by Deborah Camp
“Go along, Griffon,” Ham mocked, flicking his hands at them. “If you mind her, maybe she’ll give you a look under her skirts later.”
“Why, you—” Griffon pounced, quick as a cat.
He took Ham by surprise, barreling into him and knocking him flat. Jasper dodged them and brought his fists to his mouth. Sounds of fear escaped him, and he looked from the two men rolling and grunting on the ground to Lily, as if she should intervene. Lily considered it for one second, but the flying fists and powerful punches dashed that foolish notion. She placed an arm about Jasper and pulled him clear of the fight. Griffon had taken her by surprise as well. She didn’t think he was the kind to start a fight. Finish one, yes. But he usually held himself in rigid control, and a few hateful words couldn’t send him into a rage. Until now. Did he attack to defend her honor?
“Make them stop,” Jasper whined around his fists, stirring Lily’s pity enough to make her step closer to the fighting men.
“Griffon! Please, stop!” Her words were useless. Looking up and down the street, she spotted the sheriff swaying toward them, favoring his good leg, dragging his peg leg along. She glanced skyward in relief. “Sheriff, please do something!”
Sheriff Mac grabbed the back of Ham’s vest and hauled him off Griffon. Ham held on to Griffon’s jacket sleeve long enough to tear it from its shoulder seam before he let go. The rose boutonniere flew off Griffon’s lapel and landed in the street. Ham crushed it with the heel of his boot. Griffon leaped to a crouch, ready to attack.
“Hold off there, fella, unless you want to go to jail.” The sheriff flung Ham toward Jasper. “You Jefferses get out of town. I don’t want any more trouble from you. You might rule the roost at Devil’s Den, but this here is my chicken coop, and what I say is law. Now vamoose!”
“He jumped me,” Ham said, pointing at Griffon. “Just ask my brother.”
“Asking him is like listening to an echo. Heard it once, heard the same thing twice.” The sheriff raked the back of his hand across his mouth. “I don’t care who jumped who. All I want is peace and quiet. I don’t cotton to men fighting like stray dogs in the middle of a public street. Am I gonna have to haul y’all in to jail or are you goin’ your separate ways?” He eyed Ham, then Griffon. “Well, what’s it gonna be?”
Griffon rose to his feet and turned his back on Ham, letting his body language speak for him. Lily left Jasper and went to his side.
“Are you all right?” She touched a drop of blood on his lower lip. She picked up his dusty hat and handed it to him.
“Ain’t that touchin’?” Ham drawled, and Griffon whirled, ready to do battle again.
Lily clutched his torn sleeve. “No, Griffon. Please.”
Sheriff Mac gave Ham a push. “Get goin’. You, too, Jasper. I’m short on patience with you two. Get on back where you belong.”
Jasper put his hands against Ham’s back and propelled his brother in front of him. “Paw-Paw won’t like it if Ham and Jasper land in jail. Let’s go, Ham.”
“I’m going. Get your hands off me.” Ham batted Jasper aside. His eyes glinted as he turned them in Lily’s direction. “I’ll be seeing you again, purty gal. You can set your clock by that.”
“You’re this close to getting arrested.” The sheriff held his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. Ham sauntered away with Jasper trotting a little ahead of him. “I know you folks got troubles, but I don’t like you adding to mine,” Sheriff Mac said, directing his warning at Griffon. “I make myself clear?”
Griffon nodded. The sheriff touched the brim of his slouchy hat and headed in the direction of his office. Griffon slapped his own hat against his thigh to dislodge the dirt.
“Are you hurt?” Lily asked.
“No.” He glanced at his dusty, torn clothing, then noticed the dots of blood on his tie. “I certainly can’t go anywhere looking like this.”
“We’ll go back to the hotel so you can change.”
“Into what? I have nothing else to wear to a dinner party.” He smoothed his hair into place. “I’ll escort you the rest of the way, and then I’ll come for you at nine to walk you back to the hotel. Is nine okay? Should I make it ten?”
“Nine is fine. Won’t you change clothes and join me later? A shirt and trousers will do. We’ll explain the circumstances.”
