Deadly Day in Tombstone

by William W. Johnstone

  Muller sat in the room’s lone chair and Grayson was leaning against a table. Rourke had taken off his coat and loosened his string tie and collar. He sat on the end of the bed and slipped the silver flask from his pocket and took a nip from it.

  Muller frowned and gestured vaguely toward the flask. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Rourke’s already stony face seemed to grow even harder at the question. “You let me worry about my personal business.”

  “Yeah, but that stuff ain’t like whiskey,” Muller persisted, ignoring the warning glare Grayson directed toward him. “It can really muddle your brain.”

  Rourke capped the flask and put it back in his pocket. “It just so happens this is the only thing that keeps my brain from being muddled all the time from the pain in my head.”

  “I didn’t know about that, Max,” Grayson said. “If you’ve got some sort of condition—”

  “Never you mind what I’ve got,” Rourke snapped. “All you have to worry about is getting the money—” He stopped short as his head came up in a listening attitude. He rose quickly to his feet, and Grayson was reminded of a snake uncoiling.

  Rourke motioned for his two startled fellow plotters to be quiet, then he stepped over to the door, moving with speed and absolute silence. He grasped the knob and jerked the door open.

  Copper Farris practically fell into the room. Rourke wrapped his left arm around her waist and spun her away from the door. At the same time, his right hand clamped over her mouth so she couldn’t cry out.

  Grayson and Muller both sprang up. Muller said, “Copper!”

  Grayson’s thoughts whirled in dismay. Clearly, the buxom redhead had been listening at the door while they outlined their entire plan. She might demand to be cut in for a share or she would reveal what she had discovered.

  That might be workable, he realized. She might be interested in going to Mexico with him. She had never paid any attention to him other than an occasional sneer, but Grayson was well aware of how much more attractive a man became in a woman’s eyes when he had plenty of money.

  She struggled in Rourke’s grip. Although she was big enough to overpower some men, she had no chance against Rourke’s wiry, cable-like muscles.

  “What are we going to do about this?” Grayson asked.

  “You two don’t have to do anything,” Rourke said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Copper’s green eyes widened in terror, and she made muffled sounds against Rourke’s palm.

  Grayson knew why she was scared. Rourke’s method of dealing with problems was direct and final. He and Muller exchanged a glance; the big man obviously knew what Rourke meant, too.

  “I’m not sure that’s necessary—”

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Rourke said. “I’m telling you. Both of you get out, now. Go down the back stairs and out that way. You were never here.”

  “Somebody might have seen us come in together.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not for what I’ve got in mind.”

  Grayson wasn’t going to ask what that was. He didn’t want to know. He looked at Muller again, searching for any hint that Muller thought they should go against Rourke.

  Muller looked away and said gruffly, “Come on, Oscar, let’s go.”

  Well, that pretty much settled it, thought Grayson. He couldn’t take on Rourke by himself. Hell, there was a good chance the man could kill both of them without breaking much of a sweat, even in the lingering heat.

  It was a shame about Copper. A real, damned shame.

  “We’ll get together again late this afternoon,” Grayson said as he started toward the door.

  Copper made pleading sounds. Grayson wished he couldn’t hear them. He tried to put them out of his mind.

  As he and Muller left the room, Muller said, “You know what he’s going to—”

  “There’s no need to talk about it,” Grayson cut in. “Just think about the money, Jed.”

  Muller sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. That sure was a bad break for us, though.”

  And a much worse one for Copper Farris, Grayson thought.

  Chapter 24

  Despite the weariness that gripped Arabella after beating Donald Lockard to claim the championship of her table, she didn’t leave right away. She remained downstairs in the Top-Notch to keep track of the other games, rather than going up to her room to get some sleep.

  She sensed that those games would be over soon. The smell of desperation hung in the air. The sooner she knew who she would be facing in the next round, the better.

  The table where Drake sat was down to two players. The Virginian was one of them. Arabella wasn’t surprised that he was still in the game. Even though she was angry and disappointed in him, she didn’t doubt for a second that he was a highly skilled player.

  Drake won the hand. His opponent sighed, pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, and mopped beads of sweat off his face. It was hot in the room, of course; it was still stifling hot everywhere in Tombstone.

  But that was the sweat of fear, Arabella thought. The man must have played a good game to reach that point, but he was overmatched and beginning to realize it. Still, the cards took strange turns sometimes. If a man was really a gambler, something inside him compelled him to see how they were going to fall.

  “Are you still in?” Steve Drake asked quietly.

  “I’m still in.” The man shoved his ante to the center of the table.

  It didn’t take long. A few bets, more money in the pot, then the two men laid down their cards and Steve Drake raked in the last of his opponent’s stake.

  The man sat back in his chair and shook his head. He seemed resigned to his fate, rather than upset about it. “That was a good game, Mr. Drake. I appreciate being part of it.”

  “You were a worthy adversary, my friend. You’ll allow me to buy you a drink?”

  The man let out a small chuckle. “I have no choice in the matter.”

  Drake smiled and pushed a double eagle back across the table. His vanquished opponent picked up the coin, got to his feet, and headed for the bar.

