There were quite a few people on Grenville Avenue, and many of them greeted Simone by name, the men tipping their hats respectfully, the women smiling. She was well liked here, but more than that, she was held somewhat in awe.
Not only was she the wealthiest, most influential person in town, but she came from a world that many of these people had never known themselves. Philadelphia society might as well have been Mars as far as these frontier folk were concerned.
Sweetwater Street wasn't nearly as crowded. In fact, Simone was by herself on the residential street that was lined with aspens. She could see the mansion bulking at the end of the road. In the houses between here and there, lamplight glowed warmly in the windows as families sat down to dinner.
"Mrs. McKay?"
Simone started a little, surprised by the voice that said her name as she walked past a clump of trees that threw a pool of deep shadow underneath their branches. She turned toward the voice, her heart beating a bit faster as she said, "Yes? Who is it?"
A female figure emerged part of the way from the shadows. Simone couldn't see the woman's face. "Remember me, Mrs. McKay? It's Becky Lewis."
Simone's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't likely to ever forget Becky Lewis. "I remember you," Simone said coldly. "You're the slut who claimed my late husband fathered her child."
"Ah, now, you'd better be careful, Mrs. McKay. You don't want to rile me." The prostitute's voice was mocking.
Simone's chin lifted defiantly. "I gave you money to leave Wind River and make a fresh start elsewhere. What are you doing back here?"
"I came to see you," Becky said. "1 thought you might want to know about the baby."
"I have absolutely no interest in you or your brat. You want money again, I suppose."
Becky gave a harsh little laugh. "You've got me pegged, Mrs. McKay. Once a whore, always a whore. Only interested in money."
"Are you denying it?" Simone snapped.
"No, ma'am, I'm not denying it at all."
Simone sighed. "Very well. I don't want you disgracing Andrew's name any more now than when I paid you off the first time. I'll give you a reasonable sum. Just don't say anything more about that. . . that baby."
"You don't have to worry about the baby." Becky's voice caught a little as she went on, "You don't ever have to worry about the baby again." She took a deep breath, and her voice was stronger when she spoke again. "You've got a lot bigger worries than that, Mrs. McKay."
"What are you talking about?"
"I was on the platform at the depot the day the first train rolled in. Remember, Mrs. McKay? I was right there, close by. I saw everything that happened. Everything."
Simone's pulse was like a hammer pounding in her head. Carefully she kept her voice from revealing her distress as she said, "What are you talking about?"
"You know, Mrs. McKay. You were there, too."
Simone shook her head. "I won't continue this conversation. You and I have nothing more to say to each other, Miss Lewis. Just tell me how much money you want and then go away."
Becky stepped closer, and finally Simone could see her face in the last of the fading daylight. The soiled dove's features were drawn, almost haggard. The fresh, young beauty she had once possessed was now little more than a memory. Her lips drew back from her teeth, giving her a feral look, as she said, "It's not that simple, Mrs. McKay. I'm not going away anytime soon. I want money, sure, but I want more than that." She reached out and jabbed Simone in the chest with a finger, making the older woman gasp and draw back. "You're going to dance to my tune now, lady— or else I'll tell everybody in this precious town of yours about what you did that day on the platform!"
For an instant the most overpowering rage Simone had ever felt gripped her. In her mind's eye she could see herself lunging toward Becky, getting the prostitute's neck between her fingers, and squeezing until the last remains of that pathetic life were gone. She could do it, Simone knew. She was larger than Becky, and the younger woman's wasted look told Simone that her health was not good. She probably didn't have the strength to fight off an unexpected attack.
But then what would she do with the body? Simone asked herself. She could say that Becky had attacked her . . . she could kill the girl, then go screaming back down to Grenville Avenue. Cole would believe whatever story she told him, Simone knew that. It would be easy . . .
"And I ain't the only one who knows about this," Becky said, as if reading Simone's mind, "so you best be real careful. You think about what you're going to do before you do it, Mrs. McKay."
"You . . . you're a hateful bitch!"
"Yes, ma'am," Becky said smugly. "But that's not important. All that matters is what I know about you."
She was right. Simone knew she was right. She wasn't sure just what Becky thought she had seen that day on the platform, but no matter what kind of crazy story she told, some people would believe her. Not Cole, of course, and not many others. But some, and that was enough. Suspicion was the easiest crop in the world to grow once the seeds had been planted. Becky might not be able to ruin her, but she could certainly make life in Wind River miserable.
"All right," Simone said, having to force the words up her throat and out of her mouth. "How much do you want?"
"Five hundred dollars, to start with. And like I said, I'll be around town for a while. There may be some other things I ask you to do."
"Come with me. I'll get you your money."
Becky smirked, the expression barely visible in the dusk. "You sure you want a dirty whore like me setting foot in that fancy house of yours?"
"I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?"
"You sure as hell don't."
Simone started walking toward the house again, her steps much more sure and confident than she felt. Her head was spinning. She had asked herself what else could go wrong, and now she had received her answer.
