"All right, but you're no lawyer," Simone said as she handed over the letter from the renowned attorney who practiced in the territorial capital of Cheyenne.
Cole pored over the letter for a few minutes while Simone and Brenda glared at each other and Mrs. Palmer stood calmly to one side. When he finally looked up from the paper, he said slowly, "Well, it looks to me like Miss Durand here has a case. Once William Durand and Andrew McKay were both dead, it made sense that all of their holdings would go to Mrs. McKay, because we didn't know anything about Durand having an heir. But according to Judge Evans, the law is pretty plain in a situation like this: Durand's half of the partnership should have gone to Miss Durand here."
"That means I own half of this land development company," Brenda said smugly.
Simone felt like screaming. "It's impossible," she said, her voice trembling a little. "This is my company, my town." She was aware that Cole was watching her with a strange expression on her face, but she couldn't help it. On top of everything else that had happened, this was just too much for her to cope with.
"Not anymore."
Cole glanced at Simone again, then once more moved so that he was between the two women. "How did you find out about all this?" he asked Brenda.
"I saw a story in the newspaper back in Baltimore about your town, Marshal," Margaret Palmer replied instead. "It mentioned William Durand's name, and I thought I should investigate. My husband left me fairly well-off financially when he passed away, so I hired a detective to come out here and find out everything that had happened. Once I had read his report, I told Brenda about it. She's lived with me ever since she was a baby, you know. She never knew her mother—or her father."
"And now I never will," Brenda said. "He's dead."
"He deserved to die," Simone said through clenched teeth.
Before they could snipe at each other any more, Margaret Palmer went on, "Brenda and I decided that we should investigate further. Through our attorney in Baltimore, we contacted you, Mrs. McKay."
Simone frowned. "I never heard of either of you until today."
"No, but you've heard of the B & D Investment Corporation, haven't you?" Brenda asked. "We bought some land from you."
"My God!" Simone exclaimed, her eyes widening. "You're the B & D Investment Corporation?"
"That's right. We wanted to find out just what you were doing out here with my father's company, and doing business with you seemed to be the easiest way. You got a good price for that piece of land you sold us, Mrs. McKay. I imagine you've made a lot of money since you took everything over."
Simone sat down. This . . . this obnoxious little girl owned the property that Jeremiah Newton and Hank Parker were feuding over! It was hard to believe, but she was coming to accept it. Regardless of the legality of the other claims Brenda Durand was making, that knoll southwest of town had been purchased legally, and the sale would stand up in any court in the country. As for the rest of it—
"Surely you don't think you can just waltz in here and I'll hand over half of everything to you?"
"You don't have any choice," Brenda said.
"But you're just a child!"
Mrs. Palmer said, "Since Brenda is still underage, I will help her manage her estate, of course. I'm her legal guardian."
"Why didn't you ever try to find out where her father was before you saw that newspaper story?" asked Cole.
"Well . . . to be honest with you, Marshal, neither of us wanted to know. I . . . I never thought William Durand was a very good husband to my daughter, and that was confirmed when he abandoned her while she was with child. He was always looking for some easy way to make money, and he didn't care if it was honest or not. After Nancy died, I decided that Brenda and I were well rid of him."
"But all that's changed now," Brenda said.
Simone made a small noise of contempt. "Of course it is, now that you think you can cash in on his death."
Once again Brenda looked as if she wanted to physically attack Simone. She put a thin smile on her face, however, and said, "You can say whatever you want, Mrs. McKay. None of it changes the facts of the matter. Half of this town—or at least half of the part you still own—is mine. And half of the proceeds from anything you've sold off since my father's death are rightfully mine, too."
Simone's head was spinning. "I can't think about this anymore," she said. "Get out of my office."
"Half of this office is mine," snapped Brenda.
Simone took a deep breath. "I'm going to wire Judge Evans and get an opinion from him myself. Until then, just steer clear of me."
Brenda looked as though she wanted to say something else, but her grandmother stopped her with an outstretched hand. "We'll give you some time to become accustomed to the situation, Mrs. McKay. In the meantime, we'll be at the hotel. The Territorial House, I believe it's called?"
"Read your detective's report," Simone said bitterly. "It probably tells all about the hotel."
"It does," Brenda said. "And we'll only be paying half the normal rate, too. Come on, Grandmother."
She stalked haughtily out of the office, followed by Mrs. Palmer, who said as she left, "Thank you for your help, Marshal. Goodbye, Mrs. McKay."
Simone didn't look up from the desk.
When the two women were gone, Cole asked worriedly, "Are you going to be all right, Simone?"
"Of course I am," she said dully. "This is all some sort of misunderstanding. Wind River is my town. I'm going to be the mayor. It's my town"
She didn't hear his sigh, didn't notice when he left the room.
Chapter 5
Rose Foster was pouring a cup of coffee for a customer at the counter when Cole walked into the Wind River Cafe that evening. A smile appeared on her face when she looked up and saw him. Cole returned the smile and sat down on one of the empty stools. There weren't very many, since the cafe always did a good business around suppertime.