  Drake began stacking his winnings into neat piles.

  Arabella wondered if she ought to go over and congratulate him on his victory as she certainly would have done if the incident with Copper hadn’t occurred.

  She decided not to.

  Maybe that was petty of her, she told herself, but she didn’t care. Besides, one of the other games looked like it was about to come to a conclusion, too.

  Beulah Tillery had her competition on the run. Two men were still at her table, but they were both down to the last of their stakes. When she drew to a royal flush—and filled it—that was the end for them.

  One of the men groaned, threw his hands in the air, and said disgustedly, “I feel like I’ve just lost everything to my grandmother!”

  Beulah grinned. “Count yourself lucky that I left you the shirt on your back, friend.” She looked around, saw Arabella watching her, and closed one eye in a wink, as if to say that as women, they had to stick together.

  Arabella returned the smile. She could understand the sentiment, but when it came time to play cards, she would clean out Beulah Tillery just as fast as she would anybody else.

  The game at the fourth and final table might take longer to finish, Arabella realized as she watched it for a few moments. The three men still playing all wore stubborn, determined looks, as if they would stay at it all day if they had to.

  Arabella’s weariness was catching up to her. She didn’t care enough to stay and watch the rest of the game and moved toward the stairs.

  Steve Drake wasn’t going to take her to breakfast this morning. All she wanted was some sleep.

  That didn’t mean she was going to get it without being annoyed first. She had almost reached the door of her room when she heard rapid footsteps in the corridor behind her. A glance over her shoulder revealed Morris Upton coming toward her.

  “Is that last g
ame still going on downstairs?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, it is. Those three may wrestle over it for a good while yet.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be down there making sure everything is done properly?”

  That was pretty blunt, she thought, but she didn’t really care if she hurt his feelings.

  Upton waved a hand as if to dismiss her suggestion. “My men can handle things without any problem. I can’t believe how difficult it’s been to find the time since you’ve been here for the two of us to have a visit.”

  “Well, we’ve both been busy—”

  “I heard about what happened at the American Hotel, you know. Steve Drake’s a fool.”

  Arabella realized that even now, her first impulse was to defend Drake from the buffoon’s judgmental words. Then she caught herself. “I really don’t wish to discuss the matter, Morris,” she said coolly as she reached into her tiny handbag and slipped out the key to her room. “I’m very tired, and I just want to get some rest.”

  “Of course,” Upton said. “Perhaps when you come back down, we can go get something to eat . . .”

  That wasn’t going to happen, but for now she just gave him a slight, non-committal smile then slid the key into the lock. She turned it, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

  The startled cry that she couldn’t keep from coming to her lips made Upton stop short as he started to turn away in disappointment. He swung around and took a quick step into the room after her. “Arabella, what—”

  The sight of the nude, redheaded corpse sprawled across the bed on blood-soaked sheets shocked him into stunned silence.

  Copper Farris was dead as she could ever be.

  * * *

  Slaughter was having breakfast in the dining room of the American Hotel when Mose Tadrack hurried into the room and went over to his table. “There’s trouble, Sheriff.”

  Slaughter was already setting aside his napkin. “I knew that as soon as I got a look at your face, Mose. What is it now?”

  “Another of those gamblers has been killed.”

  Slaughter was on his feet. “Which one?”

  “The woman—”

  “Lady Arabella Winthrop?” Slaughter broke in.

  “No, sir, one of the others. The redheaded lady. The one they call Copper. But Lady Arabella . . . well, the body was found in her room at the Top-Notch.”

  Slaughter’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he muttered, “Good Lord.” His thoughts went back to the day before, when he had come in at the end of what apparently had been a battle royale between the two women. They had appeared to be eager to kill each other then.

  Maybe Lady Arabella had finished the job, as difficult as that was for him to believe after having talked to the woman. She just didn’t seem the sort to commit murder.

  People sometimes did things in the heat of anger, though, that no one would ever dream they would do.

  Slaughter put on his hat. “All right, Mose, let’s go see about this.”

  He and Tadrack were on their way out of the room when a man at one of the other tables stood up and blocked their way. Slaughter frowned in annoyance until he recognized the man as the desk clerk who had been working in the hotel lobby the day before. The clerk had been having breakfast, too, probably before starting his shift at the desk.

  “What is it, Alfred?” Slaughter asked.

  “I heard what Deputy Tadrack said about that poor woman being killed. I was wondering . . . how was it done?”

  “That’s a mighty strange thing to be asking,” Tadrack said with a frown.

  “Please, I have a reason,” the clerk said.

  Slaughter looked at Tadrack. “How about it, Mose? What happened? Did you see the body?”

  Tadrack sighed and nodded. “Yes, sir, I did. I happened to be walking past the Top-Notch when I heard all the yelling. I went inside and settled things down as much as I could. The place sort of emptied out after that. I tried to make folks stay where they were, but there were too many of ’em.”

  “Yes, yes,” Slaughter said as he tried to curb his impatience. “What about the body?”

