Death in the Family

by J. R. Roberts

  “Okay, kid,” he said to the baby, “let’s see if we can find someplace to leave you.”

  He went up the steps and knocked on the heavy oak door. Unlike most whorehouses he’d been to, the door was not answered by a scantily clad woman, but by a fully dressed man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, in his late twenties. His clothes were clean, looked new, and he wasn’t wearing a gun.

  “Help ya?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Clint said, “I’d like to speak to the lady of the house.”

  “You kiddin’?” he asked. “There’s lots of girls in this house, but no ladies.”

  “Then I’ll take the madam.”

  “What’s with the kid?”

  “I found him.”

  “Where?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to the madam about.”

  “You think it’s hers?” he asked Clint. “Or one of the girls here?”

  “I don’t know whose it is,” Clint said, “but I need to leave it someplace until I find out.”

  “And you wanna leave it here?” the man asked. “You know what kind of place this is?”

  “I do,” Clint said. “That’s why I asked to see the madam.”

  The man shook his head. “She ain’t gonna wanna—”

  “How about you let her decide for herself?” Clint said, cutting him off.

  “Yeah, okay,” the man said finally, “wait here.”

  * * *

  “Come in,” Lily Carter called.

  Andy Cardwell opened the door and entered his boss’s office.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “There’s a man at the door asking for you.”

  “Is that unusual?” she asked. “There’s always men at the door.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Well what?” She was in her mid-forties, still looked good enough to be working, if she wanted to. But she was also a hard woman, always in charge. Cardwell was her security, and warmed her bed when she wanted it.

  “Well . . . he has a baby with him.”

  “What? A man wants to bring a baby in here?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Why?”

  “He says he found it,” Cardwell said with a shrug. “He needs someplace to leave it while he finds out where it belongs. Or maybe he thinks it belongs to one of the girls.”

  Lily frowned. “None of my girls has been pregnant.”

  “Okay,” Cardwell said, “I’ll tell him.”

  “No, wait,” Lily said. “He asked for me by name?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what?”

  “He asked for the lady of the house.”

  “The lady of the house?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pushed her chair back and got up.

  “Leave him to me.”

  * * *

  When the door opened, Clint saw a handsome woman in her forties, with long dark hair and pale skin.

  “Jesus Christ,” she said, looking at the boy. She also sniffed the air. “He stinks.”

  “I know,” Clint said, “and I don’t have any more shirts to use as diapers.”

  “Bring him inside, for Chrissake,” she said, backing away from the door.

  “Thank you.”

  Clint entered and at that moment three girls came out of the main sitting room, where they greeted their customers.

  “Oh, a baby,” one of them cooed.

  “He’s so cute,” another said.

  “And dirty,” the third said.

  “Girls,” Lily said, “go and find me something to clean him with, and to put him in after he’s clean.”

  “Towels!” one girl said.

  “Pillowcases!” another said.

  “And water,” Lily said. “Bring them to my room.” She looked at Clint. “You follow me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clint said, and followed her down a hallway to a room at the back of the house.

  FOUR

  Clint gave the baby up to the women and watched. If he’d had any doubts about a group of whores caring for a baby, they were quickly dispelled.

  Lily took control. The other girls brought water and cloth. Lily washed the baby, who seemed to enjoy the attention. He cooed and laughed as she bathed him, and then she fashioned a diaper from a towel. Next she swathed him in a white sheet, which she cut to fit around him better. She also cut a hole in it, and dropped it over his head, and then sat him up. As she dried his hair, all the girls gathered around him, laughing.

  “What’s his name?” one of them asked, looking at Clint.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You haven’t named him?” another girl asked.

  “He’s not mine to name,” he said. “I found him.”

  “Where?” Lily asked. “Exactly.”

  “Just out there,” he said, “about three miles outside of town. Just walking . . .”

  “Barefoot?” one girl asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, his poor feet.” They crowded around to examine the baby’s feet, and then one of them offered to make some booties to protect them.

  “Never mind,” Lily said. “We’ll go shopping and get him some things.”

  “Ooh, shopping!” one girl cried, and they all became excited.

  “Not all of you!” Lily said. “In fact, I want you all to go back to work except . . . Angie and Helen.”

  The girls pouted and complained, but eventually they all left the room, leaving behind a tall blond girl named Angie, and a small brunette named Helen.

  “You girls go and get dressed,” Lily said. “I’ll stay with the baby while you go and shop.”

  The girls clapped their hands excitedly.

  “You’ll shop for the baby!” Lily said quickly. “Not for yourselves. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Get dressed,” she said, “and then come back for money.”

  They turned and ran from the room.

  “I’ll pay for whatever they buy,” Clint said.

  Lily turned to look at him.

  “I figured you would,” she said.

  “Will you keep the child here while I try to find out where he belongs?”

