He apparently believed her, because he let go of her hand. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and faced him squarely. "All right, if you're through being a bully, you can tell me what you came to say. And hurry. I have an appointment at the Courier News."
She hoped she'd said the name of her father's newspaper with just the right amount of haughtiness. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Max of the differences between her father's paper and the True Detective Gazette.
He gave her an infuriatingly smug grin very much like an adult would bestow upon an impertinent child. "In that case, your highness," he said, "allow me to escort you to the royal publicist myself." He bent at the waist in mock chivalry. "I'll even treat you to a cab." Then rolling his eyes at the elegant Georgian facade of the Sheridan's East Fifty-eighth street residence, he added, "Though in all fairness, you really should offer to pay."
Before Elizabeth could get out the words to express her outrage, Max took her elbow and marched her to the corner where a line of carriages waited. He hailed one of them and opened the door for Elizabeth. She gave him a stern look of warning over her shoulder and then climbed inside.
"This had better not be a waste of my time," she said when he was seated next to her and the cab was heading toward the Courier News building.
He took a copy of the Gazette out of his pocket and handed it to her. "It's today's edition. I've marked the article I want you to read."
Elizabeth forced herself to take the paper from his hand. Was this his way of gloating over his principles of truth and the news? She’d read a few words and then fling the offensive rag out the window.
The headline read, "Delancey Street Kittens Cool Their Paws in Jail. Miss Dixie Lee says her escort ladies were unjustly purr-loined from her boarding house."
"Boarding house indeed!" Elizabeth chided, but she continued reading. The details of the raid unfolded graphically, giving her a sense of actually being at the scene. She grudgingly admitted that Max did, indeed, have a knack for telling a story. Plus, he cleverly presented both sides of the issue, describing the events as they might appear on a police blotter, and yet giving Miss Dixie Lee a chance to tell her account.
Her heartbeat quickened as she neared the end of the article. She knew she should see Ross's name come into focus soon, and she was fully prepared to have her tentative admiration of Max and his talent turn to disgust. Yet, a hasty scanning of the remainder of the column produced no evidence of the Sheridan name.
She read quickly. "...reports of a gambling operation in the upper floors of Miss Lee's house remain unconfirmed." Unconfirmed! "A source close to this reporter claims that a prominent young bluestocking was involved...no evidence at this time to substantiate this..."
"Oh, Max!" Elizabeth put the paper on the bench between them and threw her arms around his neck. Without thinking, she planted a brief kiss on his cheek. He answered by placing his hands on her back and holding her next to him for a few seconds after the kiss had ended.
When she realized that she was actually enjoying the embrace of the man who, just moments before she'd been prepared to hate with her entire soul, she pushed away. "Goodness," she mumbled into her lap.
"I’ll second that," Max said.
“What?”
“The kiss. A bit of goodness alright.”
She looked up at him, struggling to keep her eyes focused on his much-too-handsome face. "It was just a silly kiss. I'm sorry for thinking so badly of you...for all those horrible things I said the other night. You do have a heart, Max, you do!"
He placed his ankle on his opposite knee, leaned against the corner of the seat, and looked at her across the space that now separated them. "Don't jump to any conclusions, Betsy. Don't confuse weakness with compassion. For your sake, I may have shown a little weakness this time, but don't think I'll do it again. If that brother of yours ever..."
"Oh, he won't! He's learned his lesson, honest! He'll never get mixed up with those terrible men again."
"So I was right? Ross told you who the boss man of the bookmaking operation is?"
"Well, no. I didn't ask him."
"Afraid of the answer, are you?"
"Of course not. I just don't believe Ross knows that evil Galbotto fellow."
"Look, Betsy, I hear that Frankie Galbotto is a regular at Dixie Lee's, and when I asked her point blank if he was running the books, she didn't deny it."
"Or admit it?"
"No, but I believe he is."
"It can't be, Max. My brother has his faults, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with a low-life like Galbotto.”Max responded with a noncommittal shrug. "Either way, it's like I said, Betsy, I gave your brother a break this time, and I'm not at all sure it was the right thing to do. I just know I didn't do it for him, you understand that, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, and I'm very grateful." She averted her gaze and allowed herself a secretive smile. Despite his tough exterior, Max had a soft spot for her in his heart, and oddly enough, that knowledge made her happier than the relief she'd just experienced knowing her family’s reputation was safe. And it was because of that tough reporter exterior that she knew it must have cost Max a great deal to gloss over such important details of a story.
"I don’t like making decisions of this magnitude, Betsy,” Max added. “Steering clear of the truth goes against my grain.”"Oh, you won't have to ever again. Ross is going to know just how close he came to ruining our family. And I think he's beginning to see the error of his ways. He's working full time at the paper, and just the other day he came upon an idea that was absolutely legitimate..."
Elizabeth stopped abruptly. She couldn’t believe her luck. Could it be that a golden opportunity had just dropped in her lap? Maybe Ross was right to believe in destiny. Perhaps Max showing up at her house tonight was her own destiny paying a call. She reached for Max's hand and clasped it tightly. "Do you have to be anywhere for a while?"
