by C. A. Asbrey
“Nope. We have no way of doing that. We can’t even prove it’s his. All we can say is this coat had a blood stain on it.” She held both sides of the front and scrutinized them, “and it’s consistent with a chest injury in the same position as the victim’s, wouldn’t you say, Clancy?”
He nodded. “Pretty much. There wouldn’t have been much blood. Less than you’d expect. The right ventricle was punctured, which is thinner than the left. When the pericardium was punctured, the pressure wouldn't build. The blood was pumped into the thoracic cavity instead. That’ll be why the coat was still wearable and not totally covered in blood. There are a few marks on it, and I’m guessing that’s where the weapon was pulled out. If the coat was open, it may not have gotten much blood on it at all. Most of it would have been on the shirt and suit beneath.”
“What height was he again?” asked Abigail, stretching out a tape measure.
“Five-ten-and-a-half,” Clancy answered.
“So allow about nine inches for the head, probably around fifteen for the drop to the ground—” she stretched out the tape and measured the full length of the heavy greatcoat, “—forty-six inches.”
“Just right for a man of five-ten-and-a-half.” Nat propped his hands on his hips. “I’m six-one, and it’s too short for me. I guess we found the victim’s overcoat. Unless he travelled all the time, we have to assume he bought the coat where he lived.”
“He didn’t wear a wedding ring. There was no mark for one on his finger, either,” said Abigail. “A married man would generally shop for clothes with his wife, so he would do it in his home town.”
“That doesn’t mean a thing,” Jake said. “Hardly any men wear a ring.”
“True.” Abigail avoided a Nat’s eyes. “And there’s a difference between the old world and the new. In Germany and Britain, men wear their wedding ring on their pinky finger. In the United States of America, most men won’t wear one at all, but many follow the Latin habit of the third finger, like the women. The victim had no marks for a ring being worn on either finger. I noted it.”
“They do? Their little finger? I didn’t know that,” Jake answered. “Is that what the men in your family do?”
A shadow flitted over her eyes. “There are few men left in my family, and they come from all over. They do whatever they were raised with.” She quickly brightened and changed the subject. “So, we need to ask the agency about portly men missing from the San Francisco area, with receding brown hair, brown eyes, five-foot-ten-and-a-half. It could be any time, but we might be looking at a window of about the middle of December onward.”
“Progress.” Clancy rubbed his hands together. “It’s more than I’d hoped for.”
“We’ll see. They might come up with nothing at all.” Abigail shrugged. “But if we can figure out who he is, we can possibly connect him to someone in town.”
♦◊♦
“Will you want your husband to wear a wedding ring, Abi?” The innocence of the question drifted through the air, but the intensity in Nat’s eyes robbed the words of their lightness.
She looked up from her papers. “Yes, on his pinky, like a good old-fashioned Scotsman. If I wear one, he’s going to, too.”
He leaned against the desk trying to look casual. “Has anyone been close enough for you to consider buying one?”
She turned her seat to face him. “Why all the questions?”
He shrugged. “I guess what I don’t know about you bothers me.”
Her eyes widened, brightening with a smile, “Oh, Nat. Don’t be silly.”
“I know it’s dumb. It’s not like you ask me about other women.”
One dubious brow arched. “And I’m not likely to. I can guess.”
Indignation crowded his face. “Hey, that’s unfair. They weren’t all prostitutes.”
She sighed. “Just when I thought I was special, there you go giving me unrealistic expectations of the grandeur of your past conquests.”
“It’s just that I never thought of you being with another man until I saw you engaged to that poor bank manager.”
“Thanks.” She pouted. “Which do you see as the biggest deterrent? My looks, or my personality?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Why are you making this so hard, Abi?”
“Me? I can’t be with a criminal, Mr. Quinn. Not only will it break my heart to see you carted off to jail, but it’s pretty hard to maintain a relationship with a man doing fifteen years hard labor. I need a commitment unlike anything you’ll ever be asked for. I’m interested in till death do us part; I want you to leave all this. You’re remarkable enough to start again.”
