McCrory's Lady (27 page)

      
Perhaps, he suggested sending her and Eden east as a way to rid himself of a wife he had never wanted. But no, Colin dearly loved his daughter and he would never sacrifice her happiness for any reason, even his own peace of mind. After all, Eden was all he had left of Elizabeth, the wife of his heart. Listlessly, Maggie stood up and began to scrape the dishes.

      
Eileen bustled in with a startled look on her face. “Sure and you don't need to be doin' Rita's job. She'll be along in a minute. I'm to take it my matchmakin' didn't work?”

      
“Oh, it worked, Eileen, believe me!” Maggie busied herself handing the stacked plates to the housekeeper.

      
“Then that's why the both of ye and Miz Eden enjoyed yer dinner so much?” the old woman asked shrewdly, watching the normally calm Maggie fidget nervously. She placed her reddened hand over Maggie's. “I'm sorry if my interferin' has caused more troubles.”

      
“No. Colin spoke the truth when he said it was bound to happen, but now that it has...” She shrugged helplessly.
I’ll always remember the beauty in what we could have had—did have for a few brief, blissful moments.

      
A smug smile lit the housekeeper's homely face. “Well now, let's just let nature take its course for a while.” Then her expression turned serious as she recalled the scene she had witnessed between Eden and the half-breed earlier that afternoon. One look into Maggie's haunted eyes convinced Eileen that this was not the time to burden her with another problem. She would just keep an eye on Wolf Blake herself.

Chapter Twelve

      
“You're fired! Pack up and get out this very instant.” Fatty Algren's normally florid face was crimson with rage as he waved a copy of yesterday's
Arizona Miner
in front of Ed Phibbs' face. His hands were trembling and sweat beaded his upper lip.

      
“You're scared out of your wits, aren't you, Fatty?” Ed smiled inwardly when his face went bluish purple with rage at her use of the hated nickname. Well, she certainly had nothing to lose now. There was no reasoning with the old fool. “Your friends in Tucson won't be pleased. Maybe Win Barker will even send someone to try and kill you the way he did Colin McCrory.”

      
As Ed gathered her meager belongings from the cluttered table in the back of the office, she was pleased that he paled with fright. Her exposé of the atrocious conditions at the White Mountain Reservation, as well as the article she had done mentioning Caleb Lamp's Prescott bank account, had made some dangerous enemies for the
Miner
. “You've got a lot of explaining to do to some very powerful men in Tucson—and some legislators here in Prescott, too,” she added with a gummy smile that made him shake with fear.

      
“What do you know about the legislature?” he asked with a quake of incredulity in his voice. “I won't be the only one Barker will be after, you know,” he added, his eyes narrowing to fatty slits. “I think I'll just tell him it's you who's done all this digging.”

      
She grinned sharkishly. “Why don't you do that—if you have the nerve to face Barker. I certainly intend to confront him.”

      
As the two antagonists argued, Maggie stood in the doorway of the big cluttered office. She had been about to knock on the partially open door when she heard Colin's name mentioned. That peculiar female reporter knew something about the attempts to kill her husband!

      
Maggie's thoughts flashed instantly to Colin, the man whose name—and now whose bed—she shared. So much had changed in the past two months since they had consummated the marriage that he had never wanted. Yet so much had remained the same. Colin went about his work, taciturn and cool, polite for Eden's sake, but unforgiving to Maggie for the way she had invaded his life. Yet, no matter how distant he was during the days, each night he came to her bed. He had never again taken her into his bedroom, that inner sanctum where Elizabeth's presence hovered. Maggie filled her days with work in the busy ranch house and tried not to think of the bittersweet nights with Colin—or that they might come to an end.

      
The thought that he might ask her to leave she could bear. That he might be killed was unthinkable. What did Ed Phibbs know about Colin's enemies in Tucson? Maggie had come to town with Colin to meet the special investigator sent by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Leonard Potkin, whose stage was to arrive tomorrow. She had only stopped by the
Miner
to thank Ed Phibbs for writing the kind article welcoming her to Prescott as Colin's new bride. Although only a few months ago, it now seemed a lifetime to Maggie.

