by Craig, Emma
“Perhaps.” Agrawal inclined his head. “At any rate, he has assured me that Miss Grantham is in possession of the Eye. As a matter of fact, I have already paid him a good deal of money to get the Eye back.”
“You paid Uncle Luther to get something from me?” Tacita sounded flabbergasted.
“Told you so.”
She turned to look up at Jed, frowning, obviously unhappy to have had his suspicions confirmed.
“But what is it? What is this Eye, Uncle Luther? What do I have that you need? I don’t have any idea what this Eye is. Oh, this is so frustrating!” Tacita stamped her foot again, surprising herself more than anybody else.
“You got it.” Luther nodded too emphatically for his state of balance. Again, Farley Boskins steadied him.
Anger played tag with hurt in Tacita’s middle for several seconds. Hurt finally won. She was almost in tears when she asked her uncle, “But why couldn’t you just ask me, Uncle Luther? You know I’d give you anything if you needed it.”
This time he shook his head, which didn’t do any more for his balance than his nod had. “No, y’wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would.”
“No, y’wouldn’t.”
“Yes, I would! I would, too!”
Another shake sent Luther careening into a potted plant. He sat heavily on the lip of the enormous pot. “M’brother-in-law gave it t’you,” he said as if that would explain his behavior.
By this time as frustrated as she could ever recall being, Tacita glowered at her uncle. “I do believe Jed is right. I think you are inebriated.”
“Told you so,” Jed mumbled again. Tacita ignored him.
Uncle Luther shrugged.
“But I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tacita started tapping her foot. “What is this Eye everybody keeps talking about?”
“Ah, my dear child, it is a—”
Tacita whirled around so fast, Agrawal’s words failed him. “I didn’t ask you! And I am not your dear child!”
“Just so,” Agrawal said, and swallowed. His henchmen had each taken a step forward, but he shooed them back again.
Jed smiled his approval at her. So did Rosamunda.
Returning her attention to Luther, Tacita planted her fists on her hips and resumed glaring at him. She also resumed tapping her foot. “Well, Uncle Luther? What is this Eye?”
“Em’rald,” Luther said, struggling with the word. “Em’rald. Round y’neck.”
“An emerald around my neck?” Her glare didn’t waver. “An emerald around my neck that my father gave me?”
Luther nodded. He had to clutch at the pot to keep from sliding into the soil holding the plant in place.
Suddenly Tacita’s foot stopped tapping. Her hands fell to her sides. Her eyes opened wide. She said, “Oh!”
Everybody stared at her. She said, “Oh,” again.
Then, with all eyes upon her, she lifted her hands to the lace on her high collar, reached inside her gown, and seemed to grope for something.
“Do you mean this?”
Her fingers reappeared, dangling a thin golden chain. Suspended from the chain a large, glittering emerald winked at them, its facets catching light from the gas lamps in the lobby. Jed remembered that emerald well because it had rested between Tacita’s breasts when they’d made love. He eyed it with longing until a loud gasp made him jerk his attention away from it.
The gasp was so loud because it had issued from several throats at once. In fact, everybody present—except Luther, who was too tipsy, and Jed, who was too unhappy—had gasped at the sight of the emerald.
“Is this it?” Tacita asked again.
Luther nodded.
Agrawal stepped forward. Tacita closed her hand over the emerald and flung him a hot look. He stopped short and inhaled a sharp breath.
“You just wait a minute,” Tacita commanded.
Agrawal murmured, “As you wish, mademoiselle.” With a wave, he halted his henchmen, who had stepped forward also.
“Now,” Tacita said firmly. “I plan to get to the bottom of this. Jed—that is, Mr. Hardcastle and I have been plagued by people following us and bothering us and trying to snatch my dog and all sorts of things, and I don’t appreciate it one bit.” She glowered at everybody to let them know she meant business.
“I want to know once and for all: Was all that harassment perpetrated for the purpose of securing this emerald, given to me by my own beloved father right before he and my mother left for their last trip to India?” She paused to take a deep breath. “Is this the wretched Ham-And-Rye you keep blathering on about?”
