The Trailsman

by Jon Sharpe

  ‘‘And I answered it.’’

  Fargo was about to look like a legend again. Putting somebody down with a single swift punch planted deep into a belly. But again, a good part of the moment was pure luck. The young man was drunk for one thing and for another, despite his size, he wasn’t much of a fighter. He swung first, a wide roundhouse that Fargo easily blocked with his arm. Then Fargo slammed his fist into a point just below the solar plexus.

  The young man staggered, wobbled sideways, and delivered unto the street one hell of a stream of vomit.

  The crowd was quelled for the moment. Fargo pushed past them and went on into Tyndale’s office.

  As he crossed the threshold, Tyndale moved away from the window where he’d been watching everything. ‘‘Doesn’t look like you made many friends out there, Fargo.’’

  ‘‘Lund is over at the doc’s and I want him to stay there.’’

  Tyndale came over to his desk and sat down. He’d had the chance to shave and change clothes after his night in the rain and wind but heavy lines creased his face, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. ‘‘What happens if I say no?’’

  ‘‘You won’t say no because you know you can’t take care of him here. He’d throw off your routine.’’

  ‘‘I’m impressed that you’re worried about my routine. ’’

  Fargo parked himself on the edge of the other desk in the front room where the walls bloomed with wanted posters and shiny glass cases for rifles. ‘‘He didn’t kill his wife.’’

  ‘‘You think maybe she committed suicide?’’

  ‘‘No, I think there’s a good chance one of her lovers did it.’’

  ‘‘I assume we’re talking about Norton, Carstairs, and poor Jim Holmes.’’

  ‘‘That’s right.’’

  ‘‘You have a favorite?’’

  ‘‘Not yet. But I hope to have one before the end of the day.’’

  ‘‘Lund still had the best motive for killing her.’’

  ‘‘And you’ve still got the best motive for pinning it on him.’’

  Tyndale sat back, put his boots up on the desk. ‘‘Then I guess it’s up to you to prove me wrong.’’

  ‘‘I guess it is.’’

  He stared at Fargo for several long seconds. ‘‘Lund can stay at the doc’s. But now we’ve still got a problem, Fargo. Seems you wounded my deputy and killed two posse men.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t have any choice. Pierce wanted credit for bringing Lund in. I didn’t trust him. I figured he might kill Lund to make things look better. I wouldn’t hand Lund over so Pierce drew on me. And while I was fighting Pierce, the other two aimed their rifles at me and were getting ready to fire.’’

  ‘‘You must be pretty fast.’’

  ‘‘Pierce was slow. And he was tired. And the other two were so hungover, their timing was way off. I was defending myself and nothing more. All I wanted to do was bring Lund in. It was stupid of him to run in the first place. But now that’s beside the point. I mean to find out who killed Lund’s wife.’’

  ‘‘You want to waste your time, go ahead. Far as I’m concerned the killer’s in custody over to the doc’s place.’’

  Fargo moved off the desk. He walked over to the window. The crowd was gone. ‘‘Looks like your company left.’’

  ‘‘They’ll be back. They don’t like the idea of a rich man getting away with killing his wife.’’

  Fargo walked to the door. ‘‘I’m surprised they cared that much about Alexis.’’

  Tyndale snorted. ‘‘Care about Alexis? They hated her more than they hate Lund. Lund’s just a rich man. Alexis was rich and a bitch. She had no time for the common people and she made that very clear. The shop owners wanted to close up when they saw her coming. She could never find what she was looking for and she’d insult them about it. Ridicule them. Call them stupid, things like that. One time she did it in front of a woman’s little girl and the little girl started crying. You’d think that’d make Alexis back off a little. But all she did was rag on the mother about what a brat her little daughter was.’’

  ‘‘Sorry I never got to know her.’’

  He took his feet down from the desk, leaned forward on his elbows. ‘‘I’ve got it in for Lund, and you know it and I know it. I cleaned up this town for him. I’m still too rough, I suppose, since the town’s calmed down some. But he didn’t treat me right, Fargo, and you can believe that or not. He owed telling me face-to-face that I was through. But he didn’t. He decided to go through this whole rigmarole of getting me unelected. I deserved better than that.’’

