by Joyce Armor
Carter looked around. The hotel was simple by New York standards, although he had to admit it did look clean. The floor, made up of polished oak planks, was covered with a halfway-decent Oriental carpet. The counter looked to be mahogany. It also gleamed. Still, the lobby was smaller than the Dunne drawing room at home. He supposed he would have to give these country bumpkins credit for trying, however.
He heard his father arrange for baths and dinner trays to be brought up to their rooms, and then they followed a young woman who looked to be about 20 to the elevator. She wore a bland brown house dress that didn’t hide her curves. As the door opened, Rex turned to the woman.
“Would you mind seeing to our baths right away? We can see our way to our rooms.”
“Not at all, sir.” She handed Rex the keys and smiled. “Hit the button for the third floor. Your rooms will be to the right once you leave the elevator.”
“Thank you, miss,” Rex said.
Carter smiled at the woman and she blushed. Hmm…I might tumble her later.
The men went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in the lobby at 3:50. After a couple of men carried the tub in and several maids poured buckets of hot water into it and left, Rex breathed out a sigh of relief. Alone at last, he felt weary to the bone. He slowly stripped down to his drawers. Even that little effort was draining. He smiled ruefully at his emaciated figure. If he could just live long enough to see Jenna safe. That’s all he wanted. She was so intelligent and self-assured, he did not have the usual concern that she needed a protector. He had to admit he had never been enough of a hands-on father, but he would never force her into a marriage just to ease his mind. Upon his death, she would be set up financially for life. It would afford her the independence to live as she wished, married or on her own. It was the last gift he could give her.
As he removed his drawers and carefully stepped into the tub, the consideration he had been avoiding for the last few days came to the surface. There it was, the unthinkable thought: Carter might have harmed his sister. Was his son actually capable of throwing Jenna off the train, or of getting someone else to do it? His heart said no, but his mind was not so certain. He honestly didn’t know if his son could be that much of a monster and that notion alone was beyond troubling.
The hot water soothed him as he leaned back and took in its comfort, slowly washing the travel grime from his skin. He knew how frail he was becoming but didn’t bother staring at his chicken legs. He chuckled as he remembered pointing out chicken legs on the skinny kids when he was a boy. Funny how he had never truly appreciated the simple pleasures, and now they seemed to be all that really mattered. Money? Real estate? Possessions? He couldn’t take any of it with him. What was the measure of a man’s success? All these years he thought it was wealth and the accumulation of things. And now, at the end of his life, he realized his greatest accomplishment was Jenna. She was good and kind and smart and spirited. She had depth and a charm about her. And she was nobody’s fool. She never would have let Carter or anyone else throw her off the train without putting up a fight. That somehow soothed him.
He could not take the same pride in Carter. What had happened to him? Why did he feel so entitled to take selfishly when Jenna was so giving? Truthfully, they were raised more by a governess than by him, yet they had received the same treatment. Rex had not been any more of a hands-on father to Jenna than he was to Carter, but his son had never wanted for any material benefit Rex could provide. Yes, he was spoiled in that regard, but no more so than Jenna. It was a troubling conundrum.
Rex had just finished dressing, choosing a fresh shirt but the same vest and waistcoat. He was buttoning his shoes when he heard a knock. With some effort, he managed to make it to the door and open it, expecting to see the maid with his dinner tray, or the footmen to remove the tub. Instead, it was Carter, holding two trays. Rex stepped back and Carter entered, placing the trays on the small dining table.
“No sense in us eating alone,” he said.
“No, I suppose not.” Rex made his way to the closest chair and sat down wearily.
A couple of young men arrived almost immediately. Rex tipped them generously and they carried the tub out as Carter stood watching impatiently. Closing the door behind them, he took the other chair and had already stabbed his fork into his slab of roast beef when his father lowered his head and began to pray.
“Lord, we thank You for this this bounty and for the gift of life You have given us. Please look after us and keep our dear Jenna under your care. We praise Thee in all things. Amen.”
