Karen Mercury (20 page)

Spenser thought about this now as he held his heavy sword immobile. “I want you to come and live in the new house I build for Fidelia,” Chess had said. In his usual gruff way he had added, “Because I know you better than anyone else in town or at the ranch. Why would I want to live with strangers?”

That was all right. Chess was a gruff, bearish fellow who wasn’t comfortable with emotional froufrou. Chess had been improving, becoming more human—Spenser had seen him regarding Fidelia with such love that Chess was embarrassed to be caught. But it really suited him, this softer adoration he showed for Fidelia. It was always attractive to see a brutish buck like Chess treat someone tenderly. Maybe part of the fun was in catching Chess in the act—how flustered he became when embarrassed.

“Bullet Bob looks sick,” Fidelia said through clenched teeth.

“He’s doubled over laughing.”

“No, he’s doubled over in pain.”

“Good,” growled Spenser. “Maybe he took some of his own damned Spanish fly.”

In fact, Zeke was guffawing like a jackass and thumping Bullet Bob on the back, oblivious to his illness. Spenser found himself wishing Zeke would thump Bullet Bob into oblivion. Chess seemed to be taking note of Bullet Bob’s nausea, though. Spenser watched as Chess boldly rifled through the pockets of the denim pants Bullet Bob had adopted in order to be more like his fetish, Chess. Zeke continued to pound Bullet Bob, whether intentionally or because he truly thought some joke was a gag.

Now Bullet Bob held his stomach, his head resting on his knees. Chess was so tough he ruthlessly continued searching Bullet Bob, even grabbing his beaded, fringed poke and rummaging around in it. Chess’s face was a mask of anger, probably thoroughly fed up with Bullet Bob’s rampant behavior.

Spenser muttered to Fidelia, “He doesn’t like you posing as Eve. He’s very in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Fidelia muttered back. “I will stop posing as Eve once we catch this loco murderer. I was thinking of somehow taking over this gallery and the bathhouse once Sackett moves on.”

Normally it would have been humorous to be standing immobile, all powdered in white, discussing one’s life’s goals through clenched teeth. Tonight Spenser was focused on Bullet Bob, although he knew Fidelia’s future concerns were important as well.

He said through gritted teeth, “Though, that would be a good idea. This place is popular, and Laramie isn’t getting any smaller. Would Chess want you even running a
poses plastiques
gallery?”

“Hey,” said the fellow acting as Adam to Fidelia’s Eve. “You’re going to run the Morning Star? I hope you’re going to serve better hors d’oeuvres. Patrons would stay longer if we at least served some kind of charcuterie and not just cheese.”

“That’s true,” Fidelia agreed. Her arm that was raised to hold the powdery white apple was beginning to tremble with the strain of keeping it in midair. “We could at least cut up some various sausages, jerky, and sardines, or some kind of fruit—
Mein Gott!
” The apple went rolling to the floor. “There he goes!”

Indeed, Bullet Bob, still doubled up in evident agony gripping his stomach, had suddenly bolted for the hallway that led to the bathhouse. No one else in the audience noticed except Chess and Zeke, who sprinted down the aisle after Bullet Bob. Chess seemed to be waving a small bottle of something. However, they didn’t follow Bullet Bob out the door—Sackett stopped them and seemed to be urgently telling them something.

Spenser abandoned his Hercules pose—this time dropping his sword where he stood—and gripped Fidelia’s arm. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

Chess shoved the bottle at Spenser before he could ask what was up. Eyes flashing, Chess said, “Bullet Bob tried to pay Sackett to dilute some of these pills in Fidelia’s sarsaparilla! I told him to accept four of them to pretend he was going to do it, and—”

Sackett interrupted, “But I mashed them up in Bullet Bob’s whiskey instead.”

Chess said, “We figured we’d give him a dose of his own medicine.”

Zeke chortled as if it were all just a lark, pointing at the bottle in Spenser’s hand. “Those are Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills—solid calomel and jalap!”

Chess added, “Not to mention mercury. A powerful laxative.”

At the word “laxative,” Sackett seemed to remember something. “Oh, hell. My bathhouse!” And he dashed off down the hallway.

“Zeke,” instructed Chess. “Go find Neil. Tell him we want this hoodlum handcuffed immediately.”