  If that was true, Fargo thought, he had to agree with Tyndale, much as he hated to. Lund had owed Tyndale better than that.

  ‘‘That still doesn’t give you the right to try and hang him.’’

  Tyndale smirked. ‘‘Well, I’m probably not going to have that pleasure with a detective like you working for him, now am I?’’ He laughed. ‘‘Good luck, Fargo. Just remember to stay out of my way.’’

  Fargo wasn’t fooled by the jovial comments. This was a man who hated Lund and planned to punish him.

  Half a block from the sheriff’s office a female voice said: ‘‘Mr. Fargo.’’

  In the thunder and din of street traffic the words barely registered. She caught up with him and fell in step. ‘‘Is it true that Mr. Lund is hurt?’’

  Even in a yellow blouse and long, brown skirt, Delia managed to look like somebody who had recently escaped from a convent. Wearing her hair in a bun didn’t help, nor did the rimless spectacles she wore. Even in a ball gown and tiara, Delia would probably look as prim as she did now. But her earnestness made him smile. He liked her.

  ‘‘The doc’s taking care of him. He’ll be all right.’’

  They reached the café. ‘‘I could use a cup of coffee. How about you?’’

  ‘‘Well, I suppose it would be all right.’’

  She sounded as if she’d been asked to have a night of wild, reckless sex.

  A few minutes later they sat at a table with their coffees in front of them.

  ‘‘Did either Carstairs or Norton ever get violent with her?’’

  ‘‘Norton did. Once. He slapped her. She had a bruise on her cheek. We had to work very hard to cover it up.’’

  ‘‘Any idea why he slapped her?’’

  ‘‘He had the same one-track mind Carstairs did. He wanted her to leave Mr. Lund.’’

  ‘‘And she wouldn’t?’’

  Sweet little shoulder; sweet little shrug. ‘‘I think she might have. With either of them, actually. She was very bored. But they were too possessive. They’d get jealous of her being with Mr. Lund—her own husband. ’’

  ‘‘Was Lund like that with her?’’

  ‘‘Oh, no. She did what she wanted. And they’d get jealous of each other, too. She told me that Carstairs and Norton got into a physical fight over her. She thought it was funny.’’

  ‘‘I take it you didn’t.’’

  ‘‘Of course not. I couldn’t stand either of them.’’

  ‘‘Did they know about Jim Holmes?’’

  ‘‘Alexis told me once that Carstairs made jokes about him. How pathetic he was and everything. You’d think that somebody with his—his short leg and all—would have more compassion. But neither Carstairs nor Norton is very nice. Not by my standards, anyway.’’

  Her standards, Fargo thought. Those would probably reach all the way to the mountaintop.

  ‘‘I need to ask you about the night in the hotel room.’’

  ‘‘I told you what I know.’’

  ‘‘I know. But I need to go over it one more time.’’

  ‘‘All right. But I did tell the reverend I’d help him clean up his study this morning. He’s not a very tidy man. And it will get my mind off poor Mr. Lund.’’

  ‘‘Under oath you would swear that you heard all three of them in Alexis’ room at different times?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I know their voices very well. Every ti
me we’d come to town here they’d follow us around. They thought they were being very sly. That nobody would know what was going on. Even Mr. Holmes would do it. I felt sorry for him. He was just so sad about it all.’’

  ‘‘But you didn’t hear her scream or cry out or anything?’’

  ‘‘No. As I told you, I went down and got dinner. Then when I came back upstairs I found her.’’

  ‘‘And you didn’t see anybody in the hall?’’

  ‘‘No. I was with her so many years—I couldn’t believe it when I saw her on the floor there. I just kept feeling for her pulse. But it didn’t do any good, of course, not even when I started praying. I was crying all the time I was praying. I thought I was going to— be sick to my stomach, put it that way. But I wasn’t. And then I went downstairs to tell the desk clerk about poor Alexis.’’

  ‘‘You’re leaving something out.’’

  She blushed. ‘‘Mr. Lund didn’t kill her.’’

  ‘‘He was in the room.’’

