Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  He glared at her. Pamela was taunting him. “Feeling feisty?”

  “Wouldn’t you do just about anything to stop one of those men from having Maggie?”

  “Anything?”

  She jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Oh, I knew you’d agree to help us any way that you could, McCready. I told Maggie that you’d be on our side.” She ignored his gentle push to set himself free and hugged him tighter. “I can’t wait to tell Maggie.” She leaned into him, forcing him to step back.

  McCready was a little less than gentle but not rough enough to hurt her as he pulled her arms away and backed himself to the doorway. Pamela’s smile and sparking eyes warned him that he had agreed to something that he was going to pay for and regret doing it. But he didn’t have the heart to steal the first smile he had seen from her. She had been there for Maggie when he couldn’t be, when Maggie wouldn’t let him near her. After all, he told himself, what could she possibly want from him?

  And with Maggie on his mind, he let it go, wondering why Maggie managed to slip away every time he thought he had her where he wanted her.

  “McCready, you’ll remember to tell Maggie when you find her that I’ll have everything ready.”

  “Sure. I’ll tell her when I find her.”

  If you find her. Pamela smiled, then closed the door, leaning against it with a satisfied smile. It had taken her most of the day to figure out what sort of dowry Maggie was after. She started to laugh, and soon couldn’t stop.

  McCready wouldn’t have a chance to run when Maggie was finished with him. But best of all, McCready still didn’t realize that he wanted to be caught.

  It was late the next night when an exhausted and furious McCready returned to Cooney Camp without Maggie, without having seen a sign of Maggie.

  Standing in front of the mercantile, Pamela heard him tell Dutch that he didn’t know where Maggie had gone.

  With a sigh of regret Pamela wished that Maggie had trusted her and told her where she was going. She couldn’t really blame her. McCready’s lies along with Quincy’s and what her uncle had done to her had wounded Maggie mighty bad.

  But when Pamela saw that Mike Grant and Lars had come out of the Rawhider to talk to McCready, she hurried back inside. She didn’t want any more questions about Maggie.

  Even with the shorter trails that Maggie knew, it still took her almost three days to reach Santa Fe. The city sprawled from Mannitan Avenue to past Capitol Avenue. The marketplace off the plaza was empty of the farmers that sold their produce and others selling cloth, leather goods, and pottery.

  Maggie didn’t waste time once she found the Camino Del Rosario. She headed for San Francisco Street, looking for St. Francis’s Cathedral. She knew it would be easier to get the information she wanted from the padre there, rather than make the rounds of the cantinas. Men of the cloth, her uncle always told her, knew more about the sins and doings of folks than they ever let on.

  The stately-looking padre took her for a young man, since he called her “my son” when questioning why she wanted to find Thadius Cornwallis. Maggie pulled the brim of her floppy felt hat a little lower to hide her grimed face, then explained that she had to pay a debt of honor to him.

  Finding out that Thadius had rooms in the Exchange Hotel right on San Francisco Street was a bit of luck. Maggie quickly thanked the padre and made her way around the back of the buildings until she found the hotel. She didn’t want anyone to see her if she could help it.

  But she had rushed headlong into coming here without finding out what Thadius looked like. She fingered the small poke of gold in her pants pocket, wondering how much it would buy her. Thadius’s room, perhaps? But that meant letting someone know that she was looking for him.

  Her shabby appearance would likely have her thrown out of the hotel if she attempted to go inside through the front. But she had to find a way.

  The creak of a nearby door had her spinning around, searching for a hiding place. The rattle of pots and pans and the stale aroma of fried foods had Maggie’s mouth watering. But the sight of a young boy, no more than ten or so, made her reveal herself. Here was someone who might help her and for some gold dust forget that he ever saw her.

  “You are hungry, sí?” the boy asked with a faint accent. “A little,” Maggie admitted, studying what she could see of the boy’s thin body, dark hair, and even darker eyes. “What I’m really needin’ is a bit of help.”

  “I am Antonio. You are looking for a cheap place to stay?”

