Longarm and the Scorpion Murders, page 7
“Same kind of scorpions?”
“Exactly the same. My heavens, if I ever see one on my bed, I’ll probably just die of fright!”
“I somehow doubt that,” Longarm told her. “You strike me as being a very strong woman. And I’m sorry that you lost your husband.”
“Homer was a good man,” Delia said. “However, he didn’t really fit here in Agate. I know that Jesse and a lot of men wondered why I married Homer. The truth was, he was kind, gentle, and a very decent fellow. He had a wonderful sense of humor and made me laugh. And laughter, in this town, is a very scare commodity.”
“And no idea at all why he died?”
“Homer had a family history of heart problems,” Delia explained. “He would wake up in the night beside me drenched in sweat and breathing so hard that I could almost hear his hammering heart. He’d had several bad moments with chest pains. I think his heart just quit.”
Delia’s eyes filled with tears, and she emptied the bottle into her water glass and tossed it all down in several swallows. “Oh, I do miss Homer! He was a fine man. A scholar and a gentleman. He was just the complete opposite of Jesse Jerome.”
Longarm signaled Hank to bring them more wine. When it arrived, the cafe owner said, “Delia, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” she managed to whisper. “But give the marshal and me some time before you bring those steaks.”
“Sure thing. Marshal, maybe you’d rather have whiskey?”
“As a matter of fact I would,” Longarm said, studying the beautiful woman across from him. “Bring a bottle over. This has been a hard day for both the lady and myself.”
“Okay.”
It was several minutes before Delia felt like talking again, and it was obvious that she was trying hard to recover her composure. “So,” she said, “enough of this scorpion business. Marshal Long, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.”
“Not much to tell really.”
“I don’t believe that for one minute. Where did you grow up?”
“In West Virginia.”
“And then there was the terrible War Between the States?”
“Yes,” Longarm said, “which I decline to talk about. The past is the past and I look more to the future.”
“I wish that I had a future to look forward to,” Delia said, “but right now all I see is darkness and defeat.”
“It’ll get better,” Longarm promised. “Things get better if you don’t give up on life.”
“I’ll try to remember that. And are you the one that is going to make them get better?”
“I don’t know. Would they suddenly get better if I prove to myself that Jesse is guilty of those murders and have to either arrest or kill him?”
“I don’t know.” Delia shook her head. “Despite his temper and his overbearing and ruthless way of going about things, I still don’t believe he had a thing to do with those two murders. You’re going to have to have some pretty substantial evidence to change my mind or to go after him. In case you haven’t noticed, Jesse keeps himself well protected with his gunmen. He’s got some very un-savory and rough characters on his payroll. I know that because they are not above harassing me now and then.”
“In what way?”
“They’ll come into my hotel and plop down on my furniture. They’ll clean their boots on my lovely carpets and when I protest, laugh and leer at me, as if daring me to do anything.”
“That will stop as long as I’m staying in Agate,” Longarm vowed.
Delia studied him closely. “Do you really know what you are getting into here? My heavens, the chances of you successfully bucking Jesse and his crowd are slim ... and none.”
“I’m used to long odds,” Longarm assured her. “This kind of setup is nothing new, except for the fact that the prime murder suspect just happens to have once been my mentor and best friend.”
“But no more.”
Longarm tossed down a gulp of whiskey. “I don’t know what to think. Jesse lost his temper and wanted to hurt me bad out at his mine. I guess I was pretty shocked by that, but in recollection, I shouldn’t have been. Jesse does things and then he often regrets them. I’m sure that is what happened today. I’ll bet he’s feeling bad about what happed at the Jerome Mine right now.”
“Don’t count on that. He might have changed, you know. And not for the better.”
“I’ve considered that, and allowed after this afternoon that he probably has changed for the worst. But I still don’t believe he would ever be as devious as to use scorpions to do his dirty work.”
“Neither do I,” Delia said. “It isn’t his style.”
“So I have to find out who does have that style. I was thinking it might be the man who lost everything to Jesse and then went about setting him up to look like a murderer.”
“You mean Mike Kelly?”
“That’s right.”
Delia frowned. “I suppose that is possible.”
“But I’ll never know because the gambler has disappeared.”
“He might be found in Flagstaff.”
Longarm was suddenly quite interested. Flagstaff was only a long one-day or an easy two-day ride. “What makes you think so?”
“Mike had a woman in Flagstaff. He got drunk once and admitted that he had even fathered a son there.”
“Do you remember the woman’s name or the name of the boy?”
“Sure. The woman’s name was Claire. The boy’s name was Liam. Mike swore that he was going to marry Claire so that he could give the boy his last name. I don’t know if he ever got around to doing that, but I remember because I told him that was a very honorable thing to do. The right thing to do for the boy’s sake.”
“Do you remember anything else about them?”
“Such as?”
“What Claire did for a living? Or her last name, or anything at all that would help me locate her if I go racing off to Flagstaff?”
Delia frowned. “She was ... a clerk in a dry-goods store. In fact, yes! Claire worked in her father’s dry-goods store in downtown Flagstaff.”
“That should make her easy to find.”
