Emmett eyed Li again and nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY
The door to the upstairs room where Geneve had been tucked away was hardly open before Li flew in and embraced her friend. Both women let their tears flow.
“I’ll give you all a few minutes,” Taft said, excusing himself and closing the door.
Juanito hovered close by as Li and Geneve wept. Emmett gave them a little more room.
“I’m so very sorry about Sikes,” Li murmured.
Geneve nodded but had trouble speaking.
“You don’t have to stay here anymore,” Juanito said to her.
Without letting go of Li, she reached out and squeezed Juanito’s hand. When she had at last regained her composure, she said, “Miss Lindsey told me you all bested those hired guns.”
“We did,” Juanito said.
“I wanted to go downstairs after the shooting stopped”—Geneve wiped her eyes—“but Miss Lindsey told me she was afraid there’d be more blood if an argument broke out over me.”
Li rubbed and patted Geneve’s shoulder.
Turning to Juanito, Geneve asked, “You said we can leave?”
“That’s right,” he answered softly.
“We need to make another stop in San Elizario,” Emmett said. “If you think you’d like to, we can spend a few days there—enjoy some peace and quiet far from all the troubles of the past few weeks.”
“I’d like that,” Li said. “Wouldn’t you, Geneve?”
She dabbed a fresh tear from her eye and nodded. “I would,” she whispered. Then, almost as though it only now occurred to her, she said, “Has Taft dropped the charges?”
Emmett shook his head. “Taft seems to be listening a little better to our side of the story, but he still wants to meet our witnesses before deciding whether or not to drop the charges.”
Geneve fingered the cameo pin at the neck of her dress. “Taft—he’s coming with us? To San Elizario?”
Li took Geneve’s hand in both of her own. “We won’t let him near you.” Her voice was soft yet firm.
Biting her lip, Geneve nodded.
Billy Thornhill was avoiding direct eye contact with Taft. He kept glancing toward the closed office door.
“Have a seat, Billy.” Taft motioned toward the chairs across from his desk. He heaved a sigh. “Hell of an ordeal here last night.”
“I’m real sorry, Mr. Taft,” Billy said. “I let you down. I wouldn’t blame you if you was to let me go.”
Taft paused, staring at his new shotgun man. “Is that what you want?”
The lookout man shrugged and peered out the back window. “I don’t want you to think I’m some kinda yellow belly. ’Cause I ain’t.”
Taft gingerly shifted his bandaged arm on the armrest and welcomed the immediate easing of his pain, slight though it was. “Think you could’ve kept me from taking a bullet if you’d have been here last night?”
“From what I hear, there was a lot of lead flyin’. The place looks like a band of Comanches rode through it.” Billy still wouldn’t meet Taft’s gaze.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Taft said. “Do you think you could’ve protected me?”
The new shotgun man got up and began to pace. “Who were all those people, Mr. Taft? Gunhands, Mexicans…then Strong comes stormin’ in with the marshal and his ranger friends. How would I have known who to shoot at?”
“Who to shoot at? You really need me to tell you that?”
“Well, no.” Billy met his gaze ever so briefly now. “I’d have shot at Strong, I guess.”
“Oh?” Taft folded his fingers. “Why?”
“He robbed you. He’s your enemy, right?”
“Hmm. And you really don’t know who the Mexicans and the gunhands were?”
Billy stopped pacing and at last turned to Taft. “Why would I know that?”
If Taft had to guess, he’d wager that Billy did not know Ned Cage and his men, nor Sanchez and Mendez. Question was, what did Billy really know about any of this whole convoluted mess, the robbery included? Could Strong be right? Maybe, maybe not. Too soon to say.
Taft shrugged. “No matter. I’d still like you to sit shotgun for me…if you still feel up to it.”
Billy’s countenance relaxed noticeably. “I won’t let you down again, Mr. Taft.”