  “I will,” Lily said, “but you’d better hurry. If you take too long, these girls will not want to let the kid go.”

  “You’d raise him in a whorehouse?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Whores are the most honest people I know.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Clint said, “but I guess you’re right.”

  “I never met a whore who didn’t admit exactly what she was,” Lily said.

  “Unless she was paid to,” Clint pointed out.

  “Well . . . there’s always that.”

  Lily picked the boy up and held him in her arms. Clint noticed as the woman pressed her nose to the boy’s head and inhaled.

  “Has he said anything?” she asked. “He looks about the age where he should have some words.”

  “He said, ‘Mama.’”

  “Mama,” the boy said as if to prove he could.

  “Well, then,” Lily said, “that means he has a mama.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Clint said.

  “Well,” she said, walking back and forth and patting the boy on the back, “I don’t know of anyone in town who’s missing a baby. And I doubt this little boy walked three miles in his bare feet.”

  “I didn’t see any wagons or ranches,” Clint said.

  “You must have come to town from the west.”

  “Yes.”

  “There are only a few ranches out that way,” she said. “Most of them are north and east of town.”

  “I see.”

  “If you ride back
out, then ride in circles, you’re bound to come to a ranch,” she told him. “There’s the Reynolds place, and the Rocking C . . .”

  “Any babies out there?”

  “Not that I know of. But they might have visitors.”

  “Well, that sounds like good advice.”

  Lily studied Clint critically for a moment, then said, “Maybe you should get yourself something to eat first, though. He’ll be all right here for a while.”

  “Another good idea,” Clint said. “I’ll also need to get a hotel room, and give my horse some rest.”

  “Go and do all that,” Lily said. “I’ll have the girls get the baby something to eat and drink as well as something to wear.”

  “All right,” Clint said. He took some money out of his pocket and handed it to Lily. “Will that be enough?”

  She smiled and said, “We’ll make it enough.”

  “Overnight, all right?” Clint asked. “It’ll be dark soon and—”

  “Overnight’s fine,” Lily said. “I’ll make up a bed for him.”

  “I can’t thank you enough—”

  “For taking him off your hands?”

  “For helping the little guy,” he said.

  “Well,” she said, “we’re both doing that, aren’t we?”

  The girls came back in at that point. They were wearing modest cotton dresses and had scrubbed all the paint from their faces. They hovered around the baby, and accepted the money from Lily. As Clint left, she was giving them instructions as to what to buy.

  FIVE

  He reined in Eclipse in front of the first saloon he came to, a small place obviously owned by a man with no imagination, as the saloon was called No. 8. It reminded him of Deadwood, Saloon No. 5, where his friend Wild Bill Hickok had been killed.

  He entered the saloon, which was almost empty. It was true to its exterior, small on the inside with only a few tables and a short, somewhat makeshift bar. It suited his purpose, though. He just needed a beer to wash away the trail dust before he saw to Eclipse’s comfort, and his own.

  “Beer,” he told the bartender.

  “Comin’ up.”

  The fortyish barman drew him the beer and set the mug in front of him.

  “Just get to town?” he asked.

  “Rode in this minute,” Clint said. He drank down half the beer. It wasn’t ice cold, but it cut the dust. “Looks like you’ve got an election coming up.”

  “We do,” the man said. “Mayoral election.”

  “Ah,” Clint said. “Today wouldn’t be election day, would it?”

  “No, sir,” the bartender said. “That’s still two weeks away.”

  “Who’s this fellow Lennon? Seems he has a lot of signs around town.”

  “That’d be Mayor Lennon.”

  “The incumbent?”

  “That’s right.”

  Clint sipped some more beer.

  “Seems like his opponent isn’t advertising himself as well as the mayor.”

  “That’s because there ain’t no opponent,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “His honor runs unopposed every time,” the bartender said.

  “Every time?”

  The man nodded.

  “Been mayor goin’ on twenty years.”

  “And nobody ever runs against him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why is that?”

  The bartender hesitated, then shrugged and said, “Guess nobody else wants the job.”

  Clint had recently spent some time in Abilene, and the town had a similar situation, a mayor that nobody would ever run against. That situation had changed while he was there, due in large part to some actions by him. However, he had no intention of getting involved in the politics of any other towns he visited.

  “Guess it must be a pretty thankless job,” he said.

  The bartender laughed shortly and said, “I wouldn’t want it.”

  Clint finished his beer.

  “Another one?”

  “No, that’ll do it for now,” he said. “I’ve got to get my horse taken care of, and get myself a hotel room. Any suggestions?”

  “Down the street, the Belle Flower Hotel. It’s got pretty good rooms, and comfortable beds.”

  “Thanks.” Clint dropped some money on the bar, sure that it was more than the beer was worth. The bartender didn’t complain.