“Don’t you think that it’s rather a long shot? I mean, even if you do find Mike—”
“I don’t knòw,” Longarm interrupted. “At the very least, he can substantiate the poker game where he lost his gold and silver mine. At the most, he might actually be the one responsible for the Scorpion Murders. Right now, Delia, I have no other leads to follow.”
“I’ll hate to see you go, Marshal. You give me a sense of security that is sorely needed.”
“I’ll be back in just a few days.”
Delia reached across the table and took his hands in her own. “You won’t be leaving until morning, will you?”
The question and the wanting look in her eyes caught him off guard. “No,” he said, feeling the heat rise in his body. “I’ll be staying tonight.”
“Good,” she breathed, obviously a little tipsy. “We have a lot to talk about, you and I.”
“We do?”
“Oh, yes. I can tell that you’re a gentle man. An intelligent man and one who knows how to treat a lady.”
“And you are a lady.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “in the daylight.”
Longarm swallowed hard. He leaned across the table, and her eyes closed softly. He realized that she wanted and probably needed to be kissed right here and now.
So he did kiss her. Gently. Tenderly.
Suddenly the window beside them exploded inward, showering them with glass. Longarm felt as if he’d been kicked in the head. He reared back in his chair, and remembered nothing more as he tumbled into a deep, dark abyss.
Chapter 8
Longarm awoke in his hotel room bed with a splitting headache. When he tried to sit up, it felt as if someone were pounding a steel wedge deep into his brain.
“Ugggh,” he grunted, falling back on his pillow.
Delia was instantly at his side with a damp cloth to cool his face. “Custis, you’ve been shot in the head. It’s a nasty wound, but it isn’t fatal.”
“Glad to hear that,” he mumbled.
“We don’t have a doctor, but Hank has sent for one in Prescott. I’m not sure if he’ll come or not, but we’re trying.”
Longarm took a deep breath and raised his hand to touch the bandage wrapped around his head. “Is it just a crease?”
“It grazed bone and you lost quite a lot of blood before we could get it stopped. I think you’ll be all right in a few days, but I’m no doctor and I’m worried about infection.”
“I’m tough,” he told her, feeling anything but tough. “What time of the night is it?”
“Three in the morning. I’m hopeful that Hank can get us a doctor by noon tomorrow.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Longarm told her. “Did you see who shot me?”
“No.” Delia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’d had too much wine to drink and I wasn’t looking anywhere but at you. The gunshot caught me as much by surprise as it did you.”
Longarm swore under his breath. “I’m not getting off to a very good start in Agate. First my old friend Jesse tries to knock my block off. Then someone tries to kill me.”
“Maybe it’s one and the same man.”
“I don’t know,” Longarm said honestly. “But I can tell you this. I’ll be going back out to the Jerome Mine in the next day or two and I’ll have a few choice words for Jesse.”
“That might be what he’s hoping for. Custis, why don’t you send a telegram off to Denver and ask for some help?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “I think I’ll go back to sleep now. Why don’t you do the same.”
“I will, but I’m so afraid now that I’ll stay in here in your room, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. In fact, instead of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, why don’t you lie down beside me? I’m certainly in no condition to compromise your virtue.”
“Virtue doesn’t concern me anymore. Survival is what I’m thinking most about.”
“We’ll survive.”
“You almost didn’t tonight. A half inch inward and you’d be a dead man.”
“I got careless,” Longarm admitted. “I should have never taken a seat close to an outside window. But I won’t make the mistake again.”
Delia came over and lay down beside him. Longarm almost asked if she had been sure to lock their door. But then, she was scared and no fool, so he figured that to be a dumb question.
They both slept almost until noon, when a doctor from Prescott arrived in a buggy driven by Hank Walton. Both men knocked on Longarm’s door until Delia opened it.
“Delia, are you all right?” Hank asked, rushing inside.
“Yes.”
Walton hurried over to Longarm with the doctor in tow. “Marshal, I see you’re awake and still breathing.”
“I’m fine,” Longarm told the agitated cafe owner. “Stop looking so worried.”
“Step aside,” the doctor, a short, graying man with thick, wire-rimmed spectacles, ordered. “I’ve lost a lot of sleep and come a long way on a very bad road. You’d better have a serious head wound or I’m going to be furious!”
“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Doctor.”
“This is Dr. Carpenter,” Walton said in the way of an introduction. “He’s a fine doctor.”
“And one who will charge a patient dearly if he’s been called out in the middle of the night for anything less than a real emergency.”
Longarm decided that Carpenter might be a fine physician, but he was certainly lacking in bedside manner. Not that it mattered to him much, but Carpenter was pretty rough in unwrapping the head bandages. Dried blood had stuck to the bandages, and the doctor took no care in making things either easy or painless.
“Uh-huh,” Carpenter mused.
“Ouch!” Longarm cried. “Doc, I’m not some damned horse. Take it easy.”
“You are a very lucky lawman,” the doctor declared. “The bullet not only struck the skull, but actually creased it quite deeply. How much blood did you lose?”
“I have no idea.”
“He lost a lot,” Delia said, hovering close and giving Carpenter a hard look. “And you are being unnecessarily rough!”
