Jessie glanced over his shoulder as the angry creature gave up and stood watching Crowbait pick a treacherous path down the mountain. More creatures joined the kobold on the mountaintop, and as the nag and her passengers steadily descended to the safer lower depths, all he could see were flashing iridescent dots above them.
Joseph’s shack was dark but for a few flickering candles. The strong smell of bitter herbs filled the room. One of Tokota’s concoctions, though Abigail had brewed her own reviving tea that she’d forced on Grace and Jessie. Kaga lay sprawled on Joseph’s cot. His wounds had been cleaned but were raw and red. Grace and Joseph sat at the small table, Abigail hovered over Kaga, and Jessie leaned near the doorway. His gaze was fixed on Joseph’s wooden plaque. Grace shifted in her chair and drew a sharp breath of pain. Jessie’s eyes flicked to her, and his lips thinned as he saw fresh blood had soaked through the clean bandage wrapped around her neck. Dark smudges shadowed her eyes, and she sat slumped at the table. Still, when she noticed his attention, her lips turned up into her wry half-smile, and Jessie’s heart skipped a beat. He breathed in and caught her unique Grace-scent of myrrh and leather.
“It’s likely they’ve been eating everything the townsfolk hunted or foraged for. Likely they’ve been eating the townsfolk too. There’s a whole mess of bones up in that shaft,” Grace said.
Abigail’s eyes widened. “Then they’re being fed by Mister Boothe.”
“Likely,” Grace said. “Course he could claim ignorance of the whole sorry affair.”
“We need proof of his involvement,” Joseph said.
“P’shaw! What more proof do you need than this?” Grace exclaimed, pointing at the bloody kerchief around her throat.
Jessie frowned. “Anyone who don’t believe in Boothe’s skullduggery should take a walk up that mountain.”
Joseph sighed. “I know that. You know that. But the townsfolk... The glimmer of gold is a hard mistress. Course it’d be irrefutable if we could somehow show them Mister Boothe’s hand in all this.”
Jessie nodded glumly. “How though? It ain’t likely Aaron Boothe’s just gonna openly admit to thievery and monster wrangling.”
Grace drew Justice and slammed it on the able. Abigail jumped and Joseph eyed the cannon with distaste. “Here’s how we get our proof,” Grace said.
Joseph scowled. “No. No shooting.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. “After what we been through I’ll damn well shoot whoever I—”
“Maybe he’s right, Grace,” Jessie said quietly.
Grace’s angry eyes flashed to Jessie, and before she could speak he murmured, “We don’t want another Whitestand Hollow.”
Grace flicked her tongue against her teeth. She stared at Jessie for a long time before rudely snatching Justice from the table and thrusting it in her holster.
Jessie silently released the breath he’d been holding and looked at his hands.
“What we need is to get into that manor of his and have a peep at what’s inside,” he said.
Abigail’s brows rose. “How do you propose to do that? Mister Boothe don’t let us common folk up near Boothe Manor. You gotta be some biggity muck muck to have that honor.”
Grace’s head snapped up and her wry smile came back to her lips. “Or an indescribable beauty.”
Jessie’s gaze slid over Grace and he frowned. “Ruby? You cain’t send Ruby up there on her lonesome! She ain’t a fighter.”
Grace shook her head. “Not with her fists she ain’t, but that’s not the only weapon at her disposal...besides, I wouldn’t dream of sending her alone. You’ll go with her, Jessie.”
“Me?”
“Sure. You handled the French-pox addled, shit-licking Hellspawn well enough.”
Heat bloomed up Jessie’s neck and crept across his face as he lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Abigail murmured and crossed herself. Even the composed Joseph widened his eyes at the vulgarity.
Grace snorted and slapped Jessie’s arm. He raised his gaze to find her grinning.
“Thanks, Jessie. You did a crack job back there.” Grace said. He was stunned to hear the rasp in her tone that indicated she was genuinely choked up.
Jessie’s blush deepened as he stumbled over his tongue to try and find the words to answer her. Before he could speak, Kaga whimpered and Grace leaped out of her seat and rushed to the wolf’s side.
