Stover squirmed around in his chair before he got up for more coffee. When he sat down again, he didn’t look as anxious, but his voice sounded hesitant. “What’s this got to do with Mr. Hennigan?”
“Quite a bit I’m afraid. Mrs. Hennigan may lose the shipping company when the news gets out.”
Stover’s jaw went slack. “What do you mean?”
Payton understood his concern. If Mrs. Hennigan lost everything, he’d be out of a job. “How much do you know about the company’s shipping activities?”
“Everything. Half the time, the old man wasn’t here. It fell to me to run the business. Except...” He held up a single finger. “There was something real queer going on a while back. Not quite a year ago. There were some goods—hardware he called it. Deliveries were made in small quantities over several months. He always took care of it himself and wouldn’t let me see the paper work.
“Everything was locked up tight in a warehouse,” Stover continued. “Then one day, I noticed the warehouse had been emptied. When I asked him what happened to the goods, he acted as though he didn’t know anything about it.” He rubbed at his chin. “Do you know anything about that shipment?”
“Those goods were guns and munitions that were to be sold to the Confederacy. They expected to make a nice little profit.”
“The old man was mixed up with running guns to the Confederates? I don’t believe it. He wasn’t political. And he sure the hell wasn’t a Southern sympathizer. Wait. You said ‘they’.” Stover’s jaw went slack. “Dunbar?”
“It was Dunbar, all right. He’d been working with the British running blockades for the Confederacy, but it had nothing to do with politics. He was in it strictly for the money. After a few runs, he got greedy. Didn’t want to split the profits with an English captain. When the small steamer made the return trip from North Carolina to Nassau, he took over the ship. There were about a half-dozen crew members. He killed most of them and sailed to Havana instead. Took on a crew that wasn’t British.
“Toward the end of the war,” Payton continued, “the Union was more effective at stopping the blockade runners. Dunbar had some heavy loses. That’s when he came back to California.”
“He wouldn’t dare show his face around here. He’s still wanted for murder.”
“That’s why he conspired with Hennigan to front his next scheme. Dunbar gave your boss what was left of his fortune to buy arms and munitions. They planned to sell them to a group of Confederates in southern California, but they wanted to use bonds as payment. Dunbar wanted cash. So their next scheme was to sell the arms to Mexico for their war, but that proved to be difficult. The French had blocked the Mexican harbors.”
“So how did they expect to make delivery?”
“The French allowed the coastal mail steamers to use the harbor at Acapulco as a depot. Hennigan arranged to load the cargo onto a ship with forged bills of lading. Dunbar’s scheme was to commandeer the ship that carried the goods so he could slip past the French. They planned to deliver the munitions and collect the money. Then they’d sail the ship to South America and unload the gold.”
“Gold,” Stover repeated. “Those mail steamers out of San Francisco carry large quantities of gold. I suppose that was the extra incentive they needed.”
He nodded. “They expected to make two fortunes with one excursion. It was Dunbar’s misfortune that it was my ship he tried to take.
“We’d left San Francisco for Panama,” Payton said. “At the port in San Diego, Dunbar and a few of his men came on as passengers. Just before we got to Acapulco, he made his move. The night was dark. No one spotted his small ship when it approached. There were about a dozen men altogether.”
He let out a hard breath. “Needless to say, he didn’t get my ship. I shot him in the leg, but he managed to escape. The next day we hailed a naval vessel with the Pacific Squadron. They went hunting for him.”
“Did they get him?”
“No. They seized his ship, but Dunbar and what was left of his crew were gone. They made it to shore and escaped inland. It’s been six months now, and no one’s heard from him. The authorities figured he died of his wound, but a few weeks ago, they got word he may be alive and headed this way.
“Since I’m one of the few people who knows what he looks like, and has good reason to find him, I decided to wait around and see if he turns up here. If he does, I’ll catch him and make certain he stands trial for all his crimes.”
“You’re going to turn him over to the law?” A hint of disbelief resonated in Stover’s tone. “You seem more like the kind of man who takes matters into your own hands.”
“Thanks for your high opinion of me.” He hoped the man caught the sarcasm in his voice.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“No need to apologize. That’s exactly what I’d like to do, but I do have my scruples. Killing in self defense is one thing, but murdering a man in cold blood for revenge is hard to justify—especially to the law. Aside from that, Hennigan and Dunbar had other associates. It’s rumored that one or two of them were influential in politics here in California. In order to discover the names of his accomplices, Dunbar will have to be captured alive.”
“The old man must have known who those people were. No wonder you were anxious to talk to him. But why was he afraid of you? He couldn’t have known you were on to him.”
“He might have. From what I heard, the authorities questioned Hennigan right after the incident. I’m certain my name came up in the conversation. They couldn’t charge him with anything illegal because it’s not against the law to ship guns and ammunition to Mexico. As to piracy, Hennigan claimed he didn’t know anything about it. With Dunbar dead, or so they thought, there wouldn’t be anyone to link the old man to any criminal activities. Of course if he knew Dunbar was alive and on his way here, and the fact that I wanted to talk with him must have given him considerable worry.”