  “Not exactly. I’m lookin’ for a man that lives in the hotel. Maybe you know him? Thadius Cornwallis.”

  “His is mucho bad.”

  “So I’ve heard. But I’ve got to find him, an’ I’m willin’ to pay for the information of where his rooms is an’ what he looks like.”

  From beyond the open doorway someone called for the boy. He turned and yelled something back that Maggie didn’t understand, then came to her.

  “How much?”

  Maggie didn’t hesitate. She drew out the poke from her pocket and handed it over but kept the drawstring clenched tight in her hand. “Feel the weight. There’s more than enough for what I’m lookin’ to know.”

  Antonio grinned. “He is a little fat man. Room six.”

  Maggie released her grip, and the bag disappeared inside the boy’s shirt. He was gone before she thought to thank him. She wiped her damp palms down the sides of her pants and opened the hotel’s back door. Far down the hall a wall lamp flickered, but it provided enough light for her to see the stairway.

  Before she climbed them, Maggie checked her gun and made sure that her knife was untied from its sheath. She hadn’t lied to the padre. She had a debt to pay Thadius Cornwallis for causing her uncle’s death and the attempts on her own life.

  She hugged the wall as she tested each step before she put her weight on it. And when she reached the upper hall, it was with a sigh of relief that no one was about to stop her. Here were several wall lamps, turned up high, so that the gleaming brass numbers were clearly revealed.

  When she came to number six, Maggie pressed her ear against the door but didn’t hear anything that offered a clue as to whether or not Thadius was there. She had figured that the door would be locked, but a man living in a hotel wouldn’t want his key lost and would likely leave it in the lock. She counted on Thadius having done just that and used the tip of her knife in the keyhole. It wasn’t thin enough to fit all the way in.

  Swearing, Maggie stood back a moment. She wasn’t going to be defeated by a locked door. She could knock but that would steal the advantage she wanted of surprising Thadius.

  No, she had to get that key.

  Staring at the door number, Maggie realized that it was held in place with nails. A nail would come in handy, she thought, just the right thickness and length. But not those holding the number to the door. She took a few steps over to the wall lamp and pried one nail free with her knife.

  Minutes later she was rewarded by a soft thunk as the key fell out of the lock and hit the carpeted floor inside the room. Her knife, flat side down, barely made it under the door, but Maggie was standing and holding the key seconds later. Please let him be inside, she prayed, fitting the key to the lock and turning it to open the door.

  The light from the hallway did not penetrate the dark room. Maggie stepped inside, her boots sinking into a thick carpet, then closed the door behind her. She stood still, giving herself a few minutes to let her eyes adjust.

  After sheathing her knife, Maggie pulled her shirt free from her pants and unwound the rope she had wrapped around her waist. Coiling it into a loop that would easily slip over her head and one shoulder, she tied off the ends, then secured it in place until she would need it.

  Bending slightly, with her hands extended in front of her, she turned to her left and began to work her way around the room. Having come this far, the last thing she wanted was to trip over a piece of furniture. She shaped ea
ch bulky piece with the same delicacy of hand that she had used to learn how to skin hides.

  The thick carpet muffled any noise, and Maggie found velvet draperies pulled across two windows before she found the bedroom door. It wasn’t fully closed, so she heard a man’s snoring before she stood by the bed with her rope in hand. While she listened to make sure that no one else was in bed with him, her nimble fingers quickly made a noose from the rope. Giving it a few hard pulls, she was satisfied that the knot would hold. Now, she knew, came the hard part.

  Maggie eased the covers back from his head and shoulders. She could make out the lumpy form of his body, and by carefully listening to the uninterrupted snores, she determined that he was facing away from where she stood.

  Giving the noose slack, she draped it over the pillow above his head, then slowly lowered the other side so it could drape around his neck. Two wraps of the rope around one hand gave her leverage she would need to pull it tight. Drawing out her knife, knowing that she didn’t want to slice his throat when he woke up startled, she placed the tip of it below his ear.