“If that’s so, then from now on, you make sure you’re in that lookout chair out there no later than five p.m. as long as this establishment is open for business.”
“We openin’ for business tonight?”
“Nope.” Taft stood. “Being as how they put Willie beneath the sod, I need to locate a new barkeep. And the place needs a bit of fixing up. Don’t want folks thinking the Wild Hog has gone to the dogs.”
“I can ask around about a new barkeep.”
“You do that, Billy. I’d be much obliged.” Taft waved toward the door. “That’ll be all for now.”
He waited till his lookout man had a hand on the doorknob before saying, “Oh, one more thing…”
“Yes?” Billy turned back.
“What color is Strong’s horse?”
“Sir?”
“You saw him make away with the cashbox, right? What color animal was he riding?”
After a pause, Billy said, “A roan. If I recall right.”
Taft nodded. “Thanks, Billy. That’ll be all then.”
But Billy didn’t leave immediately. “Can I ask you one thing, sir?”
“Sure.”
“Why’re you lettin’ Strong, his Mexican friend, and that China girl visit Miss Geneve upstairs?”
It was Taft’s turn to pause. “Tell you what: if my plan works out like I hope it will, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Billy furrowed his brow and blinked several times, then, with a single nod, let himself out.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Leaving Jack VanDorn in the capable hands of El Paso’s Doc Leonidas Simons, Emmett, Li, Juanito, and Geneve mounted up to ride for San Elizario the next morning. Just where the town of El Paso played out and where mile after mile of scrubby creosote bush began, Franklin Taft joined them.
“Nice-looking animal you’ve got there, Strong,” Taft said. “You favor paint horses, or did you just happen to rent this one here in El Paso?”
Emmett patted the neck of his prized pinto gelding and said, “Gordo and I go back a ways. Best horse I’ve ever owned—or ridden for that matter.”
“Handsome animal.”
Emmett scanned the edge of town behind Taft. “You manage to slip away on the sly? Or does anyone else know you’re with us?”
“I figured I’d better at least let Miss Lindsey know where I was going.”
“Oh?” Emmett raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry,” Taft said, “You couldn’t pry a secret out of her with a crowbar.”
“How about with a stack of double eagles?” Emmett glanced at Geneve to see whether Taft’s assessment of the madam raised any kind of reaction.
She swept a ringlet of blond hair away from her eyes but gave no hint of disagreement.
“Lindsey won’t talk,” Taft said.
“And it doesn’t give you pause to make this trip alone with your supposed enemies?” Emmett asked.
Taft rested his hand on the butt of his six-gun. “If I’m gone too long, Miss Lindsey’ll have the El Paso County sheriff come looking for me. Meanwhile, until I’m satisfied about your witnesses, I think I’ll just plan on riding drag.”
Emmett met Taft’s gaze. The saloon owner wouldn’t come out here to double-cross them and try to finish off the bloodbath that began two nights ago, would he? He considered having Juanito ride at Taft’s side, but he didn’t want to break this tenuous truce. Besides, Emmett was beginning to notice a pattern. Wherever Gen
eve was, Juanito seemed to be placing himself between her and her former boss. Emmett didn’t blame him.
“One thing before we go,” Taft said.
Everyone’s heads were already turned toward the saloon owner.
“On my way out here, I spotted our absent deputy.”
Emmett and Li eyed one another.
“Young Deputy Warren Livingston? Where’d you see him?” Emmett asked.
“Stepping into the marshal’s office just as I turned the corner.”
“Did you ask him where he’s been since the shoot-out?”
“No. I figured if I got hung up in a long-winded conversation, you all might think I’d backed out on our little trip today.”
“But Livingston saw you when you rode by.”
Taft pursed his lip. “I don’t think so.”
So where has the deputy been? Emmett mused. And what’s he up to now?
“The deputy’s supposed to be on your side, right?” Taft asked.
Emmett cautioned his brother-in-law with a glance.