This was the housekeeper's night off, and that was the only reason Simone was willing to allow Becky into the house. Otherwise she would have made her wait somewhere else.
She didn't want anyone to know there was a connection between the two of them. "Stay here," she told Becky when they entered the foyer of the mansion. The lamps had been left lit in the parlor and dining room. "I'll be right down with your money. Don't touch anything."
"Don't worry," Becky said dryly. "Bein' a slut don't rub off."
Simone wasn't sure about that, nor was she certain that she could trust Becky in her house. But with as much as the soiled dove had to gain, it was unlikely she would risk it all to steal a few knickknacks from the parlor.
Without even taking off her coat and hat, Simone went straight upstairs to her bedroom and took a canvas pouch from underneath a stack of clothes in one of the drawers of the walnut chiffonier. It looked strange for the owner of the bank to keep a stash of money hidden amongst her undies, Simone thought, but she liked to have some cash on hand where she could get to it in a hurry.
A holdover from her younger days, when she hadn't been quite so well-to-do, she had decided when she put the pouch there. Now she opened it, took out a sheaf of bills, and counted off five hundred dollars.
Becky was still waiting in the foyer when Simone came downstairs with the money. She thrust the cash into Becky's eager hands and said, "Here. That's what you wanted. Now I'll thank you to leave me alone."
"Sure," Becky said. She riffled through the bills, then rolled them up and stuck them down the front of her dress into the cleavage between her small breasts. "I'll leave you alone . . . for now. But I may be back to see you."
"I can wait," Simone said icily.
"And remember, from here on out . . . there's always going to be somebody somewhere who knows what you did."
With that smirk still on her face, Becky turned and left the house. The door closed firmly behind her.
Once Becky was gone, Simone's iron control over her emotions evaporated. She stumbled into the parlor and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God,
" she practically wailed. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?"
She stood there for several long minutes, shuddering but not giving in to the urge to cry. When she was able to think coherently again, she gave a hollow laugh and said aloud, "At least there wasn't a ghost waiting for me here in the parlor tonight."
That was when she heard a footstep behind her and a voice said tentatively, "Simone . . . ?"
Chapter 10
Dr. Judson Kent stepped out of the general store and turned to lift a hand in farewell to Harvey Raymond, the manager of the emporium. Twilight was settling down over Wind River; it was one of Kent's favorite times of day.
He thought he might stroll down to the cafe and have some supper, then take a tray back to Jeremiah. The tray would have to be heavily loaded, Kent knew, because Jeremiah's appetite had come back, and the big blacksmith couldn't get enough of Monty Riordan's cooking.
To Kent's satisfaction, Jeremiah had shown no signs of a lingering head injury during the past couple of days. He had decided that Jeremiah would probably make a full recovery, given time. That was going to be the challenge: keeping Jeremiah in bed where he belonged for a few more days so that he could rest and recuperate from his ordeal.
Kent paused on the boardwalk and glanced down the street at the false front of the Pronghorn Saloon. Already, gaudy light was spilling out through its windows, and Kent could hear piano music and raucous laughter. The place was a blight on the town, the doctor thought. But like Cole Tyler, Kent knew there was nothing that could legally be done about it.
He was frowning toward the Pronghorn when some impulse made him turn his head the other way. When he did, he saw Simone McKay leaving the offices of the Wind River Land Development Company.
Kent lifted a hand and started to call out to her, but something made him stop before he said anything. Simone's back was stiff, and she seemed to be paying little attention to her surroundings. Kent wondered if she was upset about something.
Without quite knowing why he was doing it, he started following her.
At first he fully intended to catch up and speak to her, but he held back, deciding that he wanted to see where she was going. He knew he was spying on her, but he told himself it was for her own good. Simone had been through a great deal lately, and Kent wanted to find out what her mental state was. Perhaps he could be of help to her, he mused.
A few minutes later, still trailing about a block behind her, he saw her turn and enter Sweetwater Street. Now he knew she was going home, and he realized he was being foolish.
He felt an unaccustomed flush creeping over his bearded cheeks. He was attracted to Simone, and the past year had been an agony of indecision for him.
Once a suitable period of mourning for her husband had passed, Kent had tried to subtly make it known to Simone that he was interested, but he had never been able to fully interpret her reaction. Sometimes it seemed as if she might return his affections, and at others she seemed quite taken with Marshal Tyler instead. And there were other times when Kent was convinced she had no romantic interest in either of them.
To be honest about it, he had thought more than once, Simone McKay was as big a mystery to him now as she had been the first time he saw her.
But that didn't mean he should look for things that might be disturbing her just so that he could possibly help and put her in his debt. That wasn't the decent thing to do at all. If he was going to do anything for her, it needed to be out of concern for a fellow citizen, nothing more.
When he reached the corner of Sweetwater Street, he told himself, he would turn around and go back to the cafe, just as he had planned.
He paused at the intersection and looked toward the big house at the end of the cross street. Shadows were gathering, and it took him a second to spot Simone. Then he saw her. She had stopped for some reason.
He saw as well the figure that stepped out of the gloom underneath some trees and accosted her.