Zeke giggled and started for the bathhouse. “But I want to see—”

Chess gripped Zeke’s shirtfront and rattled the adjutant. “
Go find Neil!
Or tell my father to find Neil.”

The trio hustled to the bathhouse, where they all bashed up against Sackett. They had not expected to discover him standing around the corner at a dead stop like a
poses plastiques
statue, and they all crunched into him like a derailed train.

Spenser grabbed Chess by the shoulders and peeked around his head, expecting to see Bullet Bob rolling in agony. Instead, the doll who portrayed Marie Antoinette in the stage performance now kneeled, giving an expert sucking to a fellow hand Spenser had worked with at the Wavy Stick Ranch.

Fidelia thrust out a stiff arm. “You’re sacked!” she told Marie Antoinette.

Chess ripped Sackett out of his way and continued out the rear door, Fidelia and Spenser hot on his heels, leaving Sackett to deal with Marie.

The trio sped down the alley.

Chess said, “That jackleg was trying to poison you, Fidelia.”

Spenser glanced aside and saw that Chess had drawn his pistol. He doubted Chess had ever fired a weapon, unless he’d fought a duel with another dandy in Paris. “Chess, beware. You’ve got a lot of work to do, Ulrich Ranch, Fidelia. You don’t need to be sitting in lockup because you killed some worthless toad.”

Chess yelled, “Would my own brother-in-law arrest me for such a vindicated, righteous act? Fidelia, get back. Go back to the Morning Star. Wait for Neil Tempest.”

Fidelia gasped, “I’m doing no such th—”

She slammed against Chess’s broad torso as they came to a sudden stop.

Bullet Bob was stuck ass-first in a barrel, arms flailing helplessly. He had evidently jumped in there to relieve the pain of the bilious pills he had meant for Fidelia, and now he was hopelessly stuck. Chess even chuckled and holstered his pistol, that’s how harmless the sight was. Bullet Bob wailed blue murder, mostly in French. Spenser could occasionally make out oaths such as “Zeus! Do not forsake me!” and “
Merde!
I am stuck in a barrel and can’t get out!”

“Well, fellow Wild Bunch,” said Chess. “Looks like we don’t need to worry about Bullet Bob.”

Fidelia couldn’t suppress her laughter. She clung to Chess’s arm weakly. “We’ve captured the Mirror Man.”

Chess looked at her quizzically. “Mirror Man?”

“Yes. Now it makes sense. Something Ulrich was singing awhile back. He said we’d name a house or a ranch after him, and something about a Mirror Man. Now I know it was Bullet Bob. He mirrors everything you do, Chess.”

“Ah,” said Spenser, understanding. “I remember you telling me that. Ulrich also said you’d be Chess’s bride.” Spenser knew he was being bold by mentioning that, but Chess looked happy, so he dared bring it up.

Chess closed his eyes and kissed Fidelia’s forehead, smoothing her hair back into her messy bun. “Fidelia can wed both of us, if she chooses.”

“Oh, listen to that.” Fidelia laughed. “Chess allows me to choose.”

“Sure as shooting,” said Chess.

The love in his voice overwhelmed Spenser. Spenser had not felt this happy in a long time. A raven even squawked from the rafter two stories above where Bullet Bob wheeled his limbs, and Spenser laughed, too. “Almost everything Ulrich has said has turned out to be true.”

“Almost,” Fidelia agreed.

* * * *

The carriage bounced over the rutted dirt road while Neil Tempest explained his discoveries to the Wild Bunch.

“Chang agreed that Josephine was killed by an abundance of Spanish fly. In return, I told him to never stock that commodity ever again.”

Sitting so close to Fidelia that his thigh brushed hers, Chess nodded, serious. “I can attest to how much trouble cantharides can cause. It’s not worth it.”

Fidelia added, “Not to mention the big balloons all over your skin.”

Neil frowned at her, questioning.

She explained, “That’s what Chang told us it causes. I wonder what he meant.”

Chess nodded. “Blistering.”