“So what do you want me to do? I’ll always be wanted. There’s no statute of limitations in Wyoming. You could be caught stealing apples as a kid there and still be wanted at eighty-five.”
She laid down her pen. “You could go where they’d never ever think of looking for you. Give them enough time and they’ll forget you even existed.”
“Ya think? They write dime novels about us. We’re famous. It’s not going away any time soon.”
“You could leave the country? Canada?”
He shook his head. “Too close. I’d be recognized. It’s too cold, too.”
She cast a hand over to the window. “Too cold? You came to Pettigo of your own free will. There’s got to be at least seven feet of snow out there. What about Mexico?”
“I don’t speak the language, and it’s too hot.”
“Too hot, too cold; are you expecting three bears at your destination?” She frowned. “There’s a whole world out there. There’s Europe, Australia, the whole of the British Empire. You could hide and reinvent yourself. What’s the real reason?”
He hesitated, guilt flickering over his face. “Jake.”
“Jake? So bring him.”
“No, he can’t leave.” He paused avoiding her eyes. “He has—commitments.”
“Commitments?” She closed her ledger. “What type of commitments?”
He darted an uneasy glance at her. “He’s got kids. He’ll never leave them. He feels bad enough about only seeing them a couple of times a year as it is.”
Her jaw dropped open. “Jake’s married?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I see. Where?”
His dark eyes dripped with suspicion. “You don’t think I’m going to tell you that, do you? Apart from the fact that we’re just getting to know one another, it’s not my secret to tell.”
“Would she come away and bring the children with her?”
Nat mused on the question. “I reckon her husband might complain.”
Abigail shook her head. “She’s married. How does Jake know the children are his?”
“He was with her before she gave in and found someone else. Her husband thinks she was a widow and that their uncle visits sometimes.”
“This is my problem with getting involved with a criminal,” said Abigail. “I don’t want that kind of life.”
“Where did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Canada, Australia? How about Scotland?”
He shook his head once more. “I’ve heard your language. There’s no way I could learn it. I can’t even make the sounds.”
“Most of us speak English. You’d be fine.” She stood and walked over to him. “Maybe you need to be a lot more open with me. Where do you go when you disappear?”
A mischievous glitter danced in his dark eyes, but he remained mute.
“Or, where do you come from? I know you said Philadelphia, but where did you go after that? There’s no sign of you in any records I could find.” She toyed with his shirt, a gentle finger sliding between the buttons on the Henley beneath, and playing over the smattering of hairs on his chest. “And what about when you and Jake split? What caused it, and why did you get back together? Was it due to his woman? Did she get in the way? There’s so much I don’t know.”
Her fingers slid deeper, sliding around his nipple unt
il it contracted and rose. He caught his breath and grasped her hand. “Abi? This isn’t like you.”
“So what? I’m tired of waiting. Why don’t we grab life by the throat?” Her face turned to his as she pressed against his firm body. “Don’t you see what we’re wasting? How long will it be before it’s too late?” She drew up his hand and kissed the knuckles. “Look at what we’re throwing away.”
His arms reached around and pulled her close kissing her deep and hard. Everything went quiet, but for the sound of his own heart beating the primal rhythm of being alone with a person who mattered. She kissed him back, gently at first, but then becoming more demanding. When she pulled back, her lips were full and rich, engorged with hunger. “Come here, Nat. Nobody’s home. It’s only us, and that’s all we need.”
They fell together on the huge sofa, using kisses to explore one another in a wild, sensory overload. She unbuttoned his shirt, trailing her velvet mouth over his neck and down to his chest, pausing to gaze at him once more. “We could move somewhere Jake could visit from. Where is she?”
His hand slid up her skirts, causing a deep groan of exhilaration to slip from somewhere deep in her throat as he found her sweet spot. “Who cares,” he answered.