  “Thadius Cornwallis?” she whispered, bending lower. “You bastard bottom of the dung heap, wake up,” she said a little louder and was rewarded by the cut off snore. She sensed he was awake and tense. “Listen to me,” she warned, gently adding a bit of pressure to the tip of the knife.

  Thadius raised his head off the pillow. “Who—” His word was cut off by the noose around his neck. He tried to bring his hands up to free himself, but the knife bit his skin.

  “Lie still.” Maggie had to turn away from breathing his fetid breath. “If you move again, you good for nothin’ cow plop, I’ll slice you open an’ feed you to the hogs. There’s a whole pen full of them out by Fort Marcy. Just raise your hand a bit to let me know you’re hearin’ me.”

  Maggie wanted to see him badly, but she knew she would have to wait for that. It was enough that he obeyed her and managed to lift the cover and bring up his hand.

  “Now crawl backward till you’re off the bed.” She backed away and gave the rope just enough slack to allow him to move. “An’ if you touch that noose, I’ll send you to the devil right now.”

  Thadius felt his panic die hearing her last words. She wasn’t going to kill him. At least not yet. He didn’t know who she was, but the trickle of blood from the cut behind his ear warned him that she was serious. He inched his way to the edge of the bed, trying to pull down his nightshirt, but a light tug on the rope forced him to get off the bed quickly. First Ryder had broken into his rooms and now this wild woman. He would have to hire himself a bodyguard before this could happen again.

  Maggie was in the awkward position of having almost two feet of rope taut between them. If Thadius took it in mind to grab hold of it, she didn’t know if her strength to hold on would be enough to stop him. She had to keep him worried and too busy to think.

  “Find the lamp an’ light it. Then you an’ me are doin’ some business. An’ just remember I’m real quick with usin’ this knife. I’ll have your liver cut out an’ fed to you before you can call out.” Maggie cursed herself for her choice of words. They were the same ones she used about McCready on her supposed-to-be wedding day. But when she heard the rattle Thadius’s shaking hands made lifting the glass from the bedside lamp, she pushed McCready out of her thoughts.

  It took three tries before Thadius managed to light a match and hold it steady enough to fire the wick. His damp hand almost lost its grip on the glass, but he replaced it and faced his attacker. The battered felt hat covered her hair and grime was smeared over her face, but her green eyes held him, for he had never seen hate that was so cold it was deadly. She topped him by nearly six inches and Thadius began to understand he might not get out of this situation easily. His gaze dropped to the wickedly gleaming blade she held in one hand and the rope loosely coiled in the other.

  Desperate, he opened his mouth to speak only to find that his voice was dried up. Swallowing was hard with the rope around his neck, but he forced himself to do it until he felt some moisture in his mouth.

  “I’ve got money,” he croaked.

  “That’s good. Real good. ’Cause you’re gonna give me all you’ve got.”

  Robbery. That’s all she was after. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but she yanked on the rope, then with a quick flip of her hand twisted it once around his arms and chest.

  Maggie had to force herself to look at him. He was as pink as a porker with the eyes to match. “Pick up the lamp an’ we’ll go into the other room. You’re gonna do some writin’ for me.” Maggie almost snatched the lamp from him; he was shaking so bad that she was afraid he would drop it and start a fire. She was taking a gamble that he would have all that she needed in the other room since the padre didn’t tell her that he had an office anywhere.

  “Move, Cornwallis,” she ordered, following him. His nightshirt flapped against his hairy legs, and he waddled from side to side into the other room.

  A quick look showed Maggie a large wood desk set before closed dark red velvet drapes. She gave him a shove toward it. “Go on an’ set.” Once he was in the chair, Maggie eased the rope looped around him. “Free your writin’ hand.” Once he did, she wrapped the rest of the rope around him and the chair’s back and tied it off.

  Taking a place on the corner of the desk facing him, Maggie lifted the knife to his throat and shoved his inkwell forward. “Get your papers.”

  Thadius had been waiting for this. He eased open the top right-hand drawer, keeping his eyes on her. Beneath the leather case of writing paper was his gun. His sweating fingers closed over the handle and slowly began to ease the weapon out.