“Amen,” Carter added, hoping he didn’t sound as if he were choking the word out.
They ate in silence for a minute or two before Rex spoke.
“When was the last time you saw Jenna?”
Did he see a flash of suspicion in his son’s eyes before they turned solemn? Maybe it was his imagination. Was he blaming Carter because he wanted an answer, any answer, about what had happened to his dear daughter?
“We’ve been over this again and again, Father, and I know how worried you are.”
“Aren’t you worried, son?”
“Of course.”
Rex didn’t eat much of his dinner as they talked, pushing the food around his plate more than shoveling it in his mouth, but he drank his coffee as he looked at Carter expectantly.
“It was that last night. We all ate dinner in the Pullman, remember? It was fried oysters with stewed tomatoes and clam chowder. We should get Mildred to prepare that for us when we get home.”
The older man studied his son with a look of surprise on his face. Carter wondered: Had he made a mistake? Was it so wrong to appreciate a good meal? He hurried on. “You retired early that night, maybe 8:00 or so, remember? I left shortly after that to meet up with a young lady I conversed with in the dining car. When I returned a few hours later, I fell asleep on the sofa. I assumed Jenna had gone to bed on the lower berth as she usually did.”
“You said…you said you went to the dining car, but you never mentioned meeting a woman. Who…who was she?” Rex’s head was starting to spin. He gripped the table with both hands. He could not get his eyes to focus, and his heart was pounding. At the same time, he felt warm all over and kind of tingly. This couldn’t be the end, could it?
“Oh, didn’t I mention that? I don’t remember her name. She was just someone to pass the time with. Father, are you all right? Is something amiss?”
Rex stood up shakily, knocking his chair to the floor. That’s when the darkness began closing in. Carter jumped up, just in time to catch his collapsing father. He wondered for a moment if he should drop him on the floor and then thought better of it. He carried the fragile man, who was more bones than skin at this point, and placed him on the bed. Then he decided a maid or other servant might look in on him, so he removed the old man’s shoes and waistcoat and covered him with the blanket folded at the bottom of the bed for good measure. He looked at the great Rexwell Dunne and almost laughed. This was the powerful business magnate he had so feared as he was growing up? It would be so easy just to put a pillow over his face and be done with it.
He pulled out his gold pocket watch and saw he had 20 minutes until the meeting at the sheriff’s office. He sat down to finish his meal, wondering if he had put too much laudanum in the coffee. He wasn’t worried about killing his father; he was just worried about getting caught killing him. Oh well, at least the current problem was taken care of. If Jenna really was the injured woman in Medicine Bow, now Carter could finish her off before their father connected with her. Of course, he would have to figure out how to get rid of her without anyone being the wiser. Yet if it was Jenna, why hadn’t she rung the alarm? Maybe she had, and this was a trap. No, he didn’t believe that. They already would have come for him. Yes, he would have to kill her before she could expose him, thwarting whatever devious plan she had in mind. Why does life have to be so complicated?
He took a last sip of coffee and then crossed the room to see i
f Rexwell Dunne was still breathing. He was. Carter was about to leave and ask the desk clerk to send people up for the dishes without disturbing his sleeping father when he thought of the tainted coffee cup. It wouldn’t do to leave that evidence. Crossing to the window, he pulled back the white curtain and peered outside. The room overlooked an alley—to be expected, he supposed, in this backwater town—but it suited his purpose. With some effort, he managed to open the window. Then he retrieved the tainted cup and tossed the contents outside, barely registering the yowl of a cat below.
* * *
“I’m sorry to hear your father is unable to be here,” Sheriff Langdon said, directing Carter to a rickety-looking pine chair, one of only two in his cluttered office. The sheriff was a blocky man with a paunch. His brown leather vest had cracks in it, and it looked as if he had spilled coffee on his white shirt. It would be more difficult than the Easterner thought to keep the look of contempt out of his eyes around this country tin star.
“He has a weak heart, and the trip here exhausted him. Hopefully, he will feel better tomorrow.” Carter sat. As soon as the laudanum wears off.
