“Aye, sir! And did ye see the way the groom sickened at the prospect of kissin’ ‘er?” Hadley McDuff demanded. “‘E didn’t deserve the likes of Lyla!”
Thompson cleared his throat so he wouldn’t laugh. This had to be the most bizarre interrogation he’d ever conducted, and they’d certainly taken care of the Foxe brothers for him, but serious justice had to be done. “Am I correct in assuming you’re the McDuff whom Miss O’Riley was betrothed to?” he asked the little man.
Hadley smoothed the few strands of hair on his freckled head. “Aye, sir,” he replied more sedately. “When she wrote home about Mick bein’ killed, I felt I should come after her. She was a sheltered little lass, defenseless against you swaggerin’ Americans.”
The irony of these words nearly made the marshal laugh again, but seeing Lyla’s embarrassed flush, he decided against pursuing such a personal topic. McClanahan had stepped up beside him to face the two suspects, and it was he who broke the uncomfortable silence that filled the jailhouse office.
“While I fully understand your protective attitude toward Lyla,” Matt began quietly, “from where I stood it appeared that Connor was killed when he stumbled backward on the stairs and struck his head against the sharp corner of the altar.”
“But I hit him hard,” Oliver protested.
“I believe Dr. Geary was thinking the same way,” Deputy Adams spoke up. “Such a blow to the base of his brain would be fatal. And it appeared to me that Frazier was having some sort of seizure—”
“Cold feet was wot seized ‘im!” Hadley exclaimed as he hopped out of his chair. “The old gaffer was ‘avin ‘eart failure just lookin’ at Lyla, lovely as she was! ‘E wouldn’t’ve lasted five minutes in bed with ‘er before ‘e passed on. ‘Twas a sin for the lass to be tied to such a prissy old poop, and I’m proud I did ‘im in!”
Lyla stared at the gnomish little nobleman, her face aflame. Who would’ve guessed he held such fiery convictions about anything, or that he’d defend her even after she crossed the ocean to avoid marrying him? He focused his smallish eyes on her, wearing the same wistfulness she’d seen through Mrs. Delacroix’s plate glass window.
“I’m truly sorry, Lyla. I behaved out of turn, I know,” he continued in his low brogue. “But I could see ye lookin’ for a way out even as ye came down the aisle, child. Ye’re too bonnie a lass to be saddled with an old goat—me included. And I knew that the moment I saw ye tryin’ on yer gown. I…I just wanted ye to have the happiness ye deserve, darlin’.”
Lyla’s eyes were hot with grateful tears, but before she could think of an appropriate response to Hadley’s stirring confession, Allegra Keating cleared her throat ceremoniously and strode over to stand in front of him.
“A truly heartwarming tale, Mr. McDuff,” she said with a wry smile, “but you men are all alike—conceited twits, just like Frazier was. I killed him myself, before either of you had the chance.”
Everyone in the office was stunned beyond words. In the moments of silence that followed, Lyla noticed Rafferty and Grace coming in from their cell to listen more closely. Barry was staring at the spinster in the dove-gray suit, wondering who would be next with an outlandish confession. And these three looked so proud!
Indeed, Miss Keating was standing tall, her bun aquiver and her glittering eyes a few inches higher than Hadley’s as she went on with her explanation. “I put rat poison in his blanc mange, Mr. McDuff. And if he hadn’t made such a pig of himself at lunch he’d have collapsed sooner, saving us all the mortification of this wedding,” she declared haughtily. “It’s exactly what that rodent deserved for marrying this conniving little siren instead of the woman who’s spent the prime of her life catering to his every whim—”
“Strychnine.” Thompson murmured. “It would’ve blended right into that pudding.”
“And it accounts for Foxe’s godawful convulsions,” McClanahan whispered back.
“—and what was my reward?” Allegra continued shrilly. “A home, with that little golddigger, for as long as I lived after he passed on. Oh yes, I read his will, Mrs. Foxe,” she said, looking bitterly at Lyla. “And I’ll endure imprisonment any day rather than live out my years with you.”
Miss Keating then turned toward Barry, her skinny nose pointed up at him. “Lock me away, Marshal Thompson. And for what it’s worth, you deserve the trouble that bosomy little bubblehead will bring you, for being a liar and a cheat yourself.”