  * * *

  He got Eclipse situated in a livery stable where, as usual, the big Darley Arabian drew the admiration of the owner.

  “Never seen an animal this magnificent before,” the man said, running his hand over Eclipse’s flanks. The big Darley had a sixth sense about people, could tell when somebody had good horse sense and knew what he was doing. If the animal trusted the man enough to let him touch him, then Clint felt content to leave the horse in the man’s care.

  Next he went to the Belle Flower Hotel. Like the saloon, it was small, but unlike the saloon, it was clean. The lobby was deserted as he entered, carrying his rifle and saddlebags. The desk clerk looked up and smiled, but didn’t say a word until Clint had reached the desk.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I need a room.”

  “Certainly. For how long?”

  “I’m not sure,” Clint said. “One or two nights.”

  The man turned the register so Clint could sign in.

  “Are you here on business?” he asked.

  “No,” Clint answered, “I’m just . . . looking for some people.”

  “Ah, well, Mr. . . .” The clerk peered at the name, then stared at Clint with wide eyes. “Adams?”

  “That’s right.”

  The man reached behind him for a key, missed twice as he groped for one, then finally turned his head and grabbed one.

  “Room five, sir,” he said. “Uh, b-best in the house. Overlooks the street.”

  “Is there a balcony? Anything outside the window? A low roof?” Clint asked.

  “No, sir, nothin’ like that.”

  Clint snatched the key from the man’s hand and said, “It’ll be fine, then.”

  * * *

  The room was large, well furnished—probably was, indeed, the best room in the house. Clint figured the nervous clerk was probably only going to charge him for a regular room. Unless his boss found out about it.

  He walked to the window and looked out. He’d been lucky the women at the whorehouse wanted a baby around. It would give him time to get some food, and some rest, and then ride out in the morning and find out where the baby had come from.

  He left his saddlebags and rifle in the room and went out to find a steak.

  SIX

  Just two blocks from the hotel, Clint found a small café. He actually smelled it before he got to it, and followed his nose. Inside, he secured a table away from the windows and ordered a steak dinner.

  He was working his way through the overdone steak when Sheriff Murphy came walking in. Some of the other diners looked up at him as he went by them to Clint’s table.

  “Sheriff,” Clint said. “Have a seat.”

  The man seemed to have cleaned up. When he sat and removed his hat, Clint saw that he’d combed his hair. And he was wearing cleaner clothes.

  “If you were lookin’ for a good steak, I could have told you where to go,” he said.

  “Good,” Clint said, “tell me so I can get one for my next meal.”

  “I can tell you a couple of places,” Murphy said.

  “How about some coffee?” Clint asked.

  “Sure.”

  Clint poured him a cup, and went back to work on the steak with his knife.

  “The baby?” Murphy asked.

  “I left him with Lily.”

  “Lily with a baby,” Murphy said, shaking his head.
<
br />   “You sent me there,” Clint said. “All the girls will be taking care of him.”

  “Well, good for the boy,” Murphy said. “I know a lot of men who’d like to be in that kid’s place.”

  Clint laughed.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I stopped at the hotel,” Murphy said. “The clerk told me you’d just left. He saw you turn this way. His name’s Walter, by the way. You’ve made him very nervous.”

  “I hardly spoke to him.”

  “Well, once he saw your name . . . you must go through that a lot.”

  “Some.”

  “I hope he gave you a good room.”

  “Best in the house, he said.”

  “Good. What are your plans?”

  “Tomorrow morning I’m going to ride out and see if I can find where the kid came from,” Clint said. “He can’t have walked very far.”

  “You didn’t find anything on the way in, though.”

  “I probably just rode in the wrong direction. Lily told me about a Reynolds place, and a Rocking C?”

  “Neither one of them would have a child that young around,” Murphy said.

  “Where would you suggest I go?”

  “Beats me,” Murphy said. “I can’t think of anyplace that would have a baby . . .”

  “What about the doctor?”

  “He’s too old to have a baby.”

  “I mean, maybe he’d know.”

  “Oh, well, yeah, that makes sense. That’d be Doc Simon. I can introduce you.”

  “Why don’t we do that now?”

  “Don’t you want to finish your steak?”

  “Actually,” Clint said, putting the knife and fork down, “no. And do I dare have pie here?”

  “No,” Murphy said. “I’ll take you to the doc, and then I’ll show you where to get good pie.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  Clint grudgingly paid his bill, and they left.

  * * *

  The sheriff led the way several blocks to the doctor’s office. The shingle outside said, DR. SIMON, G.P. The sheriff entered without knocking.

  “Doc!” he shouted.

  “Maybe he’s with a patient,” Clint said. “Maybe we shouldn’t disturb—”

  “It’s after hours,” Murphy said. “Ol’ Doc don’t work after office hours unless it’s a real emergency.”