"Good evening, Marshal," Rose greeted him. She was still holding the coffeepot, using a thick pad of leather to protect her fingers from the hot handle. She reached for an empty cup on the shelf behind her, put it on the counter in front of Cole, and poured some of the strong black brew into it.
"Thanks," he told her. Rose knew his habits by now, knew that he usually had a cup of coffee about this time of the evening, even on those nights when he had already eaten supper in the dining room of the boarding house where he rented a room.
"Can I get you something to eat?"
Cole shook his head. "No, thanks. I've already filled up on Abigail Paine's chicken and dumplings. But this coffee sure does finish off a meal mighty nice."
Rose smiled again, and Cole thought how pretty it made her look. With her strawberry-blond hair and fair complexion, she was a real beauty, especially now that fear no longer haunted her green eyes.
The trouble that had dogged her trail all the way from New Orleans was over, and never again would she have to worry about it catching up to her. That knowledge had made a world of difference in the way Rose Foster looked at the world.
She was looking at him differently these days, too, Cole sensed, and he couldn't help but return her interest.
Billy Casebolt had been trying to play matchmaker for the two of them for quite a while, even before the problems from Rose's past had resurfaced, but Cole suspected that had more to do with the cooking skills of old Monty Riordan, the cafe's biscuit-shooter, than with any genuine urges to play Cupid.
Cole didn't care about that. All that mattered was that things had changed between him and Rose, and both of them knew it. Neither of them was quite sure what to do about it, but Cole was confident they'd figure it out sooner or later.
Nobody along the counter or at any of the tables covered by red-and-white checked cloths was demanding attention at the moment, so Rose lingered and said, "I heard about that girl who came in on the train today, the one who claims to own half the town. Is she telling the truth?"
Cole sipped his coffee and shrugged.
"As far as I can tell, she's really the daughter of William Durand. And the best lawyer in the territory has already gone on record as saying that her claims are legitimate. Simone sent off some wires earlier in the day, trying to get it all sorted out, but it looks to me like things are going to be changing around here."
Rose shook her head. "I hope it all works out. Mrs. McKay and I aren't what you'd call close—a lady like her doesn't eat in a place like this, you know—but I wouldn't wish any trouble on her. I never much liked that Mr. Durand, either, when he was my landlord."
"He never bothered you, did he?" Cole asked sharply.
"No, but I always felt like he wanted to. It's been a lot nicer dealing with Mrs. McKay."
"You shouldn't be able to tell much difference, even if Simone does have to turn over half of her holdings to Brenda Durand. Somebody's still got to run things, and I reckon that'll be Simone." Cole paused, then added, "Although you can't ever tell. I got the feeling Miss Durand wouldn't mind being the boss around here."
"Well, I feel sorry for Mrs. McKay. First she has to worry about Hank Parker running against her for mayor, and now this."
Cole nodded slowly. He was more than a mite worried about Simone, too. She hadn't looked or sounded like herself after Brenda Durand's visit to the land development company. Simone had been through a lot since coming to Wind River, and although Cole had always been impressed by her strength, anybody could be pushed too far, no matter how strong they were.
He hoped Brenda Durand's arrival in town hadn't been enough to push Simone right over the edge.
* * *
Simone stood by the sideboard in the parlor and tried to pour brandy into a glass. Her hands were shaking so badly that she had to give it up as a bad job. She thought about wrapping both hands around the bottle, lifting it to her mouth, and drinking straight from the neck. But that would have been unladylike, and she had been raised to always be a lady.
Instead she picked up the piece of paper she had laid down beside the bottle. It was a yellow Western Union telegraph, the kind familiar to anyone who sent very many messages over what the Indians called the singing wires. The clerk from the Western Union office at the depot had brought it over to the land development company late that afternoon.
The telegram was from Judge Abercrombie Evans, and it confirmed what the attorney had written in the letter Margaret Palmer had shown to Simone. Brenda Durand was William Durand's legal heir and as such entitled to one half of the assets held by the company that had been formed by Durand and Andrew McKay.
Simone wondered how much Mrs. Palmer and Brenda had paid Evans to get him on their side. It didn't really matter, of course. What was important was that Evans was friends with every sitting judge in the territory. That was why he seldom if ever lost a case; none of his poker-playing cronies wanted to rule against him.
No, fighting this through the legal system was out, Simone knew. She was beaten before she even got started. All of her work, everything she had sacrificed . . . all for nothing.
Well, not exactly nothing, she told herself. She was still half-owner of the land development company, the hotel, the newspaper, and most of the other businesses around here. Half of a thriving town was better than nothing.
But the fact that it wasn't all hers anymore was galling. She wasn't sure if she could live with that or not.
"Will there be anything else tonight, ma'am?"
The voice of her cook and housekeeper came from the door of the parlor, making Simone turn around sharply. The white-haired Irishwoman looked startled at the expression on her mistress's face and took an involuntary step backward. With an effort, Simone softened her features a little and even twisted them into the semblance of a smile.
"No, there's nothing else. You can go on to bed."
"Thank you, ma'am," the servant said. She backed out of the parlor and disappeared up the stairs, but Simone had noticed the strange look the woman gave her before she left.
She's just like everyone else, Simone thought. She thinks I'm going crazy, too.