  ‘‘Yes, he was in the room. But he didn’t kill her.’’

  ‘‘You said yourself that you weren’t in your room when she was killed.’’

  ‘‘Yes. But he’d left by then.’’

  ‘‘He could’ve come back.’’

  ‘‘That’s true. But so could one of the others.’’

  Her small hands formed tiny fists. Her blue eyes blazed. ‘‘Mr. Lund did not kill Alexis and I darn well wish you would stop saying he did.’’

  ‘‘I’m not saying it. I’m just asking questions.’’

  ‘‘But obviously you’re thinking it.’’

  ‘‘No, I’m not. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t. But in order to prove it I need to know everything I can.’’

  The tiny fists unfurled. ‘‘Well, thank you for saying that. You could have said it when we first started talking and saved me a good deal of anxiety.’’

  ‘‘Sorry.’’

  She pushed her chair back. ‘‘I need to go help the reverend. He really is very untidy.’’

  Fargo was walking up the steps of his hotel when a familiar face smiled at him from the doorway. Myrna, the waitress he’d had so much fun with the other day, caught up with him and said, ‘‘What a coincidence. I’m delivering a gift to somebody I know who’s staying here.’’

  ‘‘Anybody I know?’’

  ‘‘Could very well be. Maybe you should wait in your room and see what happens.’’

  ‘‘That sounds like a good idea.’’

  Even in a rundown hotel like this one, a certain amount of propriety was necessary. Even though the desk clerk would know that the fetching redhead Fargo had walked in with would wind up in his room, the woman would have to wait a few minutes in the lobby before going upstairs.

  Fargo went into his room, got down to his long underwear. He’d left the door unlocked. Myrna pushed it open a bit later. Seeing Fargo sitting on the edge of the bed, she said: ‘‘Stay right there.’’

  She closed the door behind her and then began to shed her clothes quickly. Her ivory skin and stray freckles were fascinating in the light. Even more fascinating was the way she brought her naked body over to him. Her hips moved knowingly, teasingly; the red hair between her legs was vivid against her flat, white belly.

  Fargo was ready for her. She reached into his long johns and said, ‘‘Well, well. You’re even bigger than you were the first time.’’

  He laughed. ‘‘Practice.’’

  She was already moist so she had no trouble opening herself to him and sliding down on his engorged shaft. ‘‘Oh, yes,’’ she gasped. ‘‘This is what I was hoping for.’’

  They began slowly, simply enjoying the first pleasure of their romp. His tongue found her breasts, his skill eliciting more and more small gasps from her as he focused on her nipples. He could feel her warm juices through the legs of his long johns. His hands began moving her up and down on him with greater force, and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and starting to put her hips to work. He could feel the muscles of her sex tighten sometimes to give him an extra measure of enjoyment.

  Both of them lost count of how many times she reached her ultimate gratification. She rode him now as if she were bringing a fine horse across the finish line with a finale that would do each of them proud.

  Toward the end, she managed to reach down and grab him, squeeze him. His entire body reared up. He got to his feet with her wrapped around him. He was still inside her when he deposited her on the bed. On top of her now, he began pounding them both to the final explosion of sheer breathless satisfaction. And when the end came, she held on to him, wanting to keep him intimate for a few minutes longer.

  By then he was ready for more but she eased him off her, saying, ‘‘I’ve got to get back to work. Darn it.’’

  He watched her get herself ready for the street. She moved with a simple grace that was beautiful to watch, her breasts rising as she slipped her arms into her blouse, her hips sensuous as they slipped into the long skirt she wore.

  ‘‘I’ll have to look you up more often,’’ she said, smiling as she finished dressing. ‘‘I was going to the other night but the owner made me stay late because we had such ‘important’ customers. That’s what he called them, anyway. They don’t come into our place very often so he was impressed. But Norton kept grabbing me. He thinks women find him irresistible, apparently. I’m one who doesn’t. Holmes and Carstairs were all right, though.’’

  Fargo sat on the edge of the bed, rolling a smoke. He’d been concentrating on getting the roll just right, so at first her words didn’t register. Then he said, ‘‘Those three were together? You mean the night Alexis Lund was killed?’’

