by Sharpe, Jon
“Trying to be nice.”
“Now I’ve heard everything,” Creed said. “Skye Fargo has turned Quaker.”
Fargo could have kicked him.
“Not that I won’t accept your generosity,” Lacey said. “It’s the least you can do. I wiped off that drink you dumped on me but I’ve felt sticky all damn day.”
“I like it when a woman is sticky,” Creed said. “It shows she’s interested.”
“The things that come out of your mouth,” Lacey said.
“It’s the things that go in that I like.” Creed grinned and winked.
“You wouldn’t think it was so funny if he’d dumped that drink on you.”
“Poor baby,” Vin Creed said.
“Maybe not so poor by this time tomorrow. That one hundred thousand will do me just fine.”
“You have to beat me to win it and that’s not going to happen,” Creed assured her.
“Keep dreaming,” Lacey taunted.
Fargo turned his back to the bar and leaned on his elbows. Most of the spectators had left and the saloon was quiet save for the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation. He looked at Lacey. “I hear you like sailors.”
Her puzzlement seemed genuine. “Care to explain that?”
“Short man, a lot of muscle, you were talking to him a few nights ago.”
“I was?”
“So I heard.” Fargo didn’t elaborate.
“I talk to a lot of men.”
“So you don’t know him? His name is Jules.”
“Jules?” Lacey said, her forehead puckered. “No, I don’t re—” She stopped. “Oh, wait. There was a rude little runt who propositioned me the other night. Came right up and asked me how much it would cost. Can you imagine? The nerve of some people.”
“The way you dress, you can’t blame him,” Vin Creed said.
Lacey’s cheeks became pink. “What’s wrong with how I dress?”
“Nothing at all, my dear,” Creed said. “I love it when a woman’s tits try to jump into my mouth.”
“You’re despicable.”
Creed laughed. “My dear woman, you have no idea.”
15
On the way to the mansion Fargo suspected he was being followed. He didn’t see anyone behind him. He didn’t hear another horse. But he still had a sense that someone was back there. Twice he drew rein at the side of the road and waited but no one appeared.
The mansion was lit up bright. The Deerforths were entertaining and parked carriages lined the gravel loop for a hundred yards.
Fargo stripped the Ovaro and fed it oats. He was heading out of the stable when someone whispered his name above him.
It was Roselyn, on her hands and knees at the edge of the hayloft. “What are you doing up there, girl?”
“Not so loud,” she said, grinning. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m out here.” She beckoned. “Come on up.”
Fargo reminded himself she was only fourteen and said, “Another time. I figured I might turn in early.”
“Please. I want to talk to you.”
By the time Fargo reached the top of the ladder she was over by the loft door, peeking out at the mansion. He walked over and hunkered. “What are you up to?”
“I’m spying on the people who are coming and going.”
Fargo would have thought she was a little old for such nonsense. All he said was, “Having fun?”
“Oh, I’m not doing it for that. I want to prove to Garvin that I was right and he’s wrong.”
“About what?”
“The man I saw staring in my bedroom window.”
As Fargo recollected, her room was on the second floor. “Did he sprout wings and fly up?”
“Very funny,” Roselyn said, not sounding at all amused. “But I saw him clear as anything. About two hours ago, it was. I was at my desk writing in my diary and I looked over and he was staring in at me. It gave me a frightful start.”
“What did you do?”
“When I collected my wits I went over but he wasn’t there. I ran downstairs to tell my mother and saw Garvin so I told him. We went outside and under my window. There wasn’t anyone around.”
“Did Garvin have the grounds searched?”
“He didn’t think there was any need. He refused to believe me. He said that someone would need a ladder to get to my window and a ladder would leave marks and there weren’t any. He said I must have imagined it.”
Fargo was inclined to agree with Garvin. “What did this man look like?”
“All I saw was his face and shoulders. He had dark hair and a funny little cap.”
“Cap?”
“Yes. You know, one of those small round caps like seamen wear. I forget what they call them.”
Fargo was all interest. “What about the man himself?”
Roselyn shrugged. “He had dark hair and dark eyes. Oh, and his teeth stuck out.”
“Buckteeth?”
“I think that’s what they call them, yes.”
Fargo sat back and tried to make sense of it. The description fit Ranson. But why would Ranson stare in the girl’s window? Was he some sort of Peeping Tom? Some men got excited by that sort of thing.
“Do you believe me or are you like Garvin?”
“I believe you,” Fargo said.
“You do?” Roselyn clasped her hands and squealed in delight. “Thank you. Maybe you can help me convince Garvin.”
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Fargo said. “If that man is still around, it’s not safe.”
“Do you think he wants to harm me?”
“I have no idea what he’s up to,” Fargo admitted. “But it sounds like one of the men who is out to kill me.”
“Oh my,” Roselyn said.
“That’s putting it mildly.” Rising, Fargo held out his hand. “Let’s go. I’m taking you in. Then I’ll have a look around.”
The first floor of the mansion was packed with people.
The Deerforths loved to entertain, and when the legislature wasn’t in session, they held several social events each month.