Thompson was dumbfounded. An astute, upper-crust housekeeper like Allegra Keating didn’t belong in the Canon City prison with hardened criminals. Yet she’d killed a man—premeditated murder motivated by spite and jealousy—and he couldn’t dismiss her with just a slap on the wrist.
“Show her to a cell, Rex,” he said quietly, “until we can discuss this further. And since Connor died from his fall, in a scuffle he started himself,” he added, addressing the two balding men across from him, “you fellows are free to go. Use the back alley, and take Lyla with you. The crowd out front’ll never let her leave.”
Lyla threw him an injured glance but then rose to go with the others. He was right to have her escorted to the hotel, and he had matters to settle with Rex Adams, who looked decidedly uncomfortable now that Foxe’s murder had been solved. And the people out front were demanding an explanation only he as the resurrected marshal could give.
Seeing her disappointment, Barry reached out to stroke her cheek. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he promised.
“Perhaps we could all ride together,” Rafferty suggested, his arm around Cherry Blossom’s waist. “Safety in numbers, you know.”
“An excellent idea,” Oliver Hollingsworth said, his voice alive with renewed purpose. “I should be pleased to drive you all to your destinations and then to accompany Miss Lyla to her suite, in case any curiosity seekers get wind of her whereabouts.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Barry replied with a nod. He saw Rafferty slip a packet of papers onto his desk with a wink, while the others shrugged into their coats and headed toward the back room. Then the Indian princess turned, her gaze sly as a cat’s.
“Now that you’ve come back from the dead, marshal, perhaps you can perform another miracle and recover my turquoise combs,” she said pointedly.
“I’ll get right on it.” He chuckled, watching her slip into Rafferty’s open arm, knowing she did it as much to taunt him as to satisfy an itch that always needed to be scratched. They filed out then, all except for Hadley McDuff, who hung back, clasping his hands repeatedly as he glanced toward the cells. “Something I can do for you, sir?”
The Irishman grinned nervously. “I—would ye mind if I ‘ad a word with Miss Keating? Per’aps she could use a bit of company about now.”
The marshal bit back a grin. “Be my guest. Find out what we can bring her to make her stay more comfortable.”
When the freckled little fellow disappeared down the hallway, he and McClanahan were left with a deputy who pointedly avoided his gaze. Adams was busily sorting through his desk drawer, his skinny wrists sticking out of a dark suit coat that made his complexion look paler than normal. Biding his time, Thompson went to sit at his own desk while Matt looked out the window at the gathering crowd.
Rex’s glance darted between them, and when he realized they were forcing him to speak first he swallowed, his Adam’s apple dancing a jig above his starched shirt collar. “I suppose it’s only appropriate that I resign,” he rasped. “It’ll save me the embarrassment of admitting I was fired.”
Barry was rolling a cigarette, taking his time about it. “Can’t let you go until I hear your reasons.”
Adams stared. “You know damn well I was in with Foxe’s men, trying to help them kill you!”
“Maybe I want to hear about it from the horse’s mouth, from the beginning. Maybe your story’ll shed light on how Jameson and that Nate fellow ought to be dealt with.” Lighting his smoke, Barry looked placidly through the haze at his assistant, waiting. There was more at st
ake here than Rex’s pride, and he was determined to see where the chips fell before he decided the deputy’s fate.
With an agitated sigh, Adams gazed at his clasped, bony knuckles. “It started as a one-time thing, a way to make a little extra cash before Christmas,” he began numbly. “Frazier told me his regulars would do the dirty work, and what he wanted from me was cooperation from this office.”
“He was planning the Rose robbery, then?”
The deputy nodded. “Nate, Kelly, and Connor were to be the holdup men, and once you and the posse followed them into Phantom Canyon, Nate was to divert the others while Jameson and Connor killed you.”
Thompson took a long draw on his cigarette. “Where’d Eberhardt fit in?”
“He played lookout while Connor switched the stolen jewelry from the sack into the smaller leather pouch and stashed it in your saddlebag, before you got to the stable. Foxe didn’t want the jewelry—he wanted you dead,” Rex reminded him. “He said to leave the bag with you, so you’d die a hero and folks wouldn’t be as likely to press for an investigation, since it would appear you recovered the valuables.”