“You may be right about him knowing Dunbar was alive. The old man received a couple of letters a while back. They were both from Mexico.” He ran his hand over his chin as he thought. “When you showed up yesterday, he probably figured Dunbar would be arrested as soon as he stepped foot in California, and he’d be implicated in the piracy. I guess he thought putting a gun to his head was better than going to prison.”
“Letters from Mexico?” Payton repeated. “Did you happen to see what was in them?”
“No, he always stuck them in his pocket. But now that I think about it, each time he got one of those letters, he made a hasty trip to Sacramento. I thought it was because he was visiting a woman there, but those trips must’ve been to deliver the letters to Dunbar’s mother.”
Payton swore under his breath.
“It’s strange that he would’ve picked last night to kill himself, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Each time he left for Sacramento, he was real upset. But when he came back, he’d be as happy as a drunken sailor. That’s why I thought he was seeing a woman. Yesterday afternoon he perked up considerably. It was after you left. A messenger delivered a note that put a smile on his face. He practically danced around the office.”
“Do you think it was from Dunbar?”
“No, the handwriting on the outside was a woman’s. I think she was in town and wanted to visit him.”
“Why do you think that?”
“There was a woman with him last night. She was probably here when he shot himself.”
Payton felt his mouth drop open, but he snapped it shut. “How do you know all this?”
“There was a bottle of champagne and two glasses.”
“Where?”
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “In the back. The old man changed one of the offices into a bedroom for when he worked late. With the way he fixed it up, it looked more like a room in a cathouse. He’d occasionally bring women here after taking them to Chinatown for the evening. That’s how he hid everything from his wife.”
>
“What makes you think the woman was here when he shot himself?”
“Because when they picked his body up off the bed, there was a pair of lady’s gloves under him.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, as though he knew Payton hung on his every word. “And the front door was unlocked, but the key was still in the slot. If the old man had let her out, he would’ve locked it behind her. He was real careful about locking doors.”
“You’d make a good detective. You might try that line of work if you ever need another job.”
“It appears I just might be needing one.”
“One thing is curious about his death. Why would a man shoot himself if he was with a woman that...what did you say, made him laugh and dance around the room?”
“That is curious, but I think it was because she turned down his advances.”
“Can’t be.” He chuckled as he shook his head. “A man doesn’t kill himself just because a woman turns him down. If that were the case, I would’ve been dead when I was sixteen.”
Stover laughed also but quickly sobered. “I think this woman was different. His usual women were cheap and gaudy. I could tell from the little things they left behind. And the smell.” He wrinkled his nose and fanned his hand in front of his face. “They must put their perfume on by the keg. I’d have to open the window and air the room out the next day.”
“But this one...” His eyelids squinted as if his mind tried to picture the woman he’d never seen. “She must’ve been a real lady. There was just a hint of perfume—Jasmine, I think.”
Payton had lounged back in the padded, leather chair, but his body stiffened at the remark. An uneasy feeling twisted around in his gut.
“And her gloves,” Stover continued. “A working girl usually wears cheap, frilly things. You know what I mean—bright colors with lots of lace. These gloves looked expensive. And they were made of silk. The color of the gloves was a beautiful, rich shade of blue.”
“Sapphire-blue,” he said as he recalled the color of the gown his angel had worn last night. She’d also claimed to have lost her gloves.
The hard jerk of Stover’s body told Payton he’d guessed the right color. His chest felt like a heavy anchor pressed on him, and he could barely breathe. When he recalled that the Devil’s Lair lay only a short distance from here, it didn’t help his breathing.
After a moment, he cleared his throat and tried to speak in a calm voice. “What makes you think he shot himself because she turned him down?”
“For one thing, Hennigan had on all his clothes. And I think the derringer was hers. I’m only guessing, but she probably threatened to use it on him if he didn’t leave her alone. He must’ve taken it away from her. That’s why she ran off. Then he shot himself. Either that, or he shot himself in front of her, and she took off without getting her things.”
“Did you tell any of this to the authorities?”
“I tried, but they didn’t want to listen. They think they know it all anyway.” He brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, as if contemplating whether to keep from blurting out the words. “Do you know the woman he was with last night?”
Payton felt like a bug under inspection. Stover stared at him though narrowed eyelids.
“You may want to keep what you just told me to yourself.” He attempted to get the man’s mind focused on something else. “Mrs. Hennigan is going to be hurt enough when everything else gets out. That goes for our conversation about Dunbar. Things could get dangerous if he turns up here and suspects you know too much about his activities with Hennigan.”
That got his attention. The color of his face paled. “Thanks for the warning. Where do you think he is anyway?”
“I’m not certain, but I’ll bet his mother knows. Looks like I’ll have to take a trip to Sacramento.”
As soon as Payton left the Double Eagle Shipping Company, he found a carriage for hire. He needed to talk to the woman he’d met last night. Too many coincidences existed for her not to be the woman with Hennigan when he’d shot himself.
When the coachman pulled up to the front of her hotel, Payton leaped from the carriage before it came to a complete stop. He tossed a coin to the driver and hurried inside to the front desk.
“Give me the room number for Miss Sally Smith.”