      
Living in isolation on Crown Verde, they did not send riders to Prescott for the paper. After Colin had been shot, there was such an uproar that no one would have had time to read it anyway. Events here in Prescott must really have moved rapidly without their knowledge. Apparently, Ed Phibbs had stirred up quite a hornets' nest while her employer was away. When it became apparent that the exchange between the owner and reporter was over, Maggie knocked perfunctorily on the door and walked into the room.

      
“I'm interested in purchasing some back issues of the
Miner
,” she said, smiling at Ed, who returned her smile, revealing buck teeth and a surprising amount of healthy pink gums. Fatty Algren's face was thunderous.

      
“I was wondering when you'd get word about my crusade, Mrs. McCrory. How is your husband's recovery progressing?” Ed asked, for the moment cheerfully resigned to her unemployed status.

      
“There are no back copies for sale,” Algren said abruptly, cutting off Maggie's reply to Ed. “I would appreciate it if both you ladies”—he emphasized the word insultingly—“would leave my office.”

      
“I'd be delighted, Mr. Algren,” Maggie said sardonically, then turned to Ed. “Could I perhaps buy you lunch, Miss Phibbs? I think we have a great deal to discuss.”

      
Ed grinned, hefting an unwieldy canvas knapsack over one bony but sturdy shoulder. “Lunch sounds grand, Mrs. McCrory. Just grand.” As soon as they were out the door and out of earshot, she patted the knapsack. “I have copies of every issue I ran while Fatty was away—right here.”

      
Over fried pork chops and cream gravy at the Guild Restaurant, the two women discussed what Ed had unearthed about the Tucson Ring. “So, although I have nothing to link Win Barker to any one councilman or representative, I do know that Barker's getting information about federal contracts and Army patrol movements from somewhere in the Bureau of Indian Affairs—the only likely source is through the legislature.”

      
“Or the governor, but I admit that's not very likely,” Maggie said.

      
Ed threw back her head and laughed. “John Fremont has scarcely put in an appearance in the territory since his appointment. And as to that sanctimonious prig who's acting governor, John Gosper's too busy being a martyr to be a crook.”

      
“So what are you going to do—now that you no longer have a newspaper to support your investigations or print your findings?” Maggie knew the tenacious woman would never give up.

      
“If I get the whole dirty ring exposed, newspapers from Santa Fe to Tucson will clamor to print the story.” Ed leaned forward, her neck protruding across the table rather like a vulture's. “I must confess to an ulterior motive when I wrote that society piece welcoming you to Prescott, Mrs. McCrory. I needed to get into your husband's good graces. I think we could work on this together.”

      
As if befriending me could get anyone in Colin 's good graces.
“Colin wants Caleb Lamp dismissed and himself appointed Indian agent for White Mountain. I know he'd be interested in what you've learned about Win Barker's ties to the territorial government. The Bureau of Indian Affairs is sending a special investigator to Prescott.”

      
“I know. Have you heard when he'll arrive?” Ed asked eagerly.

      
“On tomorrow's stage from Santa Fe. Colin's been invited to dinner with him tomorrow evening and hopes to take him to White Mountain for a real investigation. That's why we came to town today.”

      
Ed's gray eyes brightened. ”I could give him plenty of new material—we could exchange information.”

      
“Yes, I'm sure you could,” Maggie replied thoughtfully. “Let me talk to Colin and see if I can arrange things.”

* * * *

      
As he crossed the deserted restaurant, Colin studied the gaunt features and hovering posture of the female reporter.
She looks like a roadrunner ready to spear a sidewinder
. “Good afternoon, Miss Phibbs. Maggie seems to feel you have some information that would be valuable to me,” he said. Hat in hand, he stood in front of the secluded corner table where Ed sat with her note pad and pencil ready.