Fargo and Roselyn were starting up the stairs when someone called Roselyn’s name, and Ginny swept out of the parlor wearing a dress fit for a queen.
“My dear child, where have you been?” she said, embracing her daughter. “I’ve had Garvin looking all over for you.”
“I went out for some air, Mother,” Roselyn said.
Ginny held her at arm’s length. “You shouldn’t go traipsing off without telling me.”
“I’m nearly grown,” Roselyn said. “Surely I can go for a walk whenever I want?”
“Of course, child, of course.” Ginny kissed her on the cheek. “But it’s getting late and you should be in bed.”
“That’s where I’m heading.”
Ginny straightened and put her hand on Fargo’s arm. “And you, my dear friend. You’ll join me in the parlor?”
“In a while maybe,” Fargo said.
Ginny motioned at the talking, smiling people. “Marion lives for these affairs. He loves to socialize. Part of the reason he’s in politics, I suspect.” She turned. “Well, I suppose I better mingle. See you later.”
Fargo led Roselyn upstairs. At the landing she stopped and frowned.
“Mother and Father might like these affairs but I don’t. All the noise and the liquor. I can do without that, thank you very much.”
“I thought girls your age love parties.”
“One or two a year I wouldn’t have a problem with,” Roselyn said. “But thirty or more is a little much.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for believing me. Please let me know what you find.”
Fargo promised he would. He went downstairs and along the hall to the kitchen. Helping himself to a lamp, he went out the back door and around until he was under the girl’s window. Sinking to one knee, he examined the grass. He noticed that in two spots the grass was flattened as if by a heavy weight. He could be wrong, but it looked to him as if a ladder ha
d been put there. And whoever did it had wrapped pieces of cloth or burlap around the bottom so the edges wouldn’t dig into the dirt.
“I’ll be damned,” Fargo said.
16
The senator was in the parlor, a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other, regaling his constituents, and he didn’t appear particularly happy when Fargo nudged him and said that they needed to talk in private. Deerforth excused himself and ushered Fargo to a far corner.
“Why so somber, my friend? Don’t tell me there’s been another attempt on your life?”
“No,” Fargo said, and explained about Roselyn and the face at her window and the flattened grass.
Deerforth tipped the glass to his mouth, and frowned. “Let me be sure I understand this. You seriously believe that one of the men who tried to murder you was spying on my daughter?”
Fargo nodded.
“To what purpose? How is she involved?”
“I wish to hell I knew.”
“On the face of it, it seems preposterous.” Deerforth gnawed his lower lip. “Then again, I can’t afford to ignore it. I’ll have Garvin post a man outside below her room. That should discourage whoever they are. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He walked off to find the overseer.
Fargo made his way to the stairs. As his hand fell on the banister, a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Where are you off to, handsome?” Lacey Mayhare had a drink and a tipsy smile on her pretty face.
“What do you want, bitch?”
Lacey took a step back. “Here now. Is that any way to talk to someone you’ve shared your bed with?”
“You do remember handcuffing me to the bedpost?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still upset? Goodness, you hold a grudge.” Lacey laughed and smacked his arm. “Come on. I’ll get you a drink.”
“No.” Fargo started up again but she snatched his sleeve. “Let go.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘eat, drink and be merry’?”
“You played me for a sucker last night. It won’t happen twice.”
“I apologize, all right? It’s not as if you were hurt by it.”
Fargo placed his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. “Lacey, when I call you a bitch, I mean it. You think of yourself first and everyone else last. You lie. You cheat.”
“So?”
“So I’d be a jackass to make the same mistake twice. Go find someone else to toy with. I don’t want anything more to do with you.”
“Aren’t you mister high and mighty? I have half a mind to punch you.”
“But you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll punch back and I hit a lot harder.”
Lacey sniffed and tilted her nose into the air and marched into the parlor.
“Good riddance,” Fargo said to himself. He climbed to Roselyn’s room and knocked on the door.
She asked who it was and opened it a crack. She was bundled in a robe.
“I was just about to turn in.”
Fargo told her about his find, and that her father was posting a guard.
“Thank you, Skye,” she said in obvious relief. “I can’t wait to tell Garvin I was right.”
“Keep your door bolted, just in case,” Fargo advised.
Roselyn opened the door wider and reached out and squeezed his hand. “I do so like you,” she said. “You’re a lot nicer than everyone says.”
“Hell.” Fargo went around the corner and along an adjoining hallway to his own room. He was ready for sleep. Tomorrow was the last day of the tournament and he needed to be sharp. He was about to open his door when someone called to him and Virginia Deerforth bustled up.
“Here you are. I wanted to talk to you in person. Marion just told me about the man at my daughter’s window.”
“I don’t know any more than I told him,” Fargo informed her, and thinking that was the end of it, he gripped the latch to go in.
“Wait,” Ginny said. “You can’t imagine how upset I am. Roselyn is everything to me.”
“You’re a good mother,” Fargo said, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
“I had her late in life, as you well know. It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. There were complications and for a while the doctor feared I might lose her.”
Fargo didn’t want to hear this. “Ginny—”
“They had to cut me. I was near delirious from the pain and my life was in danger. They were afraid the ordeal of giving birth would kill me.”