He checked his wristwatch. "I have a few minutes."
"Will you go somewhere with me? It's near the Courier News building."
“A hot tip, Betsy?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay. I’ll go.”
Elizabeth tapped the driver's bench. "When you get to the newspaper office, pull around to the alley in back, please," she instructed. Then, her heart pounding with excitement, she turned to Max. "I'm going to pay you back for your kindness by letting you in on the most fascinating story you've ever come across. Just wait till you meet Dooley Blue!"
When Max and Elizabeth got out of the carriage, she didn't doubt for a moment that Max would fall under Dooley's spell and become as enchanted with the idea of the Fair Day Mine as she and Ross were. And with his powers of persuasion, Max would be able to talk the Gazette editor into financing the entire escapade to Colorado, for all of them.
More importantly, since the lead had come from her, Max would happily cut her in on the story. Soon Elizabeth would be learning the tricks of the trade and sharing a byline with Max Cassidy. And she’d be taught by the best. Max was a risk-taker who'd stop at nothing to get a good story. The thrill of adventure was pulsing through Elizabeth's veins as she led Max to the back stairwell of the decrepit rooming house.
“Where are we going?” Max asked. “Somehow I can’t see you in an environment like this, Betsy.”
“Then you don’t know the real me,” she said.
The old miner was there, in the dim corner where he'd been two days ago. She went down the steps with Max close behind. "Mr. Blue? Dooley? It's me, Elizabeth Sheridan."
He jerked his head up as if he'd been startled from a nap and squinted at her. "Hello, girlie. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. You ain't give up on the Fair Day have you?" Then, seeing Max for the first time, Dooley clamped his lips shut and scowled. "Who's that tailing along behind you?"
Elizabeth pulled Max into the faint light coming from the back door. "This is Max Cassidy. I want you to tell him what you told Ross and me. Do you have the rock with y
ou?"
"I might have.” His analytical gaze swept the length of Max's body. Then he hesitantly produced the ore from his pocket.
Max turned the rock over in his hand just as Elizabeth had done. "Okay, what's the story?" he asked, and Dooley began.
Fifteen minutes later the tale of Ian and Clyde Faraday, their unfortunate demises, and the fortune they left to Dooley had unfolded. Max listened intently to every word and asked several questions. Elizabeth was certain he believed the old man, and since that had been accomplished, getting him to pursue the adventure would be easy. And he was sure to show his appreciation for this once-in-a-lifetime lead by allowing Elizabeth to cover the story with him.
She asked Dooley to excuse them for a few minutes and tugged Max up the stairs to the street level. She was tense with the anticipation of hearing Max's reaction to Dooley's tale.
"Here's my idea," she began in an impassioned whisper. "You get the True Detective Gazette to finance the trip to the Fair Day Mine, and we'll all go to Colorado together...you, me and Ross. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, isn't it, Max?”
“You want the Gazette to send all of us to Colorado, Betsy?”
She couldn’t ignore the skepticism in his voice. Maybe she’d pressed too hard. “I was hoping,” she said. “But if the cost is too high, I can put in a bit of cash.”
“Can you now?” Max said.
“If I have to. This lead is the absolute best way I can repay you for what you did for Ross and me. But I have one condition. I want to help write the story. You'll let me help write it, won't you?"
She realized she was babbling on without giving Max a chance to talk, and he must be as bursting with ideas as she was. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Well, what do you think? Isn't Dooley one of the most fascinating men you've ever met?"
He expelled a sound that was something between a snort and a chuckle and shook his head slowly. "Betsy, we have a saying in Ireland. It translates to something like this. 'If that guy were a sack of potatoes, he'd be missing a couple of spuds.'"
Her mouth dropped open. "Wh...what's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Betsy. That guy's crazy as a loon. You’re playing a joke on me, right?"
She was too stunned to answer him.
"I mean, you don't believe the half-witted git, do you?" Max raised a cupped hand to his mouth, but it didn't completely hide the grin that grew broader the longer he looked at her. After a moment, he forced his lips into a thin line and said, "Oh, hell, you do believe him." Muffled laughter sputtered out despite his efforts to contain it.
Anger boiled inside Elizabeth. She set her hands firmly on her hips and glared at him. "Of course I believe him. He's as sane as you or I. In fact, I'd say he's a lot saner than you are. Dooley's got names, dates, locations. And he's got the rock!"
Max's reaction was as hard for Elizabeth to swallow as a spoonful of bitter medicine. But she had to accept that there was no way to get through to a thick-headed person who held his jaded skepticism over the heads of the rest of society like a weapon. He didn't even try to stop his ill-mannered chuckling. Just when she'd decided that he could be trusted, he'd done a complete turnabout and proved that he truly was a snake.
This is the last time I'll be made to feel like a fool by that crass, egotistic, overconfident Gazette reporter! she promised herself.