“What’s her name?”
“Jess.”
“Jess what?”
His lips pressed against hers, slow, soft, and sensual, his body melding to fit her soft, yielding curves until there was nothing between them but too much clothing.
She pulled back her head. “You were trying shut me up weren’t you?”
“No.” his lips drifted to her cheek to suck at her ear lobe before nuzzling into her neck. He continued to her blouse, unbuttoning it and nosing the fabric aside to admire the mounds of her cleavage.
“Is it true you sometimes stay at a place called Ghost Canyon?”
He stiffened, and not in a good way. “Are you trying to question me, Abi? What are you doing?” His stomach turned over at the realization he almost walked into a trap. “What am I doing? You’re the law! You’re here to seduce us into jail.”
He felt himself go into freefall, into the empty blackness of fear and betrayal spinning around him along with the echoing sound of Abigail’s laughter.
♦◊♦
“Nat!”
His eyes opened to the darkness of Clancy’s living room and the outline of Jake’s irritated face lit by the still glowing embers in the grate.
“Will you shut the hell up? Some of us are tryin’ to sleep here. What’re you dreamin’ about?”
He shook himself back to consciousness. “It was a dream?”
“A damned noisy one, too.” Jake’s grin widened. “There was so much groanin’ I couldn’t work out if it was good or bad.”
He sat, gulping back the knot of stress rising in his chest. “A bit of both. It was Abi. What a nightmare.”
A deep chuckle rolled through the darkness from his uncle’s mattress. “Can I be there when you tell her? Put it exactly like that. It should be good.”
“I dreamed she was here to cheat us into jail.” Nat listened to the burning silence from Jake’s side of the room. “Is that it? You don’t have an opinion?”
“Sure, I do. I want to make it through the night, though.”
Nat rubbed his face. “This isn’t a joke.”
“I know.” The sound of rustling blankets told of Jake settling down again. “What do your instincts tell you?”
“Maybe it was my instincts telling me to sit up and take notice?”
“Could be, but does your gut agree? I’ve always found your gut never overthinks a problem.”
He paused, holding his sleepy head in both hands. “I don’t know. I want to say she’s on the level, but it’s a huge risk.”
“She ain’t told anyone here. She could’ve turned us in a hundred times.”
“I guess.” More silence. “She’s not acting much like she did in the dream, either. Well, it started like her, then it took a turn—”
“A good turn, huh?”
“Great, until she questioned me on your kids and where we hide.”
Jake’s voice tightened. “Nat, you didn’t tell her about—”
The younger man cut in. “Of course I didn’t. She never asks anything like that. It was only a stupid dream.”
Jake’s audible sigh underscored the sound of him settling back on his straw-filled mattress. “Nat, if I thought she was here to dig into our pasts to turn us in there wouldn’t be enough snow to keep me in this town, and I’d take you with me if I had to lay you out across a horse. She’s been kinda broken, and not just by the bullet. I don’t think she knows why she’s here, herself. I’d stake my life on her not bein’ here for you.” His soft laugh was muffled by his blankets. “Well, not in that way, anyway. Go to sleep.”
“You’re right.” Nat settled back. “I guess the fear at the back of my mind is she’s stringing me along until we’re in a trap.”
“If that’s what you think, we need to go, Nat, but I’ve gotta wonder why she’s trying to get information to turn us in sometime in the future when she could do it here and now.”
“No, it’s not what I think. It’s what I’m afraid of, and it’s my problem. There’s no sign she’s doing that. Go back to sleep, Jake.”
“Yeah.” The older man turned on his side. “Let me know when you figure out what you’re really scared of. We ain’t covered the half of it yet. G’night, Nat.”
♦◊♦
The breakfast table was quieter than usual. The clatter of crockery and the rasp of butter on hot toast cut through the thick silence hanging over the room as Clancy walked in, followed by Abi. Nat and Jake gallantly made to stand, but she ushered them back into their seats with a hand signal.
