Breathe: A Novel of Colorado (29 page)

Odessa could still feel Sheriff Bannock's stare upon her back hours
later. She shifted in her bed and looked across her shoulder, fighting
the mad idea that he was there in the room, watching her. But no one
was there, of course. Only the clear pine boards that lined the room.
She looked to the boards that separated her room from Sam's, later
Amille's, remembering what she could of them both. She couldn't
keep from thinking something was wrong, off. Amille had been in
decline, but what if someone had murdered her, too? Right next
door? In order to gain the DeChant mine?

She turned again, straightened the blankets, and sighed. For the
hundredth time, she wished Bryce were here. He would be able to
think it through with her. Thoughts of him made her feel empty. She
forced herself to think about the present reality. She remembered
the urge, deep within her the day before, to get out of this place. To
escape. But she was making progress, healing. She hadn't felt this
good in a year. Heavens, she was almost back to normal.

But the doctor had not discharged her. And she had no mine to
her name ... only clues to Sam's. And no one knew about that. Did
they?

Sighing yet again in frustration, she threw back her covers and
sat up. She opened a drawer and pulled out a watch, holding it up
to the low flame of her lamp. Past two in the morning. She would
not fare well on the trail ride come daybreak if she didn't get at least
a couple of hours of sleep.

She leaned forward, head in hands. Please, Lord, she prayed,
show me what I need to do. A thought of the sanatorium files, down in the office, cast through her mind like an autumn leaf on the wind.
Maybe there was something further within them that would help
her tie Amille to Sam, make sense of the little she knew. Her hands
drifted down to her mouth as she stared at the wall. But the offices
were locked. She had watched the sanatorium's administrator lock up
each night, pulling a key that she wore around her neck on a chain,
and then tucking it securely back under her bodice. What would
God have her do? Steal into the woman's room and slide the key
from her body?

The front desk attendant. He, too, carried a ring of keys. And at
this hour, he was routinely asleep. The consumptives all knew this.
After sleeping much of the day away, they often could not sleep and
would walk the halls at night like specters on duty. Some orderly
keeping watch, they all joked. He slept more hours than they!

Decided now, Odessa rose and then reached out to the table.
Too fast. Her dizziness passed, however, and she laid a hand on her
chest. Her heart beat quickly, but it was nerves more than the illness.
She knew if she didn't try and find out, she would be awake all night.
If she was discovered, she was discovered. She would claim she was
disoriented, and they'd usher her back to her room, worried that she
was regressing. Or they might throw her out of the sanatorium if
they were unconvinced. And wasn't she getting better anyway?

A darker thought passed through her mind. What if they claimed
she intended to steal the files, and Sheriff Bannock arrested her? The
feel of his eyes was again upon her and Odessa shivered. No, that
would not do.

Her eyes went to Bryce's small painting and she studied the
small ship, sails just waiting for the right breeze.... Was he not doing what he could to find out the truth? Couldn't she do the same, from
here?

She was decided, then. Going to her chest, she pulled out a
blue day dress she favored and hurriedly tossed it over her head. She
brushed out her long hair and tied it with a ribbon, so it was out of
her face. After a quick glance in the mirror, she moved to the door
and slowly turned the glass knob, reaching for her lamp with her left
hand. Thinking that the light might draw more attention, she set it
back down, electing to leave it behind.

The hallway was empty and silent. The patients were all at rest this
night, apparently. With no new patients in the last two weeks, there
was no one who demanded around-the-clock care. Could she be so
fortunate that all slumbered through the dark hours? Somewhere, a
night nurse was making the rounds. But even she was known to give
in to sleep, even atop her stiff wooden chair, arms folded beneath her
head on the desk. Especially on such a quiet night as this.

Odessa moved out into the hall and closed her door. She winced
as the latch made a click that sounded like a scream in her ears. She
listened hard for footsteps approaching, but all she heard was the
pounding pulse of her heart, along with a symphony of snores and
coughing from other rooms. The night nurse's office was at the end
of the hall, right by the stairs. She would check on her first.

Odessa moved down the hall on bare feet, feeling the chill of
the night on her toes. But she could move like a dancer without her
boots on, sliding down the smooth wood, easing past one doorway
after another, getting closer and closer. Her mouth was dry. She tried
to gather enough saliva to swallow, but failed. She hovered, paused,
wondering if she should peek in at the nurse or attempt to walk by as she had on other nights when she had been unable to sleep. Shaking
her head slightly, she knew she would be no good at a charade. It was
Moira who excelled at such things, not her.

She held her breath and peered around the corner. The nurse
was asleep, head on her arms, a pile of papers beneath her like a poor
man's pillow. Odessa smiled and watched her back rise and fall. The
woman was deeply asleep.

Odessa turned and moved back to the top of the stairs and eased
down the first few, wincing again as a step creaked under her weight.
She paused and held her breath, eyes wildly looking up and down,
waiting to be discovered. But all was still quiet. She slid her hands
down the railing until she could lean over to see the night attendant
at his desk in the center of the front foyer.

He was dead asleep, snoring, drool glistening on his cheek.
Odessa smiled and moved quickly down the rest of the stairs.