In a dramatic gesture, Tacita held up the emerald, which twinkled like a bright green star as it twirled from her fingers. Another gasp went up.
Uncle Luther said, “Yesh.” He sounded utterly miserable.
Agrawal took another step forward. He took a jeweler’s glass from his left front pocket, lifted it to his right eye, and peered at the emerald dangling from its chain in Tacita’s hand.
Eyeing him, Tacita thought he looked quite grotesque with his eye magnified under the glass like that. She looked away because she knew it was impolite to stare.
Agrawal took a step back. He replaced his jeweler’s glass.
He said, “No.”
Luther said, his voice squeaking, “Yesh. Yesh. Thatsh it.”
Agrawal gave Luther a look filled with disgust. If Luther hadn’t been trying to crawl his way out of the potted plant, he might have been affected by it. “It musht be it. I shwear thatsh the one.”
Agrawal shrugged. “There is a vague resemblance, but this is definitely not the Delhi Hahm-Ahn-Der Eye. Don’t be absurd, man.”
The advice, though sound, came several months too late in Tacita’s estimation. She spoke severely to her uncle. “This is certainly not any goddess’s eye, Uncle Luther.”
Luther stammered feebly, “Itsh—itsh not? Are you absho—absho—are you absholuley shure?”
Tacita frowned at her uncle, dismayed at seeing him in such a deplorable state of intoxication. “My father and mother bought this emerald for me in Bombay, and had the setting made specially. They told me so. It’s the sweetest thing they ever did for me.” She had to swallow a lump in her throat as she thought about her parents. They’d always seemed to busy for her when they were with her, but they had remembered her from afar nevertheless. “The person they bought it from was a reputable jeweler. This emerald never once resided in a religious artifact. You know my parents would never deal in such stolen icons, and they hated the practice of robbing treasure from temples. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
For the space of several heartbeats, utter silence settled over the lobby of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco.
Then a high-pitched, keening wail slid from between Luther Adams Williamson’s lips. He fell backwards into the potted plant.
Farley Boskins said, “Son of a bitch.”
Virendra Karnik said, “Oh, my goodness gracious.”
Stagecoach Willy said, “Damn!”
Tacita, shocked to her toes, clamped her hand over the emerald to stop it bouncing against her bosom, and staggered back several steps.
Edgar Jevington Reeve, still standing apart from the jumble of men and Tacita, said, “Really, Miss Grantham, what is all this about?”
Rosamunda barked.
Prince Albert whined.
Avinash Agrawal’s air of suavity deteriorated into a grumpy pout. “This stone bears not the least resemblance to the Great Delhi Hahm-Ahn-Der Eye.” He sounded disgusted.
All hell broke loose.
Three unhappy villains lunged for Luther, who struggled vainly among the palm fronds. Clods of dirt flew out of the pot and landed on the lobby carpet. The registration clerk, eyeing them with horror, leapt over the counter and raced toward the fracas.
“Stop! Stop! You’re dirtying the carpet!”
Jed, who had been watching the whole scene with displeasure, decided enough was enough. Drawing
his gun from his waistband, he fired it once, into the soil of another potted plant.
The entire lobby froze into a tableau of absolute rigidity. For a moment, it was as if a god of winter had touched them all with his icy finger and paralyzed them into place. Not a creature stirred.
Except one.
From a corner of the lobby, where he’d been crouched, watching everything with intense interest, Cesare Cacciatore Picinisco stirred.
While everybody stood stock-still, motionless with shock, he crept towards Rosamunda. And Prince Albert.
Chapter 18
“All right, everybody shut up right now!”
Jed’s words were superfluous at this point, since he’d already scared all persons present speechless. He swept the assembled group with a militant eye.
For his money, he’d as soon shot somebody as not, but since nobody moved he guessed he couldn’t. Damn. All morning long he’d been itching to hurt something because he was in such a bad mood. It galled him to keep having his murderous impulses thwarted in this way. Every now and then, civilization really got on Jed’s nerves.
After making sure they all knew he was only sparing them because he had to and not because he wanted to, Jed stuffed his gun away again. Then he pinned a glare on Luther, who trembled on the floor next to the potted plant, having been hauled roughly out of it by Farley Boskins.