“I’m not supposed to be a woman, remember. Treat me like a boy. Mrs. France will see.”
Abigail examined the dark circles under Nat’s bleary eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“He had a bad dream.” Jake grinned.
“You did?” She pulled out a chair. “What about?”
Nat glowered at his uncle. “Just stuff. Nothing. You know what dreams are. I ended up falling, then Jake woke me.”
“Oh, I hate those. I wonder what brought that on?”
“Yeah, me too.” Jake twinkled at Clancy’s amused glance. “Remember, it’s not the fall that kills you. It’s the sudden stop at the end.”
“We never hit the bottom in those dreams, do we?”
“I dunno about that.” Jake smirked. “Did you find the bottom, Nat?”
Nat choked on his coffee and clattered the cup on the saucer. He glared at his uncle as he wiped his lips with his napkin. Jake was enjoying this far too much.
“Shut up.” Nat changed the subject. “What’s the plan for today? Question all the various handymen?”
“I guess.” Jake sipped at his coffee. “How’d you want to do this? Split them between us?”
Mrs. France entered the room, her hair as gray as the ashes of a neglected fire but her eyes as bright as sparks. “A telegram arrived, Doctor Fox.” She glanced at Abigail’s plate. “You need more than toast, young man. You don’t hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive. You do want to grow into a strapping man, don’t you?” She ladled out scrambled eggs and dropped bacon on top. “Eat! You won’t get muscles from a bit of bread. You get the bed because you’ve been ill, so do your bit and eat everything put in front of you.”
Abigail watched the woman bustle from the room and sighed. “Anyone want some eggs?”
“I’ll have them.” Jake reached out for her plate and shoveled them onto his own. “She’ll be offerin’ to bathe you next.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t. She’s quite powerful with the mothering, isn’t she?”
Clancy opened the envelope. “It’s for you. They think they have a match for the body.”
Nat took it and read aloud. “Lymen Cussen, aged fifty-three, married, lay preacher.
Thirteen children. Attended Pettigo to audit the Golden West Trust Bank. Last heard from arriving in Pettigo December late on the seventeenth. Sent a telegram to confirm arrival at the next town on the nineteenth but never checked into the hotel or audited the next bank.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “The auditor? Oh, now that could provide a strong motive.”
“It looks like your genius for numbers is about to come in handy, Nat.” Jake pushed back his plate.
“Genius for numbers?” asked Clancy.
“He can spot accountin’ errors the way a cat can spot a mouse,” Jake answered.
“And what’s your place in this trio, Jake? It strikes me you all three have particular skills?”
“Jake’s pretty observant himself, but his main function is logistics and security,” Nat answered. “And annoying me if I ever wake him in the middle of the night.”
“You’ve got it all covered.” Clancy agreed. “I can see why they team you three together.”
The table remained a silent spot of knowing smiles until Nat broke the silence. “I suppose we head to the bank first and take it from there, huh?”
Chapter Sixteen
Sheriff Gibson held back his heavy coat as he propped his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry about this, Gabe. We’ve gotta check the books. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now we’ve identified the body, we need to look for a motive.”
“I understand. I have nothing to hide. We passed the audit with flying colors.” Gabriel Morgan nodded. “Poor man. He’s been dead all this time and nobody knew. His family must have been frantic with worry.” He glanced over at Nat who pored over the accounts, taking occasional notes. “Who is he anyway?”
“A Pinkerton who got stuck in town.” Ben Gibson indicated Jake, who stood by Nat’s side. “He and his partner are helping me out with this one. It’s a good thing, too. I wouldn’t have known where to start, and they got the man identified already.”
“Cussen was a quiet man. Real religious and diligent,” the bank manager said. “He’d been coming here for about five years. He stayed at the Regent Hotel when he was in town. He only left to dine or go to church. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him.”