Jessie frowned and swung his gaze out the door. He’d won her praise, finally. Done the unthinkable and snaffled her attention...and Kaga had usurped her attention with one breath. As the rest of the plan unfolded to get inside Boothe manor, Jessie glowered and brooded on dark thoughts.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
La Chatte Affamee had been the grandest house Jessie had ever stepped foot in...until he entered Boothe Manor.
The white-washed estate dominated the mountainside and provided an excellent vantage point over Barren Banks from all nineteen windows that dotted the facade. The cavernous vestibule was supported by massive columns that ensconced a handsome set of double doors. A plain green lawn sprawled out before the manor, and the front path was edged with colorful wildflowers. It seemed the gardeners of the Boothe estate weren’t shy about using water to keep the gardens beautiful.
Lumière and Paul were led away by grooms, and Ruby allowed Boothe’s guardsman to slip his arm through hers as he escorted her up the steps and into Boothe Manor. Jessie tried not to gawk at the extravagance surrounding him, but everywhere he looked he spied a new luxury he’d never laid eyes on before. He was drawn to a mahogany gun case propped up on a mantelpiece and peered at the stunningly detailed five-shot gun nestled in crushed emerald velvet. A copperplate plaque declared the masterpiece was a 3rd Model Colt Dragoon. Jessie whistled through his teeth, half wildly envious, half deeply enamored at the sight of the rare gun.
A polite cough drew his attention, and Jessie fell in behind the armed guardsman as he led them to the base of a dominating staircase. Jessie gazed up, past the glittering chandelier, and focused on the man in black who strolled down the steps.
Aaron Boothe took efficient steps, neither hurried nor dawdling, and kept his gaze fixed on Jessie and Ruby as he moved. Jessie expected a booming voice and extravagant greeting from the man who resided in such luxury. He was surprised when Boothe simply stepped before them and nodded awkwardly. He wasn’t overly tall or stocky, but he had a paunch around his midriff. His clothes were expensive and tailored but seemed to sit ill on his hunched frame. His face was lined, his lips particularly so. The lines indicated a penchant for grimacing. Queer pale eyes peered out from heavy-hooded lids, and a shock of lank, greasy hair fell in front of his left eye. With black-gloved hands, Boothe swept up Ruby’s hand and pressed it to his lips.
“A pleasure Miss...”
“Lefeuvre. Ruby Cherie Lefeuvre.”
Something that might have been a smile crept across Boothe’s lips. Jessie cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. Boothe lowered Ruby’s hand and turned to Jessie. After a long moment, he lightly touched Jessie’s hand and gave him a limp shake. He did not ask Jessie’s name.
“Welcome to Barren Banks. I am the mayor and I make it my business to know all the visitors who come through my town. Though I do notice not all of your little party are accounted for.”
Ruby smiled and said, “Ah, weh, I have retainers who accompanied me. They are nothing but hired help. Bodyguards, if you will.”
Boothe gazed at Ruby and said, “And just where are you traveling to, my dear?”
“The city of angels, of course. A new, young city, exciting and exotic. The perfect place to set up a new business venture, wouldn’t you agree, Mister Boothe?”
Boothe inclined his head but said nothing. He studied Ruby for a moment, then lightly touched her elbow. “Forgive me for being remiss, Miss Lefeuvre. Please join me in the parlor for supper and refreshments. I would very much like to hear about this business venture of yours.”
Ruby smiled sweetly and slid her hand onto Boothe
’s arm. “With pleasure.”
Boothe and Ruby wandered deeper into the manor. Jessie trotted behind them and didn’t fail to notice Boothe’s escort silently slip away.
Jessie slurped onion soup off his spoon, then flushed as he realized his faux pas. He raised his gaze and mumbled, “Sorry, sirs. Ma’am.”
Aaron Boothe’s impassive, clear gaze rolled off Jessie and went back to Ruby. The lady of the house, however, glared at Jessie with poorly concealed contempt. Boothe’s sons, William and Richard, similarly stared at Jessie, though their gazes were filled with cool curiosity rather than hostility. Missus Boothe didn’t keep her narrowed eyes fixed on Jessie for long; as soon as his soup slurping ceased, she turned her gaze straight back on Ruby. Her lips twisted in an ugly sneer.
