Virgil Earp, Private Detective

by J. R. Roberts

  “Um, what’s he doing in there?”

  “Just talkin’,” Link said. “In fact, I think he’s tellin’ her how our ma used to make flapjacks.”

  “I see.”

  “He ain’t doin’ no harm,” Link assured her.

  “I’m sure he’s not,” she said. “We just don’t usually allow guests in there. It kind of slows Regina down in her work, and we pay her by the hour.”

  “Gotcha,” Link said. “Derek, why don’t you get Dave out of the kitchen?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, as the other man went into the kitchen.

  As she started away, Link said, “Hey, what’s your name?”

  She stopped.

  “Kate.”

  “You work here?”

  “I own the place.”

  “Really?” Link sat back. “I thought I heard it was owned by one of the Earps.”

  “James,” she said, nodding. “He’s my partner.”

  “Ah,” Link said. “Partner.”

  “No,” she said, “not like that. He’s got a wife. She’s my friend, and he’s my business partner.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ve got to get to work,” she said. The man gave her the willies. He had a weird look in his eyes. “Paperwork,” she added.

  “Maybe I’ll see you later,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “Hey,” he called, as she again started to walk away. “If I don’t like breakfast, who do I complain to?”

  “Yell at the cook,” she said, over her shoulder.

  “No word,” Virgil said when he came out.

  “From where?”

  “San Francisco,” Virgil said.

  “What about Nevada?”

  “Yes,” Virgil said. “Miss Quest is telling the truth. She is the owner of the Quest Mine near Ouray, Nevada. She inherited it from her father when he died.”

  “And no reply from Sacramento?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “How far are we from Sacramento?”

  “It’s a couple of days’ ride north of here.”

  “Where is your San Francisco contact checking?”

  “The usual places,” Virgil said. “Whorehouses, saloons, gambling halls—”

  “What about restaurants? Dress shops? We didn’t ask Sally what kind of job her sister would look for.”

  Virgil looked out at the street, then at Clint.

  “I guess I should’ve asked her that.”

  “Not too late.”

  “No, it’s not. She’s staying at your hotel, right?” Virgil asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Listen,” Virgil said, “the other way to go is you go to Sacramento and I go to San Francisco and look for her. Or the other way around.”

  “Whoa,” Clint said, “I’m not one of your operatives, remember?”

  “She has a lot of money,” Virgil said. “I’d make it worth your while.”

  “You know, she stopped by my room last night and also told me she knew who I was.”

  “She recognized you?”

  “No,” Clint said, “somebody must have told her.”

  “Then she’d be real happy to pay for you to work on this.”

  “Maybe,” Clint said, “but it’s just a missing girl, Virgil.”

  “You told me you had nowhere to be,” Virgil said, “and for all we know the girl could be in trouble.”

  They started walking toward the hotel.

  “Let’s talk to her again, see what else we can find out about her sister.”

  “Okay,” Virgil said, “and you’re havin’ supper with us tonight. You can use the time to think over my offer.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “I’ll think it over.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Clint and Virgil entered the Hotel Colton and Virgil went to the desk.

  “Hello, Mr. Earp,” the nervous clerk said. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m lookin’ for one of your guests,” Virgil said. “A young girl named Sally Quest.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss Quest. She’s in our Presidential Suite.”

  “You have a Presidential Suite?” Clint asked.

  “It’s our finest and most expensive room,” the clerk assured him.

  “Is she in her Presidential Suite?”

  “Uh, I don’t know for sure, sir,” the clerk said. Clint didn’t know who was making the young man more nervous, him or Virgil Earp.

  “Well, we’re gonna go up and check.”

  “Of course, Mr. Earp,” the clerk said. “Do you want to, uh, leave her a message?”

  “I’ll let you know when we come down.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Where is the Presidential Suite?” Virgil asked.

  “Oh, uh, third floor, sir. Room 314.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Clint and Virgil walked up the two flights of steps and walked down the hall to room 314. There was no answer to their knock.

  “Think she’s in there, ignorin’ us?” Virgil asked, pressing his ear to the door.

  “Why would she?” Clint asked. “Suppose you had information for her about her sister?”

  “You’re right,” Virgil said.

  He knocked again. Still no answer.

  “Okay, she ain’t in there,” Virgil said. “We’ll have to talk to her later.”

  They went back downstairs to talk to the jumpy clerk again.

  “Okay,” Virgil said, as they reached the lobby. The clerk jumped, startled. “Just tell Miss Quest we were here lookin’ for her and would like to talk to her.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Don’t forget, son,” Clint said. “Write it down.”

  “Yessir.”

  The clerk made a note. Clint and Virgil left the hotel.

  They left the hotel, and Clint wondered what Sally Quest had found to occupy her time in Colton.

  Sally looked around her and found the conditions in the restaurant deplorable. When the waitress asked her if she wanted something to eat, she suppressed a shudder and told her no thank you. But she did order coffee. When the woman brought it to her, she smiled, revealing gaps where teeth used to be.

