The Bluebird

by Kristy McCaffrey

  “Can you describe the men transporting him?”

  “Yes, we knew one. He is called Winston.”

  * * *

  Molly had just sat down at a table in Cora’s restaurant when Bridget entered, surprising her. Once the business at the Claims Office had been handled, Bridget had departed to speak with her father and check on her brother. Molly hadn’t expected to see her so soon, especially this evening, although Molly had mentioned that she planned to come to Cora’s after freshening up at Zang’s Hotel.

  “Did your father let you out of the house easily?” Molly asked as Bridget settled her shawl upon the back of a chair and sat.

  “He wasn’t there. Archie said he’d gone into the hills to settle a problem.”

  Molly worked to hide her alarm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Bridget said, her features strained with concern. “I fear it can’t be good.”

  Cora appeared, a wide grin on her elderly face. “Miss Lannigan, it’s a pleasure. And Miss Simms, it’s wonderful to see you again. I was hoping you might return.”

  “Thank you.” Molly smiled warmly. “I’m glad to be here.”

  “Did you ever find your brother?”

  “I did.”

  Molly ordered steak and mashed potatoes, and Bridget requested venison and baked apples.

  “And coffee please,” Molly added.

  “Right away,” Cora chirped as she left.

  Mabel—the woman at Bertha’s Saloon who had told Molly that Robert was dead—entered the restaurant, scanned the room, and then headed straight for Molly and Bridget.

  Mabel’s gaze darted between each woman then settled on Molly. “I need to speak with you, miss.” With her hair swept from her face in a polished and well-kept bun, she appeared quite respectable, except for one thing—the plunging neckline of her simple cotton dress. Molly tried not to stare.

  “Yes, of course.” Molly gestured to an empty chair. “Please join us.”

  Bridget’s face reddened, and anger flashed in her eyes. She clearly didn’t want Mabel at their table, but it was too late now. Molly had already invited the woman.

  “I’m not sure we have anything to discuss.” Bridget’s voice held a hint of contempt.

  “Perhaps we should let her speak before we decide that,” Molly gently chided.

  A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Mabel’s mouth, her back rigid as she settled at the table. “I promise this won’t take long, Miss Lannigan. Your reputation shouldn’t be covered in mud from it.”

  Bridget’s response was stoic silence.

  “What can we do for you, Mabel?” Molly asked.

  Cora interrupted and poured coffee for Molly and Bridget, then stepped back and stared at Mabel, arching her brow in displeasure. “Is this woman bothering you?”

  “No,” Molly reassured. “Please, pour her a cup of coffee as well.”

  Cora paused then completed the task and left before Mabel could order a meal. Molly let it go since she doubted the fancy woman would stay that long, especially if the climate at the table got any chillier. Bridget must know that Robert had sometimes frequented Bertha’s.

  Hopefully, Robert’s fiancée wouldn’t fly across the table like a wild mountain cat and attack.

  “In my line of work, I hear things,” Mabel said. “That day I saw you, you were with Jake McKenna.”

  Molly nodded. Did Jake have a woman like Mabel stashed somewhere? The idea chafed. Try as she might, though, Molly couldn’t dislike the woman. Mabel seemed far more comfortable in her own skin than the rigidity that Bridget often displayed. But Bridget had certainly let Robert take liberties the other night while they were at Ivan and Pearl’s house.

  Is that how a woman held a man when he could easily find company like Mabel?

  She’d tried such tactics on Jake, and he’d basically said no.

  Now that they were engaged, perhaps she should try harder. She had no intention of sharing Jake with any woman.

  “I’ve heard that you two are…smitten?” Mabel smiled. “Don’t worry. He’s never been to Bertha’s, except for that day with you, but it’s true that any of the ladies would be happy to catch him, if only for a night.” She glanced at Bridget. “I think you were after him for a while, weren’t you?”

  Stunned, Molly flicked her eyes to Bridget as a deep shade of crimson overtook the woman’s face.

  “It wasn’t like that, Molly,” Bridget said quietly.

