“Is Mrs. Cunningham still serving breakfast?”
“She was about to put it away, but I convinced her to hold it until I woke you.”
“Tell her I’ll be down shortly.” I closed the door with a firm snap.
I shaved, scrubbed, dressed, and ran down the stairs. The dining room was empty except for Maggie and Mrs. Cunningham. The two sat close together, their heads bent in even closer. As I entered, they straightened abruptly as if I had caught them conspiring. Perhaps I had.
Mrs. Cunningham immediately stood. “Take a seat, Mr. Dancy. You can eat a biscuit until I bring you the rest of your meal.”
“Have you eaten, Maggie?”
“Hours ago.”
What was I in for? I had checked my watch as I dressed, and it was half past eight o’clock. Not sunrise, but I had certainly not “slept the morning away.”
I plopped into a chair and grabbed a biscuit. Maggie slid a crystal dish of preserves in my direction. Both were superb. If this was any indication, Mrs. Cunningham knew how to cook.
In a few minutes, Mrs. Cunningham returned and distributed several bowls in front of me. One held steaming porridge, another two boiled eggs. It was the third bowl that caught my attention. “An orange?”
“You mean, where did I find fruit way out here in the wilderness?” She looked pleased with herself. “Yuma. That’s a navel orange from Brazil. They grow quite well along the Mexican border.”
I grabbed the orange and peeled it, dropping the skin into the bowl. It was cold and juicy and sweet. I had seldom tasted anything so good. I hadn’t eaten an orange since New York City, and it was an unanticipated pleasure. Mrs. Cunningham smiled in satisfaction before retreating to her kitchen.
After I finished my meal, I looked up to see Maggie watching me with interest. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, took a sip of coffee, and looked back at her with what I hoped was an expression of disinterest.
“I propose we start with Mr. Winslow,” she said without preamble.
“Why?”
“I don’t like him.”
“This is what you learned from your extensive experience with the Pinkertons?”
She was only flustered for a moment before saying, “He thinks he’s going to be president someday. Protecting his precious reputation is motive.”
“I’m sorry to inform you, but your father is still in charge of this investigation. He instructed me to find out what I could about George Blanchet. Since he also said we were to work together, that means you’ll accompany me today as we find out what we can about the esteemed counselor of Prescott, Arizona.”
“What about Mr. Winslow?”
“Your father said he would personally look into Mr. Winslow. Now, I intend to follow your father’s instructions. If you want to participate in this case with me, you need to assure me that you will do the same.”
“How do you propose we start?”
“Did I miss your assurance?”
“Mr. Dancy, Captain McAllen is not only the supervisor of this investigation, he is my father. Need I say more?”
“You do.” I sipped the last remnants of my coffee while I continued to put on an appearance of indifference.
Finally, I got a glowering response. “You seem to be a very annoying man, Mr. Dancy. Very well, if you insist. I give you my assurance that I will abide by my father’s instructions.”
“Which includes doing what I tell you. No sleuthing on your own. Captain Joseph McAllen’s orders. Do you understand?”
For a moment, I thought she was going to argue, but then she gave me what appeared to be a genuine smile and said, “I understand.”
I was about to demand something beyond an understanding but decided it would be wasted effort. I would just need to keep her close at hand. Maybe if she felt engaged, she would be more obedient. It was worth a try.
“Tell me what you know about Mr. Blanchet,” I asked.
“He’s not a very good lawyer, but he knows the governor and all the moneyed interests in the territory. Let me rephrase that. Mr. Blanchet is a staunch Republican, and he serves the men behind Republican interests in the state.”
This was news to me. President Hayes was a Republican, and he had appointed Frémont, the first Republican presidential candidate. I had assumed that Republican interests dominated the territory. “Are there Democratic interests in the territory?”
Maggie gave me a look that made me feel stupid. “The southern part of the territory is Democratic. That’s why Tucson and Tombstone keep trying to get the capital moved, but Hayes will never let that happen. Tombstone mines produce ore valued at up to six thousand dollars per ton. If the capital gets moved south, with that kind of money coming out of the ground, this will be a Democratic state one day.”
I was impressed. “Very astute for a fourteen-year-old.”
“Fifteen. I’ve had a birthday since you saw me last.” She gave me another disdainful look. “They come around regular … once a year.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “What else do you know about Blanchet?”
“He and Campbell ate breakfast together nearly every day.”
I felt my posture straighten. “How do you know that?”
“They ate at Mrs. Potter’s Café. Same as us.”
“You didn’t eat at Prescott House?”
“God, no. Worst food in town.”
“Don’t use profanity.”
“I apologize. A bad habit I picked up from the Schmidts.”
“Break it. Anything else?”
She actually stuck her finger under her chin and struck a thoughtful pose. “No. Why would my father be interested in Mr. Blanchet?”
“Not sure, but he’ll be more interested in him once he knows he regularly ate breakfast with Campbell.”
“He already knows. I told him weeks ago.”
Of course. They probably shared a lot on those afternoon rides. Then it occurred to me that McAllen was using his daughter. She was a fixture about town and a child. Most likely, nobody gave her any notice. Because of her keen sense of observation, McAllen probably learned as much from her as from the Schmidts. Possibly more. I doubted the Schmidts would speculate, because they struck me as a couple who abhorred being in error.