Zeke laughed with camaraderie. “Says the Tower of Power Maniac.” He elbowed Neil in the ribs, but Neil didn’t react. “That’s what they called him in the
Illustrated News
. The Tower of Power—”

Spenser interrupted, “But can you nab Bullet Bob for Josephine’s murder? Bullet Bob never admitted to Chess that he gave Josephine the Spanish fly. And theoretically, he could have only given her a little and she took the rest voluntarily.”

Spenser sat on Fidelia’s other side with his thigh hugging hers. It was an entirely lovely position to be in, mashed between the two men she loved the most. Fidelia only wished Neil Tempest wasn’t there, or she would have squeezed her men’s muscular thighs. Last night, after Neil had arrived to extract Bullet Bob from the barrel, the three lovers had returned to Albuquerque House. The original plan had been to have dinner with Bullet Bob and investigate his trees, but after the experience with Dr. Rush’s Bilious Pills, everyone just wanted to go home.

Fidelia had filled the bathtub downstairs with hot water and had been allowed to bathe first. But naturally, the moment Spenser entered to sluice the Morning Star’s white powder from his skin, all hell had broken loose. Fidelia just could not keep her two men down, but she could not submit to their erect, eager penises until she got a womb veil from Dr. Dunraven. So instead she had enjoyed kneeling on the carpet and relearning how to suck on a massive cock such as Chess possessed while he perched on the edge of the tub.

She had not done that often with Wolf, and she was reminded now that she had a small mouth, for her jaws ached after only a minute of suckling the big member. She had to take many breaks to rest. It hadn’t taken much encouragement for Spenser to stand straddling Chess’s knees and spear his long penis down Chess’s ravenous throat. She enjoyed watching that, and Chess’s greedy, slurping mouth demonstrated how much he had changed since meeting Spenser. The old, selfish Chess would never have cared about anyone else’s pleasure. Now he eagerly gulped down every mouthful of jism and even held Spenser’s spent cock tenderly, licking it like a lollipop. Only then did he encourage Fidelia to polish off his own cock.

But today her jaws were very sore. “Yes, can you keep Bullet Bob locked up for Josephine’s murder?” She rubbed her jaw.

Neil’s eyes were steely. “I sure can. Chess is my brother-in-law, and his word that Bullet Bob gave her Spanish fly is good enough for me. Also, he just tried to poison you.”

Fidelia leaned her cheek on Chess’s bicep and hugged his arm close to her bosom. How long could they keep Bullet Bob in an overcrowded holding cell without a definite, direct murder charge, with so many potential customers clamoring to be admitted?

“There!” cried Zeke. “That one. That’s where Bullet Bob lives.”

The cheerful early morning sun bathed the little yellow house. It looked entirely like a home owned by a young family, not a crazed, dandy frog, with its flowerpots and neat lawn that someone had hand-watered. Instantly everyone’s eyes fixed on a row of cottonwood trees maybe fifteen feet tall, which lined a small seasonal creek behind the house. A raven squawked from its perch on a cottonwood branch, reminding Fidelia of the raven the night before, shitting on the trapped Bullet Bob.

Neil Tempest put his hands on his hips. “Now, what did this—ah, this ghost tell you about trees?”

“He sang it, actually,” said Spenser.

Zeke nudged Neil. “I
like
this ghost. Plays a guitar, like me.”

“You can’t play the guitar,” Neil said. “You can only play about three chords. Okay, what did he sing?”

Chess said, “His exact words were, ‘You will find my poor dead shell by looking at Bob’s trees.’ Those cottonwoods seem obvious, although there are some lodge pole pines over there, too. The cottonwoods look more logical, since they’re in a row.”

“Yes,” said Neil. “The former owner planted them about four years ago to make something of a windbreak.”

Fidelia pointed. “And it’s curious that one of the four trees is much shorter than the others. Maybe three, four feet shorter.”

Zeke rolled his eyes and lifted a shovel out of the carriage. “Oh, the lowly, solemn life led by the adjutant to the Wild Bunch! But the glory shall be mine when I unearth the poor shell of a body, revealing the traveling minstrel whose life was cut short—”

“Just dig,” suggested Neil.

“I brought two shovels,” Zeke revealed.

It was Neil’s turn to sigh, but Spenser manfully stepped in and grabbed the shovel. The three men headed off toward the row of cottonwoods as the raven serenaded them.