  She lifted the cup to her lips, smelled the liquor in it, and put it down quickly. Now she knew why the waitress had been smiling.

  When the man she was waiting for came in, she waved at him frantically, even though there were only two other people in the place.

  “Miss Quest,” he said, formally. His cruel mouth smiled, stretching the scar on his cheek.

  “This is a horrible place to meet,” she told him.

  “From what I could tell,” he said, sitting down, “it’s a place nobody would see us. That’s what you want, right? Nobody to see us together?”

  “That’s exactly what I want. I found him. I found Virgil Earp.”

  “So did I,” he said, “so locating him ain’t gonna be a problem.”

  “How about killin’ him?” she asked.

  “That’s gonna be a little harder.”

  “Why?”

  “Clint Adams is around.”

  “So?”

  “Clint Adams is the Gunsmith.”

  “I know that,” she said, “but you’re a gunman. He shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

  “The man is a legend,” the gunman said. “He ain’t gonna be so easy to take.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  “I’m gonna need more money,” he said.

  “What for?”

  “For more men.”

  “I hired you,” she said. “If you need more men you should hire them and pay them from your money.”

  The man laughed.

  “That ain’t the way it goes, missy,” he said. “If you’re not gonna come up with some more money, then you can just take care of Earp yourse—”

  “All right, all right,” she said, “don’t get so upset. How much more do you need?”

  “Why don’t we have a d
rink and talk about it?” he proposed.

  “Here?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, “we could go someplace else.”

  “Where?”

  He stood up and put his hand out to her. She slid her hand into his, and felt a slight thrill when she did.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  Sally Quest was a very skinny woman, but he liked his women skinny. Naked, her breasts were little more than bumps, but she had very large nipples, which fascinated him. In fact, they fascinated him so much that he spent a lot of time chewing on them. She moaned and writhed beneath him while his mouth worked on her and his hand delved down between her thighs. Her own hand was between them, stroking his raging erection. He was going to teach her some of the things she could do with that thing, but at the moment all he wanted to do was ram it into her and make her scream.

  Sally felt the same things she had felt the first time she’d gone to bed with him in the town of Ouray, Nevada—revulsion and excitement. He was an ill-mannered, uneducated lout, but the moment she’d seen him she’d felt something down between her legs she’d never felt before.

  Now, as he mounted her and pushed his huge cock into her, she gasped and wrapped her thin thighs around him. This had no effect on their business, she thought, none at all, but that was her last conscious thought as he started fucking her, taking her buttocks in his big hands and grunting as he took her. Her mind emptied and all she was aware of was the burning sensation inside of her . . .

  EIGHTEEN

  When Clint arrived at the home of James and Bessie Earp, he was the last to get there.

  “Kate’s in the kitchen with Bessie and Allie,” Virgil told him, as he let him in.

  “Where’s James?”

  “Still at the boardinghouse,” Virgil said. “He’s trying to get someone to stay there while he and Kate are here.”

  “Does he have guests?”

  “Got three of them last night.”

  “Disreputable-looking men,” Kate said, coming from the kitchen to the dining room, carrying a tray.

  “Disreputable?”

  “Well,” Kate said, setting the tray down on the table, “they look like . . . well, outlaws.”

  “And you know what outlaws look like, do you?” Virgil asked.

  “Maybe not as well as the Earps and Clint Adams do,” she said, “but I do know when someone looks like an outlaw. Excuse me, I have to help in the kitchen.”

  “Do you want a drink?” Virgil asked.

  “What have you got?”

  “James has started drinking brandy,” Virgil said. “I prefer whiskey or beer myself, but we’ll have to take what we can get.”

  “Brandy will be fine.”

  Virgil was handing Clint a glass when the front door opened and James came walking in.

  “Clint Adams,” he said, approaching Clint with his hand out. “It’s good to see you.”

  “James,” Clint said, shaking the younger man’s hand. “Quite a house you have here.”

  “A-frame, two stories,” James said. “Solid as a rock.”

  “Unlike your boardinghouse.”

  “That drafty old thing?” James said, laughing. “It’s very old.”

  “You want a drink, James?” Virgil asked.

  “I sure do.”

  “What’s this I hear about disreputable boarders?” Clint asked him.

  “Three men, arrived last night,” James said. “Looked like they were just off the trail.”

  He accepted a glass from his brother and watched Clint sip his.

  “How do you like it?” he asked, anxiously. “I bring it in from back East.”

  “It’s very good.”

  Virgil sipped his, made a face.

  “Kate says the men look like outlaws,” Virgil said. “Is that true?”

  “They look like outlaws, or cowpokes, or drifters. All of that and more. But not bad enough for me to turn away some payin’ customers.”

  “Good brandy, a fine house,” Clint said. “Looks to me like you have plenty of money, James.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” James said. “I have to appear successful to become successful . . . Isn’t that right, Virgil?”

  “How would I know?” Virgil asked. “Look at my office.”

  “I told you to get yourself a decent place, big brother,” James said. “Nobody’s gonna want to hire a detective who has his office in a hole.”