  A sick feeling began to form in the pit of Molly’s stomach. “How was it, then?”

  “I’d rather explain in private.”

  “Of course,” Mabel interjected. “I’ll just get to it so you two can discuss matters of the heart. Lord knows women like me don’t have one.”

  Molly dragged her attention from Bridget. “I’m certain that’s not true, Mabel.”

  Mabel looked at Bridget. “You’re lucky to have Robert. He’s a good one.”

  While there was a tone of deep sentiment in the woman’s voice, Molly was certain she also sensed a sliver of resentment.

  Mabel turned her attention to Molly, a false flash of joy permeating her face. “All the ladies at Bertha’s were impressed that you marched right inside to speak with me. It was no surprise to me that you’re Robert’s sister.”

  “But what you told me about my brother was wrong,” Molly said, remnants of that piercing pain still present in her heart.

  “I’m sorry about that, but I’m glad it wasn’t true.” Mabel glanced around then lowered her voice. “What I’m about to say could get me in trouble, but I’m sayin’ it anyway. James Winston is a regular, but several nights ago, I wasn’t available. He roughed up the girl who took my place, which ain’t right, in my book. So I plied him with whiskey and got him to talk. He told me he’s out to steal a big contract from under Shep Lannigan. He’s also got his eyes set on marrying you.” She glared at Bridget.

  Bridget leveled a cool stare at Mabel. “Yes, I know.”

  “Although I suspect it will drive you straight into Robert’s arms, I’m gonna tell you not to do it. Winston is cruel, and I don’t wish that on anyone.” Mabel pressed her lips together. “Even you.

  “Winston told me there’s a prospector by the name of Charlie Cohen who’s been more than just grubstaked by Shep—this Charlie is being carefully watched while searching for the elusive Bluebird.”

  Mention of the Bluebird caught Molly’s attention. “What’s so special about this man?”

  Mabel paused, glancing around to insure their conversation was still private. “Charlie Cohen is no man. Her name is Charlotte. She came to town many months ago and got herself involved with Shep.”

  “Do all men visit prostitutes?” Bridget asked sharply.

  “Not all,” Mabel replied coolly. “Besides, their attachment is not a romantic sort. Charlotte knows details of the Bluebird that Shep thinks will help him find it.”

  Molly met Bridget’s gaze. Bridget knew that the Bluebird was likely already staked because Molly had told her of Jake’s claims. Had that been a huge error on her part? And had she compounded it when she’d filed the claims?

  “James Winston plans to get there before Shep,” Mabel added. “He was trailing a man named Pedro. He thought that Pedro knew the real location, but Pedro was also feeding bad ore samples to Charlotte so that she could give those to Shep.”

  “Pedro’s dead,” Molly said.

  “I know,” Mabel replied. “Charlotte and Pedro were in love, and now she’s out to get the man who murdered him.”

  “Winston?” Molly asked.

  Mabel shook her head. “I don’t know if he did it or not. But right now, that doesn’t matter, because Charlotte thinks it was Jake.”

  “It wasn’t Jake.” Molly’s voice was low but firm.

  Mabel leaned forward. “Well, whoever did it isn’t really the issue. This Charlotte may take matters into her own hands. Where are Jake and Robert right now?”

  Molly
sat mute, clutching the napkin resting on her lap. The truth as she knew it kept shifting. Things were happening way too fast. It nagged her that Mabel was being so helpful. What if she was working with Winston, not against him?

  “They’re in the hills,” Bridget answered.

  “Do you know where exactly?” Mabel pressed.

  Molly frowned and snagged Bridget’s gaze. “No. They could be anywhere.”

  Cora appeared with two plates of food.

  Mabel took a sip of coffee and waited to speak until Cora left again. “Are they with anyone else?”

  “Ivan Krupin, Boris Orlov and Nine Toes Bishop,” Bridget replied.

  Mabel gave a slight nod. “Do you think they’re all trustworthy?”

  “Someone shot Robert,” Bridget replied, her voice filled with anger, “and it wasn’t them. Did Winston do it?”

