by Denise Dietz
“Do you feel faint?”
“I never faint.”
“Are you sick in the morning?”
“No.”
“Are your breasts sore?”
“Yes.”
“Are you crying?”
“A little. You sound so clinical. Don’t you like babies?”
“Of course. I just wish we could hire a stand-in to carry yours.”
“Flower Smith has never used a stand-in,” she teased, her tears forgotten. Then she saw the frightened expression that clouded his green eyes. “Bridgida?”
“Yes. And my mother miscarried three times and swore she nearly died birthing me. I love you so much, Fools Gold. I can’t lose you now.”
“You won’t. Surely God wouldn’t separate us again. I’ll give you a fine son, a fat Cat.”
“I prefer a daughter.”
“I want another John McDonald.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t mention Cherokee Bill.
“John McDonald Lytton,” he said.
“Oh, I’m not thinking clearly. I must ask Edward to release me from my vows.”
“You’ll have to give up your movie career.”
“Do you think I care about that? Wait. Morality clause. The scandal. Your career.”
“I can always play the rodeo circuit.”
“No! The last time you joined a rodeo, you challenged death. This time—”
“Settle down. I was joking.”
“I’m not serious, either. How can I ask Edward for a divorce? He’s been so good to me.”
“We’ll face him together. He’s a reasonable man. When her hears about the baby . . .” Cat’s brow creased. “No matter what Edward says or does, I’ll never let you go.”
* * * * *
“Let me go!”
Ignoring Flo’s shout, Lorenzo and Sally pulled her away from the hotel’s entrance, away from the curious spectators and reporters. Forming a protective shield, they hustled her through a side door and made certain she reached her suite unmolested.
“Lorenzo, drive me to the hospital!”
“Sit down,” Sally said. “Edward is fighting for his life. When you can control yourself, we’ll drive—”
“Control myself? Whatever do you mean?”
“Confession may be good for the soul, Flo, but do you really think the reporters need to hear about how you were in the mountains with another man while your husband—”
“Oh, no! Did I say that?”
“Only Lorenzo and I heard, and it will go no further.” Sally pressed a snifter of brandy against Flo’s lips.
She sipped, choked, waved the glass away. “Tell me again what happened. I don’t understand. Edward was supposed to be in Denver.”
“Apparently the thief knew that, too. He’d already filched your jewelry and was rifling through Edward’s papers when Edward entered his suite.” Sally took a deep breath. “The thief was short and slight. He hit a young hotel employee over the head and donned his uniform. It was carefully planned. The thief didn’t anticipate any interference. But when Edward arrived unexpectedly, the thief pulled a gun and—”
“Oh, my God! Edward was shot?”
“Calm down. Edward wasn’t shot. His heart failed. Fortunately, he’d left the room’s door ajar. The sound of his fall alerted a guest. The guest telephoned hotel security.”
“I hope the damned thief hangs!”
“He won’t hang, dear.”
“He will if Edward . . .” Flo swallowed.
“He won’t hang. He ran from the Antlers, followed by the police. He made it to Tejon Street before he was gunned down a few doors from Lorenzo’s shop. I was at the shop. That’s how I learned what happened.”
“What about the thief?”
“Shot through the heart.”
“But Edward’s alive, isn’t he? Tell me the truth.”
“He was alive when he left for the hospital.”
“I should have been here.”
Lorenzo knelt by Flo’s chair. “Nonsense. You didn’t know this would happen. It’s not your fault.”
“Don’t you see? If I hadn’t left my jewelry lying around, if I hadn’t been away from the hotel—”
“Then you might have been killed. I know it isn’t much comfort, Flo, but Edward’s heart attack saved his life. The thief would have fired if Edward hadn’t fallen. Edward surprised the thief in his suite, not yours. It wasn’t just your jewelry. The man was searching for something else. Money? Stocks? We’ll never know. But blaming yourself won’t make things turn out differently.”
“May we go to the hospital now? Please?”
