Delilah's Flame (4 page)

“Straight flush? How the hell did you do that?”

Delilah didn’t respond. By her estimate, the powder she’d dropped in his last two brandies should take effect in a few more seconds. She gave a genuine smile. Precisely as expected, Hoke Newell, still stuttering, collapsed on the card table.

Delilah slipped the hidden cards from her sleeves, then pulled the roll of bills from Newell’s coat pocket and stuffed it in a silk purse along with the gold coins from the table.

“I cheat,” she told the unconscious man.

*     *     *

Grumbling with the effort, Seth and Todd carried Hoke Newell’s weighty body through the door hidden behind the dressing screen, depositing him in the bed of the adjoining room.

“Is everything packed, Loo?” Delilah, dressed in sedate gray traveling clothes, paced and watched as the men stripped Newell of his drawers. Seth crammed the drawers into a valise with Newell’s blue serge suit, shoes, and hat. The man’s gold watch and cufflinks he left on the dressing table.

Loo’s soft voice reassured, “Packed and on the way to the coach.”

“Is that reporter on the way too?” Locating a newsman who favored Hoke Newell’s opposition hadn’t been too hard. She simply sent him a tip that a shocking story of importance awaited at the Holman Hotel.

“He’ll be here in an hour.”

“The girl?”

“Seth’s slipping her in the back way in half an hour. She’s perfect. Older than you are, but she could pass for child.”

“Dinah?” The twinge of guilt made itself known again. Delilah found it harder and harder to justify introducing Dinah to a life of dance halls and saloons. Since the younger girl had blossomed with maturity the past year, she collected her share of catcalls and solicitations from audiences. Too often she looked as if she enjoyed it.

“Dinah’s in the coach and asleep,” Loo told her. “Stop worrying. Todd has sent word to the other papers too. Everything is going as planned.”

“I wish I could be here in the morning to see Newell’s face when he wakes up.” She felt no guilt at all about ruining Hoke Newell. Her father wasn’t the only one who’d suffered because of him. The latest had been a prospector named Reed who after years of scouring the hills for gold found his luck in copper ore instead. His luck had held only until he met Newell. Reed’s story had made it possible for her to exact her revenge.

“Too risky,” Loo reminded. “He’ll be in a rage. And you need to be as far away as the coach can get you.”

*     *     *

An hour after dawn Hoke Newell awakened dull-witted, head pounding. He felt the heat of another body beside him in the bed and for a time a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. Delilah. Somehow he’d wound up in her bed after all. Too damn bad he couldn’t remember the details.

Feeling a chilling draft, Newell rolled his bulky body over and lifted up on his elbows. How the hell had that hall door gotten open? Groaning, Newell pushed himself up a little higher. The effect sent a wave of dizziness through his head. How much liquor had he put down last night?

“Door’s open,” he mumbled. “Better close it. Wouldn’t want any...” It seemed his head cleared with a flash. Only the glare stayed with him a few seconds afterward. “Jesus!” He bolted up in the bed. “Goddamn flash pan! Who the hell...?”

Hoke Newell’s head spun around. His eyes landed on a face he’d never seen before, that of a dark-haired girl who didn’t look a day over twelve.

Naked beneath the sheet, she answered with an innocent smile. “Mornin’, Hoke.”

The bewildered Newell’s head jerked back toward the door, only to be met by another sudden flash. He knew that voice. Perkins. That reporter from the
Chronicle
. The one who thought Spiers ought to be governor. It came to him at the same moment that he’d been set up. Growling another curse, Newell charged out of the bed, bent on destroying camera and reporter. Finding himself without a scrap of clothing, he thought better of it and hastily grabbed the bedspread to cover himself.

“You’re finished, Perkins!” Newell snarled. “Just as soon as I get out of this hotel, you’re finished!”

Perkins stood his ground. “No, Newell. You’re finished. When my story goes to press with this picture, you won’t be able to stay in the state. Seems some new evidence has come to light about that copper mine you made a claim on last year. Turns out the original owner didn’t sell it to you like you said. Reed got himself shot and left for dead. Didn’t die, though. Just been scared to come out of hiding—until now. Made his statement to the marshal yesterday. Reckon they’ll be looking you up anytime.”