  Mabel shrugged. “Or maybe Charlotte.” She cleared her throat and stood. “Well, I should leave you both to your meal. If I hear anything else, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Thank you,” Molly said.

  Mabel stepped around the tables, her lemon-colored skirt swaying back and forth, and quit the restaurant.

  Bridget vigorously cut her meat, her eyes downcast.

  “I know you don’t like her,” Molly said, “and I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

  Looking up, Bridget froze.

  “But first, I think you owe me an explanation about Jake.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “But he chased you?” Even as she said it, it made no sense to Molly. Jake had been nothing but indifferent to Bridget during every interaction they’d had.

  Bridget set her fork and knife aside and dabbed her napkin on the sides of her mouth. “No. It was more like I pursued him.”

  “Is that why you were always warning me away from him?”

  Bridget’s expression relaxed and appeared filled with regret. “I warned you off because I honestly didn’t think he was as truthful and as loyal as you’d like him to be.” She took up her fork again and pushed at the food on her plate. “For what it’s worth, he never had any interest in me…at all. I won’t lie—it rather irked me at the time.”

  “But you’re with my brother. Do you still have feelings for Jake?”

  Bridget shook her head. “I don’t. And that’s the honest truth.”

  Molly glanced out the window, watching men and wagons and mules heavy with sacks of ore pass by. In all her childhood, trust had never been an issue, even after she fell in that well. Now, everyone she’d become acquainted with in this town was a challenge to her faith in people. “Does Robert know?”

  “Yes. It was why we fought a few days ago. Look, I’m not proud of it, but my father encouraged me to draw men into the fold.”

  “Men like Jake and Robert?”

  Bridget nodded. “I’m head-over-heels in love with Robert, but it caught me quite by surprise. I’m trying to do the right thing. You can trust me, Molly.”

  Doubt hung heavy in Molly’s heart, and not just for her brother and the woman who may or may not love him. Was Bridget right about Jake? Was his loyalty a hard-won battle, one that was likely never to be conquered?

  “I hope so.” But at this point, she didn’t have a choice. “We need to go back into the mountains and find Robert and Jake,” Molly said as they finished their meal. “I’m worried that Winston—or your father—may find them first.”

  “I can get horses,” Bridget said, her expression earnest.

  “And I’ll get supplies.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Climbing in the dark proved more difficult than Jake had imagined. A moonless sky made the shadows impenetrable, and he had more gear than before, but he’d wanted to make sure he had what he needed. Despite the cool night air, sweat trickled down his back as he strained to be as silent as possible so not to disturb the other men in camp.

  It had been his only option—going in alone. There was no way in hell he was going to guide Nine Toes to the Bluebird. They’d follow soon enough, but at least he’d have a few hours to himself with the lode.

  He tied a rope at the base of a tree, tugging hard to make certain it would hold. This was his safety net in case he fell from higher up. He shed his coat and rested it on a low-hanging branch, then balanced the knapsack on his shoulder, the pick and shovel awkward, just one Colt nestled in the holster at his hips.

  Methodically, he moved upward, one hand-hold and foot-hold at a time. He marveled that he’d come this way with Molly a few days ago. At the time, he hadn’t felt trepidation, but a twinge of guilt confronted him when he remembered how she’d looked white as a ghost when she’d reached the top of this steep climb. He’d need to be more aware of her feelings from now on.

  With the heavens a sheen of muted sparkles, he at last crested the ridgeline, scrambling over a patch of scree, sending shards of rock crashing below.

  Damn.

  The others might likely have heard that.

  He paused to catch his breath and drink from his canteen, then he moved swiftly into the valley to the location of the claims he’d staked as well as Robert’s Chigger Lode. He didn’t hear the report of the rifle until it was too late.

  “You can hold it right there, McKenna.”

  Shep had finally caught up to him.

  * * *

  Molly rode as hard as she dared in the darkness, Bridget trailing behind her. She didn’t stop until they’d reached the Krupin’s cabin and the golden light shining through its window.