“We’d better get moving if we want to reach San Elizario before sundown,” Juanito said. He chirked and set his horse walking.
Geneve and Li followed.
“My sincere hope, Mr. Taft,” Emmett said, “is that by the end of the day today, we’ll all have a whole lot better understanding of just who’s really on whose side.”
Judging from the sun, Emmett figured it must’ve been a little past four o’clock as his party dismounted and hitched their horses to the rail in front of San Elizario’s Monarch Hotel.
He stretched his back carefully and watched Li push a tendril of dark, lustrous hair behind her ear. She was flushed from the heat, yet not even the tiny droplets of perspiration on her temples could diminish her allure. They glittered like jewels as she took off her Stetson and used it to fan her face.
Juanito seemed to be paying special attention to Geneve’s comfort, taking her by the hand to the shade of the hotel’s front porch.
Taft mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
Before turning to head inside, Emmett fished in his saddlebag for the hotel register he’d borrowed as evidence. He’d gotten the ledger back from Jack VanDorn so that he could return it to its rightful owners in the event that Franklin Taft was satisfied enough to drop the charges.
Li stopped beside Emmett. She ran her fingertips gently across his bullet wound. “How is your side?” she asked, concern in her deep-brown eyes.
In truth he felt stiff and sore. Her touch, however, made him not care so much about the pain. He gave her a relaxed smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Turning to Taft, he said, “Well, sir, let me introduce you to the Singletons, the owners of this rail stop’s one and only hotel.”
“After you.” Taft extended his hand toward the hotel’s front porch steps.
Juanito and Geneve led the group into the dim hotel lobby.
Inside, there was no one in sight. Emmett stepped over, tapped the bell on the front desk, and placed the hotel register on the desktop. Moments passed, and still no one came out.
“Hello?” he called.
It was quiet enough to hear a horned toad sigh—two counties over.
Juanito frowned. “Muy extraño.”
“Odd indeed.” Emmett stepped through the doorway into the hotel restaurant. “Mrs. Singleton? Sid?” he called out.
He was just about to amble back to the kitchen when shuffling footsteps sounded from that direction. A short, stout Mexican woman wearing a simple dress and an apron waddled out. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. It was the woman the Singletons had hired to help them with cleaning and laundry.
“Buenas tardes, Señor Strong,” she said absently.
“Hola, Lupita,” Emmett said. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Singleton?” Hoping her reply would reveal nothing worse than that the oppressive heat had worn them out and sent them to bed, he braced himself, nonetheless, for news of a more disturbing nature.
With downcast eyes, she shook her head. “God give them rest, they are both in the cemetery, Señor.” She crossed herself and kissed her thumb.
His stomached tightened. “The cemetery?” He led her by the elbow toward the lobby.
“Sí, it is a nightmare. This morning, they do not come from the house in the back. I wait for them, but they do not come.” She palmed a tear from her eye and drew an uneven breath. “So I go to the house and I knock. Nothing. I knock and I knock until I begin to be afraid.”
Emmett glanced at Taft, who was listening intently.
“I go into the house,” Lupita said. That’s as far as she got before putting both hands to her head and weeping outright.
Li took her gently by the shoulders and guided her to the green brocade settee.
After crying for several minutes, Lupita continued. “I find them in the bed, one beside the other.” She sniffed. “There is blood. Ay, so much blood.” She managed to keep going, her fingers kneading her skirt at the knees. “They are cut.” She traced her finger across the front of her neck. “From one side to the other.”
As Lupita gave in to another spell of sobbing, Geneve put her hand over her mouth and rushed out the front door. Juanito followed her.
Taft cleared his throat.
Emmett checked to see that Li was handling this all right. Her eyes were moist, but she was being a trooper, reaching out again to comfort the aging housemaid.
In as calm a tone as he could muster, Emmett asked, “Who else knows about this, Lupita?”