“Ginny,” Fargo said again.
“You’re a man so you have no idea what it was like. My first and only ever child. The doctor said I can never have another. And after all those years of trying. Marion and I never did find out if it was him or me. That I finally became pregnant surprised him immensely.” Ginny stopped and seemed to be gazing into far distances. Then, smiling anxiously, she said, “What was I talking about?”
“You should go lie down,” Fargo suggested.
“I can’t. I have my hostess duties.” Ginny wrung her hands. “I’m sorry to be such a bother. I don’t have many people I can talk to and you listen so well.” She turned to go but paused. “It’s not as if we always have a choice, is it? Life forces us against our will. Given our druthers, a lot of us would live differently than we do.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ginny smiled. “I’m sorry, again. I do tend to blather when I’m flustered. Chalk it up to an old woman’s eccentricities. Good night and sweet dreams.”
Fargo watched her walk off. He shook his head in bemusement and opened the door. The bedroom was dark. He’d left the lamp lit and figured the maid had extinguished it when she tidied up. He left the door open and took a step toward the table—and an arm looped around his throat.
17
Fargo got a hand up and grabbed the arm and glimpsed the glint of steel. He seized his attacker’s wrist and stopped the tip from slicing into his chest. Before he could throw the man off, a foot hooked him behind his leg and he was tripped and flung to the floor. His attacker held onto his throat. He rolled, or tried to.
“Got you this time,” the man hissed in his ear.
Fargo recognized the voice; it was Jules. He heaved upward but couldn’t break free. The knife inched closer. Twisting, he rammed his elbow into Jules’s ribs. It had no effect. He did it again, and a third time, and Jules grunted and his grip slackened. Not a lot but enough that Fargo sucked in a breath.
Fargo knew that Jules’s face was right behind him; tucking his chin, he rammed his head straight back. Jules cried out and wet drops spattered Fargo’s neck. With both hands he grabbed Jules’s knife arm at the wrist and wrenched with all his strength. There was a crack. Again Jules cried out, and the knife fell to the floor. Jules’s other arm was still around Fargo’s throat but it didn’t stop Fargo from twisting and smashing his elbow against Jules’s jaw. Jules released him and scrambled to recover the knife.
“Not this time,” Fargo said. He drew and fired as Jules gripped the hilt, fired as Jules spun toward him, fired as Jules raised the blade. The last slug caught Jules in the forehead.
Jules’s sailor’s cap and a lot of hair and gore sprayed the quilt.
The body pitched over with a thud.
Fargo sat on the bed. If he hadn’t gotten his hand up in time he’d be the one lying there bleeding like a stuck pig.
Shouts rose from all quarters. Feet pounded, and Senator Deerforth yelled, “Where did those shots come from?”
Someone must have told him because Deerforth filled the doorway. “My word,” he blurted. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” Fargo said.
“Is he—?” The senator entered and pressed a finger to Jules’s throat. “I should say he is. But what was he doing here?”
Fargo stared.
“No. You misunderstand,” Deerforth said. “What I really want to know is how he got into your room?”
Of more interest to Fa
rgo was how Jules knew which room he was in.
“I shudder to think he just walked into my home without anyone seeing him.”
The hall was jammed. Ginny squeezed through the press, took one look, and turned away with a gasp of horror.
Garvin Oster loomed behind her, a revolver strapped around his waist. “I was out at the stable and heard shots.” He came in and stood over the body and looked at Fargo. “This makes, what, the third time he tried to kill you? You must have been born under a lucky star, mister.”
Senator Deerforth faced those peering in. “I’ll have to ask all of you to go back downstairs.”
When no one moved, Garvin waded into them. “You heard the senator. Clear the hall.”
Some muttered but they went.
“We’ll have to leave the body where it is for right now,” Senator Deerforth said. “I’ll send for the marshal. He should be here inside of an hour and we can get to the bottom of this.”
Fargo doubted it. He began to reload.
“I must say, you’re terribly calm for a man who has just taken a life.”
“I’m going to take a couple more.”
“What makes you say that?”
Fargo nodded at the body. “He had a pard. And someone put them up to it.”
“You can’t just up and kill them.” Deerforth was going to say more but his wife reappeared, pale as a sheet, her fingers splayed over her bosom. “Virginia, dear, you shouldn’t be in here.”
Ginny ignored him. She stepped to the dead man and touched his arm with the toe of her shoe. “Just like that,” she said.
“Come away.” Deerforth put his arm over her shoulders, only to have her shake it off. “What is the matter with you?”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes, we can see that. He tried to murder Fargo and got his comeuppance. It’s nothing to be distraught about.”
Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes. “An hour ago he was a living, breathing human being.”
“Yes, well, if he wanted to go on breathing, he shouldn’t go around trying to kill people.”
“He was alive,” Ginny said, “and now he’s not.”
Senator Deerforth glanced at Fargo and tapped a finger to his temple. He then placed his arm around his wife again. “You’re befuddled, dear. The shock has gotten to you. I insist you let me take you to your room so you can rest. I’ll have tea or warm milk brought.”