“Would you like to wait until then?” For some reason the sheriff took an instant dislike to Carter Dunne. He was too prissy and too condescending, although he tried to hide it. The comments about his father held no hint of empathy or understanding. Langdon was just toying with him by suggesting they wait.
“No, no. Not at all. I’m certain my father would want us to go ahead. The most important thing is finding Jenna.”
He was almost too anxious. Was that just natural anxiety about his missing sister or something else?
At that point, the door opened and another quite dapper man entered He wore a tailored gray suit, shiny boots and a black bowler hat that made the sheriff suppress a grin, Except Langdon liked this man, despite his dandified appearance. He was a crack railroad detective and smart as a whip.
“Leland Pierce, this is Carter Dunne. You know about Rexwell Dunne and his missing daughter. This is her brother.”
“We met on the train when Jenna Dunne first went missing.”
The detective thrust out a hand and Carter shook it although he looked like he’d rather not. Leland didn’t think much of the younger Dunne the first time they met and his opinion hadn’t changed. The feeling was obviously mutual. Early on, Carter Dunne had dismissed Leland Pierce as no one to reckon with. The railroad detective had a way of purposely appearing like, well, an idiot to put people off their guard.
Pierce looked around, somewhat confused, and Langdon chuckled. “Oh, sorry, two of my chairs are being repaired. Had a little fracas in here the other day.”
The detective waved him off and plopped down on the little bed against the wall.
The sheriff sat across from Carter and absently rearranged papers on his desk. “Pierce and I have been comparing notes on the missing woman.”
Pierce nodded. “I just got into town so have not spoken with her yet. The general description fits your sister, but many young women are about her height with brownish-red hair.”
Carter glanced at the wanted posters on the wall behind the sheriff. He might be a criminal in the strictest sense of the word—after all, though, he was only trying to get what should have been his in the first place as the only son—but he would never be as unsavory as those characters.
“Where is she? The one who turned up here?” He used the haughty tone that usually got his way, making no effort to disguise his impatience. He was so close to fulfilling his dreams. These second-rate lawmen were not going to stand in his way.
Langdon picked up his gun and twirled the cylinder as if checking to see it was loaded. The Easterner squirmed, and Pierce tried to stifle a smile. It was obvious the sheriff enjoyed poking the snake.
Pierce answered. “Well, sir, the young woman was found by a rancher four days ago. She was badly injured. She is currently recovering at Two Forks Ranch, which is about a dozen miles northwest of town.” By design, he neglected to mention that the young woman was shot.
“Is she conscious?”
Interesting question. Not, How is she? Or what are her injuries? Langdon sat back. “Yes, she is now.”
Was that another flash of…what was it, fear? Anger? Panic? It came and went so fast Langdon was not sure he even saw it. Carter leaned forward. “How wonderful! If you will just give me directions to the ranch…”
“Hold on there, pardner.” Langdon was speaking to Carter but looking at the detective, who stood up.
“The lady had extensive injuries, including a serious head injury,” Pierce explained. “As of yesterday, she was unable to remember virtually anything, including what happened to her and her name.”
Carter could barely contain his glee. “Oh, that’s a shame. But if she is Jenna, she belongs with her family.”
What a cold fish this man was. It was as if he reacted how he knew he was supposed to react but did not have the emotional depth to pull it off. Of course, the fact that Carter might not particularly care for his sister was no crime in itself and probably not that unusual.
“The doctor has told us it is best that the woman has no visitors for another day or two as she tries to regain her memory.” The sheriff wasn’t sure why he lied. Perhaps it was just because this fellow rubbed him the wrong way.
“But that’s…that’s outrageous,” Carter sputtered. He was standing now, leaning over the desk, spittle escaping his pursed lips as he fought to control himself. “We’re family. She…she needs us. If it’s Jenna,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Well, sir, I’ll speak to Doc Prudomme, and maybe she’ll allow you and your father to visit her tomorrow or the next day. I’m certain you wouldn’t want to do anything to impede her full recovery.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Pierce said. “Also, if her memory has not returned, of course you will need to provide proof that the injured woman is Jenna Dunne.”