The woman produced a ragged old kerchief from who knows where and dabbed her eyes and nose. “The town marshal.” She pointed toward old-town San Elizario, a couple of miles to the south. “And the priest and my two brothers.”
“Who would do this?” Taft asked. His concern seemed genuine.
Lupita reached out for Emmett’s wrist. “And that is not all,” she said.
Emmett squatted in front of her. “What else, Lupita?”
Now she pointed eastward. “Augusto…”
No! Emmett frowned. “What about him?”
“The same…”
His stomach thoroughly knotted now, Emmett asked, “Someone did the same to Augusto?”
Lupita nodded. Through her tears, she said, “Mr. Richard found him.”
Richard Millard was the owner of the only saloon out here by the railroad station. It used to be a nice place, but lately the clientele had been changing—mainly rowdies, drifters, and outlaws.
“Anybody else?” Emmett asked, fearful that the grisly toll might be even higher.
“That is all, gracias a Diós,” she said.
He rose, squeezed Li’s shoulder, and turned to Taft. “Augusto owned the livery stable here.”
Closing his eyes momentarily, Emmett pushed back his Stetson and rubbed his forehead. These had been his friends. Innocent friends. Good folk. Were the circumstances different, he might suspect some lowlife bandidos of having carried out these murders. It would still have been tragic. But as it was, he felt a sudden gut-wrenching rush of guilt.
“Murdered in their sleep—our three witnesses and oddly nobody else.” He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Lupita, you saw Mr. and Mrs. Singleton alive and well yesterday?”
“Sí, after I clean the supper dishes, I say buenas noches to them.”
Who could’ve done this? If it happened last night or early this morning, it couldn’t have been Ned Cage’s bunch, nor Sanchez and his amigo. Intuition told him that since only those who could testify in favor of his alibi were dead, it had to have been the real perpetrators of the robbery. Or somebody sympathetic to them. But who would have known that these were his witnesses?
Taft drew him out of his ruminations. “I’ve been a gambling man for many years, Strong. I’ve always had a feel for the odd
s. Your witnesses and only your witnesses? My money says this is no coincidence.”
Emmett felt a small degree of relief. On top of all the other thoughts avalanching through his mind, he had been bracing himself for Taft to say he was sorry, but—given the absence of witnesses—he’d now have to insist that the matter be settled in court.
Turning again to the housemaid, Emmett asked, “Was anything taken or destroyed? Did the marshal say what he thought must have happened?”
“Whoever does this,” she said, “they try to break the—how do you say?—the caja fuerte.”
“The safe?”
“Sí, the safe. But they do not get into it.”
Emmett turned to his wife. “Li, could you wait here with Lupita, please?”
She pressed her lips into a line and nodded. “Of course.”
“Mr. Taft?” Emmett motioned as he started for the door, and the saloon owner followed.
Out on the hotel’s front porch, Juanito and Geneve sat side by side on a simple wooden bench. Emmett asked Geneve whether he could borrow Juanito. She eyed Taft cautiously and then, without a word, hurried to join the ladies inside. Juanito accompanied Emmett and Taft to the Singletons’ small residence out behind the hotel.
It must have been Lupita who had already attempted to clean the blood from the Singletons’ bedsheets. Broad pink stains marred the white bedlinens that hung from the clothesline.
Emmett braced himself as he led Taft and Juanito into the Singletons’ house. These had been decent people. It shouldn’t have ended this way for them. He swallowed.
The front room was tidy—nothing visibly disturbed. The bedroom? Well, it wasn’t the charnel house he’d steeled himself for. Nevertheless, the bare mattress bore the plainer-than-day signs of cold-blooded murder—big, brown-red stains that corresponded precisely to the pink blotches on the sheets hanging outside.
“It’s not much comfort, I know,” Taft said, “but from appearances, it doesn’t seem that they suffered long.”
Staring at the mattress, Emmett murmured, “I sure hope not.”
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 23