  “I’m doin’ okay,” Virgil said. “Got a new client just yesterday.”

  “You did? What’s the case?”

  “A missing sister.”

  “Who’s lookin’?” James asked. “The younger sister, or the older?”

  “The younger.”

  “Does she have money?”

  “Loads. She has a mine in Nevada. Silver.”

  “Big brother,” James said, “this sounds promising.”

  “What sounds promising?” Bessie Earp asked, entering carrying some plates. Behind her came Allie and Kate.

  “Virg has a client, a girl with money.”

  “Good for him.”

  “We were just sayin’—”

  “You can finish your conversation over dinner,” Bessie said. “First Clint has to say hello to me and to Allie. Come here, Clint.”

  Clint allowed himself to be hugged by both Earp women, and then bade a proper hello to Kate, who looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. Clint thought both Allie and Bessie were eyeing them suspiciously.

  They continued to watch Clint and Kate during dinner. Clint managed to sit across the table from her, thinking he was safe, but he soon felt her foot—or what he thought was her foot—on his leg. She was playing a dangerous game with him.

  And he didn’t mind a bit.

  NINETEEN

  Link Holman, Dave Holman, and Derek Morrell were standing across the street from James Earp’s house, watching it intently.

  “This is more like it,” Link said. “That boardinghouse is fallin’ down, but this place is top-notch.”

  “The guy’s got money,” Dave said.

  “Maybe,” Morrell said.

  “Whataya mean maybe?” Dave asked. “Look at that house.”

  “And like Link said, the boardinghouse is fallin’ down,” Morrell said. “If he had money, he’d be fixin’ up his place of business, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” Link said.

  “So what do we do?” Dave asked.

  “We still have to find out exactly how many Earps are in town,” Link said. “So that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Ain’t it a little late now to be askin’ around?” Morrell said.

  “It’s not too late to go get a drink in a saloon,” Link said. “Supposed to be three or four with a license to serve. We’ll split up and see what we can find out.”

  “What about whores?” Dave asked.

  “If you want to question a whore—” Link started.

  “I ain’t wantin’ ta talk to a whore,” Dave said. “I wanna—”

  “Ain’t supposed to be a whore anywhere in Colton,” Morrell said. “Besides, you wouldn’t know what to do with one, kid.”

  “Now, wait a minute—”

  “Dave,” Link said, “I’m lettin’ you go to a saloon alone to get information, and that’s all. If you get yourself into trouble, I ain’t gettin’ you out. And if you get tossed into jail, I’ll leave you there.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Link, okay,” Dave said. “Okay, don’t worry.”

  “Okay,” Link said. “Let’s go.”

  Link walked away, with his brother Dave and Derek Morrell bringing up the rear.

  “You got any idea why we’re really in Colton?” Dave asked Morrell.

  “To tell you the truth, Dave, no, I don’t. Link’s playin’ this on me pretty close to the vest.”

  Although Dave wanted to know what his brother was planning, he was secretly satisfied that Derek Morrell knew no more than he did.

  Inside the house the six people h
ad finished devouring a delicious dinner of roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, and biscuits. Allie and Bessie had cleared the table and had gone to get the dessert. They had insisted that Kate had done enough, that she was a guest and, therefore, did not need to assist them. For that reason Kate remained at the table with the men.

  “James tells us you’re right, Kate,” Virgil said.

  “About what?”

  “The guests in the house. He said they could be outlaws, as you said.”

  “I told you.”

  “So, Kate, what do you think these outlaws are doin’ in town?”

  “You’re the detective, Virgil,” Kate said. “Why don’t you find out?”

  “Nobody’s hired me to do it,” he said. “You’re the one who says they’re outlaws. Give me your best guess.”

  “Well, maybe they’re here to rob the bank,” she said, “or the Wells Fargo station.”

  “Wells Fargo,” James said, suddenly, “that reminds me, Virg. You know who’s in town? Saw him earlier today on the street.”

  “Who?”

  “Fred Dodge.”

  “I know Dodge,” Clint said.

  Fred Dodge was a Wells Fargo detective who was a friend to the Earps.

  “Not unusual, since there’s a Wells Fargo office here,” Virgil said. “I’ll have to stop in and say hello to him tomorrow.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Clint asked. “I haven’t seen Dodge in a while.”

  “Don’t see why not.”

  Allie and Bessie appeared from the kitchen carrying plates of pie and a tray with coffeepot and mugs. Talk of Fred Dodge and Wells Fargo was suspended in the face of coffee and peach pie.

  “Peach?” James asked. “Why peach, Bessie? My favorite is apple.”

  “I know, James,” Bessie said, with a smile, “but Clint is our guest, and his favorite is peach.”

  TWENTY

  Clint drew looks from Bessie and Allie Earp when he offered to walk Kate home. Virgil and James Earp both seemed to be completely unaware that something might be going on.

  Outside, walking back to town, Clint said, “You told them, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You told Allie and Bessie,” he said. “They were throwing me looks all night. You told them while you were in the kitchen with them.”