“Did you say ‘she’? A female doctor?”
“And a fine one,” the sheriff said.
“Is there a male doctor in town?”
“Yes. He agrees that Doc Prudomme is a good doctor, and it’s not wise to switch horses in the middle of a race.”
Pierce couldn’t help but grin. Langdon was really laying on the country charm thick.
“You do agree that the young woman’s full recovery is the most important thing,” Langdon asked as he raised an eyebrow.
Carter’s wheels were turning. Although it was an impediment, this could still work. He’d get directions to the ranch from someone else, go out there and put an end to her today if it was Jenna. He still doubted she could be alive, especially since she had not had him arrested—or contacted their father, which would be infinitely worse—but he couldn’t take a chance he was wrong. And her loss of memory could explain that, also.
Carter stood. “All right, gentlemen, I guess I see your point. Should we meet back here tomorrow afternoon, same time?”
Langdon remained seated. “If you wish. No guarantee the doc will have given the go-ahead by then.”
“So you say. I believe my father will have something to say about that.” Not that it will matter by then. Carter turned and walked out as if he owned the town. Langdon looked at the railroad detective and shook his head. “Why is it I want to punch that jasper?”
Pierce leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling. “He’s a real dandy, isn’t he?”
Langdon looked at his friend’s spiffy outfit and laughed.
“What?” Pierce looked down at his fancy suit. “This is a disguise.”
* * *
It didn’t take Carter long to trudge down the hellish dusty streets of Medicine Bow to find the Lucky Dog, one of several saloons on the outskirts of town. The faded, painted sign outside was lopsided and had several bullet holes in it, and inside the place looked like it had not been swept in days. The repellant smell of beer, whiskey, sweat and cheap perfume almost drove him to his knees. He tried
to appear casual as he walked up to the bar, but he was imminently out of place in his fancy brushed cotton Eastern frock coat, shiny vest and gray tweed ankle boots. Even the piano player stopped playing “Little Brown Jug” long enough to take a gander before resuming the tune.
Carter started to lean an elbow on the sticky bar but thought better of it as the bartender, a rail-thin man with weepy eyes and a droopy gray mustache, sidled up.
“What’ll be, mister?”
Carter requested a double shot of whiskey and placed a Liberty Head 5-dollar gold piece on the counter. The bartender grinned, revealing a large gap between his top teeth, which looked surprisingly healthy. As the man tried to grab the coin, Carter’s hand slapped down on top of his.
“Would you like to keep all of that?”
The bartender’s eyes lit up as he nodded.
“I’d appreciate it if you could tell me how to get to Two Forks Ranch.”
“Oh, is that all?” The man smiled, relieved. “When you leave here, head on out of town that way.” He pointed to the right. “When you get to Whitey’s Livery on the left, take the road right past it. You just stay on that road for eight or ten miles, then there’s a cut-off on the right. Pass that one up and go on to the next cut-off. That’ll take you to Two Forks.”
That sounded easy enough. The weepy-eyed man tried to move his hand out from under Carter’s, but he continued to hold it down, pressing hard enough to make the man wince.
“And we never had this conversation.”
The bartender nodded furiously. Carter removed his hand, finished off his drink in one gulp and strode out of the saloon. The bartender pocketed the coin, feeling like he had escaped the devil. It never even occurred to him to contact the sheriff or warn anyone at Two Forks. He was definitely a hear-no, see-no, speak-no evil kind of man.
Chapter 9
Bodie, his mother, Abby, Caroline, and Mrs. Glines were all eating the mid-day meal together. Generally, Mrs. Glines packed sandwiches, fruit and coffee so Bodie could eat out on the range if he wasn’t going to be near the chuck wagon, but the rancher had made a point of being back today to take the pulse of the dynamics between the women. He thought perhaps Abby might need a buffer. Oh, hell, you wanted to see her. It was the first occasion they all had been at the table at the same time and it was not going particularly well.