“She’s not here,” the clerk said. “Miss Smith checked out very early this morning.”
Chapter Five
Julia glanced into the tiny mirror atop her dressing table. Her sleepless night should’ve left some telltale sign, but she found nothing. No dark circles, or puffy eyelids. No bloodshot eyes stared back.
Almost a week had gone by since she’d returned to Sacramento, but she still had dreams that awoke her during the night. A decent woman, she told herself, would have reoccurring nightmares about seeing three men die right before her eyes, but not so for Julia. Instead, her dreams were filled with visions of a tall, dark-haired pirate with brilliant blue eyes.
Even in daylight, images of him intruded upon her thoughts. She’d push him from her mind, but not before her traitorous body responded to the memory of his kiss.
She touched her fingers to her lips as if moistness from his mouth still lingered. A shiver rippled through her when she recalled the way his tongue had parted her lips and thrust into her mouth to stroke inside.
Her hand curled into a fist. She hoped to force some control over her thoughts, but the heat that gathered in her body seemed impossible to restrain. His kisses had unleashed a force deep within that somehow had a will of its own. A liquid fire burned inside, spreading outward and threatening to consume her if she allowed those thoughts to run unchecked.
Dismayed at her body’s reaction, she shook her head as she tried to sort out the reason. Other men had kissed her, but during her entire twenty-two years of life, they’d never made her feel this way. She could count on one hand the men who had attempted to take liberties with her. And they were liberties, for she’d never given any of them permission. A quick, stolen kiss taken without warning in an unguarded moment or a deliberate kiss forced upon her while she protested, all received the same response. A slap across the face delivered with the appropriate degree of severity to equal her feel of repulsion toward that individual man.
Not so with the pirate. His kisses weren’t stolen, nor were they forced.
She had thought she’d be deeply repulsed by his touch, but the moment his lips had brushed across hers, a fire had ignited deep within that still burned.
And it was a fire. Thoughts of him inflamed her senses. The memories hovered in her mind. She could feel his kiss, taste his mouth, and inhale his masculine scent.
“Stop,” she said to her reflection. “You have to stop thinking about him. Just forget him,” she commanded of the woman in the mirror even though she knew the impossibility of her demand.
She turned from the dressing table and paced around the small room. Anger or extreme exertion was the only thing that chased thoughts of him from her mind as well as her body. This tiny interior didn’t allow for much exertion, so her anger had to suffice.
After slamming a few things around in her room, she grabbed the empty water pitcher. She held the crockery high over her head. The temptation to hurl it through the glass pane of the window grew strong, but she squelched the urge.
Her employer who allowed her to live in this cramped room on the uppermost floor of the house would demand an explanation. She couldn’t very well admit she’d tossed it through the window in a fit of anger, since her employer believed her to be a timid little creature, not capable of strong emotion or even independent thought. She also believed Julia incapable of lying. Normally, she didn’t utter even a tiny fib. She’d always been an honest, moral person, but the lies had tumbled easily from her lips when she spoke to the woman.
Perhaps it was because her employer was Betsy Dunbar Collins—a vile and contemptible creature. Her son was Lawrence Dunbar, and he’d murdered Julia’s brother. She knew it as the truth because
her brother’s own handwriting had named his killer. She recalled opening his letter and reading the first few lines to her mother as she waited eagerly for news from her loving son.
By the time you receive this letter, I will be dead. The man responsible for my death is Lawrence Dunbar.
She closed her eyes at the memory. When her mother had collapsed in the chair upon hearing the news, Julia had rushed out for the doctor. She’d returned to find her mother lying unconscious on the floor. Nothing remained of her brother’s letter but ashes in the fireplace. Her mother died three days later without uttering a single word.
In the darkness of her mind, her anger raged. Lawrence Dunbar had also been responsible for her mother’s death. She would find him regardless of the lies she told and the deceptions she perpetrated. But it didn’t seem like a lie when she told falsehoods to Betsy.
A week ago Julia had told her she needed a few days off to visit a sick friend in Stockton. Then she’d managed to smuggle the sapphire-blue evening gown from the room where the other gowns were kept. Later, she’d returned the gown without anyone knowing. And no one knew she hadn’t traveled to Stockton but had instead gone to San Francisco for a secret rendezvous with Wilber Hennigan.
Julia had known the gown would be perfect for the purpose in which she’d intended. Hennigan had never taken his eyes from her exposed cleavage. In his distracted state, he’d divulged all his dirty little secrets including everything he knew about Lawrence Dunbar.
Dunbar hid in Mexico. After his wound healed, he’d try to make his way to California to seek out Hennigan for the money he’d left behind.
Now that his partner in crime had committed suicide, Dunbar would contact his mother for help when he arrived in San Francisco. Luckily, Julia worked as her secretary. Any message from Dunbar would go through her hands before it ever slid under the nose of his parent.
As for Betsy, her cruel and vicious personality equaled Dunbar’s. Julia despised them both. Lawrence Dunbar had murdered her brother. Not having her brother’s letter, she didn’t have any solid evidence. And with Hennigan dead, she had no corroborating testimony. But Julia would have justice—even if she had to dispense it herself.
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