*     *     *

The issue of the
Chronicle
with Hoke Newell’s story reached Delilah three days later. The young girl found with him told a tearful story of being dragged into his room. Shortly after giving her account of the incident, the girl disappeared from town.

“You got him,” Loo said quietly. “Newell’s disgraced, ruined. He hasn’t a ghost of a chance of acquittal.” She went on solemnly. “Showing him as a molester of young girls has cost him all public sentiment.”

Delilah nodded, pleased with the execution of her plan. Arranging the arrest of Newell naked in a hotel room precluded his holing up on his ranch under the protection of his men. Like his old partners, Frank Ackley and William Hoage, convicted of fraud last year, Newell faced a long prison term. She wondered if any of the three realized the part she had played in bringing them to justice.

Her smile fading into seriousness, Delilah reread the account of Newell’s arrest, then struck his name from her list. The next name, the fourth one, was Stanton. The detective had not uncovered much information on Stanton, not even a good description. He had apparently been in Mexico a number of years and only returned to California in the past few. Consequently she had no firm plan for Stanton’s demise.

According to the report, he was in Yuba City. Tomorrow she would be on the way there too.

Goddamn rattling! What did she have, a band playing in there at dawn? Furiously Tabor flung the covers aside, then cursed at the pounding the quick move set off in his head. Hell! Hard drinking had its drawbacks, all right. Groaning, he slid his long, well muscled legs over the side of the bed and anchored his feet on the floor. He got his pants from the bedpost on the second grab and slipped them on, bent on stepping next door and demanding quiet. Hell, he’d paid for a room and he expected to be able to sleep in it.

What he saw when he opened the door was a flurry of activity one room down. The next room, Delilah’s, was empty except for a cleaning woman sweeping the carpet. The songstress, it seemed, wasn’t responsible for this disturbance. A man carrying a camera rushed past Tabor and down the stairs. Laughter erupted from the dozen or so men milling around the second doorway, followed by what sounded like bellowing and threats from inside. Another man left in a hurry, accompanying a blanket-clad young girl.

Tabor slammed his door, giving up on peace and quiet. From the floor near the bed he scooped up a rumpled handbill he’d picked up when he bought the bottle:
Delilah: Flame of the West
. Next performance, Yuba City in three days, his destination too. This time he’d be there early enough. Maybe he’d meet her. The chance of that would be the only pleasant thing to anticipate in Yuba City.

*     *     *

“Why can’t I have a solo number?” Delilah’s younger sister, a pout marring her otherwise pretty face, tucked a brilliant red curl under her black wig. “And I don’t see why I have to wear a wig all the time. It’s hot. And you don’t wear one.”

“Sissy, please,” Delilah said, worry clouding her voice.

The pout grew more pronounced. “I’ve asked you not to call me by that baby name,” she said curtly.

“Dinah,” Delilah corrected. Her sister didn’t seem to be happy with anything lately. Her interest in performing particularly alarmed Delilah; she didn’t want her little sister getting too enthusiastic about a segment of their lives that would be brief and temporary. “Can’t you be satisfied that another of those men is going to jail? You have to remember we’re making this tour for the same reason we made the last one, for revenge against the men who hurt our father.”

Dinah looked away, miffed. Delilah bemoaned this one small hitch in her plans. The operation leading to Newell’s arrest had run as smoothly as the one last year setting up Ackley and Hoage. But this one gave her much more pleasure. Her fingers slipped unintentionally to the small scar in her hairline, her memory to the night thirteen years ago when she’d gotten that scar. Newell deserved having his life destroyed. No amount of time cleansed him of his crime against her father and those unfortunate Chinese miners.

“I am glad he’s going to jail.” Dinah relinquished her pout and sighed. She loved her older sister but she was getting tired of being told what to do and even how to think about everything. “I know what he did to Papa,” she said. “You know I care just as much about Papa as you do.”

Dinah sighed again. She did love her papa, only it was hard for her to get as determined as her sister about avenging him. Papa didn’t seem unhappy, not even at the times he was in pain. He didn’t even know what his daughters were doing. If avenging him was so important, why did Delilah go to such lengths to keep it secret from their father?