“No. I’d be poor company now.” He breathed in deeply and let the air out in a rush. “I wouldn’t mention this to your hosts. Word might get back to Fort Smith and add to your uncle’s worries. You’re right about Ham. He’s dangerous. I want you to be careful, Lily. I don’t want you to venture outside the hotel alone—ever.”
“You don’t think he’d …” She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good. I want you to be scared of that man.” He gripped her upper arms and held her gaze. “Never go out alone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, relax.” She wiped the blood from his mouth with her thumb. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m okay.” He plucked a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Wipe your hands on that. Can’t have you supping at the bank president’s table with bloodstains on your fingers.”
She used the handkerchief and gave it back to him. “Did you tell the sheriff that we think Anson killed his wife?”
“No.” He cupped his hand around her elbow and pointed her in the direction of the Fishbine residence.
“Why not?”
“He’d ask me for evidence.”
“That’s his job, getting evidence.”
“Lily, when you accuse someone of murder you should have a shred of evidence to support your claim.”
“But we both felt—”
“I don’t think the sheriff puts much faith in feelings or psychic impressions. I didn’t tell him about our theory because I would like him to take us seriously. If I tell him about your fugues and my mind reading, he’ll laugh us out of town.”
“Yes, I imagine he would.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, wondering how often he had to protect himself from howling laughter at his expense.
“Here we are.” He stopped before a picket fence gate and held her hands lightly. He plucked one of the white roses from her hair and sniffed it, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re a vision, Lily. Have a good time and extend my regrets. Tell them I remembered a previous engagement. Make up a suitable excuse for me.”
“I will.” She turned her cheek for the brush of his lips. “See you later. Be sure and eat something.”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he strode away, his torn sleeve flopping forlornly, the white rose clutched in his hand.
At the hotel, Griffon went upstairs to the room he shared with Balthazar and changed clothes. Balthazar was nowhere to be found, so Griffon went downstairs and outside, thinking he’d stop at the saloon and see if Zar had decided to play a few hands of poker.
“What are you doing here?”
Griffon turned to see his friend striding toward him, a bottle of spirits in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. Griffon laid a palm over his heart.
“For me?” he asked. “How sweet of you, Zar. But you shouldn’t have, really, old boy.”
Scowling, Balthazar stopped in front of him and surveyed the remaining evidence of Griffon’s street fight. “I gather that Lily finally got her fill of your theory that she’s psychic and she boxed you.”
“No, this fat lip is the work of one Ham Jeffers. We scuffled and I ruined my suit, so I dropped Lily at the Fishbines’ and came back here to make repairs. I’ll forgo the dinner and fetch her in a few hours.” He reached for the bottle. “Champagne? What’s the occasion? Shall we drink it in the dining room or upstairs?”
“We shan’t drink it anywhere.” Balthazar removed it from Griffon’s easy reach. “I’m taking this upstairs to Orrie Dickens.”
“Those, too?” Griffon indicated the daisies, marigolds, and bachelor buttons.
“Thes
e, too. We’re having cold chicken, fruit, and this champagne. I’d invite you to join us, dear chap, but I’d have to check with Miss Dickens first.”
Griffon nudged a shoulder against Balthazar’s and grinned. “I should insist that you ask Orrie if three’s a crowd, but I won’t put you through that. Go ahead, Zar. Give her a kiss for me, too.”
“Oh, you!” Balthazar puffed out his chest. “We’re having dinner, Griffon. Why must you exaggerate everything?”
“Something I learned from you, old fox.” He buttoned the cuffs of his fresh shirt. “Go on with you. Don’t keep the lady waiting.”
“Before I trundle off, are you okay? That heathen didn’t damage your goods, did he?”
“Ham?” He shook his head. “Not likely. But I didn’t fancy what I felt when he looked at Lily.”
“Jealous, were you?”
“N-o-o,” Griffon said, drawing out the word. “I was concerned because Ham’s feelings toward Lily are anything but chivalrous. He thinks of women as property.” Griffon fingered his lip, which had swollen slightly but now seemed to be returning to normal. “Why did you jump to the conclusion that I’d be jealous?”