Jed nudged Luther’s toe with his boot. He wasn’t gentle about it. Luther shrank back. Sneering at this further show of Luther’s cowardice, Jed jerked his head towards him and said, “You. Tell your story.”
“I—I—I—” Luther’s wild-eyed gaze steadied after several panicky moments and fastened on Tacita. “I’m sorry, Tash—Tass.”
“For what?”
Jed’s gaze shot to Tacita’s face. He’d never heard her sound so implacable before. She looked implacable, too, and he silently applauded her for it. He’d feared she might take pity on this miserable excuse for a man just because he was her uncle.
Luther’s glance wobbled and fell. “I’m sh-sorry for trying to sell your em’rald to thish—this man.” He made a vague gesture in the approximate direction of Avinash Agrawal.
A moment of silence stretched between them. Then Tacita said, “You should be sorry, Uncle Luther.”
Fat tears leaked from Luther’s eyes. Jed didn’t feel sorry for him. Neither, apparently, did Tacita. She didn’t even bother trying to comfort him, but turned her attention to Agrawal.
“And you,” she said. “Who are you and what is this Eye that’s so important?”
“Avinash Agrawal, at your service, mademoiselle.”
“Don’t make me laugh!”
Tacita sounded altogether revolted by Agrawal’s facade of servility. Jed grinned. He was so proud of her. God, he loved her.
“Ahem. Yes, well, perhaps not at your service. I beg your pardon, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, stop waffling around and get on with it!”
Agrawal looked peeved. “Yes, ma’am. At any rate, your uncle, Mr. Williamson, agreed to secure for me—for an exceedingly large sum of money, I might add—the Delhi Hahm-Ahn-Der Eye, which, as I have already explained, was stolen from the shrine of the Great Goddess in Delhi. Mr. Williamson assured me that you were in possession of the Eye.”
Luther began to weep harder.
Tacita said, “Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he?”
Agrawal grimaced. “Yes. So it would seem.”
“So, I guess you can go away now and continue your search elsewhere, can’t you?” Tacita’s eyes narrowed. It looked to Jed as though she were daring Agrawal to dispute her assessment of the situation.
She noticed the appraising glance Agrawal gave her uncle and added, “And you will not hurt Uncle Luther, either.” She shot Luther a withering look. “I’ll take care of him.”
After a moment or two, during which Agrawal seemed to be evaluating Tacita, Luther, Jed, and his own henchmen, Agrawal bowed. “Yes, mademoiselle, I believe you will. I shall depart then.”
“Not so fast,” Jed cut in, usurping Tacita’s thunder, which made her frown. “You and the rest of your lot caused us a whole lot of trouble, Mr. Agrawal, and put us in danger more than once. Now I think the law’d be interested in you.”
Out came his gun again. This time, he aimed first at Agrawal’s henchmen, since he respected them more than any of these other fellows. “Drop ‘em,” he barked in a voice that had been known to make vicious Texas outlaws quake.
It worked on Agrawal’s henchmen, too. One of them dropped a large curved scimitar he’d pulled from a hidden scabbard. It made a soft thud on the hotel lobby’s carpet. His fellow lackey did likewise.
Jed directed his next question to the hotel clerk, who had picked himself up by this time and now stood, gaping, along with all the other people in the lobby who weren’t directly involved in the altercation. “You got someplace to store this sorry lot?”
“Yes, sir!” The clerk snapped to attention, clearly pleased to have been asked to participate. “Right here, sir!”
So Jed herded his diverse flock into the room the clerk indicated, and locked the door. He was somewhat uncertain about Luther’s fate among all these men who’d been led on by him, then decided he didn’t care. Neither, evidently, did Tacita, who muttered several scathing epithets to her uncle as he was being ushered into the room. Luther only hung his head in apparent shame. The useful emotion had attacked him a good deal too late, in Jed’s estimation.
The clerk secured a bellman and Jed gave him some money and a few concise instructions. He had just seen the bellman out the front door, intending to wait for the police before he unlocked the door to the makeshift prison, when a shriek startled him nearly out of his wits. Which wasn’t too difficult a task at present.