Ruby tilted her head back and laughed delightedly at Boothe’s monotone anecdote. He sat at the head of the table and leaned too close to Ruby and spoke in a low tone. Missus Boothe had a white-knuckled grip on her soup spoon. Jessie might not have been schooled in the ways of gentrified folk, but he knew jealousy when he saw it.
“So, ah, boys. What is it you all do around here? Help your pa in the mines? Or is there a schoolhouse around these parts?”
The boys scrutinized Jessie but neither answered. Long seconds stretched out in silence except for the low murmur of Boothe and Ruby.
“The boys are homeschooled,” Missus Boothe said in a chilly tone that tone suggested the matter was closed. No further discussion required.
Jessie sighed and looked down at the silverware on the table. Why did rich folk need so many eating irons just to shovel in grub?
“You mentioned you came from the east. Where east, my dear?” Boothe asked in his low monotone voice.
If Ruby bristled at the odious “my dear” she didn’t reveal it. She stabbed a crumb on an elegant long-tined fork and raised it to her lips. She sucked the silver fork in a manner far too provocative for common company. Boothe’s gaze was fixated on her glistening lips as they slid along the tine. A loud clink of china jarred the moment. Jessie glanced at Missus Boothe, who sat straight as a poker in her high-backed chair. She’d slammed down her bowl with such force, hot soup had sloshed over her pale skin. Boothe’s gaze rolled over his wife and his lips thinned.
Ruby lowered her fork. “The bayous of Louisiana.”
Boothe swung his attention back to her and blinked for a moment. He smiled and leaned in to Ruby. “Marvelous country. So...steamy.”
Ruby’s long lashes brushed her cheeks.
Jessie frowned. He knew why Ruby was playing the game of the panting courtesan with Aaron Boothe; it was part of the plan to distract and titillate the man. He just hated seeing her do it—especially now he knew her full tragic background and what it had cost to throw off her seductive act back in Temerity. It seemed somehow dirty and obscene to see the woman who’d overcome her horrific personal demons reduced to fawning over the likes of Aaron Boothe. And what made it worse was her shamelessly doing it in front of the man’s wife and children.
Of course, the alternative would’ve been to allow Grace to charge in, guns blazing, and deliver Justice and Mercy to Aaron Boothe, and invite another senseless war like Whitestand Hollow.
Jessie chewed his cheek as Ruby broke into a girlish giggle when Boothe muttered something only they could hear. He glanced sideways at Missus Boothe. Her head was bowed and she methodically stirred her soup.
Jessie sighed and picked up his spoon. Surely this was the better alternative...wasn’t it?
Jessie splashed water on his face, once more overwhelmed at the decadence in Aaron Boothe’s manor. Indoor plumbing. Running water. These were luxuries Jessie had rarely known in his life, and it was hard to remember the plight of the folk mere meters below him when he was ensconced in such comfort.
Missus Boothe and the children had retired shortly after dessert was served. Jessie, stuffed on cream of onion soup, filet mignon, soufflé potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms, had turned down the hot mince pie and coffee. Instead, he’d begged the need to use the facilities and was guided to a grand downstairs restroom. He lifted up his shirt and examined his distended belly. He burped and tasted onion. There was no thin rodent stew on Aaron Boothe’s table, that was for sure. Jessie frowned as he looked in the mirror at his bloated belly. Boothe wore a paunch across his midriff. Missus and Messrs. Boothe were all politely plump, and even Boothe’s longriders appeared well fed. The food being directed up the mountain to the mine seemed to be making a stop off at Boothe Manor. Or Boothe was getting in food elsewhere. Either way, the man had plenty of coin to splash about on good grub.
Jessie had an inkling that the kind of coin needed to live this high on the hog had to come from gold. Boothe might have come to Barren Banks with coin of his own, but why stay and persist tapping a dry vein while wasting away his own stash of savings? More likely, the man had cracked the vein and was keeping every gold drop it spilled.
Jessie chewed his lip in thought. He could bring news of Boothe’s ridiculous wealth back to Joseph and be well believed. Joseph wasn’t the problem. It was the other folk of Barren Banks. The stubborn, deluded fools holding out for the promise of riches beyond their wildest dreams. Jessie was sure that in their heart of hearts they knew there would be no gold. They knew that Boothe lived high while they toiled and wasted away. But as long as there was the promise of gold, the lure of wealth, they would never act against Boothe.