“Well, because you care for that girl.” Balthazar tucked the bottle under his arm and transferred the flowers to that hand. “You’re not going to stand there and deny it, are you? Believe me, it would be pointless.”
“I don’t deny it. I told you I thought she was special.”
“You’re falling in love with her.” Balthazar heaved a pained sigh. “I admit I don’t exactly approve of you getting all dreamy-eyed over this girl, especially when we have important work ahead of us, but I’m resigned to it. There’s nothing I can do to reverse it, is there? Therefore, I’ve decided to step aside and not offer any dire warnings or ill-timed advice. I’ve never seen you in love before, but I imagine you’ll be as bullheaded as any besotted man.”
“You stand there with flowers and champagne and have the audacity to call me besotted?” Griffon rested his hands at his waist and swayed back to issue a bark of laughter. “That tops everything.”
“Miss Dickens and I are good friends. Since you and Lily were going out tonight, I, of course, offered to keep Miss Dickens company.”
“Always the gentleman.” Griffon made a slashing motion. “Cut the bull, as they say here in the south. You’re courting that woman,” Griffon accused, jutting his chin at Balthazar.
“And you’re in love with Lily Meeker,” Balthazar shot back.
“What if I am?” Griffon heard the sharpness in his tone and shook his head. “Listen to us. We sound quite daft.”
Balthazar chuckled, one hand riding his round stomach. “So we do. Is the feeling mutual between you and Lily?”
Griffon leaned against the outside wall of the hotel and tucked the tips of his fingers in his front pockets. “Not in the same degree, no. I have no chains holding me from her, but Lily is chained by her need to be accepted by everyone.”
“She’ll outgrow that. Most of us come to realize we can’t make everyone like us.”
“No, it’s more than that.” He stroked his tender lip again, and the tingle of pain was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. “I represent everything she has rejected her entire life.”
“Come on, dear boy,” Balthazar said, seeking to comfort him. “She’ll come around. Don’t be so impatient. Ladies have to be courted and chased. They don’t give in to a man as easily as the women we’ve run across of late.”
Griffon laughed shortly. “No, that’s not what I mean, Zar.” He ticked off his reasons finger by finger. “I’m an outsider, an outcast, an oddity, a man facing the very thing that she has turned her back on since she was a toddler. She’s denied her psychic ability for years.”
“Oh, I follow you now.” Balthazar placed his hand on Griffon’s shoulder. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Griffon smiled. “Go meet your lady friend, Zar.” When the other man hesitated, Griffon jerked his head in a silent command. “I’m okay. Have a nice evening.”
“Cheerio, then. When will you be coming back to the room tonight?”
Griffon eyed Balthazar, reading his thoughts with no trouble. He reached into his pocket, found a folded bill, and tucked in into Zar’s hand. “Why not secure another room tonight? My treat.”
“No, really, I couldn’t—”
“Zar,” Griffon interrupted. “Don’t press your luck. Take the money and rent the bloody room.” He lowered one lid. “Have fun.”
Color dotting his cheeks, Balthazar took the money and gave Griffon a smile of gratitude before hurrying into the hotel. Griffon saw him flag the hotel clerk and place the money on the registry desk, then he turned away to take a seat in one of the rockers in front of the hotel. He checked his pocket watch, mindful of the time. He didn’t want Lily to wait for him or start back to the hotel alone.
Rocking, he found bitter humor in his predicament. Priding himself as a man who didn’t require anyone’s approval, he was obsessed with gaining Lily’s. His teeth grazed his lip and he winced, but the pain brought his thoughts back to Ham.
Danger flooded through him, making him freeze for a few moments. His sixth sense told him that something was afoot, but he couldn’t pinpoint it, other than knowing that Ham was at its center. He supposed Zar was right. He should concentrate on keeping Lily safe and finding Cecille quickly. But he knew his good intentions would turn to ashes the moment he saw Lily again.
