about?"
Judah Crane pushed himself to his feet. "Come here, young man," he grabbed Lee by the elbow, "and I'll show you." Leaning heavily against Lee, Judah limped to one of the suite's two bedrooms and quietly opened the door. "You look at that," he nodded toward the bed, "and finish reading Tabitha's letter before you say what you are or are not going to do."
Lee stared at the little girl on the narrow bed. She lay sprawled on her stomach at the head of the bed. She'd flung the covers aside and her pillow lay on the floor. One plump arm was wrapped firmly around a doll with dark brown hair and an exquisitely painted porcelain face with a red bow-shaped mouth and big brown eyes—a doll that bore a striking resemblance to Tabitha Gray.
Lee edged inside the room, moving closer to the bed to kneel beside it. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, damp with sweat, and tangled around her face. Her long eyelashes fanned against her pink cheeks. She slept with her lips pursed around her right thumb, her index finger curved across the tip of her nose. Smiling, Lee gently brushed her damp curls away from her face, looped the strands behind her ear, then traced the line of her jaw with the tips of his fingers. He pulled the sheet up around the child's shoulders and over the doll in the dirty wedding dress, then pulled the sheet tight and tucked it beneath the mattress. "Sweet dreams, little one." Lee touched her cheek, marvelling at the baby-soft feel of her skin as she gave a small restless sigh and opened her eyes.
He sucked in a breath. He had expected her eyes to be the soft doe-brown color of her mother's. Or maybe a different shade of brown, lighter or darker—even green or hazel, but he never imagined the brilliant sapphire blue staring back at him.
She smiled shyly, yawned widely, then closed her eyes and returned to her dreams.
Lee straightened, then carefully backed out of the bedroom. He didn't speak. He simply returned to his chair, gathered the scattered pages of Tabitha's letter from the floor, and finished reading:
If I know you as well as I think, I expect you'll be ready to throw this letter and my will back in Judah's face once you've seen the terms. But remember, dearest Lee, I never asked anything of you in life, and never expected more than you could give. And I only ask these things of you because I can't see to details myself. Don't think badly of me for making demands now when you can't refuse me in person and please don't disappoint me. I believe I have every right to make demands. It's only fair when I'm about to give you my most precious gift.
Her name is Madeline. She's two and a half, and I want you and the bride of your choice to adopt her and raise her as your own…
* * *
Chapter Three
"What happens to the little girl if I refuse?" Lee glanced toward the bedroom door as he folded Tabitha's letter and returned it to the envelope.
"She'll be sent to a Methodist Foundling Home in St. Louis," Judah answered matter-of-factly.
"Christ, Tabitha!" Lee swore, raked his fingers through his hair and glanced up at the ceiling once again. "Doesn't she have any relatives?"
"She doesn't have any kin that I know of. None that Tabitha mentioned," Judah answered.
Lee muttered another curse under his breath. "Well, she must have a father." He turned to the old lawyer in frustration. "Where the hell is he?"
"Tabitha didn't happen to mention a name," Judah replied, as he stared closely at Lee, his gaze intense and very acute. "I assumed you knew."
"How could I," Lee demanded, "when I didn't even know Madeline existed?"
"My mistake," Judah said softly. "I thought you might be the man we were waiting for."
Though Judah's words were phrased as an apology, Lee heard the silent indictment. "Aw, hell." He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his trousers and began to pace around the room. Tabby had known him too well. She had known, when she dictated her will, that he wouldn't let her daughter grow up in the Methodist Foundling Home or any other foundling home. She had apparently remembered Lee's mentioning once, when they were together, how he had feared being sent to a foundling home when his mother died and his great relief when his army sergeant father had decided to keep Lee with him in Washington. And Lee remembered being appalled when he learned that Tabitha hadn't been so lucky—that she had, in fact, spent several terrible years in the Methodist Foundling Home in St. Louis when her parents died in a wagon train cholera epidemic.
"What have you done?" Lee railed at the ceiling as if he could see Tabby looking down at him from a cloud on high. Damn Tabby and her penchant for trying to arrange his life. "You always had to have the last word, always had to have things your way. Well, you sure as hell didn't leave me much room to maneuver this time!"