Finally Max's reaction to Dooley’s story mellowed to subdued snickers. "I'm sorry, Betsy, really I am, but that rock is probably just a hunk of pyrite. You've heard of pyrite, haven't you? It glitters just like gold or silver, and thousands of miners have been fooled by it. Do you know how many stories of lost fortunes and phantom mines have come out of those mountains in the last forty years? This old codger's tale is just one more."
"Oh? And this analysis comes from experience?" she said defiantly. "You've been to Colorado?"
"Well, no, but..."
"Then how the blazes do you know anything, Max? Do you just make up facts as you go along?” She drew her hand along the darkening sky as if she were pointing out a headline. “The world according to Max Cassidy. Dooley Blue's crazy. There's no Fair Day Mine. The rock is pyrite.” She glared at him. “Well, if you ask me, it's all just a convenient way to cover up your own stupidity!"
He sobered instantly and reached for her hand. "I know you're upset, but I don't want you to be taken in by this guy. If you're so sure that my hunch about Dooley is wrong, then why don't you tell me why you think your hunch is right?"
She slapped his hand away. "Because I trust people, that's why."
"Yeah, like Dooley Blue and Ross Sheridan. They're a couple of sterling candidates for keys to the city."
"How dare you say something like that to me? Ross is my brother!"
"No apologies necessary, kid. I'm aware that we don't pick our relatives. Sometimes we just get stuck with the apples that fall far from the tree."
Elizabeth was seething. "Is that right, Max? Well, we do pick our friends, and thank heavens I don't have to choose you!"
He stepped back from her, as if he knew he'd gone too far. "I'm just trying to save you some grief, Betsy."
"My name is Elizabeth, and I'll thank you to call me that. No, on second thought, don't call me anything. Just go away, Max. Go away."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally he held up his index finger and said softly, "Just watch yourself, Bet... E-liz-a-beth. Trusting the wrong people can get you into a lot of trouble." He walked down the alley, turned a corner and disappeared.
Elizabeth thought about what he'd said. His warning had come too late because she'd already trusted the wrong person when she believed in him. Now there wouldn't be a trip to Colorado. She wouldn't find the Fair Day Mine, and much time might pass before she made her name as a reporter. Tears welled in her eyes. Her throat constricted. It hurt to admit that the biggest disappointment of all was that she wouldn't be working side by side with Max Cassidy.
Max was thankful for two things. One was that he'd chosen Flanagan's Tavern to get drunk since it was only a few blocks from his flat. When he finally decided to walk, crawl, or be dragged home, it wouldn't be too hard to get there. The second was that it was Friday night and he was anticipating the first Saturday he'd had off in many weeks. He could sleep off the hangover he was sure to have in the morning.
Sometimes Max regretted his lack of tact. Growing up with Seamus Cassidy for a father didn't teach a person much about that underrated character trait. Seamus solved all his problems with a strong word and an even stronger fist. Max learned early on that to survive in a violent world, he either had to learn to duck or battle back with a bluster equal to his opponent. Max had mastered both.
But four years at the University of Dublin had taken some of the rough edges off Max Cassidy. Unfortunately he was still discovering that not all people were as hardhearted or filled with resentment as his father had been. Since coming to America, Max had nearly succeeded in erasing the bitterness of a painful, deprived childhood and replacing it with the self-esteem won from hard work. But just when he thought he'd banished the last of Seamus from his system, Max realized he still had the sharp Cassidy tongue that could bite with the sting of a scorpion.
He'd never forget the look on Betsy Sheridan's face when he left her in the alley. All he'd meant to do was save her from wasting time and money on a scheme which was guaranteed to bring disappointment and failure. He'd only intended to warn her about the misery that comes from believing in the incredible, trusting in the unreliable - hard lessons Max had learned growing up in Ireland. But his callous words had hurt her, taken the sparkle out of eyes that were green as a County Cork hillside. He guessed it was true then. Some of the father always stayed in the son.
"Here's the other pint you ordered, luv."
Max looked up into the doe-brown eyes of Sally. She took away his empty mug and left a full one. Max couldn't remember how many times she'd done that this evening, but he was beginning to feel the effects and welcoming the nu
mbness.
Sally gave a furtive glance toward the bar and then slid into the booth beside him. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong, Cassidy?" she said. "I can tell you're under a cloud this night."
He took a long swallow of ale. "It's nothing to worry your pretty head about, Sally. I'll be right as rain tomorrow."
"You can tell me what’s got you blue, you know that." She gave him a playful pinch to his arm.
Her coaxing was so gentle that Max relented with a sigh. "I've had a disagreement with a friend, that's all. About a couple of things we don't exactly see eye to eye."
Sally nodded. "Could this friend be the red-headed lass you brought in here the other day?"
Max chuckled. "You don't miss much, Sally," he said.
"Not about my favorite customer I don't." She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck and whispered in his ear. "If it was me you were pining over, you wouldn't have to worry about seeing eye to eye, because I guarantee it wouldn't be your eye I was interested in looking at. You’ve got parts that appeal to me much more, Max, and they're located further south."
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