      
Ed favored him with an assessing nod. “Please be seated, Mr. McCrory. I'm grateful your wife was able to arrange this meeting. I think we can be certain of privacy here.”

      
The small, run-down restaurant was really a crude log cabin left by some miner gone off in pursuit of another bonanza. His deserted structure was taken over by an old woman of mixed blood who served greasy meat and hard cornbread for a cheap price.

      
Down-and-out miners, out-of-work cowboys and an occasional drifter frequented the place. Right now it was deserted, which made it ideal for their meeting.

      
“You eat here often?” Colin asked as old Matilda Wiggins waddled over, rubbing none too clean hands on a grimy apron.

      
“The venison stew is edible,” Ed replied noncommittally.

      
“She wouldn't have a tot of whiskey to disinfect it?” he asked hopefully.

      
Ed Phibbs drew herself up sternly. “I'm afraid I must warn you that I am Temperance, Mr. McCrory—so is Matilda.” She added sotto voce, “Although I suspect her reasons for not serving liquor here have less to do with principle than with the inability to afford licensure from the local sheriff.”

      
They ordered, then got down to business. Colin laid out what he knew about Lamp's cattle thefts and the tie-in with the Tucson Ring. “I know he's working for Win Barker, but I can't prove it. Unless I can get some help from Washington to investigate conditions on the reservation, my hands are tied.”

      
“You've found the territorial authorities in Prescott less than helpful?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pencil, as if trying to reach a decision.

      
“Everyone here hates Apaches. If the Tucson merchants cheat them—better yet starve them—it's fine with the government.”

      
“You're a most unlikely man, Colin McCrory, to champion the Apaches.” Her gray gaze studied him intently from beneath thin, elongated eyebrows.

      
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning. “What makes you say that?”

      
“I'm a reporter. I dig up all the background—past history—I can find on prominent people who are involved in the news.” Ed studied the wary tension in him. He could be a dangerous man, but his eyes met hers levelly. She plunged ahead. “I know all about you and the Aussie—your past as a scalper before you took the small fortune you'd made in Mexico and became one of Arizona's leading citizens.”

      
Colin swore beneath his breath. The infernal female sat across from him, studying him with those god-awful pop eyes of hers, as calm as if she'd just called a temperance meeting to order. He could feel sweat pooling beneath his armpits and between his shoulder blades. “I guess sooner or later someone was bound to find out. What do you plan to do about it?”

      
“Nothing. Besmirching your sterling reputation would be a big story, I suppose—if I were into that sort of sensational journalism. I assure you I am not.”

      
They were interrupted when Matilda finally appeared with two bowls of spicy-smelling stew. As soon as she had served them and ambled back to her kitchen, Colin shoved the food aside and asked, “Then what in the hell do you want?”

      
“A real story—the whole exposé about the Tucson Ring. The merchants' contacts high up in government. I saw appalling conditions on the reservation. No wonder the Indians turn renegade, running off to do mayhem.”

      
“That's all the more profit for Win Barker and his cronies,” Colin said with disgust.

      
“Because it keeps a large military force in the territory and his ring also supplies them.”

      
Ed Phibbs
had
done her homework. Colin nodded his approval. “You understand the situation very well. Maggie said you had some information to share with me.”

      
She thumbed through the notebook and began to read him all the details she had gleaned on her expeditions around the reservation and in the capital. When she came to the part regarding the conversation between Barker and the unidentified councilman, Colin listened, amazed, then whistled low.

      
“I have to find out who that man is,” Colin said. “It sounds as if he's the key to the whole operation. You're sure you couldn't identify his voice if you heard it again?”

      
Ed's bony shoulders slumped dejectedly. “They were whispering. I very much doubt it, but I plan to continue watching the comings and goings in the capital. Sooner or later, I'll come across something—and in the meanwhile you'll be meeting with that investigator from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Perhaps he can be of some help.”