“Any suggestions on how we proceed from here?” I asked.
“Let’s follow him.”
There was excitement in her voice, and I pretended to consider her idea. Finally, I said, “In business, the person who knows the most about someone is usually a competitor. Let’s see Mac Castle, Jeff’s lawyer. Perhaps he can give us some history on our Mr. Blanchet. Besides, I need to give him money for his services.”
“Let’s visit Mr. Sharp first. I’d like to say hello.” She jumped out of her chair, holding up two biscuits. “I owe these to Mr. Sharp for the rock candy and jerky he gave me on the trail after rescuing me.”
Maggie had been abducted the previous year, and Sharp and I had helped rescue her. When she was free, Sharp had given her rock candy and then jerky to rebuild her strength.
“If you remember, I was the one that brought you your horse. How will you repay me?”
“You may ride with Pa and me this afternoon.” She stuffed the biscuits in her skirt pocket and looked anxiously at me.
“Do you need to use the privy first?” I asked.
“Mr. Dancy, I’ve been lollygagging around here for hours waiting for you to wake up. Then I sat and watched you linger over breakfast. My God … I mean, my gosh, you savored that orange like it was the finest chocolate. Now we’ve arrived at a course of action, and you remain seated. May we, at long last, proceed?”
“Of course. I just need to go upstairs to get my hat and gun.”
As I sprinted up the stairs, I couldn’t help but smile. This could be fun.
Chapter 24
The day was crisp, but at least the walk to the courthouse would be short. As we hunched our shoulders against the morning chill, Maggie said something that stopped me in my tr
acks. “One more thing about Mr. Blanchet: he wants to take me to his bed.”
“What?”
“Mr. Dancy, I’m fifteen and attractive. I didn’t mention it earlier because I didn’t think it relevant. Many older men make advances.”
“What kind of advances?”
“Men in general, or Mr. Blanchet?”
“Mr. Blanchet.”
“He buys me a peppermint stick whenever he runs into me at Hill’s Hardware or the Goldwater store.”
I smiled. “Perhaps he just thinks you’re a cute child.”
Her expression made clear she thought I was stupid. “He tries to hide it, but I catch him watching me suck on the peppermint stick.”
That took me aback. “You probably misunderstand.”
“Mr. Dancy … I spend a great deal of time on my aunt’s ranch. I know all about breeding.”
“All?”
She blushed. “Perhaps not all, but I can tell when a male is interested. Every woman can.”
I stopped myself from making a comment about her not yet being a woman. Fifteen-year-old girls might take that as a challenge. As I contemplated whether this revelation had any meaning, I heard someone angrily yell out Maggie’s name.
My hand was on my Colt as I turned to see the Schmidts marching toward us.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mary Schmidt demanded. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Not all over, or you would have found me at Mrs. Cunningham’s.” Maggie remained unusually calm in the face of adult wrath.
“Your father made us responsible for you.” Mary took a step toward Maggie. “Never leave without telling us where you’re going.”
Maggie held her ground and even seemed to lean in toward Mary. “You told me to never interrupt when you were together in your room.”
Maggie had said this with an innocent tone, but for a moment, I thought Mary was going to slap her. Mary took a long, slow breath, before saying, “A note on our door would have been helpful.”
“I’ll be working with Mr. Dancy now.” She hooked her arm through mine. “I’m his responsibility.”
Her intimacy was unwelcome as far as I was concerned. She was playing some kind of game with her guardians, and I didn’t want to be a part of it. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and let my arm dangle, but instead of taking the hint, Maggie took hold of my arm above the elbow. What was this girl doing?
“Our instructions come from your father, and Captain McAllen said you’re still our charge … at least for the next few days. You may accompany Mr. Dancy, but only during the day. Until he says so, you are to disclose to no one that you’re not my daughter.”
Mary turned her angry glare at me. “What’s your story?’
“My story?”
Her angry expression turned to exasperation. “Are you courting my daughter or just corrupting her?”
“Neither.”
“Well, if you walk down the street arm in arm, that’s what people will say.”
“I take your point.” I wasn’t good at this but went ahead anyway. “I’m your brother. I came to Prescott to see you and my niece. Maggie follows me around because I’m her favorite uncle.”
“That should work. Don’t elaborate. The less detail, the less likely you’ll get tripped up. Keep us informed of your whereabouts.”
I nodded, so she turned to Maggie.
“Young lady … you will be polite to your parents at all times. Understood?”
Maggie released my arm, smiled coyly, and dipped in an approximation of a curtsy. “Then how will I keep up the pretense of being your darling daughter?”
If possible, Mary’s expression grew even angrier. “Just do as I say.” She whirled, grabbing her husband by the elbow. They marched off together in the opposite direction.
As we watched their backsides, I mumbled, “Carl never said a word.”
“Mary’s the boss, both on the job and in the home. Carl’s a weasel.”
“Why don’t you like the Schmidts?”
“I’ve heard them talk when they think I’m not listening. If they didn’t work for Pinkerton, they’d be crooks. Those two are self-seeking scoundrels.”