Carpenter had a medical kit. He snapped it open, rummaged around for a moment or two, and then extracted a tube of ointment. “Apply this every four hours. It will reduce the chance of a brain infection. He might have some already, so just put it on like I do and no more bandaging. Open air promotes healing. Bandages breed disease and infection.”
The doctor squeezed some of the black, sticky ointment out of the tube onto his thumb, then rubbed it over the wound, sending Longarm into a paralysis of pain.
“Dammit, Doc! Take it easy!”
Carpenter paid him no mind. “You will survive, but there will be a scalp deformity. A slight depression or raised scar, I’m not sure which, and where the wound is you could grow back white hair where there was black. Even so, you are a lucky, lucky man.”
“I don’t feel lucky.”
“Better this than what happened to this woman’s husband. He had a bad ticker.”
“Heart failure?”
“Yes. I opened him up on the table. His heart had exploded like a Chinese firecracker. Poor man never had a chance. I think maybe he died of fright.”
“What?”
“He looked scared in death. But then, that happens sometimes when a man knows he is dying.”
Carpenter snapped his bag shut, stood straight, and looked at Hank Walton. “Twenty dollars, and you can take me back to Prescott right now.”
“Doc, I’m sorry but I can’t afford to pay you but half of your fee right now. Maybe ...”
“Hold on,” Longarm said weakly. “I’ll pay him.”
“Good!” the doctor said, actually sticking out his fat hand.
“I mean, the government will when you submit a request.”
“No! I want to be paid now!”
“Sorry,” Longarm said, deciding he bore an intense dislike for this arrogant and insensitive man. “I’m a federal officer and you’ll have to submit the paperwork to get paid. Same as I do with my expenses.”
Carpenter let out a stream of cuss words that would have done any mule skinner proud. He stomped out of the room even before Longarm could dictate the address he’d need to write in Denver.
“What do I do?” Hank Walton asked.
“Take five dollars out of my wallet and give it to Dr. Carpenter,” Longarm said. “That’s plenty for the kind of service he rendered this morning.”
“I agree,” the cafe owner said with a tight smile. “With doctors like that, who needs to be shot in order to suffer?”
When the door closed again, Delia came over to stand beside Longarm. “Despite his boorishness, I’m still glad that you saw a doctor. I feel much better now, and we’ll keep applying that salve until you are well again.”
“Thanks,” Longarm said. “As soon as I can manage it, I’m going out to have a word with Jesse.”
“I don’t think that’s a wise thing to do.”
“Maybe not, but someone tried to kill me and I’ve got to start finding answers before I become Agate’s next murder victim.”
Delia shook her head. “I’ve got some things to do downstairs. Will you be all right up here by yourself for a while?”
“Of course.”
She left him alone then. Longarm’s head was still pounding, and he closed his eyes, wishing for sleep.
It was evening when he awakened again, and his headache was completely gone. His room was dark except for a flickering kerosene lamp on his bedside table. There was no sound or movement in the room, but Longarm had the feeling he wasn’t alone. He slowly sat up, and then noticed the silhouette of a man sitting in a chair not six feet from where he lay.
Longarm’s first thought was that the dark and silent figure was the gunman intent on finishing what he’d started at the Ponderosa Cafe. Longarm sat up straight and frantically tried to see where his gun was resting so that he could grab it and defend himself.
“Relax,” Jesse Jerome said, coming out of his chair and moving over to stand beside Longarm’s bed. “I’m not the one that shot you last evening when you were having dinner with my woman. If I’d seen the two of you holding hands, I would have shot you. But I’d have come inside and braced you man-to-man.”
Longarm stuck an arm out and turned up the lamp’s wick so that it burned brighter. “What are you doing in here? Where is Delia?”
“I told her that I wanted to talk to you alone. I told her to wait downstairs. She didn’t want to, which made me none too happy.”
“Get this straight, Jesse. You don’t own Delia and you never will.”
The man didn’t seem to hear him. “I was looking at you and remembering the second time that I saved your life. You had been wounded in the head—like now—and I sat beside your bed for two days wondering if you’d make it or if I was going to need a new deputy for my partner. You pulled through and you’re doing it again.”
“Why are you here?” Longarm demanded.
“I come to apologize for taking a swing at you out at the mine,” Jesse replied. “And for not warning you to be extremely careful in Agate. There’s a killer on the loose, and I’m sure whoever it is doesn’t appreciate your investigation.”
“I appreciate your concern, but how do I know for sure that you aren’t that killer?”
“You don’t,” Jesse admitted. “But if you know me at all, you’ll admit that I’m not the kind to leave a lot of unfinished business. I take care of my problems directly.”
“That’s true of the old Jesse Jerome I once rode with, but I’m not sure it’s true anymore. I’ve heard that you’ve got some hired gunmen on your payroll.”
“That’s a lie!” Jesse lowered his voice. “I have some guards that protect my valuable interests. That’s only sensible. But I still handle my own personal problems.”
Longarm was not sure that he believed the man, but said, “So who do you think shot me?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, but I’ve put out the word that I’ll pay a hundred dollars reward for information.”