  “The lady’s throat was cut, pretty much from one ear to the other. There was more blood than I reckon I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Another gambler murdered with a knife,” Slaughter mused.

  The hotel clerk said, “That’s exactly why I asked about it, Sheriff. You see, during that incident yesterday . . . you know, the one where the ladies had their, ah, altercation . . .”

  “Yes, I know. Go on.”

  The clerk took a deep breath. “Well, when they were falling down the stairs, Lady Winthrop’s clothing was in great disarray, and while it certainly wasn’t intentional on my part, there was a moment when I saw . . .”

  “When you looked up the lady’s dress, yes, I understand,” Slaughter said. “No one’s blaming you for that, son. But if you saw something that might have to do with this killing, you’d better spit it out.”

  “That’s what I was getting at, Sheriff. Lady Winthrop had a knife strapped to one of her lower limbs. I saw it for only a second, of course, but I got a clear look at it. It was in a sheath, you understand, but it appeared to be one of those knives with a very narrow blade. A stiletto, I think they call it.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m certain, Sheriff.”

  That was interesting, thought Slaughter. Angelo Castro had been stabbed with a narrow-bladed knife, and at the time he was ahead in the game at the table where Lady Arabella was playing.

  Copper Farris was dead, too, with her throat cut, and she and Lady Arabella had a definite grudge between them. It wasn’t proof by any means, but it was enough to make a man think.

  “Thanks, Alfred. Later, I may have to call on you to repeat what you just told me.”

  The man nodded. “Of course, Sheriff. Anything I can do to help.”

  Slaughter and Tadrack hurried out of the hotel and headed straight to the Top-Notch. They heard the commotion before they got there.

  A large crowd had gathered on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. People who had been in the place when the body was found had wanted out, but everybody else in town, it seemed, wanted to know what was going on. Some of them were probably even hoping to catch a glimpse of the dead woman.

  Slaughter wasn’t going to allow that. He raised his voice and demanded to be let through, and the crowd scattered like a flock of chickens . . . for the moment, anyway.

  The two lawmen went inside. Morris Upton stood near the bar with a grim expression on his face. Lady Arabella, looking pale and shaken, sat at a table by herself. Steve Drake stood not far away. He appeared to want to go to her and comfort her, but he held back, probably because of the incident the day before.

  A number of the other gamblers were sitting at tables as well, but they weren’t playing cards. The low buzz of conversation among them came to an abrupt halt as Slaughter strode into the room.

  He walked over to Upton. He didn’t waste time with small talk. “Is the body still upstairs?”

  “Of course,” Upton replied. “I didn’t allow anybody to move it or even touch it. In fact, a couple of my men are up there right now guarding the door.”

  Slaughter was a little surprised that Upton had taken that precaution. He nodded curtly. “That was a good idea. Who found Miss Farris?”

  Upton leaned his head toward Lady Arabella. “She went in the room first, but I was right there a step behind her.” He made it sound like he had been going into Lady Arabella’s room with her.

  Somehow, Slaughter doubted that. But he put that aside for the moment. “I’d better go have a look.”

  “Of course. I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. You can stay down here. Just don’t go anywhere.”

  “I promise you, Sheriff, I won’t,” Upton said coldly. “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

  Slaughter could believe that. One brutal murder hadn’
t been enough to put a stop to Upton’s big poker tournament, but two might be.

  With Tadrack behind him, Slaughter climbed the stairs. He saw Upton’s bouncers standing in front of a door and knew that was where the corpse was. The two men stepped aside to let him in.

  Slaughter stopped just inside the door. From where he stood, he could see how Copper Farris was laid out across the bed in the obscene sprawl of death. He saw the hideous grin of the gaping wound in her throat. What looked like all the blood in her body had soaked the bedding around her.

  Slaughter’s face was bleak as he moved closer. He bent and studied the wound, pointed, and said to Tadrack, “Look how clean that cut is.”

  “Yeah,” the deputy agreed. “Sheriff, I know I gave up the booze . . . but looking at something like this sure makes me feel like I could use a drink.”

  “Don’t think about that, Mose. Concentrate on helping me find out who’s responsible for this crime.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t slip. It was too hard getting off the stuff the first time. You reckon somebody used a thin-bladed knife to cut her throat? Like a stiletto?”

  Slaughter straightened from the corpse. “I think it’s time I had a talk with Lady Arabella.”

  Chapter 25

  When Slaughter and Tadrack got downstairs, the sheriff told his deputy, “You can go and fetch the undertaker now, Mose,” then he walked over to Arabella and gave her a polite but rather curt nod. “I’m sure you understand that I have to ask you some questions, Lady Arabella. I’d prefer to do it somewhere privately, though.”

  “So would I,” she said as she got to her feet. “Should we go to your office, Sheriff?”

  “That would be fine with me.”

  She smiled faintly. “Should I consider myself under arrest?”

  “Not just yet.” But he couldn’t rule out what might happen in the future.

  Drake stepped forward. “Hold on a minute. Bella, if you’d like for me to come with you—”

  “What in the world makes you think I would want that, Steve?”

  His lips tightened. “Look, I know you’re angry with me, but I just want to help you.”