  She thought a second. ‘‘Yes. Night before last. Why?’’

  ‘‘What time was this?’’

  ‘‘Around six o’clock.’’

  ‘‘Do you remember if they all came in together?’’

  She came over and leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. ‘‘You’re not very romantic afterward. All these questions. I was hoping you’d be setting something up for us later on.’’

  He stood up, the lighted cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. His fingers reached it, set it down on the small table next to the bed. Then he swept her up into his arms and kissed her as if they were about to fall back into bed.

  ‘‘Now that made me feel a whole lot better, Skye. But I’m still wondering why all the questions.’’

  ‘‘Right now I can’t tell you. But the next time we get together I’ll explain it all to you.’’

  ‘‘Will ‘next time’ be soon?’’

  ‘‘Soon as possible.’’

  There in the sunlight she was a pure, proud, sexual woman. Plus he liked her. She was easygoing and fun in and out of bed. And she had given him a startling piece of information. What the hell had all three suspects been doing together right after Alexis had been murdered? They were supposed to be rivals, not buddies.

  After she was gone, Fargo finished dressing and went over to the doctor’s office.

  Several patients sat in the outer area. The woman who ran the office was much more formidable looking than Dr. Standish himself. Her presence made it clear that no nonsense would be tolerated. The iron gray hair was matched by the iron gray eyes, and the stout body inside the green gingham dress foretold trouble for anybody who displeased it.

  ‘‘I’d like to see Mr. Lund.’’

  She shook her head. ‘‘Can’t do it.’’

  ‘‘I’m the one who brought him in.’’

  ‘‘I guess you didn’t hear me.’’

  By now the coughers, wheezers, sneezers, and the others with various broken bones were all paying close attention. Fargo and the woman who ran the office were going to do them the favor of putting on a little show.

  ‘‘I’d like to see the doctor.’’

  ‘‘Can’t.’’

  ‘‘Why not?’’

  ‘‘Not here. Won’t be back for half an ho
ur.’’

  ‘‘Is Serena here?’’

  ‘‘Asleep. All she’s been through, I’m sure not going to wake her up.’’

  ‘‘If you tell Mr. Lund I’m here, I’m sure he’ll want to see me.’’

  ‘‘Maybe so. But I don’t plan to tell him. The doctor told me that he should get his rest.’’

  ‘‘Don’t try and talk Mae out of nothing, stranger,’’ said a woman with her arm in a sling. ‘‘She’ll just dig her heels in. Everybody knows that about Mae. The more you try and reason with her, the more she digs her heels in.’’

  Mae smiled. ‘‘That’s the truth, mister. Now you just be on your way.’’

  Why couldn’t Mae be a man? It’d be so easy just to knock him out and go see Lund.

  The woman who’d spoken up was laughing. ‘‘She’s got you now, mister. She gets everybody.’’

  There was only one way to handle this and that was to rush past her and that was what Fargo did. With her angry shouts at his back, he hurried to let himself in the room where the doc had put Andrew Lund.

  The medicine and some sleep had brought back some color to Lund’s face, and his voice was steadier. ‘‘I see you met Mae.’’

  ‘‘I’m hoping to take her to the dance.’’

  Lund laughed, though it sounded as if doing so was a chore. ‘‘Believe it or not, they get a lot of unruly people coming in here. The doc needs somebody like her. I’ve seen her scare off some mighty big men.’’

  Fargo walked over to the bed. Lund had been cleaned up and put in a fresh nightshirt. Three heavy blankets covered him. He was still pale but there was life in the blue eyes.

  ‘‘Can you think of any reason that Carstairs, Norton, and Holmes would be hanging around with each other?’’

  ‘‘That sounds like a joke.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, it does. But it isn’t.’’ He then went on to tell him what Myrna had told him about the other night. ‘‘All three of them were in her room at different times. And then they all end up together in the café.’’

  From a side door, a voice said, ‘‘That doesn’t make any sense at all.’’ Serena came in, sleepy eyed, one side of her face striped with sleep wrinkles. She’d obviously been listening. ‘‘Carstairs and Norton hate each other. I don’t know about Holmes.’’