Such was the greed of man.
What he needed was solid, irrefutable evidence he could shove in their faces and force them to open their eyes. Jessie gazed at the reflection and wondered if the young lad in the mirror had the guts to do what needed doing. He looked at the flinty eyes staring back at him. He nodded, and his double nodded at the same time.
“Me oh my! What in the Lord’s sake is that?!” Jessie cried out.
The bathroom door flew open and his escort piled in, gun drawn and a dark scowl across his face. He scanned the room and looked at Jessie.
“What’d you see, boy?” the guardsman roared. He didn’t look like the sort of man to mess with. Jessie pointed at the flushing water closet.
“There! Snake!”
The guardsman’s face clouded with a series of expressions, shock, horror, confusion. He started toward the water closet, then hesitated. Jessie waved him on. The guardsman approached the mahogany lid and nudged it open with the toe of his boot. He leaned over and peered into the bowl. It took exactly three seconds for him to realize he’d been duped. It took four seconds for Jessie to bring the Colt down hard on the back of the dude’s neck. There was a sickening crunch when the grip hit the base of the man’s skull, and another crunch when his head hit the porcelain water closet. The guardsman sprawled beside the bowl face down and didn’t move.
Jessie didn’t waste any time; he buried the Colt in his waistband and crept to the door. He peered into the long hall to see if the commotion had drawn any interest.
All was quiet.
He slipped into the hall and drew the restroom door closed with a soft snib. His heart hammered behind his ribcage as he gazed down the long hall bedecked with dour portraits and antiques. He crept on the balls of his feet and came up beside the entry into the grand parlor. He’d need to creep past to get to the other wing. He pressed himself against the wall, steeled his resolve, and then peered around the doorframe.
Ruby sat with her elbows propped up on the dining table, her chin cupped in her hands. Her green gaze was fixed on Boothe. He sat in profile to Jessie and gesticulated as he spoke. If he glanced to the right, Jessie would be spied. Ruby’s gaze flicked up momentarily, then settled on Boothe. Jessie frowned. Had she seen him? He hesitated on the threshold, unsure whether to creep across the hallway and risk being seen or try to find a way to distract Aaron Boothe. His sleeve cuff scraped against the wallpaper. Jessie drew a breath as Boothe cocked his head to the side.
Ruby suddenly lunged across the table and grabbed Boothe’s head in her hands. She pulle
d his face to hers and pressed her lips against his. Even from a distance, Jessie could see Boothe’s stiff reaction; his back was ramrod straight and his hands curled tight around a napkin. Then slowly he began to relax and went from stunned victim to aggressor. His mouth worked to overpower Ruby’s and he snatched her wrists. He pulled her hands away from his ears and dragged her closer. Ruby went willingly and, in a graceful maneuver, was quickly positioned in Boothe’s lap with his face buried in her cleavage. She looked over his head and into Jessie’s eyes.
“Go!” she mouthed and flicked her wrist.
Jessie nodded dumbly, though it took another sharp gesture from Ruby to get him moving.
Again he wondered whose way was better at accomplishing things, Grace and her guns or Ruby and her charms?
Jessie skittered across the hallway and into the southern wing of the Boothe estate.
Aaron Boothe was a sadist. Or so Jessie had come to believe.
While the overt, open part of his manor home was stately and sophisticated, Jessie had stumbled onto a seedy underbelly that belied the sophistication and genteel manner of its owner. His first inkling had been when he’d stumbled into a room filled with African statues and trophies. The carved wooden idols had given Jessie the jimmies, but when he realized the tiny, shrunken heads in the display cases were actual human heads that had been malformed by some dark hoodoo, Jessie had blanched and quickly crept through the room. It turned out the African room was the least disturbing of Boothe’s penchants. Jessie had wandered through rooms that housed preserved native men and women, rooms that had photographs lining the walls—photographs of unsmiling men stood beside gallows where dark-skinned men swung. Wherever there was suffering and distaste, it seemed Boothe had a shrine set aside for it in his home.
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