  Molly dismounted and led her horse to the corral, where she knew water and oats awaited. She hoped the animals Bridget had acquired could eat and drink quickly.

  Bridget followed suit, but they didn’t remove the saddles since Molly intended to keep riding through the night.

  “Don’t move.”

  Molly jumped at the sound of a strange woman’s voice. A female stood in the shadows, pointing a gun.

  “Who are you?” Bridget asked in a rush.

  Molly took a step back, but the woman gave a slight shake of her head.

  “No, no. Come on with me.” The woman waved the tip of the pistol. “Let’s all go into the cabin now.”

  Molly raised her hands, as did Bridget, and carefully walked around the building and onto the porch, then entered the cabin, the lady with the gun behind them. At the table sat Pearl, bound to a chair and gagged.

  “Pearl?” Alarmed, Molly moved to her friend. “Are you all right?”

  The woman closed the door and herded Bridget toward them.

  “What’s going on?” Molly demanded. “Who are you?”

  Light brown hair peppered with gray hung in a loose braid and framed a surprisingly youthful-looking and pretty face. Still, the woman had to be in her forties.

  “I’m doin’ the talkin’.”

  Then it dawned on Molly. “Are you Charlotte Cohen?”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I’ve heard talk of you. Why are you holding Pearl hostage?”

  Charlotte raised the pistol. “Tell me what I wanna know, and I’ll leave you all be.”

  “And what’s that?” Bridget asked.

  “Where is the man called The Jackal?”

  Bridget edged against the table. “We don’t know. Why are you looking for him?”

  “He hurt someone I cared about.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Molly asked.

  Charlotte’s face blanched white. “As sure as I can be.”

  The woman’s voice held the barest whisper of doubt, and Molly latched on to it. “I can tell you with utmost certainty The Jackal didn’t murder Pedro Elizondo.”

  Charlotte’s eyes snapped to Molly’s face. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I was with him when Pedro was killed. I know people are saying it was Jake McKenna, but it’s more likely a man named James Winston who did it.”

  “Winston?” Confusion played across Charlotte’s face.

&nb
sp; Molly advanced a tiny step. “You know him, don’t you?”

  Charlotte narrowed her gaze.

  “Please lower the gun and sit down.” Molly moved a bit closer. “We can talk about this.”

  Charlotte hesitated, but to Molly’s surprise and relief, she let the weapon drop to her side. Molly stepped carefully forward and took the gun from the woman’s hand, and then set it on the floor in a far corner behind where Pearl sat. Molly grabbed a knife from the kitchen and sawed at the rope binding Pearl’s hands while Bridget pushed the bandanna from Pearl’s mouth. Once free, Pearl rubbed her wrists and took a deep breath.

  Molly went to Charlotte and guided her to a chair. She and Bridget then took a seat while Pearl disentangled her legs from the rope at her ankles.

  “I’m Molly Rose Simms and this is Bridget Lannigan. We’d like to help, if you’ll let us.”

  Charlotte’s eyes snapped to Bridget. “Lannigan, you say? Are you related to Shep Lannigan?”

  “Yes,” Bridget replied. “He’s my father. May I ask if you’re working for him?”

  Molly wondered if she really heard hurt in Bridget’s voice, or if she had simply imagined it, hoping that Lannigan’s daughter had truly taken a turn for the better.

  Charlotte pursed her lips together and squinted as if she was taking their worth. “He’s never mentioned me?”

  Bridget shook her head.

  “I guess it’s no secret. When I came to town, I had no money. But now I realize that Shep took advantage.”

  “In what way?” Molly prodded, but Charlotte didn’t reply.

  Bridget leaned forward. “He believes that you know the location of the Bluebird, doesn’t he?”

  At the mention of the mythical claim, Charlotte stilled. Had Bridget just pushed the woman into silence?

  Bridget softened her demeanor. “What kind of split do you have?”

  Charlotte crossed her arms tightly over her chest and exhaled, clearly frustrated. “I thought it was a good deal at the time, but I soon realized that I’d signed away too much. He put bodyguards on me night and day to make sure I didn’t get out of line.”