The clerk clapped his hands over his ears and uttered, “Holy moley.”
Jed didn’t bother speaking. He saw Tacita, hands pressed to her flaming cheeks, an anguished expression on her face, and all thought of anything but her safety deserted him. He began rushing to her side when another voice lifted into the lobby atmosphere, ululating a tenor counterpart to Tacita’s shrill soprano. Jed winced inside, but didn’t stop. Tacita needed him, and he was hers to command, screaming British pansies or no British screaming pansies.
# # #
This was it as far as Rosamunda was concerned. She had already taken more nonsense in a few short weeks than any self-respecting Yorkshire terrier—and Rosamunda didn’t know any other kind—should be expected to endure in lifetime. She’d been carted from the semi-civilized city of Galveston, Texas, to Powder Gulch in the overtly uncivilized New Mexico Territory, to Denver in the questionable Colorado Territory, to San Francisco, California. She’d been mauled and kidnapped and disparaged and virtually abandoned by Mistress, only to be kidnapped again—and by the very same scoundrel who’d done it the first time, what’s more.
The dastardly Mr. Cesare had snatched her and Prince Albert right up from the lobby floor while nobody was looking. Which just went to demonstrate yet again the abysmal priorities displayed by human beings who ought to know better. Now, as if they were twin sacks of flour instead of championship Yorkshire terriers, Mr. Cesare was loping off with her under one arm and Prince Albert under another.
Well, Rosamunda was through with Mr. Cesare. She was through with Tacita and Jed. In fact, she was through with all of them. No longer would Rosamunda, descendent of the great Huddersfield Ben himself, rely upon the tender mercies of the humans who were supposed to be her protectors.
Because she was so small, it was difficult for her to wriggle herself forward to view Prince Albert over Picinisco’s paunch, but she managed. She noted with satisfaction that Prince Albert had conceived of the same idea. This was a Yorkshire terrier she would be proud to have father her children. They exchanged one meaningful glance.
Then, to the sounds of the hot pursuit Jed and Tacita were undertaking behind them and Edgar Jevington Reeve’s pitiful cries, and working tog
ether as a precisely synchronized team, they attacked.
Jed watched Rosamunda and her intended with an abiding sense of appreciation. Old Rosie might be a pain in the ass. She might attack the wrong people nine-tenths of the time, and she might hate his own personal guts, but by God, there was no way on this earth Jed could fail to respect her resolution. If he wasn’t so busy, he’d have applauded.
As two sets of doggy teeth set to work on him, Picinisco’s screams of pain and terror blended with the chaotic sounds already echoing throughout the Palace Hotel’s plush lobby. Jed saw one Yorkie balancing on his shoulder and chewing on his earlobe and another solidly gnawing its way though his arm and grinned, silently congratulating Rosamunda and Prince Albert for their attention to detail.
Right before he struck, Jed shouted, “Jump, Rosie!” Then he launched himself into a tackle that had felled galloping cows back home in Busted Flush during their annual branding round-up. Picinisco crashed to the floor, his chin skidding on the lobby carpet. His shriek bounced off the walls.
With a skill honed over years of hard practice, Jed snatched the rope from his belt and had the villain’s feet and hands tied before the average person could blink twice. Leaping back from his fallen foe, he thrust his arms in the air, as if to show a judge he’d completed his task in under the time allotted for the purpose.
Tacita was right behind him, tears streaming down her face. Without even pausing in her flight, she kicked Picinisco in the stomach and grabbed her pet. Then she stood there, sobbing into Rosamunda’s fur and aiming kicks at exposed areas of Picinisco’s body as he rolled this way and that, trying to avoid her and being unsuccessful more often than not because he’d been bound up so tightly.
Once he had ascertained that Rosamunda and Tacita were all right, Jed turned his attention to Prince Albert. He was satisfied to note that the prince was attending to parts of Picinisco’s body Tacita couldn’t reach with the pointed toe of her boot.
“Good for you,” he said. Turning, he noted with disdain that Jeeves still lagged behind, his mincing run enough to make any red-blooded American male gag. And Tacita was going to marry him? Jed’s stomach turned over at the thought.