If Edward lives, thought Flo, I shall never dishonor my marriage vows again. This I swear on the life of my unborn child.
* * * * *
Thank God Father didn’t die, Ned thought, sipping from his glass of whiskey. Thank God that moronic rodeo wrangler was gunned down before he could talk.
Ned poured himself another drink then whirled about at the sound of footsteps.
“You’re as jumpy as a flea,” lisped Suzette, kicking the door shut behind her. “Help me take off these damn clothes and change into something more comfortable. Come on, Ned, snap out of it. One would think you had suffered the heart attack, not your father. Besides, didn’t part of your plan include Edward’s demise?”
“Not yet, you idiot. Not until I get my hands on his will.”
“Don’t call me an idiot.”
“How was your interview? Did Flower hire you?”
“Certainement, monsieur.”
“You didn’t talk French, did you? Your accent’s atrocious.”
“My accent’s fine and she was taken in completely.”
“Any problem over the references?”
“I shed a few tears and explained how my references were stolen. I even mentioned names, some from the finest families in Denver. Naturally Flower didn’t know I’d never met their wives. Unfasten the back buttons, Ned. Why do servants have to wear such dull clothing?”
“You gave her names? Are you crazy?”
“Never mind the buttons. I’ve unfastened them myself.” Suzette wriggled free from the dark material and crawled toward Ned. “Remove the bobs from my hair,” she lisped, tugging his trousers and underwear down about his ankles.
Ned felt her tongue caress. With a triumphant shriek of laughter, she took him into her mouth. When he had regained his sensibilities, he said, “If Flower checks out the names and decides not to hire you, I’ll break your damn nose again.”
“She won’t check names. She hired me right away. You weren’t there to see my performance. I had her completely fooled.”
* * * * *
Flo ignored the sun parlor’s sun. For twenty minutes she’d sat in the same position, her fingernails gashing her palms, her teeth clenched.
The woman hadn’t fooled her at all.
Despite the blonde hair and false accent, it was Suzy. Little Heaven’s Suzy. Minta’s murderer.
More than eight years had passed, but Flo could never forget Suzy’s eyes, nose and broken teeth. Suzy, who now called herself Suzette Dorfman.
Why did I hire her?
Flo’s first inclination had been to scream, her second to send the woman far away. Controlling both impulses, she had questioned Suzy carefully. Yes, she had served the finest families, said Suzy, and mentioned several names—a mind-boggling slipup on Suzy’s part. Suppose Flo had decided to substantiate Suzy’s credentials?
Why did I hire her?
Because, although she couldn’t prove it, Flo knew that Suzy was responsible for Minta’s death. With Suzy installed at Aguila del Oro, Flo could watch her closely and extract revenge. Somehow, some way, she’d even the score.
During their interview, Suzy hadn’t conjoined Flo with the heavy parlor house waif. Flo wore a black peg-top skirt, full at the hips, diminishing in width toward the ankles. Over a high-collared red blouse, she sported a short bolero jacket, fashioned from black wool, with h
and-sewn horizontal stripes of red and gold silk.
Suzy had merely said, “You look familiar, Mrs. Lytton. Have we met before?”
Before Flo could reply, the hateful woman had lisped, “Oh, how silly. I probably spotted you at one of the upper-crust homes where I worked as a housemaid.”
Rather than focusing on Flo’s telltale ebony hair, blue eyes, and cleft chin, Suzy’s greedy eyes had been fixed on Flo’s pink pearls and the jeweled combs that secured her braids.
With an effort, Flo unclenched her fingers. Sensing Cat’s approach, she turned and watched him stride toward her.
“Hello, Fools Gold. Why won’t you take my calls? Why won’t you see me?”
“Go ’way, Cat. I’ll see you on the movie set when Claude resumes filming tomorrow. I’ll let you save me from the flood. Then you’ll return to California. If you telephone, I’ll hang up. If you send me letters, I’ll burn them. Do you understand?”