  Maggie watched his eyes. She knew he was up to something by the sudden gleam in them. Leaning forward, she raised the knife and nicked his chin. “Put it back, fat man. You’ll do no more hurtin’ to me an’ mine.”

  Thadius released the gun, flinching under her murderous look. He raised the leather case and brought it out to put on the desk. He didn’t even wait for her to tell him, but removed a sheet of paper.

  “That ain’t gonna be enough for what you’ve got to say.”

  He took out another. Maggie shook her head, and he added a third sheet in front of him.

  She backed up but kept the knife slightly raised in case he needed a bit more convincing. “This is what you say. You tell how you killed me uncle—”

  “No!” Thadius reared back with shock. Now he knew who she was: Quincy’s backward bride. “You’re—” He stopped himself from saying dead. He stopped himself from asking her what happened to Ryder, Quincy, and Andrew Burton. If she had found him, they had talked. But he wasn’t going to take the fall by himself. “Listen to me. I didn’t kill him. Berger, William Berger—”

  “Berger’s dead,” Maggie announced calmly.

  Sweat beads popped out all over Thadius’s face, and he longed to wipe them away. He closed his eyes, his mind darting from this comer to the next, searching for a way out.

  Chapter 24

  Maggie smelled his fear like that of a cornered rat searching for a way out. She wouldn’t give him the chance.

  “Start writin’. I ain’t got all night, Cornwallis.”

  “But why? What do you intend to do? Surely you know that forcing a confession from someone is against the law?”

  “Law? You dare talk to me about law?”

  “You can’t expect me to condemn myself on your say-so and not ask why.”

  Much as she hated getting closer to him, Maggie brought her face up to his. “You’ll do what I tell you or you die now.”

  “There’s money. Lots of it. I’ll give you—”

  “Yeah. You will. But later,” she said, satisfied by his babbling that she had instilled fear in him. “Start.”

  Maggie spoke slowly, wanting him to get all that she knew had happened right. She was gambling that Thadius would write exactly what she said. She had no way of knowing. If
McCready had spent more time teaching her to read than learning about loving, she wouldn’t be so worried. She lost track of the time, fighting her own tiredness as he labored over the pages and finally dropped the pen after he signed his name.

  Maggie had to risk a bluff. She snatched up the first paper and held it to the light. “Where does it say that Quincy was to kill me?”

  “Here, here.” Thadius shoved the second sheet at her. “Right there in the middle of the page. Just as you said it.”

  Maggie pretended to read and let him sweat.

  “I wrote all of it just as you said,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, hoping it was over.

  “Now, you’ll get me your money.” Maggie scooped up the papers, folded them in half, and tucked them safely in her shirt. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” She slid off the desk and stood behind him to untie the rope. Keeping a tight grip on the noose, she ordered him up.

  Thadius decided as he wrote out his confession that if she took his money and let him live, he was going to come out all right. After all, what could a backward, filthy creature do with a forced confession? No one would believe it. He had friends. Powerful people whom he had helped place in office. All he had to do was hurry and get rid of her. He anxiously walked across the room to his safe concealed in a lacquered cabinet. But for all his own feeling of urgency, it took him two tries to open the safe. He stood back and let her see what there was inside.

  Maggie was smarter. “No. You take it out.” But when he started to put the money bags on the floor, she stopped him. “Stand up an’ turn around. I’ll be needin’ somethin’ to carry them in.” Without warning, Maggie sliced down the front of his nightshirt. “Take it off.”

  “You can’t strip me naked!”

  His outrage would have been funny, but she was in no mood to laugh. Her voice became as cold as the look in her eyes. “I can’t?” she repeated very softly. “You stripped me of the only family I had by killin’ off me uncle. You stripped me pride an’ tried for me life. You tried to steal me mines. Take it off, Cornwallis, or I’ll make you fodder for hogs. Just be thankin’ the devil that it ain’t your hide I’m strippin’ in its place.”