She was now on the main floor, just ten paces away from the
guard. She moved as if she intended to walk down the next hallway,
and then glanced back at the man's side.

There. The ring of keys.

Glancing left and right, she moved closer to him. She paused,
watching him breathe. He abruptly closed his lips and swallowed,
as if finally aware he was drooling, and Odessa stopped, heart in her
mouth. But his breathing soon returned to the slow pace of deep
slumber, echoing the night nurse high above them in her office.

Odessa stepped closer. The ring of keys was on his belt, but it
was an open-C ring, easily removed with deft fingers. She was close
enough now. She reached out her hand and grimaced when she noted
her trembling. She bit her lip and moved more quickly, deciding she had to act like a woman on a mission if she was to accomplish her
goal.

Her fingers closed around the cold metal. She was perilously
close to the attendant now. Could he feel her breath upon his shoulder? Looking back to the ring, she moved it slowly, conscious she
could not jingle the keys together or all would be lost.

The keys slid down the ring as she turned it, but made little
sound. The attendant slumbered on. Just a little more to edge it off
his belt ... there. They were free, but Odessa was paralyzed. Did she
hear something upstairs?

Staying here, all would be lost. Her eyes went to the door of the
office. She had to get in there. Now. She hurried over to the door on
tiptoes and tried one key in the lock, anxiously looking back to the
attendant. A cough upstairs. Someone was coming.

She tried a second, then a third. Her hands were shaking so badly
now that she could barely try the fourth. The guard moved at the desk
just as the key slid into the lock. Odessas eyes opened wide with relief
and she hurriedly turned it and then the knob, edging inside. She
removed the key and slid the door shut, aware that her breathing was
now coming in uneven, thin gasps. What if there was nothing here to
discover? What was she thinking? What if she was found here? Would
she be arrested?

The office was dark, with a sliver moon's light giving only the
barest illumination. She cast about and her hands closed upon a
wooden chair, which she sank into, concentrating on her breathing, trying to gain control. In ... out.... In ...out ... Gradually, she
was able to find some semblance of calm and she opened her eyes
to study the warm light from beneath the door, as she listened for other sounds and watched for a shadow to pass by. But there was
nothing. No one came. No one appeared to be coming. She had to
complete her task, return the keys to the attendant, and get back
to her room.

Dominic tossed back a glass of scotch, feeling it warm his throat and
then spread across his chest. He had come back to Colorado City
to find out what he could about the Mexican and who had paid the
man to try and kill him. Some men fought dirty to preserve their
reputation; more did it because a benefactor with a certain financial
investment demanded it. He wanted to know which it had been.

After a while, Amos Burry, the saloon owner, came around,
thumping him on the back in greeting. In spite of himself, he had
to match the man's wide grin and smiling eyes. "I thought you were
gone for good," said Amos.

"You weren't alone in that thinking."

"Like a mule, a mule. You should come back, man. Beat out
your frustration, even the score on the next contender. How 'bout
Friday?"

"Not yet, Amos. Maybe soon. I'm here to find out about Mustang
Mex. I want to know who hired him, who was behind him."

"Behind him? You mean the two Mexicans with him?" Amos
shrugged. "I don't know who they were. Family, I guess. You sure
you don't want to fight on Friday? I need a good fight on for
Friday."

"No, not those guys. Someone else. Someone else paid him. He
was carrying a rod, Amos. He was bent on trying to kill me."

"A rod? That Mexican had a rod on him? If that lousy no-account
ventures north of Texas again-"

"That's fine, Amos. Fine. But I want to know who hired him.
Did you see him with anyone that day before our fight? Did you see
him meet with anyone you remember?"

Amos put his chin in hand and thought for a moment. A light
flashed through his eyes, as if he had remembered something, but
then shadow replaced it. "Nah. I don't remember anything."

"Amos ..."

"No, boy. Leave it be. You don't want to chase that scent."

"Whose scent?"

"Friday," he said, rising, clamping him on the shoulder. "Or as
soon as you're ready. When Shorty St. Clair is back, we'll welcome
him with open arms."

Dominic watched the saloon keeper walk away, chatting with
a few customers. How many secrets did the man keep? And why
wouldn't he tell Nic what he knew?

Odessa could see the dim curve of a hurricane glass atop a brass
base. The lamp. From her pocket, she fished out a match and moved
toward the desk. After removing the glass shade, she clicked the flint
and watched as a spark connected to the oily wick, catching fire.
Warm light moved through the crowded room, with piles of papers
and books strewn about.

The doctor used this as his office, sharing it with the administrator, whom Odessa had only seen each eve as she departed, so often
was the woman holed up in this office. On the shelf were books full of notes. In the corner, there were three crates of files. Odessa
frowned. The administrator seemed to be behind on her filing. This
would not be as simple as she had hoped.

She opened the closest book and scanned the top of the pages,
then set it back on the shelf It was from three years prior. She
moved forward by several books and pulled the next from the shelf.
Last year's. The next book was from four years ago, so there was
no sequential order to them. Frowning, Odessa turned to the desk.
There atop it was an open book. This year's?