“It was Connor who filched the shamrock pendant and my aquamarine ring, then?”
Adams nodded. “Made some comment about his brother requesting those pieces for his own purposes—and he retrieved Frazier’s walking stick while he was at it.”
“So what was your part in this?” Barry asked, wishing his deputy wouldn’t quake like a cornered rabbit. “Last thing I recall, you were riding alongside me up the canyon ridge and then you took out through the trees.”
Rex cleared his throat for the dozenth time. “I…was supposed to shoot you from behind while they fired on you from their ambush positions, but I…I just couldn’t.”
McClanahan let out a sarcastic snort. “Maybe because that put you in their line of fire, too?”
“That occurred to me, yes,” the pale redhead admitted ruefully. “But I also realized I couldn’t live the rest of my life with Barry’s blood on my conscience. I rode off hoping to distract the others. Or at least get him back to town before he was dead.”
“But Lyla beat you to it.” Thompson leaned forward, recalling how she’d found the booty in her shed and assumed the robbers would return. How she kept silent to save him from worry and did everything humanly possible to keep him breathing, all the while watching over her shoulder. “So when she returned to town and deposited me with the doc-alive—Connor and Eberhardt grabbed her and you three informed Frazier he needed a new plan. And you helped yourself to a little bonus before taking the pouch to the bank vault, didn’t you?”
He nodded, cringing. “I figured Lyla would blow the whole thing open sooner or later, but it felt so good to be in charge—to hear Foxe promise me the city marshal’s position. It seemed the only way to advance myself, to better my income. I ignored her when she told me Frazier would dispose of me as he had Wally, but when she pointed out that Theresa and the children would be left…well, I couldn’t face that. I made up my mind to expose him at the wedding, but Allegra Keating beat me to the punch.”
“Easy to say now, since you didn’t have to incriminate yourself in public,” McClanahan berated him.
Thompson heard his best friend’s verdict loud and clear, but the thought of Theresa and her brood of carrot-haired chicks being left destitute weighed heavily upon him. He rubbed out his cigarette and looked Adams square in the face. “Since you weren’t involved in the actual robbery, and you didn’t shoot me when you had the chance—”
“He was an accomplice! He admits it!” Matt challenged.
“But he fell for Frazier’s offer because he wanted a little extra for his family at Christmas,” Barry pointed out quietly. “I’ll be the first to say his pay’s inadequate, and frankly, I’m not sure he’s cut out to be a city marshal—”
Adams flushed and looked away.
“—but I’ll let him keep his job under one condition.”
Rex glanced up, wary yet hopeful.
“You’ve got to return that Masonic ring to Sam Langston and those turquoise combs to Miss Putnam. In person,” he added firmly. “What you say to them is your business, but it’s only right that those pieces be returned, no matter what you have to tell Theresa when you take those combs back. She was mighty proud of them.”
“Yes, she was,” he choked.
“So there’s my offer. Accept it, or resign.”
Rex loosened his collar with a shaking hand. “It’s more than fair. I—you don’t know how much I appreciate this, sir.”
“You’ll earn it. Those reporters out front’ll see to that.” Thompson glanced out the window at the crowd, which was getting larger and noisier. It was time to clear the slate, to give them the pertinent facts about Frazier Foxe’s demise and then bow out. He’d analyzed this decision on the train and had even planned a short resignation speech, which meant little now that Foxe had been killed rather than captured.
As he stood, he saw the questions in Rex’s eyes and McClanahan’s scowl when the detective guessed his ulterior motive for not firing Adams outright. But as he was heading for the door to address his public, Hadley McDuff hurried from the cell area, excitement burning in his eyes.
“Marshal, may I ‘ave a word?” he asked breathlessly. “This sounds irregular and a bit ‘asty, per’aps, but I’m askin’ ye anyway. Could I keep Miss Keating company durin’ her incarceration? I—when she’s free to go, I’d like to take ‘er ‘ome with me!”