Kent's frown deepened with uncertainty. If it had been a man who had stopped Simone, he would have gone loping down Sweetwater Street without hesitation to come to her aid. But the person talking to her was female. Kent could tell that much even in the shadows cloaking the street.
He drew back against the building on the corner, thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat, and watched curiously.
Simone talked to the unknown woman for several minutes. It was difficult to be sure, but Kent thought her stance stiffened even more. Something was upsetting her, he told himself. Still, he was hesitant to interfere, since Simone seemed to be in no physical danger. Finally Simone turned and moved on toward her house, but the other woman went with her.
"Judson, you've no right to spy on the lady," he muttered to himself. "You're just being an old busybody."
But be that as it may, Kent started down Sweetwater Street, following Simone and her mysterious companion.
Both women went into the house. Kent was not going to skulk around the mansion and try to peer in the windows. That would be utterly undignified, and Simone would surely be angry with him if she caught him doing such a thing. Instead he paused half a block away, underneath another aspen tree, and watched the big house.
Minutes ticked by with maddening slowness. Kent was about to give up and leave when the front door of the house opened. One of the women came out and started back up the street, and as she drew closer he was able to tell it was the other woman, not Simone. He moved back, deeper into the shadow, and for some reason found himself holding his breath.
The woman walked past. There was just enough of a faint red glow in the sky to the west to reveal her features to Judson Kent.
His jaw tightened. Time had changed her somewhat, and not for the better, but he knew her immediately. The last time he had seen her, she had been getting on an east-bound train, having been paid by Simone to leave Wind River forever and make a fresh start somewhere else, her and the child she claimed had been fathered by Andrew McKay.
Why in God's name had Becky Lewis returned, Kent wondered, and why, out of all times, now?
This was not good, he told himself, not good at all. The young prostitute had threatened once before to ruin Andrew McKay's good name. Had she come back to make the same threat again? Had she wasted the money Simone had given her before and decided to resume her blackmail? And what about the child?
Kent knew he couldn't turn and walk away from this.
Simone was in some sort of trouble, and even if there would never be anything romantic between them, he was still her friend. He made up his mind, squared his shoulders, and walked with long-legged strides toward the house.
He intended to ring the bell, of course, as any proper caller would, but as he went up the walk toward the porch, a glance through a gap in the curtains over the parlor window showed him Simone standing there, her face buried in her hands, obviously quite upset about something.
Kent didn't waste time standing on ceremony. He opened the door, moved through the foyer, and stepped into the parlor. The lady of the house was standing there, her back to him. He heard her say something to herself about a ghost, which worried him even more. He said, "Simone . . . ?"
That was when she screamed.
* * *
The shriek tore involuntarily from her throat as she whirled around, fully expecting to find the shade of her late husband standing there. But instead her stunned gaze saw the ashen features of Dr. Judson Kent. He took a step back, clearly startled half out of his wits by her reaction.
"Oh, Judson," Simone managed to choke out. "I'm so sorry . . ."
Then the tears came.
She couldn't hold them back any longer. Although she hated herself for giving in to such weakness, tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as once again she buried her face in her hands. She felt Kent's arms around her, felt him pulling her to him. Then she pressed her face against his vest and starched shirtfront and let herself cry.
Long moments passed before Simone could bring h
erself under control again. Finally she was able to suppress the sobs into a few sniffles. She hiccupped several times as Kent patted her awkwardly on the back. "There, there," he murmured. "It will be all right, Simone. I'm sure it will be."
"Y-You're a doctor," she said. "Can't you be more reassuring than that?"
Kent wore an expression of confusion when she stepped back and looked up at him. Obviously he didn't know what to make of her behavior. Simone wasn't surprised; no one in Wind River had ever seen her act this way. She had never allowed such a thing . . . until now.
"What happened, Simone?" he asked. "Why was Becky Lewis here? Did she threaten you?"
"You . . . you saw her?"
"I, ah, happened to notice the two of you talking on the street outside, and I saw her come in here with you and then leave a few minutes later." A look of guilt passed fleetingly through Kent's eyes, as if he wasn't telling her the entire story, but then he went on, "I was worried about you, Simone, and evidently with good reason. What did that . . . that trollop do to you?"
"She didn't do anything except talk." Simone fumbled a lacy handkerchief from the pocket of her gown and dabbed at her wet eyes. She felt an almost irresistible urge to tell Kent the whole story. But did she dare do that? She asked, "Can I trust you, Judson?"
"Of course you can! Surely you know that by now, my dear. A doctor has to know how to be discreet. I've never told anyone about what the Lewis woman did before, except—" He stopped short.
"Who did you tell, Judson?" asked Simone.
He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he said, "I mentioned the matter to Marshal Tyler. You know that Cole is trustworthy, Simone, and I thought . . . well, it seemed entirely possible to me that Becky Lewis might be the real murderer of your late husband!"
Simone lifted a hand to her mouth in horror. "You mean William Durand didn't. . ."
Judgement Day (Wind River Book 6) Page 10