I thought about it. As I again looked at them walking away, I could swear Mary Schmidt sensed my stare and started to sway her derrière in a sensual rhythm. “Perhaps that means they have the requisite talents to catch other scoundrels.”
“Oh, they’re good all right. Pa says there are none better. It’s what got them this assignment. The Winslows are very rich and very important.” With that, she thrust her jaw out, and her mouth became a thin, straight line across her face. “I wish they could make that arrogant, overindulged dandy do something that would land him in jail.”
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“Master Jonathon Winslow, the second most powerful man in the territory. At least by his reckoning.” She threw me a glance, then spoke in a snickering voice. “Can you imagine a measly assistant getting so puffed up?”
“Did he make a pass at you as well?”
“He did, and he’s not put off as easily as Mr. Blanchet. My guess is they have a bet between them on who can despoil me first.”
Did girls her age really think this way? None that I had ever encountered talked this way. I looked down at Maggie standing beside me. This one was scary. “Blanchet, Winslow, and the Schmidts—is there anyone you like?”
Now her smile looked genuine and not a bit coy. She again hooked her arm in mine before saying, “Yes, Mr. Dancy, I like you.”
With no one looking at us now, I threw her arm away. “Miss McAllen, I don’t know what your game is, but young ladies do not hold the arm of their favorite uncle in that fashion.”
Her expression showed no displeasure at my outburst. “Mr. Dancy, may I speak bluntly?”
“I thought you had been exceedingly blunt already.” I gave her a thoughtful look. “I’m not sure I want to hear what you consider blunt.”
Maggie continued to smile. “Don’t worry; I have no designs on you. I’m tired of playing jackstones to appear childlike. Now I have you. When the reprobates in this town see me on the arm of a notorious gunman, they’ll leave me alone.”
I tried a firm voice. “First nobody knows I’m a so-called gunman … and uncles that seduce their nieces are frowned upon, even on the frontier.”
“I didn’t know about being your niece until a moment ago.” She appeared to think. “I like it. A notorious and protective uncle works even better. May I spread the word about you killing so many outlaws?”
“You may not. I want to stay friendly with this town. But I’m happy to hear that you were playacting with me.”
“Are you surprised?” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand the conceit of men. You’re far too old for me.” She gave me an appraising look. “But not for Mrs. Cunningham.”
“What?”
“She likes you.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“She wants to know you. I spent the morning answering her questions.”
That got my attention. “You didn’t tell her about my gunplay?”
Her chagrined expression answered my question.
“Now the whole town will know.”
“She’s not a gossip.”
“But she is married.”
“No. Her husband was killed in Tombstone. She tells men he’s still alive for the same reason I play jackstones and sidle up to you. Women are sought-after game on the frontier. They need a poisoned bite or protective coloration to make them invisible.”
“Do all fifteen-year-olds think the way you do?”
“Of course not. How do you think so many of them end up pregnant and married? Usually in that order, I might add.”
“But not you.”
“Not me. I’m a McAllen.”
Chapter 25
“Maggie! Wow, ya’ve grown!”
Sharp looked to be in a good mood, considering t
he circumstances. He leaned his cheek against the bars, and Maggie gave him a passing kiss that probably never touched his two-day growth of beard.
“Back away from the cell!” the jailer yelled in a loud and shrill voice. He was nervous because I had bribed him to let us both go down to the cell.
Maggie dutifully retreated, but she didn’t look the slightest bit remorseful that she had broken the rules. When she had backed up against the wall, she said, “I’ve had my fifteenth birthday, and I’ve solved my first crime.”
This was news to me. “What crime?”
“Nothing big. I overheard a Goldwater clerk complain that a man had snuck out of the store with a lady’s garment. I knew immediately that he was no gentleman, so I walked along the boardwalk peeking into the saloons. Soon I saw a grisly scoundrel trying to buy the favors of a saloon dancer with a new dress. I informed Constable Earp, and Goldwater’s rewarded me with a new hair ribbon.”
“What did Mrs. Schmidt reward you with?” I asked.
She waved offhandedly. “No matter. I don’t know why I brought it up.” She held out the biscuits. “I brought you some biscuits, Mr. Sharp. Mrs. Cunningham made them fresh this morning, and she’s a wonderful cook.”
“Well, thank ya, Maggie. That’s very thoughtful.” Jeff turned one of his wicked grins at me. “An’ Steve, what did ya bring this poor maligned prisoner?”
“Maggie, to brighten your otherwise dull day.”
“And a great gift she is. How ya doin’, darlin’?”
She curtsied. “Very well, thank you. I’m working with Mr. Dancy to get you out of here.”
We had both rescued Maggie from an abductor, but Sharp was definitely Maggie’s favorite. I felt rebuffed but consoled myself that Sharp was always the favorite of the ladies.
“Don’t get yerself in trouble, young lady,” Sharp warned.
“I won’t. I have the greatest gunman in the territory looking out for me, and the greatest detective in the world for a father. The real murderer should be quaking in his boots.”
Murder at Thumb Butte (A Steve Dancy Tale) Page 12