“No.” Glancing around the sun parlor, Cat saw several guests reading books, playing whist, or just gawking at John Chinook and Flower Smith. “Let’s take a stroll through the park. We need to talk.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Not until we talk.”
“All right. Talk.”
“Not here.”
“Yes, here. Or else we shan’t talk at all.”
He pulled a chair close to hers and sat on the edge of its cushion. “Edward is nearly recovered, isn’t he?”
“Edward is better, but he shall never recover.”
“That’s not your fault or mine.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you refuse to see me?”
“Hush. This must be casual conversation.”
Grasping her elbows, he pulled her from the chair. “Yes, it is a nice day for a stroll,” he said, his voice loud.
“Damn your soul, Cat McDonald!” Flo stumbled to keep up as he led her swiftly through the lobby.
“How’s Mr. Lytton, Mrs. Lytton?” A bandage covered the back of Martin’s head, and the tunic buttons on his new uniform shined.
“Much better, thank you,” Flo called over her shoulder.
“Mr. Chinook, you haven’t forgotten about Pistol’s pup, have you? You promised—”
Doors closed on the boy’s words.
“That was cruel, Cat.”
“I’ll make it up to him. Hell, I’ll send him the whole damn litter.”
“Either slow down or release my elbow.” Flo’s steps, short and choppy, were constricted by the width of her skirt bottom. “Stop walking so fast, Cat, or I shall fall.”
Dropping her arm, he turned abruptly. She stumbled forward. Her face landed in his shirt and she began to cry. Wordlessly, he stroked her back.
“I’m not pregnant after all,” she said, stepping backwards.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Since there’s no baby, I’ll stay with Edward and manage his estate.”
“I won’t permit it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Suppose I tell Edward he’s your grandfather?”
“You won’t do that.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because you are the son of John McDonald, not Cherokee Bill.”
“I’ll do anything to keep you, Fools Gold.”
“If you think you can keep me by killing Edward, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you, and I’m grateful for the time we’ve had together. It’s made me strong enough to end our affair.”
“It was more than an affair and you know it. If Edward were to die, would you marry me?”
“No.”
“Yes, you would. I’ll wait. If necessary, I’ll wait forever.”
Flo stared up into Cat’s anguished face. “Forever is a long, long time.”
Thirty-One
“I never realized that the Colorado was such a long river,” said Jane, “or so wild. Are you sure you don’t want me to stand in for you? I swim like a fish and they won’t shoot any close-ups until after Cat, I mean John, has pulled you out.”
“Claude wants to use a stand-in,” Flo said, “but not a slip of a girl like you. He wants to dress a man in Minta’s clothes.”
“You refused, of course.”
“I’ve been practicing my swimming, and Minta’s calico weighs less than my bathing costume. A man, indeed!”
“You should join the suffragettes.”
“I make statements for women with my movies. I hope you’ll do the same when you take over my role.”
“I still can’t believe you want me to continue in your serial.”
“Your serial. After this movie, Flower Smith will retire and Jane Percival will continue in Janey’s Journey. I promised Claude I’d make one appearance, introduce you as my long-lost sister. When you have time, I hope you’ll visit Aguila del Oro.”
“Just try and keep me away. Oh, dear, Claude is gathering the troops. Soon I must beg my father, the evil mine owner, not to blast the river. I feel so silly, falling to my knees and wringing my hands. I wish motion pictures could talk.”
“Someday movies will have sound, and your brother will play his guitar and sing ‘The Western Home.’ ”
“Home, home, on the range, where the deer and the antelope play.” Jane smiled ruefully. “Cat’s the only member of my family who can sing. Daniel stutters and Lucas wouldn’t recognize a song unless it was cooked inside a loaf of bread. Tonna says Cat was fathered by the Chinook wind. Maybe that’s why his voice is so pure.”
Flo glanced toward the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains. “I guess we’d better join the others. Claude wants to shoot this sequence before the sun sets.”
Since there were quite a few players and four cameras, DuBois hefted his megaphone. “Qui-et, quiet everyone. Flower, we’ll begin the scene with Minta kneeling by the river. Don’t forget to wear the stuffed harness that makes you pregnant.”