Hadn’t he lectured himself like this countless times since he’d met the lovely Lily Meeker, only to listen to his beating heart when he was near her? He was like the town drunk, who was sincerely sober only when a bottle wasn’t in easy reach. Lily was his bottle of spirits, and he couldn’t quench his thirst for her.
He set the chair to a lazy motion again. Conversely, a tiny part of him hated Lily Meeker. Hated her for making him feel unworthy of her, for making him a trifle uncomfortable with his psychic power. He balled his hands into fists atop the wide chair arms, and the rocking motion increased with his agitation. While he could understand the painful episode in her past, when her mother died and her father rejected her, he couldn’t understand her refusal to accept her talents. She was a grown woman, yet she was still vying for her father’s attention … his stingy love.
Lily, you’re a fool, he thought. You’re trying to be something you’re not so that a man will love you, and this man loves you just the way you are.
His mother and grandmother would be pleased to know of his current lot in life, he thought. On the day he was born, his grandmother had read his fortune. He would be a lantern, she’d predicted, to shed light on life’s mysteries. He would hold himself apart from others and, ultimately, his destiny would be linked to a gadjica. Of course, his mother had taken steps to make sure that didn’t happen. She’d picked out a wife for him as soon as possible and had raised him to despise the gadjo ways. As it turned out, he hadn’t held himself from his family, they had thrown him away like so much slop.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and counted his blessings. True, the early years had been hell, but fate had sent him two angels named Balthazar and Thurman Unger. Two gadjos who had embraced a sullen Gypsy boy and given him a better life. Instead of punishing him for his keen sixth sense, they had helped him hone it and appreciate it. Once, his “knowing” had frightened him, just as it frightened Lily, but he’d shone a bright light on it, examined it thoroughly, and had seen there wasn’t anything to fear.
I am a lantern, he reminded himself. I will shine my light on Lily’s dark pocket of fear and make it go away.
First he’d have to find Cecille.
“Cecille,” he whispered, opening his eyes and staring in the direction of Devil’s Den, knowing he would find her there.
But what would he find? Lily was certain Cecille was being held captive, but Griffon couldn’t share in her staunch belief. If Cecille had been so enchanted by Anson that she’d slip off to meet him in secret places, tellin
g no one of their affair, then wouldn’t she run away with him? It made sense. Maybe not to Lily, who had been shocked to hear that her cousin had carried on behind her back. In fact, Griffon suspected Lily couldn’t allow herself to think that Cecille might have made love to Anson in that barn outside Fort Smith. He, however, sensed that Cecille’s attraction to Anson was carnal, white-hot, obsessive. There was a chance that Cecille might not want to be rescued. She might resist, along with the other Jefferses.
Griffon sat straight and gripped the chair arms, stabbed by the blade of fatalism. He had been thinking that Lily was the gadjica his grandmother had prophesied. What if Cecille was the link to his fate? It was entirely possible he’d misinterpreted his grandmother’s reading of his future. She might not have been speaking of his love life, but of his life, period. He might very well come face-to-face with his destiny—with his death—in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains.
Chapter 16
Victor and Harriet Fishbine’s daughter, Emily, sat beside Lily on the front parlor settee. The dinner of roast duckling and vegetables had been meticulously prepared, and Lily had enjoyed both it and the conversation. The other guests—two bank employees and their wives-had left shortly after the dinner, leaving Lily time to converse with her hosts before she, too, took her leave.
Lily glanced at the mantel clock. Eight-thirty. Griffon would be collecting her soon.
“I’m so sorry your friend couldn’t make it,” Victor Fishbine said. He was her uncle’s age, but with nary a hair on his gleaming head. His mustache, however, was luxuriant, curling and waxed at the tips. “Rumors are abounding about town concerning him.”
“Oh? I had no idea.” Lily looked from him to his pretty, chubby-cheeked wife and then to Emily, two years her junior. Emily’s green eyes sparked with interest, and she nodded, causing the dark ringlets at the back of her head to dance.
“Is it true that he’s from overseas?” Emily asked.
Lily laughed. “That is true. He has an English accent. Actually, it’s more than that. It sounds European. He’s lived all over the world, mostly in Scotland.”