Barry’s eyebrows shot up. Not ten minutes ago the prim Miss Allegra was calling this man a conceited twit, looking down her beak at him. Glancing at McClanahan, who was chortling, he asked, “Are your intentions honorable, Mr. McDuff? This does seem hasty, since you just met her, and since she poisoned the man she always wanted to marry.”
“I hope you don’t need her for a cook,” Matt teased.
Hadley waved them off good-naturedly. “I ‘ave a cook, gentlemen, and the maids and gardeners required to keep up an ancestral estate,” he explained with gleeful dignity, “but Allegra’s just wot I need to spice up me old age! Kindred spirits, we are—she said so ‘erself. And since she wants no part of livin’ at Foxe ’Ollow, and since wenchin’s gettin’ a bit beyond me, I think we’ll get on nicely.”
Barry shrugged again, astounded by this elegantly-attired leprechaun’s ideas. “I don’t see why you can’t visit her, but I’ve got no idea how long it’ll be before she can leave the country. Depends upon the courts.”
“I understand that. But per’aps the fact that a nobleman such as myself’s willin’ to take ‘er in’ll convince the prosecutors to let ‘er off easier.”
He’d seen stranger things happen, but a few minor points still piqued his curiosity. “Just between you and me,” he began in a conspiratorial tone, “are you figuring to have children by Allegra? Lyla mentioned you needed an heir—”
“And the poor lass was no doubt afraid she’d get warts touchin’ a toad like me,” he said ruefully. “‘Twas her father who proposed the dowerless match, and I accepted for Lyla’s sake, rather than for what came of beddin’ ‘er. Though God knows I lusted in me ‘eart.”
Thompson laughed aloud, as did McClanahan, satisfied that McDuff was a respectable sort who wouldn’t badger Lyla for running out on him. His gaze fell on the packet of papers Jack Rafferty had laid on his desk, and he settled down again. “As Foxe’s widow, I imagine Lyla’s inherited a sizable spread. That must relieve some of your concern about her.”
“Aye,” McDuff replied, and then he looked pointedly at the marshal. “Which makes me wonder about your intentions, young man. I’ll not allow her to be leeched, or to become a parlor decoration. I’ve known Lyla all her young life, and I shan’t return ‘ome till I can assure ‘er father she’s in good ‘ands, wot with Mick bein’ gone.”
“Barry’s got great hands,” Matt teased, his blue eyes sparkling, “but he also owns a gold mine and some property in his own right, and he told me several
weeks ago that he planned to marry her. Going to build her the finest house in Cripple and fill it with children.”
“I’ll bet ‘e is.”
Hadley was studying him with stern, fatherly protectiveness, expecting him to speak for himself, and Barry felt a few butterflies in his stomach. “I have great respect for Lyla. She saved my life—”
“Then why’d she marry Foxe?’’
Thompson sighed, wishing he knew the answer to that one himself. “It was part of a scheme to catch Frazier for robbery and extortion, and because of an avalanche on the train tracks, I didn’t get here in time to stop the ceremony. Sounds like a weak excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.”
McDuff considered this, then nodded sagely. “And we all know Lyla could’ve given ‘im the slip. Notorious for disappearin’ when she feels trapped, she is.” He smiled as though he sensed Thompson, too, had been left in the lurch a few times by the elusive Miss O’Riley. “I’ll be gettin’ back to Allegra, then. Just throw me out when ye need to lock up.”
Thompson watched the little Irishman enter the hallway, shaking his head. Then he turned to McClanahan and Adams, who were eyeing him expectantly. “Time to meet the press,” he said matter-of-factly. “What I have to report won’t be as astounding as what we’ve heard so far this afternoon, but I’ve got a surprise or two up my sleeve. Care to join me?”
The pair exchanged a questioning glance before following him to the door. As Barry opened it onto a crowd that blocked the street, huddling beneath a steady sprinkling of snow, he hesitated. Behind the front couple rows of reporters stood men like Silas Hughes and Sam Langston—friends he’d shared several drinks and confidences with, friends who’d challenge the decision he was about to announce, and maybe see it as a miscarriage of the values he’d always championed. He studied their faces, pleased to be counting few enemies among them, as the newspapermen riffled their notebooks and readied their pens.
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