“For goodness sake, Claude, you needn’t shout. I’m standing right in front of you.”
He lowered his megaphone. “Minta washes her clothes. By mistake, she scoops up some sand. Surprise! Gold! Mouth the word, Flower. We’ll flash the printed letters on the screen. Won’t William be happy? Minta looks into the distance. Where’s William? She drops her head into her hands and her shoulders shake. William isn’t coming back. ‘Woe is me.’ ”
“Woe is me?”
“Something like that.”
“Nothing like that. The script reads ‘I have faith. If William is alive, he’ll return to me.’ ”
“What I want here is pathos.”
“What we need here is faith.”
“How do you show faith? Perhaps faithful pathos or pathetic trust.”
“Perhaps.”
“All right. We crosscut to the mine owner. Jane is begging him not to blast. He laughs and bears down on the handle.” Pressing the megaphone against his lips, Claude shouted, “Are the dynamite sticks ready?”
“Ready, Mr. DuBois,” called a man wearing denim overalls. “We set them upstream, round the bend in the river, so’s nobody’ll get hurt.”
“There will be one take on the explosion.”
“Yes, sir.”
Claude lowered his megaphone. “All right. We cut to William. Where the bloody hell is William?”
“I’m here, DuBois.”
Flo didn’t turn around, but she sensed Cat standing behind her. In her mind’s eye, he dwarfed the mountains.
“All right. William is riding back to Minta. We understand this because he says, ‘I hope I’m not too late for the birth of my baby.’ The words will be printed on the screen. William hears the explosion. Cup your ear, so the audience knows—”
“Which ear? My good ear or my deaf ear?”
“What’s the difference? William kicks his horse . . . Chinook! You’re not wearing spurs.”
“I never wear spurs.”
“I want your hors
e to go fast.”
“He’ll go fast.”
“All right. We crosscut to the mine owner, killed in the explosion. Jane escapes by climbing over the rubble. May we have pathos here, Flower?”
“I believe the script calls for Jane to display courage.”
“All right. We cut to Minta. She wades into the river because it’s swollen from the explosion, and her poor dog is caught in the current. We’ll film that later, after Pistol has her pups. Minta’s trapped by the rushing waters. ‘Help,’ she screams. ‘Help.’ ”
“No, Claude. Now we have your pathos. Minta simply says, ‘I love you, William.’ ”
“Whatever. If the sun is still out, we’ll film the rescue.” Claude raised his megaphone. “Everybody ready? Remember, only one take on the explosion.”
Flo attached her padded harness under her loose calico dress and knelt by the side of the river. She scooped up a handful of sand, discovered the shiny nuggets of fool’s gold, and laughed at the irony. They couldn’t use real gold since it didn’t look real.
“That’s good, Flower,” DuBois yelled. “Minta’s laughing with joy. She’s going to be a rich lady. Now she remembers William’s gone.”
Soon Cat would be out of her life forever, thought Flo, and forever was a long, long time. Tears blurred her vision and she was only dimly aware of the camera moving in for a close-up. Lifting her chin, she said, “I have faith. If William is alive, he’ll come back to me.”
“Perfect, Flower! I’m not sure we’ll print the words. Your expression says it all. You even convinced me you love Chinook, and I know how much you hate him.”
Flo acknowledged Claude’s compliment with a tight smile. She smelled wildflowers and decaying leaves. A swift breeze played with her braids and shifted the trail of tears on her face, but the river appeared calm since there was an earthen dam constructed farther upstream. The dam fed into a passageway that led toward a stock pond.
Claude was shouting orders for a second take on Jane’s scene. Leaning over the bank, Flo dipped her hand into the water. It felt warm on top. Deeper, it felt icy.
“Please, God,” she prayed, “don’t let me catch a chill.” Her hand strayed to her padded belly and she considered asking Claude for a stand-in, perhaps Janey. Before she could make a decision, she heard thunder.