Delilah wouldn’t even tell her the names of the six men. Keeping their identities secret was another decision Delilah forced on her. Still, it was fun traveling around and seeing people and places she’d never have had a chance to see otherwise. At least it had been fun last season. This time she’d much rather have stayed home. The corners of Dinah’s mouth drooped as her mood swung lower. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference if she had stayed home.

“Then try to remember what counts.” Delilah saw her sister’s attention lapse and her gaze shift to the coach window. “Dinah? Are you listening? The performing isn’t important.”

“Well,” Dinah’s green eyes flashed back to her sister “if it isn’t important, I don’t see why it should make any difference if I have a solo number.”

“Dinah...” Delilah dropped her voice to a soft and indulgent level. “I’m not even sure you ought to be out here with us. You’re only sixteen. I don’t like drawing attention to you in dance halls.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m two.” Dinah hated it when her sister used that maternal, all-knowing voice. “I’ll be seventeen in a few months and I’m certainly not a child. I can fit into all your costumes.”

“That isn’t the point.” Delilah wondered if she’d ever been as impossible as Dinah. She had to admit she had been, four years earlier when she had demanded that her father allow Dinah and her to leave Aunt Emily’s household and make their home with him. Acknowledging that stubbornness was a family trait, she smiled sweetly at Dinah. “I’m responsible for you. I don’t want anything happening that you—”

“Oh, fiddle! I’m old enough to be responsible for myself. You just want everyone looking at the famous Delilah.”

“Dinah, that’s not true!” One annoying thing about Dinah was that she knew her sister too well and sometimes saw her true feelings even before Delilah knew them herself. This time Dinah was wrong. Delilah hastened to convince her. “I enjoy singing, but I despise being onstage and having those men look at me and reach for me and yell at me. You remember how last month that cowboy in Chico pulled out a knife and cut one of the garters off my leg before Todd and Seth could get to him. I wish we could finish with the other three men on this tour and never have to do this again.”

“Humph,” Dinah said. “You may wish that, but you don’t despise being onstage. You even winked at that cowboy who cut your garter off.” Dinah thrust her chin out. “I see the way you smile and strut and come alive when the music starts.”

“Dinah, don’t be petty. I have to act that way.” What was bothering Dinah? Until a few months ago she’d always had a golden disposition. Now nothing suited her. It seemed whatever Delilah’s opinion was, Dinah’s was opposite. “I could almost think you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” The big green eyes widened. “Jealous. Because my sister is the beautiful Delilah every man dreams about. Because she does a daring fire act and wears breathtaking costumes and is onstage the whole show while I get to be an Indian maiden in one act.” Dinah tapped her foot. “And those hot buckskin costumes cover me from head to foot.”

“Dinah, what is the matter with you? You’ve been irritable since before we left home. I know you miss Papa. I do too. But we’ll soon be back home and you can forget all this. After Yuba City we’ll pay off Todd and Seth and everything will be finished for this year.”

“I’m not irritable.” Dinah settled back against the leather-covered seat in the coach. What was the use? She could never explain why she was out of sorts. It wasn’t Delilah’s fault she was older and prettier and more desirable. Nevertheless, always being second was tedious. “At least not just because I miss Papa,” she added. “And I still don’t see why you get to do everything and I get to sit back and watch.”

Delilah breathed another sigh. Her weakness had always been giving in to Dinah. Since their mother died she’d felt responsible for her younger sister. Time hadn’t dimmed the feeling. With only one more show to do, she could afford to compromise. Next season, though, they’d have an understanding or Dinah wouldn’t come along.

Delilah laced her fingers together, still uneasy with her decision. “All right, Dinah. We have a couple of days before the show. We’ll try to work out a number for you to do alone.”

“Promise?” Dinah, face beaming, leaned across the coach and kissed her sister on the cheek. “And the costume?”

“One of the costumes you have will do.”

Dinah bit back the retort dancing on her tongue. Instead she smiled and nodded. She had a few ideas about the costume.

*     *     *

The black stallion snorted and tossed his head. He didn’t like being tied in the sun any more than his master liked the task that awaited him inside the tumbledown shack outside of Yuba City. Tabor Stanton rose from his knees and brushed the dust away from his trousers. Stanton. That one word burned into rough wood was all that remained of his father, that and the few belongings in the old shack. He almost regretted having made the trip up to see his father last year, preferring the memories of his boyhood to those of the sick and rarely sober man he’d visited.