"She didn't leave any room for you to maneuver, young man," Judah informed him. "Her will is ironclad. I saw to that," he added proudly.
"I thought you were losing your faculties. I thought that was why you can't take the little girl." Lee glared at the lawyer.
"I'm seventy-seven years old, young man," Judah answered. "Some days everything is there," he tapped the side of his head with his index finger, "and some days everything is blank. The day I wrote Tabitha's will, everything was there."
"And today you're wearing your nightshirt with your suit," Lee muttered beneath his breath, finally realizing what was wrong with Judah's appearance. "Just my luck."
"Well, what are you going to do, young man?" Judah demanded. "Do you want the house and the mine or not? I need an answer."
"I told you I don't give a damn about owning a house in Utopia, Colorado, or a silver mine." Fighting a creeping sense of desperation, knowing there was nothing he could do to change the terms of Tabby's will or the demands she'd made of him, Lee glanced over at Tom McLeary. "What about you, McLeary? You're based here in Colorado. Wouldn't you like to get out of living in hotels? Wouldn't you like to own a big house and a silver mine?"
"No thanks." McLeary smiled.
"Why not?" Lee demanded.
"I've seen the house and the town. I'm not in the market."
"What about the little girl?" Lee tried again, "You wouldn't want her to be sent to an orphanage, would you? Why don't you take her?"
"I'm in the same line of work you're in," McLeary reminded him. "And I'm not ready to retire—or get married."
"Well, neither am I," Lee shot back.
"Tabitha Gray wasn't my partner," McLeary answered, "I didn't know her. Besides, I've been looking after Mr. Crane and Madeline for a week now. It's your turn. I've got my own business to see to." McLeary walked into the other bedroom to gather his hat, overcoat, and his carpetbag. Lee followed him and stood blocking the doorway.
"Yes or no, young man?" Judah asked, coming to stand behind Lee.
"It's not as simple as that," Lee hedged, searching for a way out of the situation. "How am I supposed to meet her demands?"
"I suppose you should start by finding a bride," Judah answered thoughtfully.
"In twenty-two days? You're asking the impossible!" Lee snorted in disgust.
"Tabitha didn't seem to think you would have trouble finding a suitable bride in the time required," Judah replied.
"Yeah, Kincaid," McLeary added as he bumped his heavy carpetbag against Lee's leg, forcing him to step aside. "Denver's a big town, full of beautiful women. I'll bet you could get one to the altar in three weeks."
"If I had three weeks," Lee answered sarcastically, stepping back—right into the old lawyer. "But I have to be in Cheyenne tomorrow morning on more urgent business." He turned to Judah. "Can't you stay with Madeline for a couple of days until I get back?"
"No. Not me." Judah backed away, shaking his head. "You can't leave me here alone with that precious baby. I don't actively practice law anymore because I accidentally burned down my office. I forgo
t to bank the coals in the stove. Another time I left my door wide open all night. And I'm always forgetting what I'm doing or where I put things." He turned to Lee. "What if I forgot to keep an eye on her? What if something happened to her?" He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "I'm too old to be left in charge of a two-and-a-half-year-old child. I can't be trusted. That's why Tabitha didn't leave her to me. My mind's all here right now." Judah tapped his finger against his right temple. "But what if it's gone an hour after you leave?"
Lee reached over and awkwardly patted Judah's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll think of something else." He eyed McLeary speculatively. "Be a pal, McLeary, and stay here for another couple of days and keep an eye on Judah and the little girl."
"I've been a pal," McLeary said as he passed Lee and headed for the door. "I'd never even met you, but I've been here for a week keeping an eye on your new family because you have a reputation as being a good man and a hell of a detective. I've got an investigation of my own to continue and I'm a week behind as it is. But if you're going to Cheyenne on Agency business, I might be able to go in your place."
Lee shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I've got to go report to an Agency client. And she'll have my head on a platter if I don't show up."
"Then it looks like you have two choices: either stay here, or take the old man and the little girl with you." McLeary chuckled as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
"No," Lee disagreed, "it looks as if I don't have a choice at all."
"Cheer up," McLeary said, "if your client's a woman, maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe she'll agree to marry you."
Something Borrowed Page 3