Simone looked down at her hand when she became aware that she was still holding the telegram. She had crushed the paper a little between her fingers, and now she finished the job of crumpling it. As she turned around and tossed the ball of yellow paper into the cold ashes of the fireplace, she wished there were a fire burning so that she could have seen the hateful telegram consumed. On a warm summer evening like this, of course, there was no need for a blaze.
She heard a footstep behind her and thought the servant had returned. "I told you I didn't need anything else," she snapped at the woman.
"But I need something, Simone."
Her hands flew to her mouth and pressed tight against her lips. She let out a quiet moan.
"What's wrong, Simone?" Andrew asked. "Why don't you turn around and look at me? I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."
Her movements were jerky as she made herself turn to face him. He looked just as he had the other time, tall and handsome and real. She found herself staring at the front of his shirt and vest, searching for the bloodstains that had been on those clothes that day on the platform at the railroad station.
The day Andrew McKay had died.
His shirtfront was white and unmarred, though, and the brown tweed vest was as neat and clean as it had ever been. Wherever Andrew was, Simone supposed that the evidence of their passing had been erased from those who were there. In most cases, that was probably merciful.
"Have you found out who killed me yet?" asked Andrew.
"I . . . I've been busy," Simone replied, knowing even as the words came out of her mouth how feeble they sounded.
Andrew looked disappointed. "I hoped I could leave here soon and travel on to where I'm supposed to be. I know it may be worse, but I still have to do it."
"I understand, and I want to help you, but things have come up . . ." Simone's voice trailed off. She couldn't allow herself to think about what was really going on here. She couldn't admit that she was having a serious conversation with a ghost.
She knew that if she did, her fragile grip on what was left of her sanity might slip away. She found herself explaining, "There's this young woman . . . who wants to take the town away from me . . ."
Andrew frowned and stepped toward her, moving so abruptly that for an instant he almost flickered out of existence entirely before seeming to solidify again. "What? Wind River is yours by rights. William and I are responsible for the settlement being there in the first place, and you're the only legal heir of the partnership—"
"Durand had a daughter," Simone said.
"What?"
"He had a child, even though he abandoned her mother and never even saw the little girl. She's his heir."
"Damn! I never thought to ask William about that when he was passing through here. The subject never came up." Andrew shook his head, making him hazy for a moment. "I'm sorry, Simone. I honestly thought that you'd be left well off if anything ever happened to me . . . and I suppose you really are. Owning even half of a town like Wind River makes you a rich woman!"
"I know that," Simone said testily. She didn't need a ghost to tell her what she had already realized. "I just can't believe that this girl showed up out of the blue like she did. It's not fair."
"It wasn't fair that someone shot me, either," Andrew reminded her. "Like I told you, Simone, I really need your help."
"And I'll do what I can," she said with a sigh, not even thinking about how ludicrous it was for her to be explaining her troubles to a ghost as she went on. "But you have to understand the strain I'm under. I'm running for mayor, you know."
"You are?" Andrew sounded a bit surprised. "That's a wonderful idea. I wouldn't really have expected it from you."
"You never expected half the things I'm capable of, Andrew," she said. "I was always more than just your ornament."
"Of course you—"
"You never realized how many of the schemes you and William thought you came up with we
re really my ideas," she went on. She began to pace back and forth across the rug on the parlor floor. "I was always there behind the scenes, pushing you when you needed it, nudging you in the right direction. And you never gave me credit for it, not once!"
"I'm sorry, Simone," Andrew said, an edge of desperation coming into his voice. "I certainly never meant to hurt you or ignore what you were doing to help us. But that's all in the past, and now I have this other problem—"
Simone stopped, whirled around to face him, and screamed, "The hell with your problem! I'm losing everything I've worked for! I won't even be mayor if I don't win this election!"
Andrew seemed to be fading, even though he wasn't moving. He said, "You'll be all right, Simone. You can do whatever it takes, I know you can."
Her bosom heaving with emotion, her fists clenched at her sides, she nodded curtly and said, "Damned right I can."
"I'll even help you if I can. But you've got to help me. I . . . I can't stay across the line anymore now. I've got to go back. Help me, Simone . . . help me get where I need to be."
"I'll do what I can," she promised again. The turmoil that had gripped her a moment earlier was fading. The tension within her eased. "Don't worry, Andrew."
She could barely see him now. When he had vanished after his first visitation, she had kept her eyes closed, but this time she watched with keen interest*as his figure became dimmer and dimmer. His lips were moving as he said something, but she couldn't make out the words any longer. Finally, after several long seconds ticked by, he was gone.
Simone heard footsteps on the stairs. "Miz McKay?" a voice called tentatively.
She sighed. The housekeeper had heard her screaming at Andrew and probably thought that she had lost her mind. Simone went to the door of the parlor and smiled up at the woman, who stood halfway down the staircase wrapped in a woolen robe.
"It's all right," Simone said. "I was just practicing one of my campaign speeches."
"Oh." Clearly the woman didn't believe her. "I just heard a bit of a commotion, ma'am, and wanted to make sure you didn't need me."
Judgement Day (Wind River Book 6) Page 5